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Now, this should not be taken to be disparaging to any of his fellow thespians, but he was big. Really big. Give him a minute or two in a scene and he could somehow steal the entire show without seeming to do much.

I was lucky enough to witness this mysterious process first hand when I was shooting the documentary Making Utu, when Wi turned up from Australia to play Wiremu in Geoff Murphy’s Mäori Western. Wi was pretty intimidating then – called kuki and not the little biscuit his name suggested.

Later he returned from Germany with Sylvia and I got to know him better. They sometimes came over for tea and Wi would fall asleep in front of the fire. But just when you thought that was him snoring, he would mutter “Bullshit!” and he was usually right! I didn’t realise until his tangi that he is named after the dolphin. He certainly seemed to be able to sleep with one side of his brain awake like dolphins can.

He went to university in the ’60s but never passed any exams, espousing Moliere’s view that “people of quality know everything without ever having been taught”. However, he was one of the most widely read people I have ever known and could be a startling conversationalist – for example, he knew why cricket has 11 men and what the three stumps symbolise (the Holy trinity apparently).

His view of the world was cosmic in the best sense of the word. He looked at the big picture and set a strong kaupapa, laying down the ground for Mäori and pakeha practitioners to find a place to stand that is uniquely our own.

He and Tama Poata and Tungia Baker all leaving us within months is a bit of a blow. We could have done with their inventive philosophy and active dedication to the cause of indigenous art in Aotearoa for quite a bit longer.

But in the end, what I will miss most is that strong soaring voice of his, invariably joining in late on the song and anchoring everything. “By their work, ye shall know them.” – Gaylene Preston

I was not close to Wi Kuki but have always been an admirer of his work – particularly his screen work!

When I was teaching at Toi Whakaari I often used his work as an example of an actor who didn’t act, who allowed the camera to do its magic! As a young actor, seeing his portrayal of Rewi Maniapoto in The Governor gave me something to aspire to. His performance was subtle, ballsy, mesmerising!

I worked with Wi Kuki in the ground- breaking series E Tipu e Rea: I was directing an adaptation of Patricia Grace’s Te Moemoea, which was the first drama recorded in Te Reo. Wi Kuki was my language consultant and he was a proper rascal – he was difficult and negative and we ended up having a big row! Such was the complex nature of the man! But this experience did nothing to dull my respect for him and I believe I earned his for standing up to his antics – he was always warm to me

thereafter.

The last time I saw Wi Kuki was at Tama Poata’s tangi. He was hail and hearty and in his element. He was a commanding and welcome addition to the paepae! So I was stunned when Nick Blake rang me last December to ask me to take over from Wi Kuki in the role of Keepa in the play Dr Buller’s Birds because he’d had to withdraw due to ill health. The role had been written for him and he had played a huge role in the development of the text through the workshop process. My immediate reaction was that the play had lost a great deal by losing him and that I would have my work cut out to inject the sheer presence that Wi Kuki would have brought to the role.

Wi Kuki died just a few days before we opened the play. We dedicated the season to him and on opening night we left his seat vacant, decorated simply with a fern leaf. I felt a lovely irony performing to a seat that had been reserved for an elder who didn’t make it...

Wi, you were a great actor with your best work ahead of you – a great way for an actor to go out perhaps. Your wit, intellect, cheek, and mana will be sadly missed!

– Rawiri Paratene

Wi Kuki Kaa was an actor and person of great heart. And in all his work gave an authenticity that reflected ordinary human experience.

I became aware of him first through his work in Geoff Murphy’s Utu and felt he was the emotional heart of the movie even though he did not

play the largest of parts. Somehow, in playing a man of torn loyalties having ultimately to take down his own brother, he seemed to convey something of the difficult choices all of us face at one time or another.

As a result of this role I chose him for River Queen. He was much appreciated by all our crew. Where others allowed ego to get in their way, this old man worked with- out stint or complaint, even though he had just come from hospital and was having consistent hip problems. He started the day three hours ahead of most, patiently waiting for his moko to be applied in make up before he took the jet boat journey up

river to quietly await his part in the working day.

Shane Connaughton, screenwriter of My Left Foot, looked at River Queen and noted how much he liked his work, mainly because of its humility and humanity.

Wi Kuki loved acting and, like so many of us, was forced to work in

Australia in order to continue his craft.

He was like kauri amongst his fellow actors. And, like such other greats as Bruno Lawrence, his passing will always be remembered by us all with considerable feeling.

– Vincent Ward

My first encounter with Wi Kuki was in my role as head of Telefilm Canada in 1987 at the signing of the Canada-New Zealand co-production treaty in Vancouver during both the Commonwealth Heads of Government meeting and the Vancouver International Film Festival where Ngati was screening.

Ngati festival guests Wi Kuki, Barry Barclay and Tama Poata had been invited to the official lunch that preceded the treaty’s signing and had raised the issue of Canada’s indigenous languages not being officially referred to in the treaty text (the only official languages mentioned being English, Mäori and French).

Some Canadian government functionaries also at the lunch were sufficiently concerned by Wi’s forceful protest about this indigenous oversight – and indeed insult – that they alerted the RCMP to potential security breaches. The Mounties were out in full force for the arrival of New Zealand Prime Minister David Lange and Canada’s

Minister of Communications, while NZFC chairman David Gascoigne and executive director Jim Booth were posted in the hotel lobby to help them identify the protesters – Mäori and indigenous First Nations Canadians – for immediate arrest if required. Despite the alarmist Canadian fears, however, all went smoothly.

Move forward 15 months and Wi Kuki was one of the first to call me in my new role as head of the NZFC. The conversation went something like this:

J: Hello?

Wi: Kia ora kare. Now what are we going to do about the exclusion of

the languages of our indigenous brothers and sisters in Canada in that

co-production agreement?

J: New Zealand is going to try to correct it, aren’t we!

From then on, Wi Kuki became a true friend and indeed a mentor. We shared, along with Te Manu Aute members Bazz Barclay and Anne Keating, many lively debates. His wonderful dignity and presence brought magical performances on stage and screens. He and Sylvia shared their home and tea and laughter. His sister Keri made an enormous contribution on the NZFC’s then Short Film Fund Committee. And, while it took several years before First Nations languages were officially recognised as New Zealand-Canada co-production languages through a formal Mixed Commission, Wi Kuki’s staunchness never allowed the NZFC to drop the ball with the Canadians – its achievement is part of his legacy to Aotearoa New Zealand indigenous filmmaking.

Since I returned here 18 months or so ago, my contacts with Wi Kuki have swung between the deeply sad occasion of Tungia Baker’s tangi and the glorious celebration in Wanganui at the River Queen premiere. In between, there have been too few times with him and Sylvia and tea and laughter.

A man of great power with audiences, friends and especially with worried Canadian officials, Wi Kuki lives on still with his image as Old Rangi on big screens around the country and with his spirit in our admiring hearts. I’ve no doubt that there will be tea, laughter and many other stories to now be shared with Sylvia. God bless.

– Judith McCann

Wi Kuki was from a generation of storytellers who remind me of the East Coast. Dirt floors, railway irons over open fires, wide open spaces, dangerous shore lines, taniwha, kehua and wild horses. If there is such a thing as an aura, his was a kaleidoscope.

You knew when Wi Kuki was excited – a sort of internal animation would bubble out of a face and body that could erupt as quickly as it could subside. His laugh reminded me of a drawn out possum screech, which often left me wondering whether he did circular breathing. His laugh made me laugh.

Wi Kuki was a risk taker, with imagination, daring, courage and determination. In other words, he was an artist. He was never fazed by others’ self-importance – a spade was a spade, unless it was a shovel, in which case you’d quickly be reminded of the fact. Sometimes it was better just to sit and be quiet.

Wi Kuki was a tohunga. A star of the moving image that now dwells in the heavens, wherever that may be. One thing’s for sure, he’d be in good company, sharing a story, a laugh, a beer or whatever else.

He was one of our own, an awe-inspiring koroua who left an imprint of character with so many of us. If ever we were to wonder how the void he left would be filled, we need only think of what he would say: “Pull your finger and get on with it!”

Kua hinga te totara i Te-wao-nui-a-Tane. Haere atu ra e te rangatira, haere, haere, haere. – Wiremu Grace

(Approximate wordcount: 1812)

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