The cast of Kōpū (from top left): Ngākirikiri Kershaw, Tuakoi Ohia, Brady Peeti, Te Huamanuka Luiten-Apirana, Te Arohanui Korewha, Jane Leonard. Photo / Te Pou Theatre
The cast of Kōpū (from top left): Ngākirikiri Kershaw, Tuakoi Ohia, Brady Peeti, Te Huamanuka Luiten-Apirana, Te Arohanui Korewha, Jane Leonard. Photo / Te Pou Theatre
Review by Candice Luke, Multimedia reporter
Kōpū is not about women; it is about wāhine.
First things first, when you arrive at Te Pou Theatre for the show, leave your white feminism at the door.
As acknowledged on stage, wāhine Māori have fought for “respect, independence, to be heard, and to have autonomy over their own bodies”, since the first inflictions of colonisation upon the shores of Aotearoa.
Kōpū is a hilarious celebration, liberation, and at times, a gut-wrenching “me too sis” to wāhine in a world where Western womanhood is the standard. And for myself as a wahine Māori, it feels like a māmā-we-made-it moment.
The musicality of the night kicked off with the resounding voices of the cast of six: “haere mai rā ki tōku whare”, with a marching piano backup welcoming the audience to the house with mana and pride.
The house in this context could be Te Pou Theatre, the home of Māori theatre in Tāmaki Makaurau; the whare tangata, the womb of the wāhine, or the minds of director Amber Curreen, writer/performer Tuakoi Ohia, and dramaturge Tainui Tukiwaho.
Written in response to National MP Judith Collins’ criticism of women not being able to speak on the marae, Kōpū pays tribute to the wāhine whose voices should matter the most on the marae; our nannies, mothers, and aunties.
Performed by a seasoned Māori cast, Tuakoi Ohia, Ngākirikiri Kershaw, Brady Peeti, Te Huamanuka Luiten-Apirana, Te Arohanui Korewha and Jane Leonard take the audience on a waka ride through what feels like the depths of the ocean and back up again to the tops of the wave of life; the unadulterated joy, the sisterhood, and the necessity of wāhinetanga in Te Ao Mārama (the world of light).
Exploring themes of love, loneliness, frustration, hope and pride in our whakapapa, Kōpū lifts the veil that shelters us from each other’s realities. The reality is that yes, your nan may have used your dildo, and your 17-year-old niece might know more about consenting healthy relationships than you.
I’m a crier and though I shed many a tear through Kōpū, none were as memorable as when Brady Peeti sang, “I just need you to say it’s okay to be scared”, in the role of a wahine in labour.
Peeti (Ngāti Maniapoto, Te Ati-Haunui-ā-Paparangi) is an award-winning whakawahine (trans) actor who has graced the stage and screen for over 10 years. The scene is a musical item, a back and forth between the hapū māmā and her “aunties”, who all offer something unique and valuable to the precious and momentous occasion, the birth of a baby. Her character is afraid, and her voice draws you in to sit in that emotion with her.
Brady Peeti (Ngāti Maniapoto, Te Ati-Haunui-ā-Paparangi) on stage at Kōpū. Photo / Fender Maeva
Wāhinetanga is on raw, real, frank, and sexy display here.
The cast is stunning. I can usually brush off vocal ability thinking “the cuzzies back home sound like that”, but these wāhine would fit right in on Broadway.
They mesh together like raranga, each thread just as vital as the next to the overall integrity and beauty of the piece.
And with so many manu tīoriori (songbirds) on one stage, it’s hard to comprehend that anyone could think wāhine Māori would ever succumb to silence.
As wāhine Māori, not only do we carry the weight of wāhinetanga, but we also carry whakapapa and guide the way forward for iwi Māori. We are the movers and the shakers. We are the voice that matters.
Regardless of whether Judith Collins can see that through her Pākeha worldview or not.
Kōpū is showing now at Te Pou Theatre, Corban Estate Arts Centre, Henderson, Auckland until May 14, 2023. For tickets, visit: www.tepoutheatre.nz/kopu-premiere/
