Set in 1868 during the New Zealand Land Wars, the Māori outfit of Company Kamupene (composed of five not so elite, special or unified men) was formed to bring balance between the Crown and Māori. Hand-picked by a mysterious and anonymous contractor, the team is led by Captain Māori who is “half caste, but very Māori”.

Under his leadership are Sergeant Anahera (the antithesis of diplomacy), “needle in the haystack” sniper Corporal Kikorangi, conflicted Doctor Hōpe and the gentle, optimistic Maiti who isn’t sure how he got there. These secret soldiers want to “change the face of New Zealand for New Zealand’s future face”. [More]

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“Bang bang – you shot me down…”

Reckon Sonny and Cher never expected their hit song to open a satirical solo show set during the New Zealand Land Wars.  

If you’re dumb enough to read the comments on the internet about teaching the history of New Zealand (Colonisation and Land Wars included) in our schools, you’ll get a picture of a nation with it’s knickers in a hot scratchy twist – well some of us anyway: Karl du Fresne, Don Brash, Billy Te Kahika… te mea, te mea, te mea…  

On a mission from Te Atua comes Jamie McCaskill with this hilarious one-man comedy about an ‘elite special forces group’ whose task is to intervene between Colonising forces and Māori defenders to prevent the historic (and very serious) battle of Moturoa.  

Titokowaru, having trounced McDonnell and killed Gustavus Von Tempsky at Te Ngutu o Te Manu, is now preparing to face George Whitmore at Moturoa near Waverley. 

Captain Māori with his men, Doctor Hōpe (he’s tapu), Sergeant Anahera (not at all angelic), Corporal Kikorangi (the sharpshooting blues rapper) – all played by McCaskill btw – are between the Colonials and the fierce Māori, hoping to negotiate a peace “for the future of future New Zealand”. Only problem is they’re bloody useless at negotiating anything! Honestly, they climb to the top of their maunga tapu – Tongariro – only to discover they’re on top of Ruapehu. Talk about useless!

Naturally, their entire special mission goes utterly pear-shaped. Not only do they fail to negotiate a peace, they actually aggravate the situation.

Enough with the plot. The full house at BATS looks like an advertising company auditioned representatives of every cultural affiliation in Aotearoa, and from the instant McCaskill appears from the shadows, the chuckles begin. Seconds later there are belly laughs, then wails of delight at the outrageous irreverence of this nutcase construct.

There’s nothing slipshod about McCaskill’s slapstick either. This is a pinpoint accurate performance from a consummate performer. He knows how to engage us. He knows that we’ll laugh even when we think we shouldn’t be laughing – so he’s both complicit and finger-wagging.

He flits from one persona to another like a Piwaiwaka chasing whiteflies. Each of his characters is markedly different and every fibre of his body literally becomes that other person in front of you. He’s part dancer, a harlequin, a toa too. His Titokowaru is performed with a hand covering one eye (for those of you who don’t know why, read some history) – but he swaps eyes to keep his downstage eye on us! The audience gets the joke.

Everyone loves his Sergeant Anahera, the flash-point-violent ‘Once Were Warriors’ buffoon who screws up the peace negotiation between Captain Māori and George (dysentery) Whitmore. Sheesh! In that scene alone, McCaskill is three different people simutaneously.

It’s exhaustingly funny, clever and just plain stupid.

Everyone feels for his Doctor Hōpe, the hōpeless tohunga who loses his wife to Titokowaru’s pet Pākehā, his ‘tapu’ when a sack of potatoes is emptied on his head, and his life too… And he’s supposed to be the voice of reason, the scientist, the knowledgeable one.

Everyone falls in love with his Corporal Kikorangi, the ‘kind of blue’ jazz philosopher who is also the marksman of Kamupene. His spontaneous little raps (‘aggressive poetry’) are as poignant as they are hilarious. 

As the centre of the storytelling, both as narrator and as the feckless Captain Māori, McCaskill keeps the whole show bubbling. There’s barely a wasted second.

Skimming over the bubbles of laughter though, there’s no doubt that McCaskill has a message and a point of view. We’re not a nation if we don’t know our history. It may be confusing, atrocious, even unbelievably immoral – but it’s who we are.

That he’s chosen – rather bravely – to tackle this subject with his Chaplinesque comedic talents is brilliant. It opens the doors with laughter. Never a truer word than said in jest ne? 

Go see this play. Book now or you won’t get in. I’ll personally pay for seats for Karl du Fresne, Don Brash and Billy te Kahika. Let’s start a petition for Jamie to tour this show to Secondary Schools throughout the motu. 

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer