Reach for that dollar sign!

Nick MacMahon, staff

Free your life of excess material desire. I know it’ll be heart-wrenching to abandon your Magic Bags and vibrating ab belts that you so dearly cling to, but once you realize that one is merely a sack of beans and the other an alchemical transformation of failed seatbelt innovation, you can safely turn that consumerist appetite inward and start investing in spiritual fitness now. Introducing yoga — the ultimate body and soul workout for an affordable price (if you’re among the privileged two per cent). After a night of earned escapism, it’s the perfect remedy for your dehydrated misery that a Sunday morning chalice, full of Christ’s blood, never seems to quench. Why go to church and sacrifice a workout? Sure, you can purify your dirty mind and repent with a thousand Hail Marys, but kneeling only targets your lower thighs and sometimes your calves (depending on the pew).

Yoga, Inc. examines the yoga phenomenon that continues to sweep the West, while sweeping religion a little closer to the ever looming dustbin. Zeroing in on the commoditization of an ancient spiritual discipline, the film questions the business ethics that go along with such a move and how, despite the controversy, it has transcended its hippy and trophy wife stigma, now appealing to all walks of life regardless of their set of moral beliefs.

Exploring the origins of yoga, the film explains that, despite popular belief, the millennia-old meditative practice was introduced to the west in the mid-19th century, 100 years before hippies started worshipping charismatic Indian gurus and submitting to their repressed sexual urges. By the early 20th century, aristocratic chauvinists were rejoicing, as their wives pencilled in a new frivolity between French classes, badminton, and piano lessons, protecting them from the dangers of education. After some changes in immigration laws, the ’60s flowered into a yogic renaissance, as Indians flocked to ensure their slice of a delicious karma pie. A strongpoint of the film, it succeeds in giving an historical overview of yoga’s Western expansion, which gave rise to the ethical questions that the yoga business now faces.

With a twisted irony, the comic relief comes from the film’s villain: Bikram Choudhury. Founder of Hot Yoga (yoga in a sauna), this Indian yogi has made a name for himself with his sweaty brand of contortionism. He refers to his style as a “torture chamber”; applying such a title to his business practices would be an understatement, as he opens up his greedy, flexible palms, demanding $150,000 if any studio dares “steal” his copyrighted set of poses, along with compensation for any profits earned (the letter has to be seen to be believed, chock-full of “cease and desist” nonsense). Of course, he doesn’t own the ancient yoga poses, he merely owns the order that his 26 poses of choice are taught, which is perfectly ethical in the mind of a hard-working capitalist. Bikram is the Starbucks of the yoga industry, wiping out budding yoga studios everywhere, and the film does a fantastic job of using him as a signpost for the aggressive corporate practices that even “spirituality” isn’t immune.

Yoga is now just another “anti-aging” cream, pursued for its vain health benefits —a great bod and lowered stress. Today, it’s a path to enlightenment, minus the part about detaching yourself from pleasures of the flesh. In fact, the lack of a fixed a moral code is precisely what makes it so attractive for the secular world, resulting in the safe, elusive response: “I’m spiritual.” Rodney Yee (the guy on every second yoga instructional DVD) shared his yoga gift with his family, including them in a family yoga video; soon his capacity to share lost sight of its delicate boundaries, eventually reaching an attractive student. The unfolding universe brought her to you, right, Rodney? Once you’ve separated fidelity from yoga, yoga competition is the next logical step, and a good portion of the film focuses on this hilarious contradiction (imagine a group of monastic Buddhists trying to “out-Om” each other — first one to reach the lowest tone gets a free slurpee!). According to yoga competitors in the film, it’s only a matter of time before the Olympics jumps on the yoga bandwagon . . . maybe Guinness would be more appropriate.

And so we have it, another documentary criticizing the corporate rat race, whose holistic exploitation leaves nothing behind, turning the sacred into another snake oil fad on late night television. As one instructor points out — money makes everything else possible and no one wants a “stinky yoga mat.” Just as an 80-minute yoga work-out doesn’t have all the answers, neither does an 80-minute documentary attempting to provide answers to our ever-dysfunctional relationships with spirituality and money.