Last
night we sat down to watch Hunt for the Wilderpeople (2016). As with the
more recent Jo-Jo Rabbit (2019), Taika Waititi—who in both cases wrote
the screenplay adaptation of other people’s novels—shows that he is sensitive
to a good story, a story-for-our-times; to children who are lonely and looking
for a tribe to belong to; and adults who are, with good reason, suspicious of
the dominant tribe; and what becomes of them.
To
see the world equally convincingly through the eyes of vulnerable child and
vulnerable adult is a rare gift. As a director, Taika Waititi is also clearly
aware of others who might share this sensitivity. The chemistry between central
child-and-adult actors, between Julian Dennison and Sam Neill in Hunt for
the Wilderpeople and between Roman Griffin Davis and Scarlett Johansson in Jo-Jo
Rabbit, is mesmerising, drawing you in to the story. So, too, the deftness
with which dark humour and difficult subject matter (respectively, children’s
social services in a broadly contemporary New Zealand, and the Hitler Youth in
Nazi Germany) combine in order to engage the audience. We may not all share
rare levels of empathy, but we can be helped on the right path, to higher
ground.
To
be a ranger requires not only ‘the knack,’ but also learnt skills, and Taika
Waititi’s learnt (and ongoing learning on the job) skills include the use of
motif in storytelling. In Jo-Jo Rabbit it is as simple as tracking a
pair of shoes. Hunt for the Wilderpeople employs a one-shot montage technique to convey the passing of time, recapping the story so far and moving
it on, at times getting nowhere fast, at times covering ground at pace. Both
motifs remind us that we leave a trail behind us as we go, which others may
follow, paths crossing by purposeful intent or un/lucky chance.
Watching
Hunt for the Wilderpeople, I am also provoked to reflect on the Church,
as relationships between unlikely people, variously damaged and hurting people,
whose lives are brought together by an intermediary who has, at different
times, sought both parties out and welcomed both parties in. Who, in turn, come
to realise their need of one another, following on from a growing (and perhaps
grudging) affection for one another; who discover the need for repentance
(which includes reparation and accountability) and forgiveness (which—though
necessarily following true repentance—involves commitment to reconciliation) as
the ongoing process towards deeply longed-for personal wholeness, societal
healing and unity.
There
is a scene in the film where Taika Waititi takes on the cameo role of a
minister conducting a funeral, in which he notes:
Minister:
“You know, sometimes in life, it seems like there’s no way out…like a sheep
trapped in a maze designed by wolves…And you know that if you’re ever in that
situation, there are always two doors to choose from. And through the first
door…oh, it’s easy to get through that door and on the other side waiting for
you are all the nummiest treats you can imagine. Fanta, Doritos, L&P, Burger
Rings, Coke Zero. But you know what? There’s also another door, not the Burger
Ring door, not the Fanta door; another door that’s harder to get through. Guess
what’s on the other side? Anyone want to take a guess?”
Ricky:
“Vegetables?”
Minister:
“N-No, not vegeta…No.”
Woman:
“Jesus?”
Minister:
“You would think Jesus. I thought Jesus the first time I-I-I-I came across that
door. It’s not Jesus. It’s another door. And guess what’s on the other side of
that door?”
Woman:
“Jesus.”
Minister:
“Jesus. Yeah, Jesus. He’s tricky like that, Jesus…So let us pray, to Jesus,
please, and make it a bit easier to get through those doors, uh, to find you and
your bounty of delicious confectionary.”
It
is touchingly awkward, and yet profound. For in the initially disorienting
space between the door and the door beyond the door, Jesus does indeed meet us,
hidden in plain sight, and help us get through. That space, it turns out, might
be a million hectares of New Zealand native forest (or, conversely, in Jo-Jo
Rabbit, a cramped false room in an attic) or our own homes in a bungled
pandemic lockdown. While we are here, you could do worse than watch (or
re-watch) Hunt for the Wilderpeople. Who knows what you might find?
