To the astonishment of the West, the Chinese Government continues to suggest that the recent demonstrations in Tibet have been instigated by the Dalai Lama. But this is an old theme. A deep-rooted mistrust of the Dalai Lama’s motives is something that has characterised the Chinese position for many years. Back in 2004, when I decided to make a documentary on the Tibetan leader, the question of his sincerity was my central concern.

I wanted to provide a personal study of the man, examining his motivation in detail as he went about his daily business balancing the spiritual and political anxieties of an exiled Tibetan population with the political tightrope of maintaining a gentle pressure on China through concerted international diplomacy. Western audiences had, I felt, become saturated by his television appearances restating commitment to nonviolence with his characteristic blend of stoic nobility and mischievous good humour.

A fly-on-the-wall account of his life would provide a human counterpoint to the political emblem that the saffron-clad statesman had become. It would also evaluate his responsibility for events by studying the genesis of his political position and the daily attitude towards the Chinese. By showing his response to events, it would peek through the public façade into how this mild-mannered man had come to terms with his vilification by Beijing.

In my three years of following the Dalai Lama on trips throughout India and Europe, it was impossible ever to forget the sensitivity of any comment he makes to the media. He is keenly aware that anything he says or does is potential fodder for those factions in the Beijing administration intent on discrediting his motivations. This dilemma is made more difficult by the Chinese practice of using transcripts of his speeches as their primary source.

I witnessed the weaknesses of this literal approach in a meeting between the Dalai Lama and his special envoy to China. The envoy reported that the Chinese delegation had restated its belief that the Dalai Lama was committed to pursuing independence for Tibet, rather than the autonomy which he is understood by the West to be advocating. The Chinese delegation pointed to a particular recent speech in which, the Tibetan envoy pointed out, the word “freedom” had been mistranslated as “independence”.

The sensitivity of the Dalai Lama’s position led to my first two requests to make the film being refused, so I went to meet the man face to face. I had sought the advice of Kate Saunders, then head of the Tibetan Information Network, which provides a steady flow of corroborated information about circumstances in Tibet. Charming and intelligent, she informs the Western media of the Dalai Lama’s position and of developments in the region.

With a couple of brief phone calls she had secured me a berth on a trip to Dharamsala, accompanying Joan-na Lumley, long-time pro-Tibet campaigner, and the renowned photographer Tom Stoddart. I was assigned cover as Lumley’s camera-man to justify my attendance on the trip. The device jarred slightly, but my previous BBC documentary subjects had included corruption in the LAPD, and I was comfortable with the principle of blurred intentions.

A number of things struck me when the Dalai Lama entered the antechamber in his north Indian residence where we had been waiting, clutching silk scarves for the customary blessing. The first was his footwear. In 1999, with his Star TV satellite channel making early inroads into southern China, Rupert Murdoch said: “I’ve heard cynics say he’s a political old monk shuffling around in Gucci shoes”. My inspections revealed modest teacher-style loafers.

Far more striking than his couture, however, is the quietly joyous charisma that follows him into the room. It is irresistible, ubiquitous, and extended equally towards all guests, irrespective of rank or standing. The intensity of his eye contact when he speaks to you is unerring (my film is titled The Unwinking Gaze). When he is talking to you he makes you feel like the only person in the room.

And then there is his sense of humour. His insatiable laugh – he once laughed so much when I choked on some Tibetan tsampa (essentially porridge) that he had tears down his cheeks – proved infectious wherever he went, from addresses in front of thousands of Canadian supporters to his meeting with President Bush at his congressional award presentation last year.

Certainly he uses this indefatigable humour to deflect unwanted questioning, occasionally hiding disappointment or frustration. But I came to believe that it was heartfelt, underpinning an optimism about human nature and a complete conviction in his approach.

This is not to say that the burden of his task does not weigh on him. Many times during filming he was prevented from his planned itinerary due to Chinese pressure on his hosts. One time he was forced to cancel a trip to Belgium since it clashed with a state visit by the Belgian king to Beijing and the Chinese were privately threatening to cancel major bilateral commercial contracts if it went ahead.

When I asked the Dalai Lama’s private secretary whether the move had been made under duress, he paused, face twisting between the competing demands of conscience and political caution, before declining to comment.

I took the issue to the Dalai Lama, suggesting that the Buddhist devotees who had invited him had been waiting for five years for the visit. He sighed. “That’s the reality,” he responded, a rather forceful grin in my direction, obstinate in his sanguine resolve not to compromise his Belgian allies and, more significantly, avoiding the criticism of his “Chinese brothers and sisters”.

He always provided us with extraordinary access, seeming to disregard the camera entirely. Not once was he a difficult subject. Sometimes his generosity embarrassed me. On a visit to Bodh Gaya in the east Indian state of Bihar, where the Buddha is said to have gained enlightenment, he stopped a procession of 100,000 fervent Tibetan devotees to give me a private potted history of Buddha’s enlightenment.

Mostly, this benevolent camaraderie hides a fierce and combative intelligence. And, despite his total disregard for the definite article, which combined with his gurgling voice to remind me frequently of Yoda, he is highly articulate. This is most clear in a two-hour interview he granted me at the end of my filming last year. During an intense head-to-head exchange he revealed a tremendous intellectual force.

The interview in part distilled a cautious scepticism with which I had tried to inform the film, and its outcome was revealing. I wondered what might happen if the Chinese could bring themselves to go through the same process. Watching my film – an optimistic prospect perhaps – would be a start.

Joshua Dugdale’s film The Unwinking Gaze is on limited release from May 29 2008, www.theunwinkinggaze.com

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