This article draws on the textual analysis of films that produced three distinctive collective resistances across New Zealand film history. Hähi Ringatü leaders protested to the Chief Censor about the portrayal of their beloved prophet Te Kooti in the Te Kooti Trail. The director was forced to make changes, and delayed the release. Later, after decades of support, Te Arawa were collectively absent from film production for nearly 40 years after director Alexander Markey insulted their manaakitanga with a series of misdemeanours during the production of Under the Southern Cross. Lastly, my Ngäti Kawa whänau refused to respond to a screening of The Seekers, utilising silence to show their resistance to such portrayals of Mäori. I briefly explore silence as an unusual but valid response to film, and I counterpoint the gross stereotypes portrayed in The Seekers with mätauranga Mäori concepts the filmmaker may have based the characterisations on.

Like a number of fundamental Mäori rituals and practices, pöwhiri have appeared in New Zealand fiction feature film since its beginnings in the silent era. Pöwhiri are multisensory, kinaesthetic experiences that, for most Mäori, recall one's türangawaewae-where he or she stands and belongs-because, in general, the predominant experience of pöwhiri is at home, amongst one's own community. This article critically analyses pöwhiri as it has been constructed in New Zealand feature film history. It first presents an historical overview of pöwhiri and then focuses on Tearepa Kahi's Mt. Zion (Hita, Milligan & Kahi, 2013). The analysis considers commonly portrayed elements of pöwhiri, and how the "real" influences the "reel", and perhaps vice versa. How might the ways pöwhiri have been imagined and presented in feature film be seen to reflect, and perhaps even shift, change or challenge ideas about what it means to belong as Mäori to Aotearoa now, in the 21st century?

This article explores the deeper meanings of the term whakamā so it is understood as a fundamental inhibitor of Māori potential, particularly in relation to rangatahi (Māori youth). The kupu (word) whakamā has a number of distinct meanings; firstly, whakamā comprises ‘white’ and ‘clean’,1 and together literally mean to be whitened clean. Secondly, to reflect the process of the blood draining from the face, whakamā is also to be ‘embarrassed’ or ‘ashamed’. As I will show through one of my tribal pūrākau (stories) and a close-reading/analysis of characters in recent feature White Lies (2013, dir. Dana Rotberg), whakamā is far from a straightforward concept. The analysis of White Lies in particular demonstrates and underlines some of the subliminal elements of whakamā in the characterisations of Marāea (Rachel House) and Rebecca (Antonia Prebble), particularly in terms of landlessness. As a Māori film scholar who is generally focused on what cinematic representations of Māori in film history get wrong, I was taken by White Lies for what it gets right in terms of whakamā, particularly in terms of the contribution of whakamā to the clarity – or lack thereof – in decision-making. For the most part, whakamā is a feeling that cannot be easily expressed, and this essay contemplates some of the difficult qualities necessary to explain the effects of whakamā.

Primarily relying on critical Kaupapa Māori analysis and comparing the existing and prospective fields of knowledge, this article considers the potential of Indigenous research as a collective of holistic research strategies. It underlines some of the challenges associated with implementing Indigenous knowledge and diverting from disciplinary norms. This is in our ideation, approach to succession planning, and the ways we conduct abstract reviewing and the formal examination of people’s work.

Many Mäori researchers have mahi-toi skills. Mahi-toi, arts and the production of art, is where a concept takes physical form, and is brought into the physical realm by mahi-ä-ringa. The mahitoi practitioner is the conduit. When the practitioner is also the researcher and vice versa, these vernaculars can enrich each other, and structure the work. Setting research writing practice beside mahi-toi practice also lends theoretical and analytical frameworks that could be useful for mahitoi practitioners making the transition to academic research. In this article, I focus on mahi-toi as the scaffolding for theoretical analysis and writing frameworks across the arts. I demonstrate how I came to design the framework within the film theory context when it became apparent that post-colonial and Kaupapa Mäori theories did not meet the needs of my research and analysis.