Ah yes: the inspirational high school movie! This formula is an oldie but a goodie: a thinking-outside-the-box teacher profoundly inspires their students while restoring something broken inside themselves. Such narratives view education as a “school of life” in which everybody – irrespective of age and circumstance – is always in a state of learning and growing. The teacher’s unconventional methods are inevitably questioned; various triumphs and tragedies ensue. And in musically themed productions such as the Aotearoa New Zealand drama Tinā, momentum builds towards a rousing final performance.
Tonally, Miki Magasiva’s film is less School of Rock than Mr Holland’s Opus: middle-of-the-road stylistically and not so much tugging the heartstrings as giving them a right royal yank. There’s no ambiguity in his script, which puts its emotional messages in floodlights and drops the kind of lines that’d make some screenwriters blush – like “teaching is about more than just education” and “the longest journey always begins with the first step”.
Underpinning everything, however, is a humane spirit and sheer good-naturedness that warms the cockles. While many viewers will realise, about 30 or 40 minutes in, that they’ve seen variations of this story before, two core features provide substantial points of difference. One is a generous helping of lovely traditional Samoan music. The other is a beautifully layered leading performance from Anapela Polataivao as Mareta, a straight-shooting Samoan teacher whose destiny is clear: take on the establishment and leave a mighty impression on her pupils.
Opening scenes provide a tragic backstory – the protagonist’s daughter dying during the 2011 Christchurch earthquakes. The story jumps ahead three years with a deflated and still-devastated Mareta no longer teaching and on social benefits. An old colleague asks her for help, saying schools are closing all over the city, hinting at the emergence of a reluctant hero narrative whereby the protagonist will initially refuse the call to adventure before invariably rising to the challenge.
Perhaps surprisingly, Mareta takes a job at an elite private school, this setting adding a vague element of class commentary. It’s not greatly exploited for social and political critique: the point is more to present music as a soul-replenishing tonic, bridging people, cultures and socioeconomic circumstances. The outgoing headmaster wonders whether Mareta can “offer my kids something different”. And of course she does: this primarily manifests in the formation of a choir, which the school’s snooty leaders are far from delighted about. Precedent suggests the road ahead won’t be easy: after all, Robin Williams got fired in Dead Poet’s Society; the arts department was cut in Mr Holland’s Opus; and Morgan Freeman even went to jail in Lean on Me.
Polataivao’s commanding performance is Tinā’s crucial solidifying element. It’s a constant source of rich drama, more understated and subtle than the film itself. Her character is blunt and hard-nosed – soured and worn down by life, with no compulsion to flatter or pretend – and yet we can always sense warmth and heart inside her, longing for an outlet. Sometimes simple, character-based moments make the most interesting cultural observations. When encouraged by colleagues to dress more formally, for instance, the no-nonsense protagonist fires back: “Where I’m from, this is formal.”
Curiously, for a story with such a large focus on the formation of a high school choir, none of the teens struck me as deeply developed characters (though the film almost gets there with Sophie, a struggling student well portrayed by Antonia Robinson). The same can be said of the supporting cast in general; it feels as though Tinā is so devoted to Mareta it didn’t have much time for others. She’s certainly a seismic presence and a memorable addition to the cinematic classroom.
Tinā is in Australian and New Zealand cinemas now
