The window between Disney’s animated features and these semi-live-action remakes seems to be shortening, given that Moana 2 sailed into theaters just two years ago. This new film’s arrival feels somewhat cynical: driven more by corporate greed than art.
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| Resolutely embracing her destiny, Moana (Catherine Laga'aia) bravely sets said, to restore order to what has become an existential ecological threat to her people. Fortunately, she won't be alone for too long... |
It’s easy to see why. The characters are engaging, well defined and capably portrayed; the Pacific island setting is colorful and laden with captivating cultural touches; the focus on female empowerment is always welcome; and the underlying message of caring for the fragile interconnectedness of nature is a lesson that bears constant repeating these days.
All this said, the first half of Jared Bush and Dana Ledoux Miller’s script is far more satisfying than the second half, during which the ubiquitous songs also become more intrusive.
Matters totally jump the shark when the giant crab Tamatoa (voiced by Jemaine Clement, as he did in the original) unexpectedly bursts into song. This essentially is a retread of the sea witch Ursula’s similar expository sequence in 1989’s The Little Mermaid, but her song — “Poor Unfortunate Souls” — was laced with genuine menace, as was Ursula herself.
Tamatoa is nothing more than tedious comic relief, which destroys this film story’s flow.
But that comes later. Events begin during a prologue, as the shape-shifting trickster demigod Maui (Dwayne Johnson) steals the bright green, emerald-like heart of Te Fiti, the life-giving mother island goddess who embodies creation. The insufferably cocky and narcissistic Maui does so under the belief that it will win him love and adoration, when in fact he has unleashed a terrible darkness.
One thousand years later, we meet the jovial, hard-working denizens of the island Motunui, during a marvelously choreographed dance sequence set to the lively song “Tulou Tagaloa.” This community is ruled by Chief Tui (John Tui), who with his wife Sina (Frankie Adams) are the doting parents of 4-year-old Moana (Emma Puahi-Shapazian, in these early scenes).
The little girl has a strong attachment to the ocean, whose waters respond in kind; they part one morning, to reveal a brightly colored shell. She retrieves it; the waters part to reveal another ... and, then, the missing heart of Te Fiti. But she’s suddenly snatched up by her father, who warns Moana to resist the lure of the ocean, because his people have learned never to travel beyond the island’s surrounding reef.
The heart is left behind, swallowed again by the sea. (Or is it?)
Moana matures into an adventurous, brave and passionate 16-year-old (Catherine Laga’aia), and prepares to one day replace her father as Motunui’s chief. But her pull to the ocean remains undiminished, nurtured further by her grandmother Tala (Rena Owen), who shares this special connection, and strongly feels that the ocean has big plans for her granddaughter.
At this point, a slowly advancing blight — unleashed by Maui a millennium earlier — finally reaches Motunui. Fish disappear; plants and crops wither.
Convinced that salvation somehow lies beyond the reef, Moana impulsively sets sail ... and nearly drowns, when her craft is smashed to bits by huge waves. (Which, honestly, seems rather puzzling, given her connection with the otherwise helpful and benevolent ocean.)
At this point, Gramma Tala finally reveals the long-hidden secrets of Motunui’s “wayfinding” ancestors, along with the canoes that brought them there. Moana notices that one mighty craft’s sail is adorned with a pattern that matches the heart of Te Fiti.
The young woman’s destiny calls, and she answers.
Setting sail once again, she heads toward a fishhook-shaped constellation in the nighttime sky. Not much later, another blast of bad weather dumps her onto the small island where Maui has been trapped all this time; lacking his magic fishhook, he could not shape-shift to fly away.
Maui introduces himself during the song “You’re Welcome,” which Johnson belts out with delightful gusto, which also characterizes his entire performance. The swaggering Maui is unapologetically vain, believing himself the gods’ gift to mankind: a characterization Moana quickly rejects, much to his annoyance.
Maui’s entire body is covered with tattoos, one of which serves as a silent, often disapproving Greek chorus to everything Maui says or does: a droll running gag.
Maui attempts to steal Moana’s canoe for his own purposes, but that doesn’t long succeed. He then keeps dumping her into the ocean, which stubbornly washes the girl right back onto the canoe: the film’s best running gag.
The story obviously demands that these two eventually bond and work together, to reunite Te Fiti with her heart ... but it won’t be easy.
Subsequent adventures include the eyebrow-lifting encounter with Tamatoa; a far more exciting skirmish with the diminutive, coconut-armored Kakamora warrior nomads, and their massive, flotsam-covered vessel; and the ferocious battle during the film’s climax (about which, I’ll say no more).
Laga’aia makes an impressive feature debut; her Moana is persuasively indomitable, curious and unafraid. Even when events are at their most dire, she’s plucky and unwavering, and Laga’aia has a terrific singing voice. Her passionate delivery of the song “How Far I’ll Go” is a highlight.
She’s matched by the always adorable Johnson, who has great fun with his self-centered character. His quips and one-liners are delivered with solid comic timing, and his wide smile is to die for.
Moana is accompanied throughout by her pet rooster Heihei: lovably clueless, perpetually confused, and obliviously stumbling from one near-accident to the next. He’s purely comic relief, but quite funny at times ... and he has a knack for winding up exactly where he’s needed, at the right moment.
Great care clearly was taken, in every aspect, to honor and respect cultural authenticity. Choreographer Tiana Nonosina Liufau also crafted the dance movements for both earlier animated films. The songs, storytelling and movement accurately reflect the Pacific cultures that inspired this story, as do Liz McGregor’s costumes.
The film’s actual canoes are braced with coconut fiber lashings, under the tutelage of Tongan master Sopolemalama Filipe Tongan: no hammers, nails or other modern touches allowed. Production designer John Myhre and special effect supervisor J.D. Schwalm deliberately blended Fijian, Samoan and other cultural touches on these crafts.
All of these touches add considerable verisimilitude and dramatic heft to the ongoing story; despite knowing otherwise, we often can’t help feeling that these are actual characters, passed along via legends of long-ago events.
Even so, I wish director Thomas Kail had a better sense of flow and pacing. This film definitely lags during its midsection, when Laga’aia and Johnson get overwhelmed by overly broad burlesque elements.
In fairness, though, most eager viewers likely won’t notice. Or care.
(On a sidebar note, I’ve never witnessed a crowd as restless as that during the aforementioned preview screening. One expects little children to be fidgety, but dozens of adults also left and returned, many of them repeatedly, as the film proceeded. If attention spans have grown this short, we’re in more trouble than I realized...)
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