Farewell to morningside

bro'Town has struck a chord with a broad spectrum of society. Photo / Glenn Jeffrey

As fictional characters go, they're not the most likely heroes. Their dad is a drunk who loves porn, beer and gambling. Their faces have been known to appear on floating excrement. And in their fifth and final series, they perform exorcisms, form crushes on teachers and watch internet filth on a website called SpewTube.

But the boys from bro'Town - Sione, Vale, Valea, Mack and Jeff da Maori - have made an immeasurable impact on the New Zealand community in the five years the show has been on air.

Bro'Town hits our screens one last time from tomorrow night before its creator Elizabeth Mitchell and writer/performers the Naked Samoans - Oscar Kightley, David Fane, Shimpal Lelisi and Mario Goa - move on to comedy pastures new.

They leave behind not just a few funny sayings - "Peow peow!", "Not even ow", "I'm going to my room, I may be some time" - but a lasting and positive impression on their young fans. Part of it is down to the schoolyard linguistics. But it's also because of what its creators call "equal opportunity" satire - characters are sent-up for their ethnic, religious and personal persuasions without being censored by that particularly unfunny New Zealandism, political correctness.

It's also arguably the first time the Polynesian community has been represented with such humour and candour on screen. "I always liked that little poor kids could watch it and not feel so bad about being poor," says Kightley, sitting in bro'Town's central Auckland production office, Firehorse Films.

"That there were these crazy cartoon characters that go without and manage to remain positive. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I like to think there is a bro'Town generation, kids in their formative years who have grown up with the show. I apologise to their parents if there was anything bad. But I think what parents and teachers embrace is the heart of it. They're prepared to put up with the odd poos and wees if, at the end, it's saying something good or real or thoughtful.

The only reason we get away with that irreverence and edgy stuff is because on the flipside is heart."

What had started as a stage performance of Naked Samoans Talk About their Knives, a success here and at the Edinburgh Festival in 2002, translated to a TV hit when Kightley's friend, producer Elizabeth Mitchell, decided the boys would be even funnier as cartoon teens. With help from script doctors James Griffin and Dave Armstrong and respected animators Ant Sang and Maka Makatoa, as well as financial help from NZ On Air and product placement, bro'Town began to etch a surprising pattern into our cultural fabric.

The show's ratings have slumped, perhaps as its novelty has faded, but the first series attracted 33 per cent of the viewing audience during its 8pm time slot, 24 per cent in 2006 and 20.3 per cent in 2007. But its social impact has continued to grow.

In 2005, the bro'Town team was invited to speak to an Auckland intermediate school plagued by racial violence. Pacific Island students were fighting Maori students. The Naked Samoans gave an impromptu speech on racial harmony and handed out DVDs to the kids with the most friends from other ethnicities.

On another occasion, Dave Fane agreed to meet a delinquent South Auckland student on the proviso that he gave his best efforts at school over two months. His teachers say he rose to the challenge, and describe the change in his behaviour as "incredible".

Fed up with mainstream interventions, expat Sam Schuster, programme officer for the Pacifica Programme at the Department of Juvenile Justice in Sydney, used bro'Town as a resource to discourage his charges from reoffending. It's not just troubled kids who've benefited. bro'Town has helped talented young Kiwis learn more about what goes into making a hit TV show through regular studio visits by school students, such as the Year 12 and 13 design students from Corran School in Auckland.

The scripts have been used to encourage children at Macleans College in creative writing and bro'Town has also been used to get schoolkids to think about cultural issues, violence and racism. The Naked Samoans are often contacted by teachers for scripts to use in the classroom as a teaching resource, including a request from an English teacher in Brazil.

The Naked Samoans also join in library events that encourage reading, while assistant animation director Ali Cowley is mentoring a Hamilton student with a passion for animation. It's a huge change from when the show first launched.

The Naked Samoans were used to hearing criticism levelled at the alcoholic Samoan dad and the Indian dairy owner and grumbles that the jokes were prejudiced and juvenile. But Mitchell is surprised the show hasn't pushed more buttons.

Even the complaints about dad Pepelo's racist remarks seem to have tapered off over the last few series. She was expecting an outcry from the church but the only religious complaint she's heard was someone upset that the Jesus in bro'Town couldn't play rugby. Still, who do these silly comedians think they are playing role models? "Who do [the detractors] think they are being guardians of humour?" counters Kightley.

"A robust sense of humour is a sign of a civilised society, a culture and people who aren't afraid to look at that part of themselves as opposed to deny it and pretend it doesn't happen. At least we're making people laugh about it as opposed to get depressed - where does that get you? I think we use stereotypes to undermine them. But people see what they want to see."

It's not easy treading the line between comedy and earnestness but Kightley hopes the show encourages kids to not take themselves too seriously. "Someone said 'free your ass and your mind will follow'. James Brown, I think. I hope it's helped free our asses. I hope we don't keep them so clenched, uncomfortably tight. It's not good for us. It's better just to chill."

For Kightley, who this year was a New Year Honours recipient for his services to entertainment, the community impact is heartwarming, yet entirely unexpected. He and his cohorts were far too busy writing the show to contemplate ways in which they might make a difference. Having said that, they find it almost impossible to say no.

The bro'Town team often provides artwork for auction, and in Lower Hutt Hospital, original illustrations adorn the children's ward. Kapiti Coast Mental Health has used bro'Town episodes to help diffuse community tensions and fuel discussions about racism. "We don't push the community angle," says Kightley.

"We only react to requests, or when someone asks our permission to use bro'Town slogans on the back of their minicart racer." It's not just children keen to use bro'Town as a platform for bigger things. The Gambling Foundation has used an episode (from series 3, in which Mrs Tapili gets hooked on gambling) as a resource.

In the last series, Sparc got "product placement" for their Push Play campaign, while the New Zealand Fire Service has also shown up to push safety messages in the show. Further afield, Mack has been held up as a hero - literally, on a gay forum in San Francisco. "It's had an impact in all sorts of ways we didn't anticipate," says Kightley.

"We're too busy making shows to actively create more work for ourselves. But how can you say no when an intermediate [school] from Australia says 'we've got a class trip to New Zealand next week, can we visit?' Of course. Which is awesome because it shows how much people own it."

"I think it's because it comes from a good place," adds Mitchell. "It's just so New Zealand and Pacific Island in its humour. It's urban New Zealand, the voice of the school ground. These 14-year-old characters are very relatable." While it might seem rich that the show's less well-off fans can buy oodles of bro'Town merchandise - everything from figurines and artwork to clothing and DVDs - Kightley say they're simply making hay while the sun shines. They're also not opposed to doing deals, having just sold the show to the Cook Islands for $40 an episode.

He recalls a particularly heartwarming moment when he received an email from a relative of late All Black legend, George Nepia, who said her children and nephews didn't appreciate what a great man he was until they saw him on bro'Town. "That was a nice moment."

Kightley isn't always so easily let off the hook. One woman approached him in Mt Eden one day and challenged him about how she was supposed to explain what an "erection" was to her 7-year-old son. The final series is not without its own uplifting messages, with help from local celebrities Tim and Neil Finn, Keisha Castle-Hughes, Sir Howard Morrison, Lucy Lawless, Jemaine Clement and Bret McKenzie from Flight of the Conchords, Scribe, John Clarke and Morningside's new resident drama teacher, Sam Neill.

There's an episode involving abduction by "meat men" and we can expect themes relating to religion, homosexuality, vegetarianism, terrorism, gambling, being true to yourself and exhibitionism - well, the fifth episode is titled "So You Think You Can Dance Near the Stars?" With the end nigh, saying a final goodbye to bro'Town will be difficult. "I'm feeling sad," says Kightley, "but John Clarke's grandmother used to say, 'it's always good to leave the dinner table hungry'.

Leave the party while you're still having a good time. It's just a natural end, and it was a mutual thing." Kightley, Mitchell and the gang are about to start work on a sketch show called In the Beginning There Was Nothing, also starring a host of familiar comedians, such as Jemaine Clement. There are also plans for TV specials and the bro'Town feature film, due, hopefully, next year.

"Maybe we will come back," says Mitchell. "It's the final series but we're saying it's the final series in the fourth form. We always said we'd do seven and in the seventh one everyone would die and be in heaven. Oscar always wants everyone to die."

* The fifth and final series of bro'Town starts tomorrow night, 8pm, on TV3.