For decades, Hawaii has played host to millions of tourists who have flocked to its islands from around the world to bask in their lush, natural beauty. Countless films and shows have made use of its many exotic, picturesque locations, all while superficially touching on themes of ohana or the aloha spirit. But in Chief Of War, Kānaka Maoli (Native Hawaiians) Jason Momoa and Thomas Pa’a Sibbett have successfully excavated a little-known part of their ancestors’ history, the effects of which can still be felt many generations later.
Created by Momoa and Sibbett, the lavish new historical drama stars the former as Ka’iana, a Hawaiian war chief who forges a bloody campaign to unite the warring kingdoms in order to save them from the threat of colonization in the late 18th century. It’s a particularly meaty role for Momoa to take on after making a career out of playing brawny heroes in Game Of Thrones, Fast X, and, of course, the DC universe as Aquaman.
Momoa has revealed that he has wanted to tell the story of the unification of Hawaii for most of his adult life, but that he and Sibbett needed a number of years until they felt they had sufficient star power and the requisite experience as writers and producers to tackle a tale of this magnitude. And the final product was worth the wait. With the kind of name recognition and clout that he has been able to cultivate from working on global film franchises, Momoa has clearly thrown a lot at this project to tell a necessary story that is large in scale but intimate in scope.
Truth be told, the first season is, ultimately, less about the direct consequences of colonization and more focused on the regrettable bloodshed that preceded the reunification of the Kingdom of Hawaii. The story begins with Ka’iana, the son of Maui’s greatest war chief who decamped for Hawaii, who begrudgingly agrees to team up with the army he abandoned to take down O’ahu—only to discover Maui chief Kahekili’s (a terrifying Temuera Morrison) true intention of conquering and ruling all the islands in the region. Refusing to be used as a pawn in Kahekili’s bid for power, Ka’iana attempts to flee Kahekili’s men and ends up in the ocean, where he is rescued by a boat of English traders and surveyors. Since they were also fleeing the island after coming face-to-face with Native Hawaiians—who these foreigners described as “Sand Savage,” a warrior people with no fear of musket or cannon—Ka’iana has no choice but to adapt to living with the Englishmen for the foreseeable future.
After becoming the first warrior to leave the islands, Ka’iana’s eyes are permanently opened to the horrors of European—or, as he puts it, “pale-skin”—colonization. During a trip to the Spanish West Indies, for instance, he sees people involved in the slave trade and the trafficking of deadly weapons, who prioritize money above all else. It’s a dramatic departure from his own upbringing, where gods are revered and prophecies are fulfilled. By the time he returns home, Ka’iana sounds the alarm about the potential consequences of a European invasion. “There is much suffering,” Ka’iana says midway through the season, only to be rebuffed by Hawaii’s king, Kamehameha (Kaina Makua), and the people around him until it’s too late. “The pale-skin honors no gods of land,” our protagonist warns. “They steal from it, leaving many sick and hungry without homes. Cruel men with strong weapons and the ships, they will be coming soon. We must find a king who can face them.”
Momoa is given a rare opportunity here to showcase his full range as both a dramatic actor and a visionary director here. Ka’iana consistently finds himself torn between two worlds: He’s a Kānaka Maoli with the ethos of the pale-skin, a believer and an atheist, a speaker of Hawaiian and English, and a warrior who engages in hand-to-hand combat and firearms to kill his enemies. Momoa adeptly embodies all of Ka’iana’s contradictions, creating a compelling portrait of a desperate leader bound by duty and sacrifice.
If Ka’iana is the heart of Chief Of War, the show’s ensemble, made up almost entirely of Polynesian actors, forms its strong backbone. Along with Morrison, who plays the power-hungry Kahului (named after the god of thunder), Cliff Curtis tackles rival chieftain Keoua, an antagonist who is hellbent on recovering what he believes is rightfully his—even if it means killing his own flesh and blood. The Night Agent‘s Luciane Buchanan projects a quiet strength as Ka’ahumanu, the wife of Kamehameha, who pushes back against the societal constraints on women by becoming her husband’s strongest political advisor. Te Ao o Hinepehinga portrays Ka’iana’s powerhouse wife Kupohi, who cannot shake the feeling that the man who returns to Hawaii is no longer the same one she married. While the characters in Ka’iana’s immediate family could have all used a tighter focus after his unexpected departure at the start of the season, their relationships eventually pay off in the final three episodes in a way that is rewarding and heartbreaking in equal measure.
All roads will eventually lead to “The Black Desert,” the season finale directed by Momoa from a script that he wrote with Sibbett, which sets up a potential second batch of episodes and is an ambitious feast for the eyes. Helming and acting in a climactic battle sequence on a massive lava field—which was filmed near a couple of real-life volcanic eruptions—Momoa masterfully captures the savage brutality of that era with the kinds of fight sequences that dare viewers not to look away.
When he initially pitched the show, Sibbett insisted on writing the first two episodes entirely in Hawaiian. It’s a creative choice that makes the most sense in principle, given that outside influences don’t arrive on the island shores until the second episode, but it was still met with resistance from executives. But by sticking to his guns, Sibbett and his creative team were able to chart the subtle progression and integration of English into the lives of Native Hawaiians. In fact, the way Native characters code-switch between languages later in the season is just as informative as the words they say. Some want to assimilate for their own protection, some want to use English to conduct their business and political affairs, and others cannot be bothered to learn the language of “the white man.”
Plenty of Hawaiians, like other Native populations, have been stripped of their cultural customs, including language, but Momoa and his collaborators are part of a generation of great-grandchildren who are now actively trying to reclaim that part of their lineage. And at a moment when history is being actively suppressed from classrooms across the country, Chief Of War serves as a timely reminder that the most painful parts of history—especially Native history—cannot be erased.
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