Regions
Indigenizing the Camera:
Then There Were None & The Maori Merchant of Venice
Then There Were None & The Maori Merchant of Venice
In November 2002 in Honolulu, two films made by indigenous Pacific Islanders became watershed events in the development and growth of filmmaking in the new Pacific. Both films were screened to the general public in close proximity to each other, and at a time when the film industry in Hawai‘i was witnessing a period of intense growth and activity: in the media, at the University of Hawai‘i, among independent filmmakers, as well as among sophisticated and discerning film-going audiences. This paper focuses on these two events that have much to tell us about tensions between the motivations and styles of artists creating works that are true to their unique experiences and realities and the globalizing influences that strive to make them conform to standards and expectations of mainstream cultures. Though the artists in question are Hawaiian and Maori, their experiences are typical of minority artists creating culturally specific work for international consumption.
The first landmark event I refer to here was a unique convergence of political activism and high art that took place at the Neal Blaisdell Concert Hall in Honolulu. As the culminating item for a concert by the Honolulu Symphony, Elizabeth Kapu‘uwailani Linsey Buyers acted as writer and narrator for a multi-media presentation that centered around her documentary film Then There Were None. After a powerful chant by John Ka‘imikaua and two men from his halau, Lindsey Buyers appeared on stage and read from a prepared script the voiceover for her film while archival footage and photographs were projected onto a large screen suspended from the ceiling. Visible just below the screen was the Honolulu symphony playing Schifrin’s “Selections from Symphony No.1 (Lili‘uokalani)” in the background.
Then There Were None is NOT about attracting tourists to “Paradise.” There are no golden sunsets, no green mountain valleys lit by a rising sun, no mai tais with pink umbrellas, and no semi-naked tourists lounging on the beach at Waikiki. Instead, in stark black and white, the film laments the rapid decline in the number of pure Hawaiians over the past 247 years, beginning with the time of European contact in 1778. Measels, chicken pox, and other western diseases decimated the native Hawaiian population within the span of 50 years. Then American missionaries brought in new customs and ideas that challenged the old ways. Large-scale sugarcane and pineapple plantations requiring immigrant workers followed. Over time, Hawaiians became a minority in their own land. Then World War II came, resulting in the establishment of a permanent military presence in Hawai‘i. Statehood occurred in 1959, even as Hawaiians struggled to preserve their language and traditions. Their numbers continued to decline. Then There Were None concludes with the claim that in 2044 there won’t be any pure Hawaiians left.
Near the end of this 26-minute documentary, a chorus line of children from the ensemble of the Hawai‘i Youth Opera Chorus appeared and sang in pure, clear voices above the music. The children, whose presence underscored the innocence of native Hawaiians that the film portrays, were a highlight of this multi-media presentation. Also, their singing in the Hawaiian language blended perfectly with the images on screen and reminded the audience that in spite of colonialism’s efforts to suppress native Hawaiian language and music, both are still very much alive today.
A review of Lindsey Buyers’ collaboration with the Honolulu symphony that appeared in The Honolulu Advertiser after opening night displayed an arrogant and superior attitude that is, unfortunately, familiar. Written by the paper’s classical music critic, the review begins, “What the heck were they thinking at the Honolulu Symphony when they put together this weekend's program?” The reviewer proceeds to label the event a “tottering soapbox” and to call it “tendentious harangue about the evil haoles (disingenuously called ‘the newcomers’ in the film) and the depredations they visited upon the native populace” (Shepherd, 2002).
Accusing Lindsey Buyers of playing “victim,” the critic complains that although “newcomers” brought diseases against which Hawaiians had no immunity, they also brought with them “the writing system” as well as a “technological tradition that led to the invention of the movie camera which made Lindsey Buyers’ film possible.” In short, the critic used his privileged access to the media to tell the Hawaiian artist that not only is her work not up to standard (the criteria is assumed to be universal and thus not defined), but she also didn’t sing the praises of the “newcomers” to Hawai‘i and her work was therefore less than truthful about Hawai‘i’s past.
Prior to Lindsey Buyers’ collaboration with the Honolulu symphony, her film had been screened at a number of venues since it was made in 1995 – including the Hawaii International Film Festival – without any fanfare. It had even won an award at Ohio’s International Film Festival, aired on Hawaii Public Television, and screened at various festivals in Europe and Japan. What then had caused such belittlement of her efforts? Was it because she had unwittingly forced many in Honolulu’s well-heeled society to confront the ghost of their past, reminding them of Hawai‘i’s sordid history which involved missionary greed and dispossession of natives, deadly infectious diseases, and the loss of Hawaiian sovereignty? In other words, “Who does Lindsey Buyers think she is?” or “What the heck did she think she was doing?”
Elizabeth Lindsey Buyers is best known in Hawai‘i as a former Miss Hawai‘i (1978) and Hollywood actress. The blurb for her film put out by Pacific Islanders in Communications tells us she is also the “second great-granddaughter of Hawaiian high chiefs and English seafarers” (PIC, 2006). With a foot in the world of Hawaiian culture and another in the western arena, she stood the best chance of negotiating successfully the difficult terrain of high culture and native struggles for self-determination (AFH, 2007). But the result has been to arouse the anger of some of Honolulu’s most influential people, for it was obvious from the tone of the reviewer and several letters to the editor that many “newcomers” to Hawai‘i felt threatened, if not offended, by her documentary.
Less than a week following Lindsey Buyers’ collaboration with the Honolulu symphony, a contingent of Maori actors, supporters, producer, and director arrived in Honolulu with the first Maori film ever made entirely in the Maori language. Invited by the Hawaii International Film Festival and the University of Hawai‘i conference on “Myths, Terrorism and Justice: Themes in Asian and Pacific Literature and Film,” the The Maori Merchant of Venice held its world premiere in Hawai‘i. Prior to this screening, the film had been shown only in Aotearoa/New Zealand.
The Maori Merchant is based on a Maori translation (by the late Pei Te Hurunui Jones) of Shakespeare’s play in 1945 (Maori website, 2007). Don Selwyn revived Jones’ version for stage again in 1990 and soon after started dreaming and thinking about a movie version of this play. According to Selwyn, The Merchant of Venice is an ideal vehicle for the propagation of the Maori language and culture, as well as a means by which Maori talent in acting, production design, costuming, music, and other aspects of filmmaking could be showcased (Maori website, 2007). Further, parallels exist between the persecution of Shylock (or the Jews) and the decimation of the Maori population during the mid to late 19th century. Shylock’s demand for his “pound of flesh” can be compared to the Maori people’s demand for justice from the pakeha. Portia’s cunning (or perhaps brilliant) interpretation of the law to disinherit Shylock from what he deserves is reminiscent of the court battles between Maori political activists and the New Zealand government over differing interpretations of key clauses about land ownership as expressed in the Treaty of Waitangi. Shakespeare’s play, therefore, is more important and relevant to contemporary Maori struggles for justice in their own land than is readily apparent.
In spite of Selwyn’s enthusiasm for this play, and the play’s relevance to Maori struggles for justice in their own land, the New Zealand Film Commission rejected application for funding 10 times over as many years (Wayne, 2002). Support eventually came primarily from Te Mangai Paho, the state funding body for Maori language film and television projects. Selwyn’s difficulties in raising money for a film project that uses an indigenous Pacific language, relatively unknown actors outside of New Zealand, and a narrative that doesn’t include sex and violence is typical of the battles that independent filmmakers face anywhere in the world, let alone in the Pacific. The fact that it was even made at all is a minor miracle and testimony to the tenacity and passion of a true artist and visionary. It is therefore logical, even necessary, for Selwyn to choose to bring this film to his Hawaiian cousins who would understand the motivations behind the making of this film and be encouraged to tell their stories in their own mother tongue.
The first screening of The Maori Merchant in Honolulu was an emotional experience, particularly for the Maori filmmakers and the native Hawaiians in the audience. The Honolulu Academy of Art was packed, mainly by Pacific Islanders, as well as with conference participants and ticket holders from the general public. The protocol before the screening of the film was the most elaborate I had seen at any film festival, and lasted more than 30 minutes. Students from Halau Ku Mana, led by Keali‘i Gora, chanted the Maori filmmakers in. Dressed in elaborate and colorful costumes designed for The Maori Merchant, the actors, accompanied by their producer, director, and supporters, responded in like manner as they proceeded onto the stage. There were exchanges of flower leis between hosts and guests, and appropriate chants, singing, and speeches to reinforce ties between native Hawaiians and their Maori cousins.
The audience’s response to the screening of The Maori Merchant was enthusiastic and overwhelmingly positive. At the question and answer session following the screening, it was obvious the Pacific Islands community that turned up as well as the Maori filmmakers were exhilarated seeing their own moving images and hearing familiar sounds and the Maori language on the big screen. Perhaps the most telling indication of the film’s success was that it won the coveted audience award for best feature film at the festival. With 200 films vying for this award, this win was not an insignificant endorsement.
The two film projects I have highlighted in this paper – the controversial collaboration between a community activist and the Honolulu symphony and the domestication of Shakespeare into a Maori film to foster and promote the Maori language and culture – have lessons to teach us about the new Pacific. Of particular note is that filmmaking in the United States and New Zealand has been the domain white mainstream culture. It is only in the last decade that films made by Hawaiians and Maori have developed to the stage where they have won awards at international film festivals. Part of the reason for this is that filmmaking is an expensive and time-consuming enterprise, as well as a highly competitive and elusive art form.
Reactions to Then There Were None that appeared in the media, particularly the viscous review by The Advertiser, overshadowed more positive reactions by Pacific Islanders and others. At the end of the final performance that I attended, there was spontaneous chanting from the auditorium as soon as the screening ended, and the long and loud applause that followed indicated that Lindsey Buyers’ courage and work resonated with many locals. For her detractors, what upset them the most is the film’s failure to reference the extent of mixed marriages that contributed to the rapid decline of “pure” Hawaiians as well as its failure to mention the wonderful and positive things that the “newcomers” brought to these shores.
On the other hand, The Maori Merchant received little attention from the local media here in Hawai‘i. Is this because there are no abused women, no drunken Jake Hekes, and no tattooed gangsters or drug addicts as in Once Were Warriors? Instead, Maori men and women dressed in stunning costumes moved elegantly in plush surroundings, spoke a language that was refined and elevated, and displayed an understanding and mastery of Shakespeare and his world, transposed into Maoridom, that would impress anyone. However, although The Maori Merchant offered counter images to the negative and “dangerous” images in films such as Once Were Warriors, it didn’t have the sex and violence that attract the press. As noted by Ruth Kaupua, producer of The Maori Merchant, the film Tongan Ninja had three screenings scheduled in the Hawai‘i International Film Festival’s program while The Maori Merchant had only one. Fortunately, the latter won the audience award and became entitled to a second screening in Honolulu.
The presentation of Then There Were None and The Maori Merchant reflected a Pacific Islands approach to filmmaking that is important to Islanders but regarded as quaint in the modern world. For many Pacific Islanders, the process is just as important as the finished product. This cultural value is reflected not only in the making of the film itself, but also in its presentation. World premieres often open with chanting, speeches, the giving of flower leis, and sometimes dancing, drinks, and food. The finished product or film is therefore one of several items in the program, and the success or otherwise of a film screening is not dependent solely on a film’s aesthetic or technical qualities but on a host of other factors. Some of these include, but are not limited to, the following: is the right protocol being followed; is there harmony among participants and between hosts and guests; how do we acknowledge the contributions of our ancestors (living or dead) to the completion of our finished project; how do we show respect and humility toward our communities knowing that without their support and blessing, we are alone, like canoes set adrift in a stormy sea. For many Pacific Islands filmmakers whose work I value and respect, these considerations are always more important than how much money they can make at the box office. A very specific illustration might make this point clearly and efficiently.
In the summer of 2000, I took an international crew to Rotuma, my home of origin, to shoot a feature film loosely based on the early years of my life growing up on the island. Before a single shot was taken, the international crew had to be welcomed in the traditional Rotuman way that included a whole day of rituals, feasting, dancing, and speeches. Prior to this, I had to attend the council of chiefs to explain my project and seek their blessing, visit several groups around the island to drink kava and share food with the men and women, and relate to them the story of the film and seek their input and permission to proceed. A concern to ensure that the community remained happy and satisfied with the project continued throughout production, and is still an important guiding principle as we enter the final stages of post-production. This is more important for me than anything else. Ultimately, I am responsible and accountable to my community. The filmmaker is but a conduit through which the community tells a story about itself to its present and future generations and to the rest of the world.
The production of moving images for consumption at the international marketplace is fraught with challenges because the values that drive the mainstream film industry at the global level are at odds with filmmakers from tiny indigenous communities in the Pacific Ocean. In this sea of islands, the driving force is a fearless commitment to our own communities and empowerment of our people. The experiences of the brave filmmakers of Then There Were None and The Maori Merchant of Venice suggest that in spite of rejection, ridicule, or praise, Pacific Islanders must continue to be fearless as we tell our stories our way, to anyone who cares to listen. Like our voyaging ancestors, we’ll continue to venture out into the rough and open seas, navigating by the stars, the moon, and the ocean currents. Our hope is that sooner, rather than later, our canoes will encounter hospitable “islands” that will recognize the taonga, or treasures, we bring, gifts from the sea.
Note: This paper was written for and presented at a conference on globalization and cultural diversity held at the East-West Center, February 13-16, 2003.
by Vilsoni Hereniko
References
AFH, (2007). Elizabeth Lindsey. Retrieved January 28, 2007, from http://www.aloha-hawaii.com/hawaii/elizabeth+lindsey/
The Maori merchant of Venice media kit. (2007). Retrieved January 28, 2007, from http://homepages.ihug.co.nz/~hetaonga/merchant/the_production.html
Pacific Islanders in Communications (PIC). (2006). Web page for Then There Were None. Accessed January 28, 2007, at http://www.piccom.org/thentherewerenone/about.php
Shepherd, Gregory. (2002, November 3). “Masterworks” a tottering soapbox. The Honolulu Advertiser.
Wayne, Valerie. (2002). Shakespeare as double agent: Te Tangata Whai Rawa O Weniti, or The Maori Merchant of Venice. Paper presented at the conference Myths, terrorism and justice: Themes in Asia Pacific literature and film), Honolulu, HI, November 5-8.