Hail to the Chief
“There are epics about the Roman Empire, the Greeks, the Scottish... but not Polynesian, not on this scale or told through our lens,” Temuera Morrison says of Chief of War.
portrait OLIVIER KONING
grooming KEICIA LITTMAN
It was July 18, the night of the Chief of War premiere at Ko Olina, and Temuera Morrison was nervous.
Never mind that the Māori actor’s latest film, In the Fire of War, in which he played a chief embroiled in New Zealand’s land wars, had drawn widespread praise the year before. Or that, for more than 20 years, Morrison has embodied one of the galaxy’s most feared bounty hunters as Jango Fett, Boba Fett, and countless clone troopers in the Star Wars universe. Or the fact that Morrison is a pro who landed his first starring role in a feature film at just 12 years old.
He was still apprehensive. He didn’t want to get this one wrong.
“To be quite honest, I was scared,” Morrison says.
As Kahekili, the formidable chief of Maui, Morrison was portraying a towering figure in Hawaiian history. One whose legacy as a strategist and warrior made him a powerful leader in 18th century Hawai‘i and one of Kamehameha’s fiercest rivals. “He’s manipulative, uses everybody for his own betterment. He believes the gods talk to him and there’s a prophecy. To him, he’s the chosen one.”
Morrison wasn’t sure he’d reached the level he was aiming for in capturing the depth and nuance of Kahekili. He also didn’t want native speakers to cringe when they heard him speaking Hawaiian. “You can get away with a certain amount of creative liberties being an actor. This was not one of them,” says Morrison.
These concerns had been on his mind three years earlier, when Jason Momoa first approached Morrison about a role in Chief of War, a historical epic centered on Hawai‘i’s warring chiefdoms and the struggle to unify the Islands. “It’s a Hawaiian story. Get Hawaiian actors,” Morrison initially told Momoa.
“In the end, Jason said, ‘Look, we come from the same people,’” Morrison says. “And he’s right: We say aroha, Hawaiians say aloha. Ancestors? Tūpuna and kūpuna. For men, we say tāne, Hawaiians say kāne…” Momoa laid out the entire Polynesian triangle, with Hawai‘i at the northern point, Aotearoa at the southern point, and Rapa Nui at the eastern point. “Same roots. Same people.”
Morrison said yes.
In Chief of War, Morrison commands the screen as Kahekili, the complex chief of Maui.
(Photo courtesy of Apple TV+)
Now, back at Ko Olina, Morrison waited to see how it would land. As hundreds of Native Hawaiian and Māori elders, cultural practitioners, cast members, and journalists settled in, a hum of anticipation hung in the air while oli and hula set the tone for an evening that felt both epic in scale and deeply personal.
When the lights dimmed and the first scenes of ritual, warfare, and political unrest filled the screen, the audience was drawn into a world that until now had lived only in history books and oral tradition. They took in the breathtaking shots of coastlines and crashing surf, the rich colors of sacred ‘ahu ‘ula feather cloaks, and the brutal fight scenes. They listened closely as the sounds of ‘Ōlelo Hawai‘i washed over them.
The credits rolled and the lawn erupted in cheers. The response was more than applause. It was gratitude for a story handled with reverence. Waves of emotion passed through the crowd. Feelings of pride, respect. Relief.
“There were a lot of fluent speakers there … I think I got the thumbs up,” Morrison says. “I had breakfast with my dialogue coach the next morning. He said, ‘You're pretty good.’”
It was the kind of response that Morrison has been chasing his entire career. Long before he was Kahekili, he was a boy from Rotorua, where the Morrison family made their name as singers and storytellers. His uncle Sir Howard Morrison was the Frank Sinatra of New Zealand, a crooner who brought Māori culture to the national stage in the 1960s. Morrison’s father sang too, and his sister Taini was active in kapa haka. “We were performers,” says Morrison. “That’s how we grew up, on the stage and in the wings.”
Morrison spent his childhood absorbing the discipline of rehearsal and the thrill of entertaining. He was still a kid when he took on the lead role as the eponymous hero of Rangi’s Catch, a Home Alone-style adventure about children chasing bandits across the sheep stations of New Zealand. In the early ‘90s, Morrison became a familiar face to local audiences as Dr. Hone Ropata, a dedicated Māori doctor on the New Zealand soap Shortland Street. But it was his breakout role as the viciously abusive husband Jake “The Muss” Heke in Once Were Warriors that earned him critical acclaim and established Morrison as one of New Zealand’s most compelling dramatic actors.
Once Were Warriors stunned moviegoers when it premiered in 1994 with its unflinching portrayal of domestic violence and generational trauma. At the center of it was Morrison’s character, who could flip from charming to terrifying in a heartbeat. “It’s his likeability that makes the violence of his character so shocking,” wrote Roger Ebert, who compared Morrison to a young Marlon Brando.
“It was brutal and raw, it was that kind of movie. When we were making it, I was thinking, who’s going to buy popcorn and ice cream and sit through this? But a lot of people saw themselves in that film,” Morrison says. “That’s the one that got me noticed. It opened doors for me. I got an agent through that movie. That’s the one that sent me to Hollywood.”
“We were performers,” says Morrison. “That’s how we grew up, on the stage and in the wings.”
(Photo by Olivier Koning.)
Hollywood by way of Australia, as luck would have it. Around the time Star Wars: Episode II – Attack of the Clones was in pre-production at Fox Studios in Sydney in 2000, Lucasfilm turned to local actors. Morrison, whose performance in Once Were Warriors had made waves beyond New Zealand, caught their attention.
He was staying at the Bel-Air Hotel in Los Angeles when he got the call to meet the Star Wars casting director who happened to be staying one floor up. It wasn’t a formal audition; there were no lines, no dialogue. Just a conversation about Morrison — who he was, where he was from — that ultimately led to an offer to play Jango Fett. Soon after, Morrison was on a plane to Sydney to join the prequel trilogy, and to become the face (and voice) of every clone trooper in the galaxy.
“It was a fantastic feeling. I had to brush up on my Fett homework though,” Morrison told Disney in 2017. “People were like, ‘Yeaaaah, you’re Jango Fett!’ And I was like, ‘Who the hell’s Jango Fett?!’”
It wasn’t just any role. As Jango Fett, the mysterious bounty hunter whose DNA becomes the blueprint for an entire clone army, Morrison stepped into one of the most mythologized figures in the Star Wars universe. In a franchise that once tried and failed to build an army of Boba Fetts (early production budgets on 1980’s The Empire Strikes Back limited George Lucas to a single suit), Jango was the solution: a single warrior whose image would become legion. The role catapulted Morrison into a new kind of fame.
“I’m going to fan conventions and I’m sitting next to William Shatner, Wonder Woman’s over there… All these famous people I grew up watching,” says Morrison. “Now I’ve got fans coming up to me saying, ‘Mate, I grew up watching you.’”
More than two decades later, Morrison’s Star Wars journey continues, with appearances in Disney+’s The Mandalorian (a reunion of sorts with director Jon Favreau, whom Morrison had worked with years earlier on Couples Retreat) as well as headlining his own 2021 series, The Book of Boba Fett.
And yet, for all the scale and spectacle of Star Wars, it’s Chief of War that feels closest to home. “There are epics about the Roman Empire, the Greeks, the Scottish… but not Polynesian, not on this scale or told through our lens,” Morrison says.
(Photo courtesy of Apple TV+)
From preparing for war in feathered ‘ahu ‘ula and mahiole to gazing into an uncertain future Morrison’s performance bears the weight of generations past. “To him, he’s the chosen one.”
(Photo courtesy of Apple TV+)
Filmed throughout Hawai‘i and New Zealand, Chief of War is as sprawling in scope as it is meticulous in its historical accuracy. Whole coastal villages were recreated using traditional building methods, down to the wood, thatch, and lashings. Craftsmen built 47 double-hulled wa‘a, or outrigger canoes, by hand. Each costume, from everyday wear to the cloaks worn by high chiefs, was designed to reflect the textures and patterns of the era.
Even pronunciation was monitored with precision. If an actor missed a key diacritical — for example, failing to enunciate the glottal stop of an ‘okina or the long vowel sound of a kahakō — the cultural supervisor could call for another take, just like the director.
Chief of War’s efforts to honor the past seemed to echo beyond the set. At times, it felt as though the Islands were responding in kind. In November 2022, during the filming of a dramatic battle scene with 75 stunt performers on the jagged black lava fields of Kalapana on Hawai‘i Island, Mauna Loa unexpectedly erupted for the first time in nearly four decades. After filming wrapped, volcanic activity had ceased. For many involved, the timing was more than coincidence; it was a signal that ancient power was resonating with the story unfolding on camera.
“When I first visited Hawai‘i as a 17-year-old, I remember having a funny feeling that I had been here before,” says Morrison. “Many years later, I visited Maui as part of the Hawai‘i [International] Film Festival and felt a warm gust of wind, like a little circle embracing me. I had the same feeling that I’ve been here. More years pass. Now I am playing Kahekili, the chief of Maui.”
Morrison shrugs. “Maybe it was just windy that night. Maybe I am getting carried away.”
(Photo by Olivier Koning.)