This mercurial motor-mouth’s lecture kills. In a good way I mean, as in slays them in the aisles.  From his entrance and mihi, the traditional Māori form of introduction which Radar claims is both culturally significant ‘and an excellent source of funding’, Te Radar has his capacity crowd engaged, intrigued, and roaring with laughter. 

Being, as he explains, from Ngati Pakeha and not Ngai Tahu (South island Māori), Radar’s interest in the history of Te Wai Pounamu, or Te Waka a Maui, or the South Island, would appear to be based on the academic curiosity of a post-colonial local.  Therefore, with no agenda to sell any one side of the turbulent tale, he has free rein to find the humour wherever he does, no matter at whose expense.  Apart from the odd tangental dig at various current politicians and, inevitably, the police, most people getting a roasting are long since passed on. 

Te Radar is active in his deconstruction of historical reports, from examining the psychology of the first Polynesian migrants in their waka upon the vast ocean, to his selected readings of one Thomas Brunner, a determined man who spent over 500 days searching for a prophesied new Utopia in the jungle of the upper South Island. 

Besides the mercurial ability to string together convoluted stories in a manically paced yet comprehensible stream of words, much of Te Radar’s endearing charm lies in his own relaying of other people’s words so that we easily relate, both in affirmation of the Nga Pepeha a nga Tipuna (The Sayings of the Ancestors) which glue the whole, as well as appreciating the irony of more despicable comments, as in the chap who asserted that the Treaty of Waitangi was not to be regarded as anything more than "a praiseworthy device for amusing and pacifying savages for the moment."

Te Radar’s delivery is not particularly slick or polished but what he has to say is so astute and clever – dare I say genius? (yeah, why not – genius!) – that any discomfort caused by his squeaky voice on the ears is effectively neutralised.  As my brother Simon commented, "I learned some stuff I didn’t know as I laughed my arse off."  

Hitori makes excellent use of imagery projected on the back screen by an uncredited technician.  Key pictures and portraits plus examples and translations of the Pepeha are all framed inside the distinctive shape of the Te Wai Pounamu itself.  Ultimately the one drawback is that, despite the speed of his delivery, Te Radar is forced to cut some material out to our disappointment.  He could easily have filled another half hour.

Te Radar is an almost secret treasure in these parts, as if only those really paying attention will notice him. In fact he seemed surprised to see people he doesn’t know in the audience.  His live shows are often extremely limited seasons (Hitori, one show only, seemingly practical in the swarming nebulae of the comedy festival’s 70-plus shows and events – and that’s just Auckland) or else in small/tiny venues such as the time he played in a caravan in Aotea Square, seating capacity eleven.

I’ve met people who just don’t get Radar at all, for their own reasons.  You may have seen his television work (not his best) or read the column he used to write in Fridays’ Herald which would typically be insightful and witty, provoking thought on more than one level with skilled verbosity.  Even so I contend that nothing compares to Te Radar on a good night, in his stride, on a good wicket, in your face.

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