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Three members of Alien Weaponry stand on stage doing pūkana and devil horns with their hands
Kia Tupu Te Ara chronicles the rise of te reo Māori metal band Alien Weaponry

Pop CultureFebruary 14, 2025

Review: Kua Tupu Te Ara tells Alien Weaponry’s coming-of-rage story

Three members of Alien Weaponry stand on stage doing pūkana and devil horns with their hands
Kia Tupu Te Ara chronicles the rise of te reo Māori metal band Alien Weaponry

Troy Rawhiti-Connell reviews Kua Tupu Te Ara, a documentary chronicling the meteoric rise of Aotearoa’s groundbreaking metal band.

“Two brothers attempt to storm the world of thrash metal with the Māori language, despite the fact they’re both still teenagers,”  reads the synopsis of Kent Belcher’s documentary, Kua Tupu Te Ara.

It might be too late to suggest “A coming of rage story” as a tagline, but the existing line is a fair hook to lure you in and see Kua Tupu Te Ara for what it really is: an intimate, cheeky, charming portrait of a Northland family making their way in the universe.

“It’s so virtuosic,” says an NZSO principal as her “slightly nerdy” orchestra works to keep pace with the complex songwriting of Waipu brothers Henry and Lewis de Jong. “That they did this as kids freaks me out.”

The whole world has been freaked out by Alien Weaponry’s youth, plus their reo lyrics, fiery social commentary, and advanced musicianship. And yet, though they’ve been in the public eye for a decade, this is the first chance for most to watch Alien Weaponry mature while all those headlines were still freaking out over how young they were.

The complete reality of growing up on tour is probably more of a wild ride than we’re allowed to see, but the signposts are clear enough when the boys go away for the first time without dad Niel, their audio producer, and mum Jette, tour manager.

As metal icons Randy Blythe (Lamb of God), Chuck Billy (Testament) and the Duplantier brothers (of Gojira, that band from the Paris Olympics opening ceremony) talk about the temptations and frustrations of the touring life, we see Henry describing his love-hate relationship with beer while Lewis, holding a joint, leans into the camera with some blunt advice for Snoop Dogg.

Two brothers stand with arms crossed in front of a house
Lewis de Jong and Henry de Jong of Alien Weaponry. (Image: Supplied)

The Alien Weaponry bass players avoid such scrutiny. Longtime member Ethan Trembath is seen preferring to chill backstage rather than seek adulation after a gig, and his replacement Tūranga Morgan-Edmonds isn’t shown with anything more controversial than a pie, the film leaving only the brothers to bear any moral panic.

That said, the bassists do influence the story. A comparison to Some Kind of Monster, the 2004 indie blockbuster that captured Metallica’s midlife crisis in excruciating detail, is inevitable not because this is a metal doco and that’s just the rule, but because Kua Tupu Te Ara itself opens the door to the heavy metaverse.

Trembath quits in 2020, unwilling to maintain the level of “crazy” required to live the touring life. During the search for a replacement, which we know to be Morgan-Edmonds, Kua Tupu mimics Monster’s bass auditions almost shot for shot. This could be handwaved away as coincidence, until the next scene references it directly, complete with a well-baked satire of the new Metallica bassist’s welcome party.

Alien Weaponry’s first and strongest claim to fame is their fusion of metal and te reo, taking Māori language and culture to global audiences. Accordingly, Kua Tupu Te Ara has a Māori heartbeat that is both fire and comfort in one. The de Jong whānau’s aroha is the thread that binds this story. Niel has Dutch and Māori whakapapa (Ngāti Pikiao, Ngāti Raukawa), passing his matauranga Māori to his boys, as well as his passion for heavy music.

A man with dreadlocks sings into the microphone on stage
Lewis De Jong performs on tour. (Image: Supplied)

While Lewis is the face of the band and the voice screaming rage into his reo, it’s the more reflective Henry who speaks loudest between gigs. You can feel the mamae and frustration pouring out of him during his interviews (“we can’t even accept Māori”) but also his joy at spreading the word. ‘Tūtira Mai Ngā Iwi’ is heard not once, but three times during the film. When the boys break it out in a dressing room, Henry tells a curious onlooker: “It’s the Māori version of ‘We Are The World’.”

Niel is there with a karakia when Henry gets his first tattoo at age 18. Later, he bares his pūhoro with pride as Henry receives his own buttocks spirals for his 21st. At Lewis’ 21st, it’s Jette who shines during the formalities, telling the large gathering of whānau and friends: “There are two things we can give our children in life. The first is roots, the second is wings.”

Kua Tupu Te Ara should do just fine with the tagline it has, but no sentiment captures its heart better than this. 

Kua Tupu Te Ara is in nationwide cinemas now.

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A smiling woman in a yellow top holding a mug with "MG" on it, stands next to a smiling man in a suit. Text reads "Morning Glory" with a sun logo and "Wake up with Friends" on a blue background. "Only on KVN 1" is in the top right corner.
Anna Jullienne as Lou and Jono Pryor as Vince in Vince

Pop CultureFebruary 14, 2025

Review: Jono Pryor’s new comedy gently mocks the industry that made him

A smiling woman in a yellow top holding a mug with "MG" on it, stands next to a smiling man in a suit. Text reads "Morning Glory" with a sun logo and "Wake up with Friends" on a blue background. "Only on KVN 1" is in the top right corner.
Anna Jullienne as Lou and Jono Pryor as Vince in Vince

The Jono & Ben star is self-aware and surrounded by extraordinary women in Three’s latest local comedy series.

The first episode of Vince, written by and starring Jono Pryor, opens with intrigue, a loincloth and a man in the middle of some kind of breakdown.

As the titular character, a tattooed Pryor stands in an orange loincloth in a small supermarket, scoops a load of cayenne pepper out of a bulk bin and drops it. He kneels on the floor as a maudlin version of ‘House of the Rising Sun’ plays, swirling the fiery powder around with his fingers and then rubbing it in his eyes. Yelling “Muuuuttthhhaaafuckerrr” like a large mammal that’s been shot in the arse with a tranquiliser dart, he hurtles around the store as ‘House of the Rising Sun’ transitions into a jazz swing beat. Has he lost his mind, or is he engaging in a ritualistic and spicy act of self-flagellation? Either way, something has gone terribly wrong in Vince’s life.

Flash back to two weeks ago, and we find out Vince is the co-host of a morning TV show called “Morning Glory”. His partner in breakfast TV crimes is his wife, Lou. His daughter, Evie, is embarrassed about her parents’ work and pleads with them to cover real news.

Pryor is no stranger to the television industry, as one half of the popular TV comedy duo Jono & Ben, but it’s been nearly seven years since their eponymous show was on the air. Pryor has been working as a radio host, doing a bit of acting, and lately, writing Vince, a fictional comedy series produced by Kevin & Co, the powerhouse team behind Taskmaster NZ, New Zealand Today, Raised by Refugees and Guy Montgomery’s Guy Mont-Spelling Bee.

Vince is a “fall from a great height” story predicated on the literal falling down of Vince’s trousers during the live broadcast of an unsubtly titled “Cash for the cancer kids” fundraiser. It’s a “balls up”, and in step with the time, Vince, buried under an avalanche of online comments, becomes a liability and loses his job.

Pryor has taken what he’s learned and observed about the brutal and sometimes ridiculous world of working in television and taken it upon himself to gently and lovingly skewer the artifice, ego and superficiality involved. There are plenty of winks and nudges at the state of the industry, its weird characters and the craven interests that sometimes drive decision-making. Former breakfast TV host Matty McLean makes a cameo in the second episode. The call, as they say, is coming from inside the house.

As Vince’s agent says, as she tries to calm the shit storm Vince’s national exposure has caused, “It’s TV – The only people still watching it are my cousins in jail and my grandma who’s too weak to change the channel.” In response to his daughter’s requests to cover real news, Vince tells her that “no one wants actual news”, shortly after the Morning Glory team have closed out a show with the thrilling promise of tomorrow’s guest, “New Zealand’s largest kumara”.

Jono Pryor stands outside holding a sign that says "COMPLETE LOSER" with a neutral expression. The background includes a blurred outdoor setting with greenery and buildings.
Jono Pyor in Vince (Photo: Zara Staples)

I very much doubt Pryor would label himself as one of our finest actors, and he doesn’t quite possess the veneer you might usually associate with seasoned pros or breakfast television hosts. Still, he inhabits the character of Vince, a man who has yet to reveal any self-awareness knowingly.

Pryor has said he’s unsure how all the jokes in Vince will land, but that there are many. Some do too much heavy lifting as exposition, but the comedy that does fly is refreshingly contemporary and ambitiously varied. The chyron along the bottom of the screen as Morning Glory airs lightly treads in the footsteps of Succession with a series of visual gags. Alexis, dressed in designer gear, vapes constantly, clutching it like a security blanket, perfectly capturing the dependence you imagine industry figures like her casually wave away as a justifiable part of the job. Vince, meanwhile, tries to revive his reputation by filming a celebrity apology video with some sponcon from a skincare company.

A hospital room scene with a teenage Brayden in a wheelchair with his mum Bethanaé, smiling standing behind him.
Laura Daniel as Bethanaé (it’s French) and Matty Rockel as Brayden in Vince (Photo: Zara Staples)

Perhaps Pryor’s most magnificent achievement with Vince is the roles he’s written for some of our finest and most comedically talented women. It’s truly a treat to have Natalie Medlock back on screen. She channels Ab Fab’s Bubble, Edina and Patsy into the role of Vince’s agent — perfectly unhinged but strangely in control. Medlock is just one of the extraordinary talents the series has attracted. She is joined by a grounded and intelligent Chelsie Preston Crayford as Pryor’s lawyer neighbour Heidi, Anna Julienne as Lou, Laura Daniel as garishly costumed grifter on the grab, Bethanaé, Turia Schmidt-Peke as the very droll Debs, and Blair Strang as Billy. Ruby Hall is a star, playing daughter Evie with the precocious deadpan exasperation of Wednesday Addams.

Pace-wise, the show could crack on a bit faster, and some of the jokes could do with sharpening and some slightly lower guard rails, but the cast, fresh comedy, and intriguing opening have me hanging out for the next episode. I need to know why Vince is wearing a loin cloth as much as Alexis needs to suck on her strawberry-flavoured vape.

Vince is available to watch now on ThreeNow and airs on Thursday nights on Three.

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Anna Rawhiti-Connell
— Senior writer