In the early ’90s, Robert Diggs had a vision: to unite the sounds of New York hip-hop into a supergroup that would redefine the genre. A lover of kung fu movies, Diggs first created a company that he named Wu-Tang Productions — after a style of martial arts — before signing a single member. He then brought together his cousins, Gary Grice and Russell Jones, along with six other rappers from Staten Island and Brooklyn, to form the Wu-Tang Clan. Diggs assigned each member a superhero persona inspired by the comic books of his childhood: he became RZA, Grice was GZA, and Jones became Ol’ Dirty Bastard. Method Man, Raekwon, Ghostface Killah, Inspectah Deck, U-God and Masta Killa completed the lineup, cementing one of hip-hop’s most influential groups.
Over the three decades since the group’s groundbreaking debut, numerous documentaries have traced the Wu-Tang Clan’s story, all starting with RZA’s vision. But Joanna Natasegara’s The Disciple, which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival on Jan. 22, takes a distinctly different approach.
The documentary tells two stories. The first follows RZA protégé and Dutch-Moroccan producer Tarik Azzougarh, better known as Cilvaringz, from his childhood in Amsterdam to his obsession with — and eventual infiltration of — the Wu-Tang Clan. The Disciple paints a compelling portrait of Azzougarh’s upbringing as a first-generation immigrant in the Netherlands, largely thanks to its electric visual language. New York hip-hop becomes a refuge for the young Azzougarh, who is captivated by the Clan’s gritty production and angsty lyricism. Editors Chloe Lambourne and Chris Dickens stitch together Andy Warhol–esque visual aids to keep the momentum alive as Azzougarh recounts his repeated attempts to connect with RZA and the group — efforts that eventually succeed, bringing him into their inner circle.
The second story centers on the Wu-Tang Clan’s controversial 2015 album, Once Upon a Time in Shaolin. Azzougarh emerges as the project’s shepherd, initially pursuing it as his own creation before involving the Clan and transforming it into a group effort. Anchored by Azzougarh’s experience, the film explores his radical idea of producing only one copy of the album to underscore music’s value as art. The Disciple is at its strongest when it wrestles with the implications of that choice: Was Azzougarh right? Is art more valuable when it cannot be commodified?
The throughline between the two stories is the documentary’s treatment of hip-hop — and the Wu-Tang Clan as its sacred keepers — as a religion. RZA emerges as a Jesus-like figure, a vessel connecting the divine to those who seek it through rap. His devotion to kung fu and the teachings of Shi Yan Ming, a 34th-generation Shaolin warrior monk and RZA’s mentor, are central to both his art and the anatomy of the Wu-Tang Clan, portraying him as both student and master. Azzougarh, in turn, is positioned as the titular disciple: RZA’s loyal follower and believer in the spiritual power of rap music. The film begins to explore how this role affects his relationship with himself and his artistry but ultimately shies away from a deeper look at the sacrifices required by such an ideology.
Though sometimes confusing for non–Wu-Tang fans, The Disciple revitalizes the music documentary, turning a familiar story into something almost sacred. It illuminates the ’90s group, reflects on the spiritual power of art, and acts as a time capsule of a pivotal moment in hip-hop. In The Disciple, Wu-Tang isn’t just forever. It’s infinite.