FORGET Syria. Forget Oscar-winning documentaries about real-world heroes. Netflix’s first Academy Award was a FLUKE—a mere footnote eclipsed by the streamer’s DARKEST and most SHAMELESS cash grab yet. That’s the REAL story clawing its way out of Sundance, where filmmaker Joanna Natasegara has pivoted from war zones to worshipping the most CONTROVERSIAL album sale in music history. This isn’t art; it’s a CULTURAL HIJACKING dressed as inspiration.
“The Disciple” UNMASKS the twisted saga of “Once Upon a Time in Shaolin,” the ONE-OF-A-KIND Wu-Tang Clan album sold for a record-shattering $2 million. The buyer? Martin Shkreli—the “Pharma Bro” CONVICTED of securities fraud. Natasegara, an Oscar winner, now whitewashes this nightmare as a tale of “hard work and positivity.” Let’s be clear: this is a documentary that GLORIFIES the moment high art was AUCTIONED to a VILLAIN, permanently tarnishing a genre built on resistance.
The film follows superfan-turned-producer Cilvaringz, who INFILTRATED the Wu-Tang inner circle and masterminded the album’s sale. Natasegara calls it “magical” and “hopeful.” We call it a CAUTIONARY TALE of fandom gone WRONG—where artistic purity is SACRIFICED for a gimmick that ultimately benefited a notorious criminal. RZA’s involvement as executive producer smells of a DESPERATE attempt to rewrite a legacy now stained by Shkreli’s shadow.
The director claims this isn’t a “beef movie,” but a celebration of spirituality and ethics. REALLY? By focusing on “positivity,” she IGNORES the glaring question: what is the TRUE cost of turning music into a PRIVATE COMMODITY for the ultra-rich? The film’s energetic style, inspired by martial arts movies, is a DISTRACTION—a flashy veneer over a rotten core.
In an era where artists fight for fair value, “The Disciple” DARES to frame this disaster as an aspirational dream. It’s a BETRAYAL of the very community it claims to uplift. One young viewer reportedly cried, mourning a lost generational ethos. They should be ANGRY. This film isn’t a homage; it’s a HARBINGER of a future where art is LOCKED AWAY, sold to the highest bidder, no matter how corrupt.
Natasegara had a choice: expose the grotesque marriage of music and monopoly or polish a scandal for streaming clicks. She chose the latter. The final haunting question isn’t about the album’s quality—it’s whether we’ve already surrendered our culture to the highest bidder, and are too mesmerized by the glow of the screen to even care.
Author: Kayitsi.com
