Ãmama, ua Noa, Lele Wale

Friday, October 29- the house lights fade to black, silencing the ambient noise of an eager audience. Hanaway’s thick green curtains part, revealing a starkly arranged stage bathed in dim, greenish-blue light that undulates like moonlit ocean water. Audible before they’re visible, the members of Kahurangi begin the night with several guttural blasts of what sounds like a didgeridoo. They open with a musical narrative chronicling the creation of the universe and the beginning of their culture. Stepping in rhythm, they fan from the shadows as the light increases. Their song crescendos and in full light, the audience finally gets a good look at the Maori performers. The Kahurangi, which loosely translates into “cloak from heaven,” arrived at Silver after a busy week of traveling to New Hampshire schools and giving dance lessons to children in the area. The troupe feels a responsibility to perpetuate the customs of their homeland, and in an age of diminished attention spans and pandemic short-term memory loss, they strike a balance of historical truth and amusement that succeeds in not only entertaining the crowd, but also imparting a bit of Polynesian culture. The Ensemble performers are graduates from the Takitimu Performing Arts School in Hastings, New Zealand, the first accredited institution in NZ to specialize in the instruction and preservation of the Maori Performing Arts.Maori dance dates back to 900 CE. The stories are part of an oral tradition, centering on fishing, sea-travel, warfare, and other aspects of Polynesian culture. The performers took on the personas of various gods to illustrate the origin of clouds, water and fish. The stories were as physical as they were narrative, and everything was crystal clear despite the language barrier. Performers stepped to microphones on the stage wings to elucidate some of the more complicated stories in thick, Australian accents while the others continued dancing. Imposingly made up with green face paint and feathers, they explained during one of their aside-style narratives that the uglier a Maori warrior is, the fiercer he can appear in battle, and the more of an asset he is to his group. They brought members of the audience onstage to learn some combat moves. A basic lesson for an aspiring Maori warrior is that striking the first blow assures your defeat. One tactic to avoid throwing the first punch is to bulge your eyes and flap your tongue menacingly to infuriate your opponent. Eerie, offstage chanting accompanied some of the more interpretive dances. During one piece, they struggled with thick ropes that bound them to the ground, representing umbilical cords attaching them to their mother, the Earth. At times, the movements were acoustically reminiscent of urban step dancing. They produced a variety of percussive sounds using only their bodies. Perhaps the most amazing aspect of the performance was the flawless choreography. Every leap, landing, and movement was in concert with someone else onstage. Even complicated and seemingly precarious chains of attacks were flawlessly in tune. The accompanying music sounded like karaoke tracks borrowed from Hong Kong Garden. At times it stole from what would otherwise feel like an authentic production. Midi clarinets and cheesy drumbeats pervaded fierce weapons demonstrations and ancient dances. Alas, even ancient Polynesian dance theatre bears the greasy thumbprint of western influence. The members were quite personable, and socialized with the audience before and after the show, sharing experiences and the symbolic meaning of certain movements. The Country Cow provided dessert and refreshments. After witnessing traditional war games and learning several phrases in their native tongue, Kahurangi informed the audience that they knew more about Maori culture than 95% of the U.S.