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Within the capacious monastery that looms over this capital city, the Dalai Lama (Tulku Jamyang Kunga Tenzin, then Gyurme Tethong) grows in age and wisdom. Advisors and diplomats teach of the worlds both inside and out, helping their charge become capable of guiding this lofty society. As the years roll by, country-shattering changes alter the face of the planet and the minds of a global population. In China, Mao Zedong (Robert Lin) grinds close to absolute control; Tibet is considered a fruit ripe for the picking, primed for so-called liberation. For all of the Dalai Lama's fascination with modern technology, his thoughts are parochial; at this point he feels that socialism and Buddhism share a path.
In realising this dream, it's clear that Martin Scorsese both reveres and respects the man himself; he gives the Dalai Lama the benefit of the doubt at every turn. My reason for mentioning this is not a negative one; it's just that Kundun has a clearly defined political agenda. In consequence, when Scorsese explicitly condemns the Chinese invasion he brushes more than a few dirty facts under the carpet. Even so Scorsese isn't exactly in the wrong, he's just vending a distorted reading of history. The stunner is how Kundun hides this obsession by concentrating on the Dalai Lama himself, using his life story to mirror the waning fortunes of Tibet. Scorsese is so talented that he, almost, pulls off this audacious experiment.
In another, more significant, fashion, Kundun surprises by choosing visual richness above a cogent storyline. Replacing endless exposition, Scorsese plays for a sense of what it was like to live in these troubled times. Roger Deakins' photography reaches past the ordinary, filling the theatre with a vivid, electrifying blend of colour, movement and texture. It's impossible to do justice to such superior optical splendour here; Scorsese and Deakins capture the spirit of Tibet via images ranging from the meditational calm of a lake to the frenzied, incoherent rantings of the court Oracle. Dante Ferretti's set and costume design proves invaluable, providing the unformed clay that Deakins moulds with light. There's nary a single moment where Ferretti's work appears fake; if nothing else, Kundun convinces.
Yet this concentration on looks over Melissa Mathison's script doesn't hand the cast an easy ride. If anything, the actors have to work harder simply because they're in danger of being swamped by the film itself. It's a tough call, with Scorsese doubling the challenge by casting non-professionals. Basically, only by using actual Tibetans can Scorsese convince the audience to invest and believe in his characters, purely because the actors worship the Dalai Lama for real. Astonishingly Kundun muddles through, despite its episodic, anecdotal plot; the reason being that hardly any of the roles get sufficient time to develop. Fortunately this doesn't quite hold true for Tenzin Thuthob Tsarong, as the adult Dalai Lama; through brief flashes of humanity, Tsarong shoulders his burden.
Where Kundun founders is in its desire to vault through the years. Scorsese tries to cover too much ground, cramming a two-part epic into one feature, making the film a contextual featherweight. The most enthralling scenes, building a certain level of empathy, occur while the Dalai Lama is a youth. Sadly when Scorsese moves past this unique perspective, our hard-won emotional involvement evaporates. Just when Kundun should be drawing the strands together, tightening its grip on the Dalai Lama's life story, it stumbles; the film remains a rather diffuse experience. This may be Scorsese's intention but, for most viewers, his creation will be remembered for what it lacks. In the final analysis, Kundun is interesting but unsatisfying.
A painful conclusion, since technically Kundun is a film like no other. It's exceptionally beautiful, a swirl of sound and illumination; Philip Glass' score, composed using native Tibetan instrumentation, enhances the rarefied atmosphere. Perhaps an example is required, something to crystallise how Scorsese wins and loses with identical hands?
Consider the sand mandala, an incredible piece of craftsmanship that could fill the movie's running time itself. Scorsese shows us its construction in fast forward, then demonstrates how the pattern is by design ephemeral. Fascinating. What we don't pick up is a lead into this opaque ritual, an explanation of what the mandala actually means. Not a bean. The crazy part is, I didn't know what it stood for during the film and I don't know now. I can guess but I don't want to do that; I want to know and Kundun refuses to tell. In a nutshell, for all of its sensual metaphors, Kundun fails to communicate on an emotional level. It's frustrating to see so much potential squandered on integrity.
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