Erin Harrington reviews Kouka Hone’s Ngā Rorirori, performed on tour by Tawata Productions at the Aurora Center on Friday, October 4th.
Kouka Hone’s new work, Ngā Rorirori (or The Fools), is a truly original performance piece that combines dance and theater, depicting a family’s conflict over whenua with a comedic touch. Choreographed by Kouka and Stella Dalla, with stunning original music by Marile Branning-Kouka and Leon Bell, the production is rooted in protest and politics as well as farcical comedic traditions. It’s a wild ride.
We are in a wharekai on a rural marae. Mark McIntyre’s cleverly designed panel set sees the sun moving across the hills in the background. Her brother Pillow Loliloli (Manuel Solomon) returns home after serving time in prison for (again) stealing from his people. His sister Manuela (Micah Kiel) is an activist fighting house fires. They discovered that, as the last two members of the Hapu, they were the owners of Rohe. And it’s a big day. The king’s representative, Lipeka A. Goldsmithworthy (Stella Dara), arrives with official papers, but especially the appearance of Manuela’s secret lover Lele (Sefa Tunupopo), and the film producer Stacey (Nomna Amarbat). existence, and Pillow’s own stupidity. Greedy Pillow is there for payday and Manuela is there for whānau. Interrogates the relationship between family relationships, capitalism, colonization, and ancestral rights with a comedic touch.
The innovation of Ngā Rorirori is that the five live performers are dancers who lip-sync to pre-recorded dialogue, as if they were bringing a radio play to life. According to people with insider knowledge, the song is somewhat inspired by viral TikTok dance trends and overdubs. That’s understandable, and it’s a charming conceit to adorn the show. It takes a little time to get used to, but it’s effective, especially since it allows the performer to perform much more physically than if they were talking. The symbiosis between each duo is fascinating. I especially like how Solomon, who plays the goofy con artist Pillow, borrows Regan Taylor’s sometimes pompous, sometimes pleading vocal performance, pulls her pigtails, and makes her face look like a sad clown. They are distorting it and acting out the script literally.
The moves and blocks are ridiculous and exaggerated. The solo and group choreography is stunning, combining elements of contemporary dance, ballet, hip-hop, clowning and the Maori movement. The characterization borrows from the conventions of the commedia dell’arte. The performers have the cheerful demeanor and slightly manic energy of children’s entertainers, enhanced by soft denim and iridescent striped and checked costumes (costumes by Sopheak Sen) .
Another surprise is that conversations between Te Reo Māori and Pākehā are frequently interrupted by the language of the choreographic script: “5, 6, 7, 8, ball change, fayette, jete.” This is highlighted in subtitles, as is Reo Māori. displayed on the screen above the set. The screen itself (credited as “Missy Surtitle”) speaks back at times, being both guide and frustrated observer. The pre-recorded voice in the subtitles is that of Micah Keel (voiced by Rongopai Tickell), who performs live as Manuela, and responds slightly to her question as to whether the voice from the screen is her tupuna. Offer a wink.
All of this contributes to the production’s interest in farce: slamming doors, muffling noises, mistaken identity, chase scenes, physical comedy, misunderstandings, and cartoonish escalating absurdity. I sit there thinking about protocols, kawa and tikanga, and the relationship between words and actions, a lot of repetition, relationships, and translations. Additionally, there is the embodied relationship between performers, sound, choreography and direction, and the way the physical space tells a story. The language of governance conflicts with the language of performance, love, and people. We are left with the absurdity, the impossibility of negotiating a set of possibly contradictory rules. You must choose which rules are most important.
The comedic scenes and dance sequences that form the core of the show are also interrupted by shifts and shifts into more lyrical and serious modes. These movement sequences act as narrative transitions and breaks, concluding the piece. Wearing gray hoodies, the more naturalistic performers protest, push through headwinds, return to the marae, stare at the stars, and look to the future. The current coalition government’s anti-Māori and anti-tiriti policies are powerfully quoted in the opening passage, accompanied by protests and hikoi chants: “Toitu te tiriti, toitu te whenua, toitu te reo” be done. Throughout, the work touches on other struggles against settler colonialism in Palestine, New Caledonia, and Australia. Like the best comedy, all of these jokes are pretty serious.
There is an abrupt change in tone at the end as the show reconciles and heads towards a happy ending. What the brothers’ story has to do to resolve is at odds with any playfulness with form or tone. It’s also frustratingly sudden and the changes in energy and stakes are jarring. A powerful final image, despite its silliness and satirical provocation, is of tangata whenua and tangata tiriti united in purpose under the banner of Tino Rangatiratanga, and the late Kiingi Tuheitia Putau. He made his final dedication to Te Werohero VII. After production, before moving to Kai’s dressing room, Hohepa Waitoa of Mahimahi Productions (and the show’s Kaiwaka Maori) paid a touching tribute to Kouka Productions and Tawata Productions, which are celebrating their 20th anniversary. It’s a big accomplishment.
Gar Loli Loli will throw a lot at you. Are all these many diverse theatrical elements ultimately coherent, both narratively and dramaturgically? Not always. Internet Talk: I have a few questions. There may also be others who are far more knowledgeable about the game than I (Pākehā) and have more nuanced ideas about the effectiveness and consequences of the show. Please look for it.
Nevertheless, the show is dynamic, entertaining, extremely well-performed, and thought-provoking. Days later, I’m still turning it over in my head. It’s well designed and doesn’t have the lighthearted feel that touring productions tend to have. And most importantly, it’s a lot of fun. It’s also a rare pleasure to see something suitably original, something surprising that makes you rethink some of the parameters of performance, genre, and audience experience.
In a play about being Māori, past, present and future, the last word may go to the rangatahi Māori, the niece of a friend. Her verdict was “very disgusting.”
Ngā Rorirori is currently on tour. Click here for more information.
