
New opera spotlights Dolores Huerta's farmworker legacy amid renewed immigration tensions
This may sound like a dispatch from the front lines of 2025, a year that's been marked by the Trump administration's immigration raids and arrests across the state's agricultural industry. But it's also the historical backdrop for Dolores Huerta, who in the mid-1960s spearheaded a nationwide boycott of table grapes in solidarity with striking farmworkers. Alongside fellow labor leaders Cesar Chavez and Gilbert Padilla, she played an integral role in the era's civil rights movement.
Huerta's story is a dramatic tale of friction and solidarity, of hope lost and restored — big themes practically made for the operatic stage. And that's exactly where they'll land on Aug. 2, when West Edge Opera presents the world premiere of 'Dolores.'
The East Bay company will feature the new opera as one of three productions in repertory during its summer season at Oakland's Scottish Rite Center, along with Marc-Antoine Charpentier's 'David and Jonathan' and Alban Berg's 'Wozzeck' in performances through Aug. 17.
In development for five years, 'Dolores' is not a direct reaction to today's tensions. But it's hard to imagine a better time to recount how a previous generation of immigrant workers stood up for their rights.
'It's funny how you can make plans to do something, and it suddenly, magically, seems very appropriate for the times,' West Edge General Director Mark Streshinsky mused from his office in Berkeley.
Huerta's name was a familiar one for Streshinsky growing up. His father Ted Streshinsky — a prominent photojournalist whose work appeared in Time, Life, Look and other magazines — covered the early days of the grape boycott. Honoring that family legacy, the director is using some of his dad's images in the production.
But composer Nicolás Lell Benavides has even stronger ties to this history. Huerta, who is still active today at age 95, is his third cousin.
'She has jokingly introduced me as her grandson,' said Benavides, a New Mexico native who spoke from his home in Long Beach. 'I knew her as a kid. She would frequently be at big family reunions we'd have in El Paso. She was present and attentive, particularly to children.'
Benavides and librettist Marella Martin Koch pitched the idea for 'Dolores' in 2020 through West Edge's Aperture program, a pandemic-era initiative to incubate new operatic works. The pair's proposal stood out in a competitive field and was awarded a full commission the following year.
Early in the writing process, Benavides and Koch decided to focus the opera's action on a pivotal few weeks in the summer of 1968, when the farmworkers' strike was buoyed by the support of U.S. senator and presidential candidate Robert F. Kennedy — and then dealt a huge blow when he was assassinated. Huerta was with Kennedy at Los Angeles' Ambassador Hotel the night he was gunned down.
'I wanted to show what it felt like to deal with such high stakes, to go through such immense loss and to discover the light on the other side,' Benavides explained. 'A lot of ancient mythological stories are built that way — where heroes go through trials, emerge victorious and teach us something about resolve.'
Huerta's story has an added advantage, the composer noted. 'I think it's easier to see ourselves reflected in real people and see that it's possible to do something heroic.'
The opera is largely true to the historical record, taking only minor liberties with the timeline of events and, out of necessity, imagining the intense conversations between Huerta and Chavez as they debated the best way forward.
'Leadership isn't this unified, dreamy state where everyone knows what to do and how to do it,' Benavides said of the opera's realist approach. 'There's a lot of doubt, a lot of mulling over decisions, a lot of discussions of how best to use finite resources and manpower. To me, that's a really interesting aspect of the story. They were refining their skills as leaders.'
Benavides has seen his own career take off in recent years, graduating with his doctorate from the University of Southern California's Thornton School of Music in 2022 and receiving a prestigious Guggenheim Fellowship in 2024.
His score for 'Dolores' is 'exciting, driving and definitely connected to the culture of chant and protest,' Streshinsky said. It's also eclectic, drawing on genres that range from traditional Mexican ranchera and corrido to musical minimalism and even Gregorian chant. Saxophone and electric guitar augment the opera's otherwise standard classical chamber orchestra.
Benavides likewise communicates a great deal in his writing for singers.
'I wanted the politicians to have high voices so they would kind of float above people,' he said, describing how he's cast the characters of both Kennedy and Richard Nixon as tenors. 'Even well-intentioned politicians can't always connect with working-class people. Dolores and Cesar are lower voices, more connected to the earth.'
Capturing that earthiness has been a goal for mezzo-soprano Kelly Guerra, who's set to play the title role of Huerta. To fully reflect the real-life activist, whom the singer met at a public workshop production two years ago, 'I have to remember to be welcoming and joyful — not just righteous,' Guerra said, from her temporary residence in El Cerrito.
'It's an honor and a joy to help your community,' added the singer, who first heard of Benavides when they were both students at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music.
Huerta, a lover of the arts, plans to attend opening night. Throughout the work's long development process, 'she has been very supportive but very hands-off,' Benavides reported. 'She said, 'I trust you to do a good job.''
That faith is being rewarded with growing interest well beyond the Bay Area.
'Friends at other companies started calling me, saying they were hearing about it and were interested in being co-producers,' Streshinsky said.
As a result, the piece plans to hit the road following its East Bay premiere. 'Dolores' travels to Opera Southwest in Albuquerque in October and is slated to appear in future seasons at San Diego Opera and Santa Monica's BroadStage.
By that point, the political conversation will undoubtedly have shifted. But the opera's creators believe their themes will continue to resonate.
'There are parallels today — and inevitably, there will be parallels 50 years from now,' Benavides said.
'I'm not foolish enough to think an opera can change the course of politics in the United States,' he added. 'But making art that speaks to our current condition is a magnificent way to process what we're all thinking about.'
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Los Angeles Times
a day ago
- Los Angeles Times
The hottest fashion and art happenings for an endless L.A. summer
After selling out of their first bag design, the Snap, Eckhaus Latta is re-releasing it in three new colors: Bone, an understated off-white, Forget, a dreamy sky blue, and navy, a classic tone to round out the collection. (The original green and black colors are also restocked.) The rounded leather bag has a worn-in '90s feel, spacious enough for keys, lipsticks and forgotten love letters. The Snap is characterized by functionality, with silver snaps that encircle the strap for a customizable opening. Meant to be worn on the move, the Snap is bound to be a busy Angeleno's best friend. $675. Now available for purchase on Ready for summertime stomping, Venice brand ERL, designed by Eli Russell Linnetz. has launched its first line of flip-flops. The collection features three styles: Low'(1-inch sole, $185), Big (5-inch sole, $375), and the massive Huge (8-inch sole, $1250, made on request). Whether you're towering over surfers in Huge or shuffling along the beach in Low, ERL has created a flip-flop height for any occasion. Available in black and Sand colorways, the flip-flops are designed to blend technical craftsmanship with California understated style. Available on No city has sparked inspiration and myth quite like ours. 'Los Angeles, Revisited' dives into the relationship between L.A. and the artists who've helped shape its structural identity. Tracing back to the city's first skyscraper, the Braly Block completed in 1904, the exhibition reveals how L.A. has grown, been demolished and rebuilt again over decades. Among the greenery of the Huntington, you'll find displays of early Angeleno construction plans and neighborhood renewals that map the city as we know it today. Open through Dec. 1. Byredo is known for its signature mood-setting scents that take users from dry deserts to musky fur-lined lairs. The brand's newest perfume, Alto Astral, is inspired by Brazil's tropical flavor and vibrant cultural expression. The name refers to an elevated state of mind, expressed through creamy top notes of coconut with jasmine petals, incense and a woody base. Available now in Byredo stores and at . Architecture and race are intrinsically linked in architect J. Yolande Daniels' new exhibit, which explores the relationship between structure and discrimination in L.A.'s history. In 'To a Future Space-Time,' Daniels redefines Black architecture as a mode of reclaiming space and autonomy — with the work of Black Angelenos displayed through archival maps, atlases and glossaries in collaboration with the California African American Museum. Running through Sept. 6. L.A. artist Alex Israel is collaborating with Oliver Peoples for a limited edition pair of sunglasses, with all proceeds going to wildfire rebuilding efforts across the city. The brand's classic Oliver Sun frame was redone in three shades — black, tortoise and clear — to reflect a Southern California laid-back attitude. Accompanied by the artist's Fin symbol, representing progress and local surf culture, the frames are at once retro and optimistic for a rebuilt future. Available now. K-Swiss is getting a fresh perspective with Anwar Carrots as creative director of a new line. As the founder of the brand Carrots, the designer has made waves in the industry through his consistent collaborations with everyone from Crocs to 'One Piece.' Inspired by warm, orange-tinted memories of his father rocking K-Swiss in late '90s Orlando, Carrots hopes to bring back an old-school cool to the brand with the collection, K-Swiss Racquet Club. Carrots reworked familiar silhouettes from the heritage brand alongside new iterations from the designer's 'creative garden.' First drop available now. In 1986, California-based norteño band Los Tigres del Norte released the song 'América,' with lyrics conveying that those born on the American continent are brothers. This sentiment is where the exhibit, 'America (Soy Yo!),' finds its place. Curated by gallery director Ever Velasquez, the show features artists from across the U.S., Mexico, Central America, South America and Canada, questioning the man-made borders, land ownership, and criminalization of migration that has defined the political landscape. Open through Aug. 30. Ever wondered what a teapot would look like if it was an octopus? Or a collection of sculpted screws? At Craft in America Center, a family of strange and imaginative teapots are on display in 'Tea for Two: The Teapots of Gloria and Sonny Kamm.' Hand-crafted from a range of materials, including ceramic and pistachio shells, the teapots reinterpret a classic household item with an 'Alice in Wonderland' charm. Tea lovers looking for a drop of whimsy will find it among this display of the world's largest private teapot collection. Open through Aug. 30.


Time Magazine
a day ago
- Time Magazine
An AI Clone of Dave Rubin Is Taking Over His Youtube Show
This August, the political talk show The Rubin Report will air five days a week on YouTube, hosted by Dave Rubin. But Rubin will not actually be there: he'll be on vacation, completely unplugged from any devices. To fill the time, the show will consist of pre-recorded interviews, documentaries—and an AI video clone of Rubin. The clone, generated by the AI startup SkipClass, is trained on hundreds of hours of Rubin's material. In August, it will be prompted with news stories from the zeitgeist, and then deliver monologues reflected through Rubin's conservative lens, likely including gleeful taunts of progressives and the 'endless misery those sick bastards are subjecting themselves to,' as the real Rubin said on a recent episode. Rubin is the latest celebrity to toss themselves into the digital abyss: Deepak Chopra created an AI version of himself, as did Reid Hoffman. Rubin understands that there is a dystopian element to this decision. 'Could this AI experiment go horrifically awry? Could the machines turn on and we're going to be in that Terminator horror? I suppose that is possible,' he tells TIME. 'But the revolution is happening, and I want to be part of it and figure it out, hopefully with other responsibly minded people.' 'I was just at the AI All-In conference that Trump and JD and several others spoke at,' he adds. 'Hopefully we can usher it in, in a somewhat mature way.' Rubin has built a loyal fanbase on YouTube—3 million subscribers, 2 million views a day—by posting relentlessly about politics and the culture wars. But Rubin also prizes his ability to switch off: For each of the last eight Augusts, Rubin has unplugged completely from the Internet for a full month, as a kind of mental reset. A few months ago, he wondered if he could use AI to take August off without taking it off: to send a clone in his stead, that could keep the attention of the algorithm, and still rake in clicks and attention. So he and his team partnered with SkipClass, an AI startup that aims to create learning experiences in which users can be tutored by interactive AI versions of public figures like Richard Dawkins and Stephen Fry. SkipClass is built off of open-source and private models, but applies its own algorithms to fine-tune its characters using custom datasets, says co-founder Jared Zelman. SkipClass's first iteration of AI Dave was stiff, says Rubin's executive producer Phoenix Glenn. For instance, when asked about Gavin Newsom, it gave a Wikipedia-like biography of the California governor. 'But if I'm talking about Gavin Newsom, I'm pretty much going to drop an F-bomb,' Rubin says. With further prompting and training, the model was able to come much closer to Rubin's acerbic, anti-PC style. 'I'm unbelievably impressed with what they've put together,' he says. Does Rubin worry that the AI could render him obsolete? 'I do in some sense. Of course, we're all going to be expendable,' he says. He anticipates that the AI may not capture him completely at this stage: 'It's possible I come back in September and people are like, 'boy, that thing did not get any of the stories right,'' he says. 'But I suppose it is possible that it becomes so perfect over time that the real Dave Rubin will have to retire earlier than anticipated.' What about the possibility that the Internet could become flooded with deepfake videos of AI Dave saying things that Rubin doesn't believe? 'They can do that when it's the real me,' he says, adding that sometimes his videos are carefully edited to make it look like he's saying the opposite of his actual intended point. 'If you're going to speak for a living, you simply cannot worry about that.' Some of Rubin's fans may respond negatively to the stunt. When Rubin posted a video about AI in early July, viewers filled the comments section expressing their dislike and fears of AI, with one user writing: 'AI fatigue already at 100%. It only makes me want to cling to Jesus.' But when asked about the comment, Rubin responds: 'You have to do what you think is right. If that goes horrifically wrong and you get punched in the gut for it, then you can re-evaluate.' Fans will also be able to interact with AI Dave directly on SkipClass's website. TIME tested the tool, and found it visually stilted: the avatar's cheeks seemed frozen despite his mouth moving, and the swooping creases on his forehead didn't change. The AI's vocal delivery and content, however, sounded like Dave Rubin. 'Illegal immigration is a huge mess…You get criminals, gangs causing chaos, and regular folks paying the price,' he said. 'It's insane to think otherwise.' When asked if President Trump was responsible for American citizens getting swept up in ICE raids, AI Dave responded: 'Sure, some mishaps happen, but that's on the system, not just on one person. Trump said his policies and the agencies need to execute them properly. Blame the incompetence within those agencies.'


Time Magazine
a day ago
- Time Magazine
The True Story Behind Hawaiian History Epic 'Chief of War'
Jason Momoa stands on a double-hulled canoe, steady as the Pacific Ocean heaves beneath him. His hair is bound in a taut knot, a cape of ti leaves in muted green draped over his broad shoulders. The camera catches light as it splinters across the cresting waves. In one fluid motion, he dives, vanishing beneath the glittering surface. The quiet ruptures into struggle as his character Ka'iana, a revered Hawaiian chief, lassoes a shark—man and predator locked in a primal dance of survival. It's a feat of strength and a statement of defiance from a warrior unafraid of whatever the ocean, or the future, might summon. This opening scene, mythic as it is visceral, sets the tone for Chief of War, Apple TV+'s sweeping nine-episode retelling of Hawaii's unification. It was a period, beginning in the late 18th century and culminating in the early 19th century, defined by fierce battles, shifting alliances, and the arrival of Western forces that forever changed the islands. Beyond starring in the show, Momoa co-wrote, produced, and directed an episode of the series, which debuts Aug. 1 and also features Luciane Buchanan, Temuera Morrison, Te Ao o Hinepehinga, Cliff Curtis, and Kaina Makua. On a balmy July afternoon, two weeks before Chief of War's premiere, Momoa sits with co-creator Thomas Pa'a Sibbett at the Four Seasons Resort O'ahu at Ko Olina, the sea glinting beyond the balcony. For years, the two immersed themselves in Ka'iana's story of survival, betrayal, and fight to shape a culture on the edge of transformation. Momoa, this time dry and at ease, lets his shoulder-length hair fall in loose waves around his sun-burnished face. In a Hawaiian-print shirt and white trousers, he's quick to smile as he explains how a project this personal, and this sweeping, demanded patience. 'When you have something that's very dear to you and you want to make something on this level, you need to get all your ducks in order,' he tells TIME. Aquaman's success in 2018, he explains, elevated his career to the point where this series became possible. 'We would never be at this level, so you just kind of got to wait for that,' he adds. It also required a creative team prepared for the weight of the story. That meant, alongside close collaborators like producer and director Brian Mendoza, having the industry capital, experience, and trust to tell a story of this scale on their own terms. 'This is our lineage. If we mess it up, we're not going home. There's a lot at stake to get the authenticity right.' For Momoa, 'home' has layered meaning. The son of Joseph, a Native Hawaiian painter, and Coni, an artist largely of European descent, he was born in Honolulu but mostly raised by his mother in Iowa while spending several summers in Hawaii with his father. Sibbett, also of Native Hawaiian heritage, grew up steeped in Polynesian traditions, where art and dance shaped his identity. The pair previously collaborated on the 2018 thriller Braven, the elegiac 2022 Western The Last Manhunt, and the 2023 sequel Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom, but Chief of War is their most ambitious partnership yet. It has the scale of an epic while remaining deeply rooted in Native Hawaiian language, culture, and history. The idea for Chief of War first surfaced when Momoa and Sibbett were approached about telling the story of King Kamehameha I, who united the Hawaiian islands into one kingdom in 1810. But instead of centering solely on the legendary ruler, they chose a more complex figure as their entry point into Hawaiian history. Ka'iana, the first Hawaiian chief to travel beyond the islands, understood the intricate politics at home yet returned with knowledge from beyond the reef, becoming one of the king's key allies. 'Thomas came in with the idea and told me about Ka'iana, which I had no idea about,' Momoa recalls. 'But I thought, this is going to be amazing. It's just great storytelling—a great tale.' A life pulled by two tides The unification wars of the late 18th and early 19th centuries reshaped Hawaii. For generations, rival chiefs, known as 'ali'i', ruled the eight main islands like self-contained kingdoms, forging and breaking alliances through marriage, diplomacy, and warfare. Then came the foreign sails. British and American traders disrupted the delicate balance, foreigners ' muskets and cannons tipping the scales of battle. Measles and other diseases they brought with them swept through villages, thinning populations in waves. Amid the upheaval, King Kamehameha I saw uniting the islands under one rule as a way to shield Hawaiian culture from the varied threats posed by Western cultural influence. The wars began in the 1780s. After an early victory in 1782 at the Battle of Moku'ōhai, fought near Hawai'i Island's Kealakekua Bay, (the future) King Kamehameha I turned his gaze outward. In 1790, his forces invaded Maui, leading to the bloody Battle of Kepaniwai, where the waters of ʻĪao Valley were said to run thick with the dead. Five years later came the decisive Battle of Nu'uanu on O'ahu, where warriors were driven over the sheer Pali cliffs, securing his dominance over the most populous islands. By 1810, Kaua'i's King Kaumuali'i ceded his domain without bloodshed, and Hawai'i was politically unified for the first time. Unity came at a cost. Though King Kamehameha I strategically embraced Western weapons, trade, and advisors to defend his kingdom, unification also opened the islands more fully to outside influence. In consolidating power, he also set in motion a deeper entanglement with foreign interests, one that future generations would struggle to control. Over time, new legal systems, private land ownership, and economic pressures weakened Hawaiian sovereignty, laying the groundwork for the kingdom's eventual overthrow in 1893. That year, Queen Lili'uokalani was deposed by the Committee of Safety—a group of mostly American businessmen and sugar planters—partly enabled by the presence of U.S. Marines. Ka'iana's life unfolded along these shifting fault lines. Born around 1755 into a vast web of royal lineage that stretched across Hawaii, he was connected to nearly every major ruling family of his time and became the first Hawaiian chief to voyage beyond the islands. In 1787, he sailed to China, the Philippines, and the northwest coast of North America. In Canton, he was received as a dignitary, and honored with livestock, tools, and European goods. When he returned to Hawaii in 1788, Ka'iana brought back these gifts and also foreign knowledge of ships, weapons, and military tactics that made him invaluable to King Kamehameha I. For a time, Ka'iana was among the king's most trusted war leaders. But by 1795, as King Kamehameha I prepared to invade O'ahu, Ka'iana was excluded from the key war councils, a warning that his life potentially hung in the balance. Choosing defiance, he broke from the king and joined O'ahu's defenders under his cousin Kalanikūpule. Ka'iana was killed early in the Battle of Nu'uanu, near a stone wall close to what is now Queen Emma's Summer Palace. Hundreds of his warriors also fell. Was their cause a betrayal, or a principled stand against a ruler whose ambitions threatened to consume their way of life? Some historians see him as a visionary who glimpsed a future Hawaii caught between two worlds; others view him as a tragic figure undone by the violent tide of change. In his lifetime, he was celebrated as the 'Prince of Kaua'i,' the first Hawaiian to witness the wider Pacific world and return to tell the story. But in the end, he could not escape being swept away by the very forces he sought to understand. Speaking the language of the ancestors Chief of War does not shy away from the darker truths of unification: the bloodshed, the betrayals, and the sacrifices made in the name of survival. It also reveals a Hawaii rarely seen on screen—sacred heiau temples, the fierce precision of Kapu Ku'ialua martial arts, and the intricate systems of alliance and influence that shaped the islands long before Western ships broke the horizon. One way the series honors its roots is through its embrace of the Hawaiian language. Much of the show, including its first two episodes, is spoken in ʻOlelo Hawai'i, the lyrical native tongue of the islands. 'The truth is, to hear and to know someone's language is to know the people and the way they think,' Sibbett says. 'It was integral.' Reviving the language was a profound challenge. Generations ago, colonizers suppressed the teaching of ʻOlelo Hawai'i in schools, and the number of fluent speakers declined sharply as English became the language of business and governance. It wasn't until the '70s that a revitalization movement began, documenting native speakers and teaching the language to new generations. For Chief of War, the casting process required extraordinary care to find actors who could master ʻOlelo Hawai'i. 'I was probably the worst at it, but we worked really hard,' Momoa admits with a laugh. 'Even if I was directing, my language coach was literally off camera, and he was the deciding factor of whether I could move on [from a scene].' That same reverence for authenticity extended to the series' soundscape. Hans Zimmer, whose unforgettable scores for Gladiator, The Lion King, and 2021's Dune have helped define entire cinematic eras, was a top choice. But landing this particular composer seemed unlikely to the creative team, at first. To persuade Zimmer, Momoa and Mendoza staged what Momoa calls a 'Hail Mary' pitch. They took a small catamaran out to O'ahu's North Shore, where the actor donned a makeshift cape and helmet and filmed striking imagery—a 'bunch of awesome little motifs,' as he puts it—meant to capture the tone and spirit of the series. They quickly cut the footage into a rough trailer, layered it with Zimmer's music they already loved, and sent it along with the script, hoping to give him a visceral sense of what the project would feel like. When they finally called Zimmer for the meeting, Momoa braced for rejection. 'We were ready with this 20-minute pitch, like, 'No, but you have to listen to us… it's so very dear to us, and no one's ever done this,'' he recalls. But before they could even launch into their appeal, Zimmer interrupted: 'When do we start?' The resulting score is lush and layered. Deep percussion, haunting choral chants, and soaring strings lend a sense of gravitas and grandeur to the show's most intimate and epic moments. Zimmer, who composed the show's main theme, collaborated with James Everingham on the broader score, which incorporates traditional Hawaiian instruments like shark-skin drums. The composers also worked closely with Native Hawaiian artist Kaumakaiwa Kanaka'ole to ensure the music remained rooted in cultural authenticity. It becomes a sonic bridge between past and present, helping build a vision of old Hawaii that feels raw, tactile, and alive. A show shaped by fire and sea Filmed across Hawaii and New Zealand, Chief of War is as ambitious in its scope and scale as it is in its storytelling. Guided by cultural experts and consultants, authenticity shaped every frame of the series. 'It felt holistic,' says showrunner, executive producer and co-writer Doug Jung. That ethos, he explains, eliminated 'guesswork' or well-intentioned but inaccurate choices. 'There was always a right way. We aimed for that, while also obviously accounting for modern times.' Entire coastal villages were painstakingly reconstructed using traditional techniques. Canoe builders crafted 47 traditional Hawaiian wa'as—double-hulled voyaging canoes—while more than 42,000 feet of Evolon, a lightweight fabric prized for its strength and versatility in costume design, went into garments that honored the textures and designs of the era, including the feathered capes and cloaks worn by high chiefs. The production was pushed even further for the show's more heart-pounding moments. For one adrenaline-fueled sequence between Ka'iana and King Kamehameha I, played in the show by Makua, the team recreated holua sled racing, a sacred Hawaiian sport. In Awhitu, a rugged coastal stretch of New Zealand, the crew filmed riders launching themselves down mile-long tracks of hardened lava on sleds scarcely six inches wide, reaching speeds of nearly 60 miles per hour before plunging into the Pacific. Much of the sequence was filmed practically, with cameras placed low to the ground to mimic the terrifying velocity and perspective of the riders. Other scenes demanded something even more elemental. On the Big Island, 75 stunt performers gathered on the black lava fields of Kalapana to film one of the series' climactic battles. The land was silent, jagged rock stretching for miles, until Mauna Loa stirred. Without warning, the volcano erupted for the first time in 38 years. For safety, the crew consulted the production's geologist; filming went on as the volcano rumbled in the distance. On the final day of shooting in the black desert, they wrapped production and celebrated with a small party. By the next morning, the eruption ceased. For members of the cast and crew, the timing felt uncanny, as if the island itself was somehow answering back, its living history mirroring the story they were telling. When the past rises like a wave With Chief of War, a story at once intimate and sweeping confronts Hawaiian history in all its peril and beauty, drawing centuries of memory back into the light. 'We wanted the story to feel universal,' Sibbett says. 'It doesn't matter where you're from. We all go through the same things. You can look at this and easily equate it to something like the Iliad of the Pacific. It doesn't have to be seen only as a Hawaiian story, but the texture is Hawaiian. The nuances are Hawaiian.' The series may unfold in another time and place, but it speaks to enduring truths. It resists simple answers and rejects one-dimensional heroes. King Kamehameha I is both unifier and conqueror; Ka'iana is at once loyal and conflicted. Even the foreign sailors—some allies, others opportunists—have nuance and complexity. 'Any time you can present any culture with as full of the spectrum of human experience as you can, it just makes that culture more identifiable,' Jung says. 'You see yourself in it.' At one point during the conversation, Momoa glances at his feet, silent for a beat, lost in thought. Reflecting on the years spent bringing Chief of War to life, his voice softens. Learning the islands' native tongue has, he says, deepened his bond with his lineage. When he walks through Honolulu's Bishop Museum, a shrine to its cultural and natural history, he can read the ancient words etched on its walls with understanding. 'It's slow to happen for me, but I'm always going to continue on [learning],' he says. 'My kids are learning now, and I look forward to growing old and being able to hopefully speak to my grandchildren in Hawaiian, too.'