by NEVIL GIBSON
The ability of good films to immerse audiences in completely different cultural experiences was one of the reasons for the rapid growth of so-called art films after World War II.
Suddenly, a swathe of films, starting in Europe and then from Japan, were readily embraced by cinemagoers previously offered only monocultural English-language productions from America and Britain.
These foreign films influenced a generation or two of film-makers, who in turn applied the same techniques to stories about their own cultures.
Samoan-born writer-director Tusi Tamasese quotes film-makers such as Japan’s Akiro Kurosawa and Russia’s Andrei Tarkovsky as his inspiration, as well as some more recent ones.
In choosing a story for the first major feature to be made in the Samoan language, Tamasese has adopted a detached style that is close to the Japanese films of the 1960s.
He says this is partly because Samoan customs dictate it. For example, the traditional houses lack furniture, while face-to-face conversations are a no-no.
Consequently, key characters are often found sitting on the floor or the ground and it is disrespectful to walk in front of them.
Other such customs abound in The Orator-O le Tulafale (Transmission-NZ Film Commission), a production of considerable subtlety and depth that is enhanced by its slow pace.
The storyline centres on the dignified, but physically small Saili (Fa’afiaula Sagote), who aspires to chiefly status to protect his land and family inheritance. He has sheltered the banished Vaaiga (Tausili Pushparaj) and her daughter (Salamasina Mataia) for many years, but the marriage is not enough to overcome their outsider status.
Saili’s attempts to assert his rights result in physical and emotional humiliation. This reaches a climax when Vaaiga suddenly dies, her body is taken back by the family that had disowned her and Saili is left with a rebellious teenager.
He is forced to find new strength and come to terms with tribal rituals that involve acts of atonement and tribute as well as asserting innate authority through oratory.
The drama is played out against a verdant landscape with hills permanently ringed in mist, interspersed with heavy rain (the impressive photography is by the master cameraman Leon Narbey). The lighting is wholly natural and the overall look is complemented by Tim Prebble’s soundtrack that, while occasionally melodramatic, makes full use of Samoan sounds and instruments.
Only the occasional appearance of a motor vehicle reminds you that outside the village is another more modern way of life.
Surprisingly, only one of the leads, Pushparaj, has had acting experience; she is a graduate of Toi Whakakaari, the NZ Drama School, in Wellington.
Rating, TBA; 110 minutes.