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The Spinoff
06-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Spinoff
Mana Moana was still moving, but this time it was missing a little magic
A stirring celebration of Pacific music, Mana Moana's second outing felt more polished but less alive – with lighting, staging and energy choices that dulled the audience spark. Liam Rātana: There's something about chasing the first high that inevitably lets you down. My partner and I went to the first Mana Moana back in 2023 and it was incredible. The buzz in the air, the dancing, the flags waving, the music and the singing – it all fed into creating an electric atmosphere. We could tell we were witnessing something special and it felt like a privilege to be a part of it. I don't think there was a dry eye in the crowd that night. For weeks after, my father-in-law couldn't stop talking about how much he wished he had come. When tickets dropped for this year's return, we booked ours straight away and forced my in-laws to come along too. We were prepared this year, arriving early and nabbing a park right by Spark Arena. In 2023, the show sold out well in advance, so I was surprised to see that there were quite a few empty seats near the top of the stadium. To be fair, flights had been cancelled out of Wellington, which also impacted the orchestra, with a majority of the spots being filled in by members of the Auckland Philharmonia instead of the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra. The show wasn't bad – the singing and music was still incredible, and I had admiration for the great amount of work that went into producing such a high quality performance. MC Tofiga Fepulea'i was as funny as ever, warming the crowd up enough to remind us this was not a run of the mill symphony performance. The opening overture – an ode to setting sail on a waka for a voyage around the Pacific – was a fun tune that set the mood for what was to follow. Despite this – and perhaps because I had already seen the first one – the rest of the show didn't really invoke the same emotion I had the first time around. The first section felt quite slow, with one crowd member commenting to me they hoped there would be more dancing soon. Even the people sitting behind us, who also attended the first show, were commenting on how it was different this time around. There wasn't as much dancing in the crowd or from the choir and the lights were focused on the stage, making it difficult to see audience members dancing. There were no proud flag bearers running crazily around the floor. The orchestra didn't seem to have the same sense of excitement at the novelty of the situation – with this crowd and performance being very different to that of their usual. Overall, the show felt more polished – which is fine, except it ended up feeling like an orchestra and choir performing Polynesian songs, rather than a Polynesian choir performing with an orchestra. There were a couple of new compositions, which were nice to listen to alongside the staples such as Nepituno, composed by Tongan Queen Salote, and the famous Fijian farewell tune Isa lei. Understandably, it was generally the more well known songs that drew cheers from the crowd or prompted them to hold their phone lights up and simultaneously sway from side-to-side. While Mana Moana was a nice, relatively inexpensive family outing, both my partner and I said we probably wouldn't pay to go to another one. If you haven't been before, I still recommend it – especially if you are a fan of the orchestra and/or choirs. The combination of a Polynesian choir alongside a full orchestra remains a novel joy. However, unlike a boil up, Mana Moana was not better the second time around for me. Madeleine Chapman: I was kicking myself for missing the first Mana Moana after seeing countless videos on Instagram from the show, so was ready and pumped this time around. As I should've expected, I bumped into about six cousins while looking for my seat. Beyond 'orchestra + Pacific choir' I had no idea what to expect but knew that such a combo was surely a recipe for success. And based on the numbers (not sold out but a near-full Spark Arena is nothing to sneeze at for a local choir and orchestra), it was clearly working for them. So I was disappointed to find myself wanting more. There were some fairly minor gripes: the mics on the choir felt too low and at times they were overpowered by the orchestra in front; Tofiga Fepulea'i is incredibly funny but was evidently unprepared, with one of few prepped gags being a tired fa'afafine joke I've heard a thousand times before; a lack of attention to detail on things like the choir's entrance and transitions. Despite those gripes, the show was beautiful and emotional, as expected. But that was largely thanks to the crowd being willing to do the heavy lifting on engagement. As the show built (credit to the directors for their set list), audience members became more and more enthusiastic and willing to dance. The aunties in the floor seats siva'd in the aisles and the uncles in the stands did the same. And yet it was this willingness from the crowd to lift the show that leads to my biggest disappointment. A show like this, where nearly 100% of the audience is Pacific, paying to hear the songs they've sung and danced to their whole lives, should be doing everything it can to facilitate that unique engagement. My favourite parts of the show, by far, were when audience members danced in the aisles or sang back to the orchestra. This happened in the first iteration too, so it's confusing that the set up for this year's show seemed to actively discourage such engagement. While Fepulea'i told people to dance if they wanted to, the lights remained completely off in the audience, meaning the older attendees would have to navigate in the dark and then dance in the shadows. I found myself straining to see the beautiful old ladies performing their siva in front of the stage because there wasn't a single light on them. Even the final numbers, like Tama A Samoa, specifically chosen to encourage people out of their seats, were performed with the audience in darkness. As thousands of people danced and sang and cheehoo'd (not dead yet), we all squinted around, barely able to see what everyone else was doing. Maybe it was a safety thing but, with a lack of movement on stage – I was surprised to learn it really was just a choir and an orchestra without choreography or dancers – surely a designated space on the floor and a bit of lighting that encourages the audience to dance together would elevate the night? Nevertheless, I knew a combo of orchestra and choir would be something I loved, and I did. I just wished I could see all the other beautiful performers on the night too.
The Spinoff
25-04-2025
- General
- The Spinoff
The Weekend: The sound of silence
Madeleine Chapman reflects on the week that was. I've been re-watching Girls lately, the HBO classic that perfectly captures millennial women in the most painful way. I highly recommend it especially if you haven't watched it before. Every character on the show is deeply flawed and frustrating in their own unique ways, but one of my favourites is Ray, the grouchy complainer who reminds me of a young Larry David. Near the end of the series he ironically yells at the drivers honking outside of his apartment: 'This incessant sound is doing irreparable damage. This incessant sound is prompting my norepinephrine production.' He's referring to the neuro-transmitter that enables fight or flight, and he's not wrong. Incessant noise can drive a person insane. That show came out over a decade ago but the issue of noise pollution is as pressing as ever. In New Zealand, I mostly find the noise of my neighbourhood comforting. The lawn mowers, the drills, the buses accelerating away from the bus stop outside our apartment every seven minutes. It's comforting because it's a consistent and reliable reminder that I live among many others. I find it so comforting that when I visit my rural dwelling parents, the silence (and darkness) at night can be alarming. It's a shock to the system to remember that almost all the noise we hear in the city is manufactured and directly the result of human activity. Couple that with the incessant roar of, well, the entire human population speaking at once and at all times on the internet, and suddenly the noise is overwhelming. So it is increasingly rare for thousands of people to agree to silence, even for a moment, as happens every Anzac Day to honour the troops who have served our country. The silence is always meaningful and heavy. But this year, that silence had an alarm ringing with it, after a call for a boycott of the ceremonial aspects of Anzac Day. The reason? Some veterans feel that the gestures and the speeches are prioritised over actually supporting the veterans around our country today. As Liam Rātana has reported, the call for a boycott came soon after the Waitangi Tribunal hearings in which the tribunal heard of the inequities in support for Māori veterans and the restrictive nature of veteran support, particularly for those who have recently served. Sometimes even silence can prompt norepinephrine production. This week on Behind the Story The unreported reality for NZ veterans Ātea editor Liam Rātana has reported two stories recently on the same topic, a topic that is so often ignored by both media and everyday New Zealanders: veterans. Our returned or retired army personnel are at the sticky end of almost every social measure: unemployment, mental health, suicide. But without even a national register of how many veterans we have, it's even harder to tell the stories of a community that hasn't been quantified yet. Madeleine Chapman talks to Liam this week on Behind the Story about his coverage of the recent Waitangi Tribunal hearings into the treatment of Māori veterans and a veteran group's call to boycott the formal ceremonies of Anzac day. Watch on YouTube or listen wherever you get your podcasts. The stories Spinoff readers spent the most time with this week
