Spirit of Aloha | Features | November/December 2007

9 Listen with Your Heart to Hawai‘i’s Story
By: Kathryn Wilder

'Ulalena IS THE LONGEST-RUNNING SHOW

PHOTO: COURTESY OF ‘ULALENA

My friend Niccole teaches English at King Kekaulike High School and lives in Kula, in Upcountry Maui. I teach English at Maui Community College and live in Ha‘ikū, which is also considered Upcoun­try. Ha‘ikū, where the reddish-hued rain called ‘‘Ulalena falls.

‘‘Ulalena, red or yellow-red rain. ‘‘Ulalena, a unique dance drama depicting the history of Hawai‘i, some of which is specific to Maui. I have seen the production of ‘Ula­lena several times but I realize, as we drive over the Pali to Lahaina, that it has been years. For Niccole, too. You know how it is when you live in a place—you often overlook the sights right under your nose that visitors from afar flock to see. ‘‘Ulalena is one of those sights—though indoors, I have known it to hold the magic of Haleakala¯ sun­rises and the wonder of breaching humpback whales. And more: Within ‘‘Ulalena is the mo‘olelo, the story, of Hawai‘i.

The production of ‘‘Ulalena began in 1999 and runs Monday through Saturday, from 6:30 to 8 p.m., at Maui Theatre in Lahaina (get there early—the lines for food, drink and facilities are long). I have recommended it to many visitors and residents alike, bragging that the story is conveyed all in Hawaiian, one of Ha­wai‘i’s two official languages. We two Eng­lish teachers are not fluent in Hawai­ian—we are familiar with vocabulary and I can compose a few clumsy sentences—but speak­ing Hawaiian is not a requirement for what we are about to experience.

Maui Theatre used to be a grocery store. Niccole and I sit near the old cereal aisle, eating popcorn as in any movie theater. But this is not any theater and I quickly feel disrespect­ful as the lights dim and the cast moves about in the shadows. It seems inappropriate to eat in the presence of such grace.

In ethereal silence punctuated by strange sounds coming from a separate, balcony-level stage, the “Kumulipo,” a centuries-old creation chant that begins with the coral polyp, starts to unfold, and we soon find ourselves swimming with multicolored fish that maneuver through the audience in a watery light. Double-hulled voyaging ca­noes glide across the stage, bringing Poly­nesians to these remote northern islands where Hawaiian gods and goddesses produce the first man-being, kalo (taro). He is older brother to all Hawaiians, and he watches, as we do, while mythic stories are revealed. With prolific snorts and gestures, the pig-god Kamapua‘a demonstrates his infatuation with Pele, goddess of fire, and a young ali‘i becomes enchanted with a mo‘o, one of the giant lizards found in Hawai‘i waterfalls. He is fascinated, as are we, by her athletic abilities as she twines herself around chords of silklike material hanging from the ceiling.

It is then that I realize what has jolted me out of my reverie: the English narration. I find it as distracting as a mosquito buzzing in my ear. I whisper to Niccole; she, too, has responded with alarm. The story shifts to men pounding kalo into poi and women beating bark into the soft fabric of kapa, the performers chanting ancient oli and dancing hula, bringing Hawai‘i back into the production with vigor. I relax. The annual festival of makahiki begins—makahiki, the season of the god Lono in which kapu (ta­boos) were placed on war and hard labor, allowing play and growth and fertility to flourish. But when a different kind of vessel arrives and the banner representing Lono turns into the sails of British explorer Capt. James Cook’s ship, the festivities are interrupted and the reminder of a new era strikes: Cook shares his weapons and the ancient ways are shattered with a bang. I wonder if the cast feels the enormity of this moment each time they portray it.

Pele’s anger pours over the stage in gauzy fumes. As the percussion section builds in intensity, she explodes in rumbles and roars, coating the land in ‘a‘a and pa¯hoehoe lava. From there a rebirth begins as rain moves in, whispering across the is­land and then pattering upon stone until finally a deluge pounds down.

The theme song, “‘‘Ulalena,” pulls the tears right up out of my na‘au, my gut, my core. Behind the few English words are Hawaiian lyrics and soon I recognize a chant I know well. Here it is sung rather than chanted, but it tells the same story of the places of Upcountry Maui: Pi‘iholo, Makawao, Kula. Even if I didn’t know the chant, the words or the places it mentions as home, I would understand.

You do not need to be told the story in English or take a crash course in Hawaiian language or history to appreciate ‘‘Ulalena. That the producers now feel the need to guide in English what can easily be felt in the heart saddens me. As Niccole put it in a discussion with one of the performers after the show, there’s something to be said for thinking for yourself.

In the academic world we call it critical thinking, and we expect it of our students. I prefer to call it vital thinking: lively, engaging and necessary.

Do I recommend the show anyway? Ab­solutely! (You can purchase tickets on­line at www.mauitheatre.com.) In fact, it’s a treat to see ‘‘Ulalena at least twice, the second time just to focus on the percussion stage where traditional Hawaiian instruments such as the hano (nose flute), ipu heke (gourd drum) and pahu (drum) are com­bined with African drums, gongs from South­­east Asia and rattling sheet metal that emulates Pele’s volcanic roar.

Each of the cast members can play multiple roles and the percussionists all play several in­stru­ments.

Like the rain that falls daily in Ha‘ikū, this makes every evening’s per­form­ance fresh and original.

Like Haleakalā and humpback whales, like that rare and beautiful red rain called ‘‘Ulalena, this production has been calling people to Maui for years. Even if you don’t know about the history of Hawai‘i, the “Kumulipo,” Pele and Kama­pua‘a, Cook’s arrival and the sharing of weapons, and the diseases brought by whalers and missionaries and immigrants, or that the Native Ha­waiian population dwindled in a 100 years from perhaps a million to 40,000, you will understand.

You need only watch ‘‘Ulalena with your eyes and listen with your heart. The Ha­waiian performers do the rest. The story is in their blood, and they share it with you. If ‘‘Ulalena evokes inquiry and discussion afterward, then, like a good teacher, it has done its job.

KATHRYN WILDER, a resident of Ha‘ikū, can often be found paddling an outrigger canoe with Lae‘ula ‘o Kai on Maui’s north shore at dawn.

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