Tinā tells the story of a teacher forming a choir at a Christchurch private school.
Tinā tells the story of a teacher forming a choir at a Christchurch private school.
Reviews
Miki Magasiva’s feature-film debut, new local film Tinā, is in cinemas from February 27. Karl Puschmann sees how it handles a familiar songbook with a fresh voice.
Warning: Mentions suicide.
The song mostly remains the same in the new local film Tinā. This music-filled drama follows Mareta (Anapela Polataivao), a Samoan teacher who joins a prestigious college in Christchurch and immediately begins ruffling its stuffy feathers by forming a choir to compete in a major competition.
The movie hits all the notes you’d expect from that description. You’ve got a racist vice-principal trying to get her fired, a group of plucky underdog kids fighting to keep the choir going in the sports-centric school and plenty of life-lesson wisdom for teacher Mareta to dispense before the big event.
As far as following the songbook for this sort of film goes, Tinā is pitch-perfect. If video shops still existed, the movie could comfortably sit on the shelf beside local films like Taika Waititi’s Next Goal Wins and Damon Fepulea’s Red, White & Brass, as well as any number of international variations (see Pitch Perfect, School of Rock etc etc) in which pretty much the same things happen.
Anapela Polata’ivao leads the film with a 'powerful' performance.
However, Tinā finds its own voice in this choir by ditching the comedic elements of those movies to instead lean into the drama and emotion of its premise. You can think of it as an old standard being reworked into a powerful and unexpected interpretation.
The movie focuses on the relationship Mareta forms with student Sophie after beginning work at the elite school. It is Mareta’s first job after losing her daughter in the Christchurch earthquake three years prior, and one she has only taken after the threat of losing her benefit. Her grief is masked by her no-nonsense teaching style.
While Sophie outwardly has a privileged upbringing, her home life is turbulent and she carries her scars on the outside. The pair’s dynamic, shifting and changing, is the heart of the film as they come together and break apart. Each of their moves threatens the already precarious status of the choir.
The movie builds in all the ways you know it will as the kids come under various pressures and Mareta’s rivals plot her downfall. But, then, like an unexpected key change, Tinā surprises you by adding more depth as a suicide attempt and a terminal illness come into play.
The film handles heavy subject matter with a gentle touch.
All this seriousness is handled with a light touch by writer and director Miki Magasiva in his feature-film debut. Life isn’t all doom and gloom, even in grief or pain, and the film is sprinkled with small moments of comic relief. Their sparing use making them all the more effective.
Magasiva’s portrayal of the culture clash between the school’s snooty adults and their Polynesian teacher can be a touch heavy-handed at times, but the way Mareta’s students naturally embrace her Samoan culture, willingly learning pronunciations and dropping everyday phrases like “excuse me” into their conversation is deftly handled, and the film’s big moment proves how enriching exposure to other cultures can be.
Samoan actress Anapela Polata’ivao leads the film with a powerful performance that feels nothing short of genuine, while Antonia Robinson gives emotional substance to student Sophie. Both are tasked with delivering big, dramatic moments and neither fumbles or falls into melodrama. Their performances give the film a believability often lacking in the underdogs-triumph genre. Even those based on actual events.
Set amidst a stuffy private school, the film finds the power in music and empathy.
It is especially worth noting what a treat the music is, with its choral performances of traditional Samoan songs, as well as European church music and even a bit of Crowded House.
These sorts of films are traditionally feel-good affairs as the losers become champions and the villains face their comeuppance. Rather than filling your cup with the usual triumphant warm fuzzies, Tinā instead aims higher as it builds to its extremely moving crescendo and sends you out of the cinema on an emotional high note.
Tinā may not be reinventing the genre, but it is singing its own song. One that deserves to be heard.
