TV review: He Kotuku Rerenga Tahi

Maori TV's three-part series on Sir Howard Morrison, He Kotuku Rerenga Tahi, offers a welcome change from frenetically over-edited documentaries to a straightforward invitation to sit back on the sofa and enjoy an in-depth chat.

Last night's first instalment was rounded out with plenty of footage from the heyday of the Howard Morrison Quartet, shots from the family photo album and a wealth of input from other quartet members and stars such as John Rowles and Ray Columbus. But it never strayed far from the heart of the matter: letting Sir Howard tell his story with a few observations and pertinent questions from interviewers Julian Wilcox and Wena Harewera. Best of all, it was free from hyperbolic narrative.

The promise was to reveal the man, but not quite as we know him. This series is not the definitive biography, but a meander down memory lane with stories told from Sir Howard's point of view, nicely counterpointed with that of others.

Last night's first part covered his childhood in Rotorua and the remote, close-knit Urewera community of Ruatahuna, through to the heyday of the quartet. The programme is conducted mainly in English, with comments in Maori subtitled.

He told of an idyllic childhood and the advantage of Ruatahuna's isolation, which allowed him to dream big. "As I was an audience of one, I fell in love with the way I sounded," he said.

As you would expect from a consummate performer, his memories are shot through with one-liners delivered with perfect comic timing. And Sir Howard's ego was a major topic of discussion, not least from the man himself: "The centrifugal force was me; the centre of attention had to be me," he said, frankly, of his role in the quartet.

His wife, Lady Kuia, brought things back down to earth. "Very handsome, very arrogant, very persistent," was her summation of his courting techniques. To which Sir Howard gallantly replied: "My life, my love, my foundation ..." You got the feeling Lady Kuia wouldn't fall for that.

It was intriguing to see that the man can admit to cracks in his charm, with the benefit of hindsight. While the men were on stage and out enjoying life, the women were left to cope with raising the families on their own. "I was spoiled," he admits.

Interviews with Gerry Merito and Wi Wharekura told tales from the heyday of the quartet, including trying to escape their leader's big ego after gigs.

This series doesn't dodge the trickier questions, such as both sides of racism, from accusations of being "too Pakeha" to his regret at having apologised to a Pakeha woman in a pub, who objected to the quartet speaking Maori.

Two parts remain of this intelligent, amusing insight into a Kiwi entertainment legend; the next instalment looks at life after the quartet disbanded.