Kaikohe Demolition

Kaikohe Demolition's director Florian Habicht is flanked by John Zielinski (left) and Ben Haretuku.

Herald rating: * * * * *

Call yourself a Kiwi? Can you answer "yes" to at least one of the following questions:

(a) Been to the Opononi Axeman's Carnival at New Year?

(b) Been to the Pirongia races on Boxing Day?

(c) Know anyone who was born in Eketahuna?

(d) Seen this movie?

Okay, so (c) was a trick question because no one has been born in Eketahuna since my Aunty June quit as matron of the maternity ward and left town for the bright lights of Palmerston North. But (d) is the real deal.

This is a documentary of rural New Zealand that captures and honours a way of life, a group of people, simple truths and family life - sure, at times dysfunctional - that many of us who live in Parnell or Ponsonby don't recognise, understand or acknowledge.

Pity. These guys are real New Zealanders, and not the Mainland Cheese ad-makers' version. These guys are the ones behind that soundbite of, "That's my black jersey you're wearing ... " when you add that Billy T James giggle to every sentence.

Florian Habicht's documentary focuses on three middle-aged demolition derby drivers - though, where I grew up, Shackleton Rd in Balmoral, we called 'em stock-cars - in Kaikohe.

Now, so far as the people who live in Parnell or Ponsonby see it, not a lot happens in Kaikohe - apart from the derby and, as the publicity for this movie has pointed out, the 1991 Christmas parade where the kids attacked Santa.

Those drivers are Uncle Bimm, Ben Haretuku and John Zielinski, and his wife, Carmen. If you answered "yes" to question (a) you'll know that these guys are some of the funniest fellows around. In their town they're superstars.

Haretuku's wife is terrified he'll have an accident so she doesn't come down to the track. Ben, kicking back in Nga Wha hot springs: "If I could get her to come in the car with me just once, it'd do wonders for our sex life."

Uncle Bimm tells the young fellas that his old dunga used to belong to his "great, great, great grandfather. Best car ever."

So far as the car racing goes, the idea is that you find an old Valiant or Camira. Or a Falcon with recliner chairs. Maybe a Ford Escort ("Is that Uncle Phil driving that there?" "Did that get a warrant of fitness?") or a good-quality Hillman Hunter ("His owner's still looking for it.").

Get a sledgehammer to lose the windscreen and re-shape the outer panels, a chainsaw to add grip to the tyres, and a can of spraypaint if you're into the best-dressed car contest. Once the race starts there's only one rule: finish first. No, sorry, two rules: don't hit the other guy in the driver's door. After that, it's just smoke, mud, engine noise, hot-dogs. Last one moving wins, and then everyone heads to Nga Wha to tell stories and soak.

German-born but locally raised Habicht, who was 28 when he made when this feature, is a genius with the ability to capture our people and our scenarios in his low-budget, home-movie-style doco.

He has enshrined quintessential New Zealand, even in the straight-out poverty of the North, in a way that only one film-maker, in my recollection, has done before. That fellow was Barry Barclay. His are not bad shoes for Habicht to fill.

On the DVD is footage of more races, including the Christmas and Easter derbies with local commentary , and a behind-the-scenes feature.

If you don't roll off the sofa when you watch this, or wish you were in the Opononi Hotel public bar with these salt-of-the-earth blokes, you can't call yourself a real Kiwi.