No matter the genre, everyone has that group—the standard they measure everyone else against. For me, it’s New Edition. In hip-hop, for many, that group is Wu-Tang Clan. I’ve always considered myself a casual Wu fan, but I never fully grasped the depth of their fandom until I watched Raekwon and Ghostface Killah perform live and saw a sixty-year-old white guy in the crowd rap “Protect Ya Neck” word for word. That was my “oh, this is different” moment.
So when Sundance announced it would premiere director Joanna Natasegara’s documentary The Disciple, centered on the Clan’s controversial album Once Upon a Time in Shaolin, it immediately landed on my must-see list. Executive produced by RZA and featuring interviews with Shabazz the Disciple and Cappadonna, the film primarily focuses on Tarik “Cilvaringz” Azzougarh and his unlikely journey into the Wu-Tang inner circle.
While I’m sure Wu-fam already knows Cilvaringz’ story, I admittedly didn’t. The film’s first half follows a familiar biopic template, charting Tarik’s path from being bullied as a kid to discovering hip-hop, and eventually finding himself working hand-in-hand with the Clan. That early section alone has the bones of a streaming-ready biopic—one that RZA himself could probably direct in his sleep—successfully hitting the classic rags-to-riches notes without feeling hollow.
The back half of the documentary shifts into the making of Wu’s seventh album, Once Upon a Time in Shaolin—the infamous one-of-one release that hip-hop heads know all too well, eventually purchased by Martin Shkreli for a reported $2 million. As a music obsessive, I was locked in watching Tarik navigate the process: reaching out to Wu members, pitching ideas, and trying to bring an unconventional vision to life. I won’t spoil them here, but one concept in particular serves as a clever homage to a 1995 thriller and underscores just how much thought went into the project.
Where The Disciple truly finds its footing is in Tarik’s reasoning behind producing only a single copy of the album and the domino effect that decision triggered. I was aware of some of the controversy surrounding the album’s eventual buyer, but the film sheds light on a surprising amount of behind-the-scenes chaos and industry maneuvering that followed.
That said, the documentary isn’t without its issues. At times, it feels as if Cilvaringz is given a bit of narrative plot armor, while other members of the Wu are subtly cast in a less flattering light. While Method Man, Raekwon, Ghostface, and others may have had valid reasons for not participating, the reliance on archived interviews instead of new perspectives leaves noticeable gaps in the story.
I also couldn’t help but wish that, given the album’s first public exhibition in June 2024, the film had found a loophole of sorts to include brief musical snippets. Still, despite these shortcomings, The Disciple works. While it will undoubtedly resonate most with hip-hop heads and die-hard Wu fans, there’s enough history, passion, and cultural weight here to keep even casual moviegoers nodding along.
