Once Were Warriors – The Framing Device

“Our people once were warriors […] They were people with mana, pride… people with spirit.”

After his masterful directorial debut in 1994 – within which Rena Owen delivers the aforementioned line – Lee Tamahori found himself in Hollywood. Helming a multitude of thrillers and a Bond instalment before returning to his homeland, Aotearoa, and reuniting with Temuera Morrison for ’60s set period drama Mahana (2016), in which the Māori actor plays yet another terrifying patriarch. Morrison is the only thing missing from Tamahori’s latest project, The Convert.

In 1830, a decade before the Treaty of Waitangi (1843) was signed, lay minister Thomas Munro (Guy Pearce) is hoping for safe passage across the Tasman Sea to his new home of Epworth – a new colony taking shape on one of the islands. It’s a treacherous journey as a storm hits culminating in a fellow passenger being buried at sea, first-mate Kedgley (a fairly convincing ‘Northern’ Dean O’Gorman) isn’t worried. A quick stopover on a neighbouring island will enable them to restock supplies regroup before heading on their merry way.

Struck by its beauty, Munro wishes to camp there for the night – never considering it to be somebody’s home or what consequences his or the group’s presence will bring. It isn’t long before they find out. Having stumbled across a tribal war, Chief of the Ngāti Ruapu tribe, Te Akatarewa (Lawrence Makoare) pays his respects to King George before mercilessly killing Māori trespassers. Munro attempts to barter for the remaining lives, offering his horse as payment. Rangimai (Tioreore Ngatai-Melbourne) is saved but her husband perishes and she is forced to endure her grief aboard the settler’s ship until Epworth comes into view.

Things are not much better there. Self-appointed Mayor Beachamp (Mark Mitchinson) rents the land from the local chieftain, Maianui (Antoio Te Maioha) and has grand ambitions for the new homestead but only if his townspeople are white and English. Padgett (William Wallace) the Irish grocer and Scottish Hegarty (Jaqueline Mackenzie) – who happens to be the widow of a Māori warrior – are already shunned already and have no chance of integration. Sadly, it is no surprise how Rangimai’s presence brings the worst out of the locals who would rather let her die than supply medical aid. This, in spite of the fact they are visitors to her homeland and she also happens to be the landlord’s daughter.

Munro quickly finds his people – suffice to say it isn’t Beachamp and his cronies who deem anybody different from themselves ‘savages’ and yet murder with impunity while allegedly seeking justice. Who exactly is the savage, again? Munro, on the other hand, is an articulate and well-meaning man of God, happy to be guided by Hegarty who is able to speak te reo and teaches him about Māori culture, and never straying far from his notebook, within which he sketches portraits of all he meets and logs his identity, connections – his equivalent of tā moko.

Inspired by Hamish Clayton’s Wulf, Tamahori depicts the messy complexity of Māori history, juxtaposing the Pakeha/Māori relationship with the interchangeable savage and civilised dichotomy often depicted in NZ Cinema. The brutality of the period in which irreconcilable cultural differences are ever present. Shifting allegiances and unstable male identity is shot in tandem, and within, the beauty of the land. The natural landscape is used here to heighten the dramatic sequences, darker sands shot against ominous skies overcast with clouds. While the greens of the majestic terrain are muted and cold, greys, browns and blues are punctuated with the occasional burst of red, white and/or black connoting the Māori flag – just like in Once Were Warriors.

The Māori depicted in this film are divided, partly on tribal lines but also between those who embrace utu and those who believe in a peaceful resolution, interestingly personified in daughter (Rangimai) and father (Maianui). Munro is the ‘man alone’ – but not for long – as male identities conflict, allegiances shift in and outside of cultural difference through tribal (iwi) or sub-tribal (hapu) groupings. Munro seems to have greater issue with white Europeans over anyone else and this level of self-hatred is made all the more clear once his own violent history is revealed. It’s a surprisingly emotional performance from Pearce whose jaw historically has always clenched, on the rare occasion grinned yet rarely have we seen him racked in sobs. He is deftly supported by Mackenzie but the real powerhouse is Ngatai-Melbourne. Her Rangimai is mesmerising and by far the most interesting character with a compelling arc.

The Convert is a sweeping historical epic, intelligently made and authentic in its depictions and performances. DoP Gin Loane does a tremendous job weighting the action onscreen in verisimilitude which goes hand-in-hand with Liz McGregor’s costumes and Gabrielle Jones’ make-up, the intricate ta moko beautifully recreated and replicated amongst the cast. While deemed (mostly) fictional, it is easy to place in a historical context. Munro appears to be a stand-in for Henry Williams (1792-1867) a man who was responsible for influencing several thousand Māori to convert and spread the word of a Christian God through much of the North Island. He also played an integral part in the translation of the Treaty of Waitangi too.

Over Tamahori’s trifecta of Māori films, he depicts a very specific timeline albeit not in the order of making. The events of The Convert and subsequent history paves the way for Mahana, concluding with Once Were Warriors working ever closer to encourage the authentic portrayal of Māori onscreen. More please.

The Convert is available to stream now.

The year is 1984, and 11-year-old Boy (James Rolleston) welcomes us into his “interesting world” as he stands before his classmates and recounts who he is, what he likes (Michael Jackson), and who he shares his life with. There’s Nan (Mavis Paenga), cousins Miria, Kiko, Che, Hucks and Kelly, Aunty Gracey (Rachel House) who’s a tennis coach, the “mailman”, school bus driver and manager of the local shop; a pet goat named Leaf and a six-year-old brother Rocky (Te Aho Eketone-Whitu). Rocky thinks he has superpowers. Bless him, he doesn’t.

Boy’s interests include art (cue desk graffiti), social studies (getting picked on by older boys) and Michael Jackson. His other idol is his father, Alamein (Taika Waititi), a master carver, deep sea treasure diver, captain of the rugby team and holder of the record for punching people out with a single fist. The reality couldn’t be further from the truth but in Boy’s world, reality isn’t really the mainstay, he is a kid after all.

After Nan leaves to attend a funeral, he’s the man of the house and so he ensures all the younger children wash, eat and generally thrive, until Alamein Sr returns to Waihau Bay, fresh out of prison, seeking a “treasure” he buried in the field opposite the house. It gives him the perfect opportunity to reconnect with his estranged sons as long as they stop calling him Dad… it’s “weird”. Boy, initially thrilled by his father’s return, soon comes to the painful realisation that his father isn’t the hero he imagined. In complete contrast, Rocky’s reluctance to accept the man he has never known comes full circle and his doubt and suspicion turns to respect. The moment all three boys reach the point of transformation is a deeply moving and beautiful thing, and harks back to that opening quote perfectly – “You could be happy here… we could grow up together” (E.T., 1982).

Boy is a thematically rich film and one which comments upon rurality, poverty, childhood, adulthood and grief while using magical realism, animation, mythology and a free-spirited style which also incorporates intertextuality and 80s popular culture to bring Waititi’s approach to identity and masculinity to the screen. That very specific form and unique Aotearoa voice has been so prevalent since those couple of Taika-written and directed episodes of Flight of the Conchords.

While including visuals of the sublime landscape, hostile terrain and open roads that have long been associated with New Zealand cinema, Waititi also gives us a Māori film rich in culture and beautiful hues of colour via a nostalgic trip to the eighties. The absentee father within a Māori family is just one of the thematic links Boy has to Once Were Warriors (1994) and Whale Rider (2002), however, here the comedy and pathos, drama and fantasy is – as one has come to expect following Eagle vs. Shark (2007), What We Do in the Shadows (2014) and Hunt for the Wilderpeople (2016) – charmingly measured.

Rolleston is wonderful in the titular role, however, one can’t help but fall in love with the largely mute and thoughtful, cape-wearing Rocky as both boys shine in this endearing and magical coming-of-age drama. Waititi is equally adorable as the misunderstood big boy of the trio, Alamein, a man who has yet to truly face his responsibilities or fully embrace adulthood but whose little men will help him pull his socks up. Boy is a big-hearted film – possibly even Waititi’s finest – poignant, funny, an effortless joy. Oh, and that Haka hybrid is genius.