Miriama McDowell plays Renee O’Kane in Three’s new rugby-slash-family drama Head High. (Photo: Supplied)
Miriama McDowell plays Renee O’Kane in Three’s new rugby-slash-family drama Head High. (Photo: Supplied)

Pop CultureJune 27, 2020

‘I know these people’: Miriama McDowell on leading the pack in Head High

Miriama McDowell plays Renee O’Kane in Three’s new rugby-slash-family drama Head High. (Photo: Supplied)
Miriama McDowell plays Renee O’Kane in Three’s new rugby-slash-family drama Head High. (Photo: Supplied)

Sam Brooks talks to actor-director Miriama McDowell, fresh from a top billing in Head High and directing Ahikāroa.

There’s a moment in the second episode of Three’s new family-and-rugby drama Head High that stands out for me. A committee, entirely made out of bureaucratically-aligned adults discussing a student’s future in rugby, descends into personal attacks and basic bickering. Renee O’Kane, played by Miriama McDowell, has had enough of it and stands up.

“I’m sorry, I know there’s supposed to be some kind of process here, but this is just a room full of adults throwing insults at each other, when what really matters is the two boys who met each other for the first time when they were playing under fives. Bare feet on the frozen ground, they didn’t care, they loved it. I can still see them.”

It’s a great speech; it’s basically handing an actor a big ol’ ham, asking them to cut off a big, juicy slice and serve it up to the audience. McDowell doesn’t ham it up, though. She goes pointed and sharp – it’s not that Jones, both mother and cop, thinks that these adults are wrong for bickering. No, it’s that they simply are wrong. She softens up, appeals to their humanity.

It’s a Tami Taylor moment; a beacon of humanity shining through some less than stellar displays of the human condition. Tami Taylor seems not just a fitting comparison, but an intentional one; the character’s resemblance to that inspiration-dispensing, warm-wine-swilling human spotlight is one of many things that Head High cribs, wisely, from Friday Night Lights. I wager that it’ll be a moment that will stand out for a lot of the audience as well.

It’s the kind of speech that actors would push someone down the stairs to get to say at all, let alone on primetime TV, and a lot of actors could have done that moment justice, but Miriama McDowell doesn’t just do it justice. She takes the opportunity and she runs with it, weaving it to a five pointer. 

Miriama McDowell as cop Renee O’Kane in Head High. (Photo: Supplied)

Since graduating from Toi Whakaari in 2002, McDowell has worked pretty much constantly in film, TV and theatre. She’s delivered stand out performances in Toa Fraser’s No 2, The Dark Horse, and a Moa Award winning turn in The Great Maiden’s Blush. In addition to this, she directed the Pop-Up Globe’s sell-out performance of Much Ado About Nothing in the venue’s second season, and also directed the venue’s final show, Emilia, earlier this year. While she’s been on TV in more roles you can count on two or even three hands, including an obligatory stint on Shortland Street, Head High marks the first time that she is the top-billed actress on a high end television drama.

McDowell admits it’s a big deal. “Being a lead character like that in a show involves work behind the scenes as well. It’s about making sure there’s proper kaupapa Māori in the production, and making sure that we don’t need to put the character in a box of, ‘You’re fluent or you don’t speak anything, so you’ve lost your culture.’ There’s a lot of Māori who sit between those points, but we don’t see them much. It’s also a big deal as a New Zealander to reflect and go, ‘How come we don’t see these versions of ourselves more often?’

Head High focuses on the conflict between two (fictional) South Auckland high schools, Southdown and St Isaac’s, and their rugby teams. The Southdown team has just been promoted into the 1A division, and St Isaac’s is poaching them. It’s a show that uses rugby more as a setting to discuss a range of other things: privilege, race, class, even gender.

Jordi Webber as Cruz and Miriama McDowell as Renee O’Kane on Head High.

When McDowell watched the screening, she saw something that she hadn’t seen depicted onscreen a lot. “Look at South Auckland. Look at the brown actors and look at the families we see. Look at that school, look at all the brown boys behind the lead characters. I know them. I know those people, I grew up with them.”

That diversity, and in the case of Head High, it feels less like tokenised diversity and more like decisive inclusivity. Two of the writers, Tim Worrall and David Geary, are Māori, and two of the writers are women, Kate McDermott and Shoshanna McCallum. McDowell credits the latter with the feel of some of Renee’s scenes. “I really felt like those were scripts that were written by women for women. It’s just so great to play Renee and go through the things that she goes through as a mother. We really feel like we were getting to the heart of it.”

In addition to her impressive resume onscreen and onstage, McDowell has also been working steadily behind the scenes. She was a writer of Silo Theatre’s critically acclaimed Cellfish, alongside Rob Mokaraka and Jason TeKare, and has been steadily building up credits as both a director and an intimacy coordinator. She’s filled both these roles on on Ahikāroa, Aotearoa’s first bilingual drama, and it’s a job that is incredibly special to her.

Miriama McDowell directing on the third series of Ahikāroa. (Photo: Supplied)

“What I love about Ahikāroa is that it’s created for the generation of Māori who have grown up with Māori. So the generation who’ve come beyond my generation can’t necessarily see themselves on TV. So the chance to watch flatmates, whose first language in Te Reo, just hang out in a flat is great. If we’re so passionate about creating a whole generation of fluent Māori speakers, then we have to give them something to watch or they’re just going to watch English shows.”

The show, now in production on its third series, is great in its own right, but the most special thing about it is how it serves as a training ground for Māori practitioners to get into the industry, both in front of the camera and behind it. “It’s a show where Māori get to learn TV, and get to learn the skills of TV. Shortland Street is an incredible training ground too, but this is specifically for Māori.”

McDowell has also found the growth of the actors between seasons incredible to see; the core cast aren’t necessarily trained actors, they’re kids who speak fluent Māori who were auditioned, and then put on TV. But the show has also given a break for people like McDowell. Despite all her experience as an actor, writer, and director for theatre, she wasn’t like to get dropped into the director’s chair of a big TV show.

“For someone like to me to get the opportunity to learn is incredible. And it’s incredible that it’s a big part of the production – so often I’ll be on set and then suddenly the guy who’s been doing the clapper board is suddenly on the camera and he’s going to shoot one scene and it’s like, ‘Whoa, cool, OK. Let’s go, then.’ We’re all learning.”

McDowell hasn’t just been taking opportunities as they come, she’s been excelling at them.

Head High airs on Sunday nights at 8.30pm on Three.

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The cover of Nadia LIm’s new cookbook, Nadia Lim’s Comfort Kitchen.
The cover of Nadia LIm’s new cookbook, Nadia Lim’s Comfort Kitchen.

KaiJune 27, 2020

Nadia Lim on how she helped a nation take to the kitchen

The cover of Nadia LIm’s new cookbook, Nadia Lim’s Comfort Kitchen.
The cover of Nadia LIm’s new cookbook, Nadia Lim’s Comfort Kitchen.

Nadia Lim taught Sam Brooks to cook. He talks to the beloved celebrity chef about her new cookbook, and filming an entire TV show in lockdown.

Lockdown brought us together as a nation. Together with our team of five million, together with our families and flatmates, but most importantly? Together with our ovens. As supermarkets were raided by panic-buyers who suddenly decided what they needed was flour, a nation was coming to the realisation they might have to start cooking for themselves.

Someone who was pretty used to cooking for herself was celebrity chef Nadia Lim. Just a few days into lockdown, she posted a three-step chicken soup, alongside the hashtags #lockdownrecipes, #getcooking, #stayathome, #bekind, #getcooking, #lookafteryourself and #lookafterothers (those are some very March 2020 hashtags). Three weeks later, Lim launched her cooking show, Nadia’s Comfort Kitchen, a show intended for a nation of people who were fast running out of ingredients to cook their favourite dishes and just needed to throw something together. Just last week, she released the print version of the cookbook that came out of that cooking show (donating all $405,000 of the profits to Women’s Refuge and Youthline).

Two things are clear here:

  1. Nadia Lim had an extremely productive lockdown.
  2. New Zealand is really lucky that Nadia Lim had an extremely productive lockdown.
Nadia Lim and a muffin (Photo: Supplied)

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t have this, you can use…” could well be the catch phrase of Nadia Lim’s Comfort Kitchen (which you can currently watch on TVNZ on Demand). It’s perhaps the most chill cooking show out there, not just because of Lim’s laissez-faire attitude towards substitutions, but because of her camera-ready charisma. Half of that probably comes from the intimacy of it – the entire thing was shot by her husband, Carlos – and it has the kind of handheld-but-steady closeness you expect more from an Instagram story than a TV show.

Nadia Lim comes with a hefty dose of that quality everybody and their influencer friend strives for but so rarely achieves: authenticity. During the show, you believe she actually cooks the recipes she says she does. You also believe the show is a means to an end – it’s a very effective way to communicate the philosophies she’s been pushing with My Food Bag for the past eight years – healthy food, made easy, made comfortably. There’s also the fact that while she’s definitely camera-ready, she’s not camera-trained in the same way the likes of Nigella Lawson or Jamie Oliver are. A few slips make it quite clear that while she’s talking to us, a captive audience, she’s very much aware of the oddness of having to talk to an audience of strangers while her husband holds the camera and her two children, River and Bodhi, scurry around.

Lim needs little introduction. Since winning MasterChef way back in 2011, she’s fronted New Zealand with Nadia Lim, been a judge on My Kitchen Rules New Zealand, and appeared on Dancing with the Stars. Nadia’s Comfort Kitchen is her ninth cookbook in just as many years. Let’s face it: she’s probably our most well-known food personality, give or take the Big Fresh vegetables.

When I talked to Lim on the phone, I got legitimately emotional at the start of our call, as though I had something to prove. Like a child who just learned how to tie his shoelaces after years of wearing velcro shoes. And to be fair, I kind of did. 

Because, full confession: I started cooking properly because of My Food Bag. Or, to be more accurate, I started cooking because of a global pandemic that confined me to my house and a choice of three microwave meals a day or… actually learning how to cook. I took the latter choice, because there’s only so much money I could justify spending on $6-a-pop frozen mac and cheeses. I had no idea how to start, or which of many “food in a box in your house” services to pick from. Then I remembered: oh shit, I really like Nadia Lim (despite having written middling reviews of her Dancing with the Stars performance).

Nadia Lim on Dancing with the Stars in 2019 (Photo: Three)

That’s another key to Nadia Lim and her success: people really, really like her. There’s a reason she has more than 100,000 Instagram followers. She’s charismatic, she seems down-to-earth, like she’s a good person who believes what she preaches, and she manages to be the front of a company she founded without seeming like a mogul. When I ask fellow DWTS competitor Laura Daniel what she’s like, I get an effusive response: “I got to see first hand how hard she works on all her projects. Not only was she thrusting herself out of her comfort zone by learning how to dance, she was also writing a cookbook and constantly running off to meetings all whilst breastfeeding a four-month-old. On top of all that, I can hand on heart say she is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”

Even people who have never met her rave about her – just dropping her name in conversation elicits a hushed “Oh, I love her” or a “God, she’s saved my life”. She stands alongside Matilda Rice as our most beloved reality show contestants, but one thing sets her apart: she’s bloody feeding people. The quickest way to a (Instagram) heart is through someone’s stomach.

Case in point: in the space of a few weeks, I went from having to be told how to turn on the oven in my house, to cooking at least four dishes a week for both me and my flatmate. This past week I’ve made: a chicken korma curry, za’atar salmon with roast cauliflower, Japanese beef steak with super greens and a leek gratin. At the start of March, I couldn’t have boiled water. By the end of lockdown, I found myself so narcissistically in love with my own cooking that I wouldn’t consider letting someone else feed me.

Back to the phone call. Lim wasn’t just genuinely invested in me cooking, but in the nation’s quick, enforced shift to making their own food. The chef said, “It was one of the silver linings of lockdown. It was amazing to see how much people were in the kitchen, way more than what they were used to. I heard from a lot of people that would say, ‘I never used to cook. Cooking wasn’t my thing. I didn’t know how to cook, and now I’ve started and love it.’ A lot of people have found this new joy, this new hobby.”

Both the series and cookbook are aimed at these newfound cooks (or really, anybody with a low-to-medium cooking ability and repertoire). The recipes are all very easy to make, with simple ingredients you might have either panic-bought and have no idea what to do with, or had at the back of the pantry from months ago. If you don’t have a banana, maybe you can puree an apple! No eggs? No problem! 

While the profits of the printed book go towards charity, it’s free to download for anybody. Lim’s reasoning behind this is simple. “I didn’t want people to have to pay for something, because obviously a lot of people were under a lot of financial pressure, losing jobs and that kind of thing. And I just wanted everybody to keep the cooking up.” She still found that people wanted some sort of physical memento or keepsake of lockdown, so the idea for the printed version came about.

https://www.instagram.com/p/B_6f6ZIJDiV/

(I can’t stress enough that this was made by me, and not Nadia Lim, and definitely not from a Nadia Lim recipe.)

Even talking to her over the phone, Lim can seem preternaturally chill and humble. When I talk about a cooking debacle I had during lockdown, the above potato salad prepared with too much hubris and not enough following the recipe, she says I probably used too much mayonnaise and it “would’ve looked like a pile of vomit”. She followed up with some helpful tips on food presentation – the trick is taking out some of the sauce – and shared her own screw-up during lockdown, which was forgetting to add sugar to an apple crumble.

Even when I, a bit cheekily, ask her what’s something she finds difficult that other chefs might find easy, she’s straight-up: her knife skills aren’t the best. “I never trained as a chef. I’ve never had any professional training whatsoever. I’m just a self-taught cook. I haven’t seen you chop an onion, so I don’t know how bad you are, but when I watch professional chefs chop up an onion, I’m like, ‘Holy moly, don’t chop off your finger’. Because if I tried to do what they do, I would definitely chop my finger off.” (Lim technically has already done that, as was reported around the world back in 2016.) 

When we wrap up our interview, I ask Lim for a few tips. For months, I’ve been jokingly referring to the flat’s weekly My Food Bag delivery as our package from Nadia Lim, and following the four weekly recipes to the letter (except the pinch of salt bit, because when has anybody ever used just a pinch of salt?). It’s not that Lim is the only chef with a relatable brand – celebrity chefs have made millions off of being relatable – it’s more that she was my first introduction to cooking, and cooking properly. Only three months later, I’m preparing salads for the week at work, cooking for other people and not just myself, and even branching out past the My Food Bag recipes into my own personal monstrosities. I recommend frying crumpets in olive oil and your steak in sweet chilli sauce. Lim recommends a good knife and chopping board. We are not the same.

We don’t necessarily need any mementos of lockdown; it’s that once-in-a-lifetime universal experience where everybody’s individual memories make up one shitty kaleidoscope. But both Lim’s show and her cookbook are about as pleasant as mementos can get. For some, it’ll be very literal – they made the gnocchi, or perhaps the sagwala. But for me? They’re mementos of a time where I went from lacking one very normal adult skill to picking up a genuine passion, a stress reliever, and some sense of structure during a structureless time. But for Lim? She got people fed and got people cooking, made an entire TV show, and released a cookbook that made nearly half a million for New Zealand’s biggest charities.

We are not the same. She’s much, much better.

You can watch Nadia’s Comfort Kitchen on TVNZ on Demand and download the Comfort Kitchen ebook here.