Kotahi ano te kohao o te ngira, E kuhuna ai te miro ma te miro whero me te miro pango. 

As kuia Grandma Mataira (Grace Ahipene-Hoete) watches her son Waru Mataira (Rob Mokaraka) and grandsons Tai and Rangi Mataira (Joe Dekkers-Reihana and Puriri Kōria) prepare to leave for a war that is not their own, her son reminds her:  “‘There is but one eye of the needle, through which the white, red and black threads must pass.’ Isn’t that what he said, Ma?”

These are the words of the King Potatau Te Wherowhero spoken at his koroneihana in 1858, a whakatauki today that echoes continuously in the rich and sweeping narrative that is Witi Ihimaera’s All Our Sons.   

Over seventy minutes a series of vignettes trace the journey of the Mataira men: proud tāne who serve as Māori iwi of Mataira Mountain in the New Zealand Native Contingent for ‘king and country’. Always present, their wahine toa (Kali Kopae, Moana Ete, and Amanda Noblett) are courageous women whose sacrifice can never be said to be unequal to those of their men.

They constantly question, reflect and challenge their tāne as they are forced to recognise that “once we were thrown into prison for fighting against the Pākehā, now we will be imprisoned if we do not fight with him.” Far away from Aotearoa figures rise on the Gallipoli Peninsular: the battle of Sari Blair; limbs fly as grenades explode and the voices of men call out in te reo as they try to find their brothers in the night.

Yes, this is the story of the men who went to war but more importantly, Witi Ihimaera brings to us the tale of how we are forced to participate in war against each other – and our own humanity.

In this production, Ihimaera’s skills as a novelist to create layered textualities are given breadth and dimension under Nathaniel Lee’s unswerving direction. The script itself is in transition, flexing and swelling and will continue to develop. There is some chronological clarity (which is much needed) but part of the beauty of the script is that it is in fact non-linear, e tīwhana nei i te atamira, it curves across the stage.

There are still dramaturgical structural changes that need to be made, especially to distil key moments and to cradle that precious balance of the historical drama and the wairuatanga (spirituality). However, the process itself is unequivocally powerful, it invites audiences within a safe and sacred space that through moments, reflections and experiences, do justice to the kōrero tuku iho (history) of the tīpuna (ancestors) who fought for this country. 

The production value of this work is very high. Cast are extraordinarily versatile as a collective and offer deeply compelling performances. Grace Ahipene-Hoete as Grandma Mataira and Rob Mokaraka as her son in particular are powerful leads combining a rare mix of strength, humility and passion in their characters. Together the ten strong cast work fluidly and ably as a collective with a heartening display of strong male and female characters.

In addition, the various concentric layers that set designer Wai Mihinui develops by having the stage in the round allows multiple stories to be held both by the main characters but also by Wairua (Kereama Te Ua). As a performer Te Ua brings great strength, visibility and empowerment to the narrative and he is also responsible for the excellent kapa haka choreography in the production.

All credit to Lees, as director, for honouring the vision of this work’s rangatira (Ihimaera) and bringing to life a creative and cohesive production. The work speaks and sings not only through the text but through its nuanced soundscape (Maaka McGregor) including multi-faceted use of the poi, historically resonant costumes (Moana Davey) and a brilliant combination of lighting and AV effects (Jen Lal and Jordan Beresford) that encompass both the epic and the minutiae of the war.

Waiata, kapa haka and storytelling are the aesthetics of the production and the raranga (weaving) of these elements creates a visceral and evocative landscape that is potent experience for all gathered. Te reo Māori is a beautiful taonga for us as New Zealanders and as audiences it is a privilege to witness the poetic renderings of language thanks to the efforts of Ngāmoni Huata and Hōhepa Waitoa. Their knowledge and expertise offer an aurality that, even if not possible to fully comprehend, undeniably creates a deeply emotive connection.

Although not always included as part of the whakatauki mentioned earlier, King Potatau Te Wherowhero concluded his words on that fateful day with:  “A muri i a au kia mau ki te ture ki te whakapono ki te aroha. Hei aha te aha! hei aha te aha!” Hold fast to the law (lore), hold fast to faith, hold fast to love. Forsake all else!

Those are the tenets upon which Witi Ihimaera’s work rests.

The lore of the people, the faith in each other, the love that we have for those who have gone before us – those are the pillars upon which All Our Sons is built. And for that recognition of our fundamental humanity it is work that does indeed deserve a space in the canon of contemporary New Zealand theatre.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer

Like a number of other plays commemorating the 100^th Anniversary of Gallipoli and WWI this year, Witi Ihimaera’s All Our Sons, currently playing at Circa Theatre, takes a different perspective than the usual.

Even though the programme notes refer to the play being about “sharing the memories of all the young boys who fought and died in the First World War”,  it is also noted that the play focuses in particular on the Maori involvement in this war.

And in this Taki Rua and Circa Theatre production, under the direction of Nathaniel Lees, it does it in a remarkable and totally theatrical way. [More] 

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer

Drawn from the hard-to-find stories of the New Zealand Native Contingent which served at Gallipoli, All Our Sons distils the essence of a universal experience in a uniquely Māori way. In just 70 minutes this Nathaniel Lees-directed Taki Rua production immerses us in a visceral evocation of that terrible war, taking us into its heart and leaving us with plenty to ponder. This act of giving is also designed to receive more than the well-deserved standing ovation that greets its premiere at Circa Theatre.

In his programme note, playwright Witi Ihimaera reveals “it’s about bringing home the kawe mate” which the Te Aka Māori Dictionary defines as a “mourning ceremony at another marae subsequent to the tangihanga and burial – relatives of the deceased, especially someone of importance, visit as a group the marae of communities.” Next year, as well as touring to the major cities, the plan is to take All Our Sons to marae and town halls throughout the country, where the performance will set the stage for local communities to “honour their tūpuna, Māori and Pākehā, by bringing photos and recalling their personal memories.”

While this opportunity is not afforded Circa’s dignitary-sprinkled opening night audience, many of us bring a personal perspective to our engagement with the work. My maternal grandfather survived Passchendaele only to be shot by a sniper near Polygon Wood so my primary response to this year’s centenary commemorations has been anger and sadness at the way my mother was denied her father, and vice versa. One of his brothers died at Gallipoli, another was gassed at Messines while the one who had seemed to come through relatively unscathed ended his days in a military hospital haunted by unseen demons.

I should add I’m directly related on my mother’s side to a Colonel of the 58^th Regiment (active in the 1840s) and related by marriage of a second cousin to Witi Ihimaera. But rather than recuse myself from reviewing this I see my connections to the play from a Pākehā perspective to be relevant to its purpose, and Tamati Patuwai (in Wellington for this weekend’s Māori theatre hui) has agreed to review All Our Sons from his perspective when time permits. The dilemma of affiliations versus long term objectives are central to this play.

By embodying the dilemma and the anguish it generates in a character called Grandma Mataira, Ihimaera pays homage to Bruce Mason by enriching the whakapapa of The Pohutukawa Tree’s Aroha Mataira who, forty years on, will be under pressure to sell the last scrap of ancestral land at Te Parenga and join those who have already gone to an East Coast settlement.

In the wake of the land confiscations that provoked the New Zealand Wars just forty-odd years before the outbreak of WWI, Ihimaera’s fictional East Coast iwi only has Mataira Mountain, near Campbelltown, left to their name. Now the men are being asked to join the NZ Expeditionary Force to fight alongside the British against enemies they’re never known. Grandma Mataira (Grace Ahipene-Hoete) is vehemently opposed but her son, Waru (Rob Mokaraka), sees this as a way for Māori to achieve equality with Pākehā.

Eventually her grandsons Tai (Joe Dekkers-Reihana) and Rangi (Puriri Kōria) will join up too, when conscription obliges them to – while those who refuse are thrown into prison. Their childhood war-play as they duck and dive in the aisles that bisect the three banks of seating that face the triangular performance space – “pow pow” : “pow pow” – neatly encapsulates the innocence they are soon to lose.  

The central soldier relationship is between Waru and his best mate Alec Campbell (Errol Anderson) whose dad is Mayor of Campbelltown. Inevitably Alec is given a senior rank and for his sins he falls victim to survivor guilt. When he returns to the East Coast it is the spirit of Waru who tells him he must go to “Ma” on the marae to return the spirits of the dead to where they were born: a profoundly moving moment.  

Speaking of spirits, a character called Wairua (Kereama Te Ua) is ever-present. Adorned in red and blue moko, he postures, dances, challenges and so often delights in the practice of war that I expect him to be called Tū-mata-uenga, auta of war (and humans). As someone commented after the show, a warrior race is always looking for the next fight, and this is the spirit he embodies.

In counterpoint Grandma Mataira is also ever-present, connecting the boys to their whenua and mauri. 

The other Mataira women – Arihia (Kali Kopi) and Meri (Amanda Noblett) – remain to keep the whanau farm going. Moana Ete plays the majestic Erin Campbell, wife of the mayor. Taungaroa Emile makes brief bowler-hatted appearances as Peter Buck. Headwear is also judiciously used to indicate non-Māori characters, including those ever-desirable French women. White cloth and sticks are employed to manifest Ottomans and the transport of supplies – the sticks, and poi, being used at times to replicate gunfire.

The named characters, their relationships and stories, surface intermittently from the ebb and flow of karanga, waiata, mau rakāu and other kapa haka elements through which the whole ensemble dynamically evoke dimensions of the story that bypass our intellects and go straight to the heart, solar plexus and gut. No realistic depiction of the battle of Sari Bair – which preceded Chunuk Bair and should share equal space in our collective consciousness – could improve in the impact achieved by this mode of performance.

Thus Ihimaera and Lees eschew a dialogue-driven, linear dramaturgy in favour of a structure that swirls like a moko around its themes, moving forward and back in time, exploring objective and subjective realities, and defining its presence in both the positive and the negative. It is similar to opera, but less restricted by convention, in its ability to articulate the almost indefinable dimensions of human experience. 

Traditional wartime songs, beautifully sung both in Māori and English, enhance the play and the solo voices of Kali Kopae and Moana Ete deserve special mention.

Wai Mihinui’s triangular in-the-round setting features an illuminated shoreline (referencing both Tologa Bay and Anzac Cove perhaps?) and piped rectangular archways wherein literal smoke screens capture projected images from very old newsreels followed by a sobering drift of countless white crosses (AV design by Jordan Beresford).

Maaka McGregor’s sound design blends seamlessly with the live sound elements and Moana Davey’s costume designs are hugely effective in their simplicity.

This play is called All OUR Sons because, as Ihimaera notes, “The New Zealand story is also the Canadian story, the Indian story, the Australian story. The Māori story … is also the native Canadian, Niuean, Aboriginal and kanak story – the story of every indigenous people who went to war – and we are telling it, not just for ourselves, but for them too.”

This production heralds an exceptional style of theatre in its making, its reason for being and its mode of presentation. The initial season is very brief – it ends next Saturday – so don’t delay if you’re in a position to book. When it goes on tour, I hope to catch it again.  

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