There’s a story of cowardice and aggression at the heart of Martin Scorsese’s lush masterwork Kundun (1997), but it isn’t the story on screen. Rather, the ugliest conflicts wrapped up in this film are to be found playing out between the filmmakers and the studio’s parent company, Disney, which capitulated to pressure from the Chinese government to suppress the film’s release in favor of the animated Mulan. This is why you won’t find Kundun streaming on any platforms outside of YouTube, while any surviving DVDs or Blu-rays tend to be overpriced and lack the Disney logo. It’s a fascinating extension of the depiction of China’s craven takeover of Tibet in the early 1950s, which gives the film its story arc. China may have smothered Tibetan independence and driven the Dalai Lama into exile, but they didn’t stop there. Instead, they came for Scorsese too, half a century later, when he made this keenly observant film against the backdrop of those very events.
But if you’re not a totalitarian surveillance state, you’ll probably be hard-pressed to find anything objectionable about this movie. Languid and submersive in its episodic structure, Melissa Mathison’s script follows the early life of a young Tibetan boy who was identified while still a toddler as the 14th reincarnated vessel of the Dalai Lama. Early scenes depict undercover Buddhist monks testing the boy’s transcendental pedigree by offering him possessions of the previous Dalai Lama alongside distractor items. It’s debatable how much signaling the monks do as the boy fingers the eyeglasses and walking sticks, but the child’s otherworldly composure seems to leave no doubt as to his inherent holiness. It’s both a boon and a tragedy for his natural family, who find themselves elevated into wealth and comfort under the protection of the temple, but essentially lose their son to the monks who refer to him as “Kundun” (meaning “The Presence”).
Presented as a patchwork of the boy’s experiences during his religious training, the film lingers in quiet moments within the incense-fogged chambers of various temples, including the grand winter palace in Lhasa on a flank of the Himalayas. Roger Deakins photographs the scenes with the patience and attention to detail of a documentary. While this is the only collaboration between Scorsese and the great cinematographer, Deakins has said that it is among his favorite films that he’s shot, both for the experience of filming on location with the largely amateur cast and for how it ended up looking on-screen. His approach to the lighting and compositions was that of a “tone poem,” with long shots that are given room to stretch and breathe. Thelma Schoonmaker’s masterful editing synchs well with this approach as shots superimpose and dissolve into one another like shifting lenses, switching focus from one pensive moment to another. This creates the impression of time passing in waves while Kundun, as much a prisoner as a prince, spends his days in meditation and learning. We see his individuality recede as the weight of obligation asserts itself via time-worn traditions.
Along with The Last Temptation of Christ and the later film Silence, Kundun represents part of an informal trio of religious-themed films that offer insights into Scorsese’s own fascination with faith. Each of these films explores the struggle of the individual with the sacred and the profane, although Kundun presents an idealized version of it. The Dalai Lama seems to accept his strange role with grace and insight, even as a child. There’s little critique of the notion of elevating a toddler to a position of great power and importance, and one is left to wonder just how poorly things could have gone if the boy’s personality hadn’t proven so amenable to the fate that swept him up. Scorsese has spoken of feeling the draw of the priesthood, and this film feels like an exploration of the flavor of a life he might have lived had he devoted himself to spiritual pursuits instead of to cinema.
Aging into an inquisitive young man (and played by the actual Dalai Lama’s great nephew, Tenzin Thuthob Tsarong), the inexperienced Kundun engages with the dilemma presented by China’s efforts to occupy and dominate Tibet. Receiving diplomatic visits from Chinese generals and functionaries, he meets their coarse and disrespectful behavior with calm equanimity. Even with the dour and cynical Chairman Mao (Robert Lin), the Dalai Lama sticks to his aspirations for peace and nonviolence. Mao finds his adversary hopelessly naive, and he openly disdains religion as “poison,” but in his drab suit and slithery affect, it’s Mao who comes across as the poisoned one. Communist ideology has turned him into a malevolent drone, as if bred in a test tube and purpose-built for murder and power. The Dalai Lama, half his age and essentially powerless, maintains his quixotic faith and the moral high ground with scarcely a word.
History knows what happened next. Inevitably, the Dalai Lama and his retinue were forced to flee Tibet as the Chinese launched violent assaults and occupied the country. The film captures the heartache of exile in its final frames, as Kundun uses a telescope to peer across the mountains from his shelter in India. It’s easy to imagine Scorsese in his place, observing the world he’s separated from through a lens that makes things seem deceptively closer. It’s also easy to see why China preferred the uplifting fairy tale of Mulan to this unflattering but factually accurate depiction of their atrocities. The Dalai Lama remains in exile in India, still hoping to return to his homeland one day. Kundun itself remains in its own kind of exile, abandoned by its studio and cut off from distribution, but, like Tibet, well worth a visit.
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