Coastal
Maori in Whangara, New Zealand, claim a line of descent from Paikea,
the mythical first man, whose canoe overturned near the shore. His
cries for help were answered by a whale, who carried him to shore,
forever connecting the destinies of whale and tribe. Tribal leaders
for millennium have been the eldest sons of eldest sons, a line
of direct patriarchal descent from Paikea himself that is rudely
stopped in the opening scenes of Whale Rider. Heir apparent
Porourangi (Cliff Curtis) loses his wife in childbirth, along with
their newborn male son. The surviving twin is an unwelcome girl.
"She's
of no use to me," says her grandfather Koro (Rawiri Paratene), the
tribal elder. But his wife, Nanny Flowers, played by the radiant
Vicky Haughton, sees in Pai simply a child who needs love, beyond
the burdens of tribal destiny. Rather than use such melodramatic
events as an early set piece, director Niki Caro takes the high
road and handles the deaths quickly and suggestively, a storyteller
getting the necessary background information out of the way so that
the real story can begin. And the real story here belongs to Pai,
played by the remarkable eleven-year-old Keisha Castle-Hughes in
her debut performance, as the unwelcome girl-child. Caro's handling
here sets the tone for the rest of the film, a delicate balance
of realism and fable, that never veers off into the maudlin mysticism
or political didacticism that you fear it might.
Koro
and Granny Flowers are left to raise Pai after her father, unable
to bear his grief or expectations of his father, flees to Europe.
But thanks to the subtlety of the script and the stoic dignity of
the performances, this is a story without villains. Koro adores
the girl despite himself. But he's simply incapable of seeing her
as the embodiment of the line of Paikei, so he searches for the
destined leader amongst the baffled pre-teen boys of the tribe.
Like millennium of daughters and granddaughters before her, Pai
both defies Koro, and tries everything she can to win him. Pai clearly
has the stuff of leaders: she's powerfully intelligent and emotionally
strong, with all the cunning and courage that Koro seeks to drum
into the village boys, who invariably fail to meet his other-worldly
expectations. What makes Whale Rider so effecting is that
Pai's story is told entirely without didacticism. We don't want
Pai to succeed because she ought to, because we want to swipe a
mark for our team on some cosmic chalkboard, we simply watch Pai
fall into her destiny just by virtue of being who she is.
Caro
and cinematographer Leon Narbey domesticate the wild beauty of the
New Zealand coast rather than exoticize it. This is not the pristine,
otherworldly New Zealand of the Lord of the Rings, with ents striding
across the horizon, but simply home, a place where primal power
is simply part of life, not a vacation from it. The film was shot
entirely on location in the Maori village of Whangara, where writer
Witi Ihimaera, on whose novel the script was based, was born and
raised. Local Maoris round out the supporting cast.
Whale
Rider succeeds precisely because the self-consciousness we've
come to expect from such material -- a white filmmaker telling a
story of an indigenous people in crisis, a story of adolescent female
empowerment -- is entirely absent. There's none of that excessive
cinematic punctuation, the sweeping music or close-ups of determined
faces used to underline the obvious, that we're so used to in Hollywood
films.
Whale
Rider isn't entirely unpredictable, but only in the sort of
ways you want it to be, in the same way that your longing for Cinderella's
comeuppance is ultimately satisfied. How satisfying it is to remember
that it's not always the responsibility of stories to tell us how
things are, but to ask questions about how things might be.
--
Annie Reid
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Copyright Web del Sol, 2003
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