Review: Martin Scorsese’s Overlooked Kundun on Kino Lorber Blu-ray

Described upon release as an uncharacteristically remote and lethargic entry in Martin Scorsese’s otherwise energetic oeuvre, Kundun has, with time, become easier to see as being of a piece with the director’s other, frequently experimental work of the 1990s. The film, a worshipful biographical account of Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th and current Dalai Lama, follows the religious figure from the age of two, when he was identified by monks as the reincarnation of the previous lama, all the way through his 1959 departure from Tibet to escape the anti-religious persecutions of the communist Chinese government that annexed the nation. Using multiple actors to capture the figure at various stages of his early life, the film follows a linear timeline, albeit in a fashion that regularly feels out of step with time. In a way, Kundun is structured like one of the many Buddhist sand mandalas that Scorsese captures on screen, creating intricate narrative lines that weave in and out of each other to yield something that feels like one unbroken image.

Throughout, Scorsese and editor Thelma Schoonmaker’s use of dissolves works to suggest a simultaneous occurrence of events: the Dalai Lama’s education in monasteries, his observance of Tibetan customs, and the increasingly tense encroachment of Communist China over Tibet. Roger Deakin’s lush, vista-heavy cinematography feels suited to the epic sweep of a western, but the film’s editing filters these vast panoramas and classically blocked interiors through an intimate, impressionistic prism. Combined with the looping techniques of Philip Glass’s score, Kundun’s structure belies the occasionally arch tone of its impassive protagonist.

Indeed, Kundun’s editing perhaps does more to define the Dalai Lama than any of the actors who play him. Scorsese’s films tend to concern protagonists whose narcissism blinds them to how little power they actually have, but Kundun inverts this dynamic by centering itself around a hero who, at a very young age, is bestowed tremendous authority, and who fears his unworthiness to wield it. The Dalai Lama may have achieved serenity, but his stoicism is complicated by the film’s editing and occasional bursts of camera movement, stylistic tics that reflect the turmoil raging just beneath his calm exterior. In effect, Kundun’s technical craft undermines what could have been a simplistic portrait of the Dalai Lama’s wisdom, suggesting that his outward appearance is the result of a constant struggle to suppress his thrill at cultural displays and his horror of China’s steamrolling of Tibetan independence.

As a meditation on the conflict between inner faith and the politics of organized religion, Kundun can be seen today as the middle film in an unofficial trilogy centered around religious figures that includes The Last Temptation of Christ and Silence. As one example of how these films are united in their characterizations, the ruthless inquisitor played by Issei Ogata in Silence was anticipated by the portrayal of Mao Zedong (Robert Lin) in Kundun. Both men mix uncompromising brutality with an unexpectedly affable personality, a cajoling tone that convincingly enumerates the dangers of religion as a brainwashing tool even as he clearly sees such conditioning as an impediment to his own secular, political brainwashing. Even as Scorsese seriously examines how faith can inspire individuals and collectives, he ponders the worth of its philosophies in the face of the material threats of the world.

Eventually, the Dalai Lama’s calm silence starts to look like hopeless indecision in the face of his people coming to him for help against the invading Chinese. Kundun is hagiographic, subjecting the Dalai Lama to perhaps the least amount of subtextual criticism of any Scorsese protagonist, yet, even so, it ponders how the same commitment to philosophy that makes the monk such a revered figure can also offer so little comfort to his followers. “Nonviolence takes a long time,” he says in the face of China’s relentless march through Tibet, to which another monk replies, “Do we have the time, Holiness?” “I have never known,” the Dalai Lama meekly responds, and his uncertainty defines the film as much as his hope for nonviolent victory.

Image/Sound

Kino Lorber’s transfer beautifully renders Roger Deakins’s cinematography, highlighting its emphasis on the vibrant reds of monks’ robes and the Chinese flag, as well as the golden hues of palatial interiors and warmly lit landscapes. The transfer lacks any visible traces of debris or scratches, and detail is consistently sharp. The audio is no less bombastic, with the rhythmic swelling of Philip Glass’s score filling all the surround channels, while dialogue remains clear in the center speaker. For a film with such a quiet protagonist, Kundun can be overwhelmingly boisterous, but the audio track keeps each element in elegant balance.

Extras

An audio commentary with film historian Peter Tonguette makes an extended case for the film as one of Scorsese’s most underappreciated, countering notions of Kundun as an anomaly in the director’s canon with numerous connections both great and small to his other work. A second disc comes loaded with more extras, including two feature-length documentaries, one on the production itself and one on the real Dalai Lama. The latter is a typical social-issue documentary made for television, observing the Dalai Lama’s activities in exile and providing a summary of the history of Tibet’s conflict with China, while the former includes interviews with the crew about Kundun, along with copious footage of Scorsese filming and navigating the unpredictability of child actors, groups of non-professionals, even animals.

There are also separate archival interviews with Scorsese, Glass, and screenwriter Melissa Mathison, all of whom speak at length about their views on the project’s subject matter and their approach to it. Kino’s set is so thorough that they even found and included an hour-long interview with Michael Henry Wilson, the director who made the behind-the-scenes documentary. Also included here are brief EPK interviews with the crew, recorded at the time of release. An accompanying booklet contains an essay by filmmaker Zade Constantine, who further defends the film’s merits against its lukewarm legacy.

Overall

With its exceptional transfer and wealth of informative extras, Kino’s Blu-ray of Kundun makes a strong argument for Martin Scorsese’s oft-neglected curio as a standout entry in his oeuvre.