The True Story Behind Chief of War, Jason Momoa’s Hawaiian History Epic

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As I stand firm on a sturdy canoe bobbing gently amidst the vast Pacific Ocean, my hair tied neatly behind me and a cloak made of vibrant ti leaves adorning my muscular frame, the camera captures the shimmering sunlight dancing across the towering waves. In one swift movement, I plunge into the sparkling water, momentarily disappearing from view. The tranquility is suddenly broken as I wrestle with a shark, finding myself in an intense dance of man versus beast, embodying the spirit of survival. It’s a testament to my power and a bold declaration that I am not afraid of whatever challenges the ocean or the future may bring.

The initial scene, both mystical and intense, establishes the atmosphere for the “Chief of War,” a grand narrative unfolding across nine episodes on Apple TV+, recounting Hawaii’s unification story. This era, spanning from the late 18th century to the early 19th century, was marked by brutal conflicts, dynamic alliances, and the introduction of Western powers that irrevocably transformed the islands. In addition to acting in the series, Momoa is also involved as a co-writer, producer, and director for one episode. The series premieres on Aug. 1, with Luciane Buchanan, Temuera Morrison, Te Ao o Hinepehinga, Cliff Curtis, and Kaina Makua among the notable cast members.

On a pleasant July afternoon, two weeks before the debut of “Chief of War,” Momoa chats with co-creator Thomas Pa‘a Sibbett at the Four Seasons Resort O‘ahu at Ko Olina, where the sea sparkles beyond the balcony. For years, they have delved into Ka‘iana’s tale of survival, deception, and struggle to mold a culture on the brink of change. This time, Momoa, with his shoulder-length hair cascading in soft waves around his tanned face, seems relaxed and dry. Dressed in a Hawaiian-patterned shirt and white pants, he readily smiles as he discusses how a project so personal and expansive required perseverance.

Speaking from my perspective, when there’s something deeply important to me that I aspire to bring to life at a significant level, it’s crucial to ensure all aspects are well-aligned and ready. My journey with Aquaman in 2018 took my career to new heights, making this series a reality. We couldn’t have reached this point without waiting for the right opportunity. It was about patience and timing.

Creating this project demanded a creative team capable of handling the story’s weight. That meant collaborating closely with producers like Brian Mendoza, having industry knowledge, experience, and trust to tell our story on our terms. This isn’t just any tale; it’s our heritage. If we fail, there’s no going back. The stakes are high, and getting the authenticity right is crucial.

For Jason Momoa, the concept of “home” holds a rich and multilayered significance. Born in Honolulu to Joseph, a Native Hawaiian artist, and Coni, primarily of European descent, he was predominantly brought up by his mother in Iowa, yet spent many summers with his father in Hawaii. Sibbett, too, of Native Hawaiian lineage, was raised immersed in Polynesian customs where art and dance played a pivotal role in shaping his sense of identity. The duo have collaborated on projects such as the 2018 thriller “Braven”, the melancholic 2022 Western “The Last Manhunt”, and the upcoming sequel to “Aquaman” entitled “Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom”. However, “Chief of War” stands out as their most ambitious joint endeavor to date. It encompasses the grandeur of an epic, yet remains intimately connected to Native Hawaiian language, culture, and heritage.

The concept for “Chief of War” was initially proposed when Momoa and Sibbett were asked to recount the tale of King Kamehameha I, who consolidated the Hawaiian islands into a single kingdom in 1810. However, rather than focusing exclusively on this legendary monarch, they opted for a more intricate character as a starting point for exploring Hawaiian history. Ka‘iana, the first Hawaiian chief to venture beyond the islands, was well-versed in domestic politics yet brought back wisdom from beyond the reef, making him one of the king’s influential allies.

According to Momoa, Thomas walked in with a suggestion and shared some information about Ka‘iana, which was new to me. However, upon hearing his idea, I immediately felt it would be fantastic. It’s simply excellent storytelling – a captivating tale.

A life pulled by two tides

In the late 18th and early 19th centuries, the wars that unfolded transformed Hawaii. For many generations, powerful chiefs, referred to as “ali‘i”, governed the eight primary islands independently, forming and dissolving alliances through matrimony, diplomacy, and conflict. However, the arrival of foreign ships disrupted this intricate equilibrium. British and American traders introduced new weapons like muskets and cannons, often determining the outcome of battles. Additionally, diseases such as measles, which came with these foreigners, spread rapidly among communities, causing significant population decline. During this tumultuous period, King Kamehameha I perceived uniting the islands under a single rule as a means to safeguard Hawaiian traditions from the diverse threats posed by Western cultural infiltration.

The wars commenced in the 1780s. Following a preliminary victory in 1782 at the Battle of Moku‘ohai, which took place near Kealakekua Bay on Hawai’i Island, King Kamehameha I looked beyond his lands. In 1790, his troops invaded Maui, resulting in the brutal Battle of Kepaniwai, where it was said that the waters of ‘Īao Valley ran red with the dead. Five years later, the pivotal Battle of Nu’uanu took place on O’ahu, where warriors were forced over the steep Pali cliffs, solidifying his control over the most densely populated islands. By 1810, King Kaumualii of Kaua’i surrendered peacefully, and Hawai’i experienced its first political unification.

In my perspective as a movie reviewer, “Unity: The Price of Power” is an engrossing tale that delves into the life of King Kamehameha I. This monarch, in his quest for unity and defense, wisely adopted Western tools, commerce, and counsel. However, this unification brought about a more profound exposure to external forces. As he consolidated power, he unwittingly drew Hawai’i deeper into foreign affairs, a complex web that subsequent generations found challenging to untangle.

Over the course of time, new legal frameworks, private land ownership, and economic stressors gradually eroded Hawaiian sovereignty, paving the way for the kingdom’s downfall in 1893. That fateful year saw Queen Lili’uokalani dethroned by the Committee of Safety—a conglomerate primarily composed of American business tycoons and sugar planters—empowered, to some extent, by the presence of U.S. Marines. The tale concludes on a bittersweet note, leaving us pondering the consequences of strategic alliances and the delicate balance between independence and interdependence.

Ka’iana lived his life amidst constantly shifting cultural boundaries. Born around 1755 into an intricate network of Hawaiian royal bloodlines, he was linked to many prominent ruling families of his era. He was the first Hawaiian chief to journey beyond the islands, sailing to China, the Philippines, and the northwest coast of North America in 1787. In Canton, he was welcomed as a distinguished guest and bestowed with livestock, tools, and European goods. Upon his return to Hawaii in 1788, Ka’iana brought back these gifts, along with foreign knowledge about ships, weapons, and military strategies that proved indispensable to King Kamehameha I.

At one point, Ka’iana held a significant position as one of the king’s top military advisors. However, when King Kamehameha I was planning to attack O’ahu in 1795, Ka’iana found himself left out of crucial war meetings, a sign that his life might be at risk. Despite this warning, he decided to stand up against the king and allied with Kalanikūpule, who led O’ahu’s defenders.

Ka’iana perished early during the Battle of Nu’uanu, close to a stone wall that is now near Queen Emma’s Summer Palace. Many of his warriors met the same fate. Was their demise due to treachery or a valiant struggle against a ruler whose aspirations posed a grave risk to their traditional lifestyle? Some scholars view him as a forward-thinking leader who foresaw a Hawaii on the precipice of two eras; others see him as a tragic figure destroyed by the relentless waves of change. In his lifetime, he was admired as “The Prince of Kaua’i,” the first Hawaiian to behold the broader Pacific realm and recount his experiences. However, he ultimately became a casualty of the very powers he aimed to comprehend.

Speaking the language of the ancestors

The leader of war is not afraid to confront the harsh realities of unity: the violence, the deceit, and the sacrifices endured for survival. It also exposes a Hawaii seldom depicted on screen—the sacred heiau temples, the intense discipline of Kapu Ku‘ialua martial arts, and the complex networks of alliances and power that dictated the islands’ history well before Western vessels appeared on the horizon.

As a movie enthusiast immersed in the rich culture of Hawaii, I can’t help but appreciate how the series beautifully pays homage to its origins by weaving the Hawaiian language into its narrative. The first two episodes themselves are primarily spoken in this captivating native dialect known as ʻOlelo Hawai‘i. Sibbett, one of the creators, eloquently puts it, “To truly understand someone’s language is to grasp their people and their thought processes.” This integration was not just an added element; it was essential to the core of our storytelling.

Reviving the Hawaiian language has been a deeply significant task. Centuries ago, colonizers discouraged its teaching in educational institutions, leading to a dramatic decrease in the number of proficient speakers as English took over as the dominant language for commerce and administration. It wasn’t until the 1970s that efforts to revitalize the language began, involving the documentation of native speakers and the education of subsequent generations. Finding actors who could fluently speak Hawaiian was a meticulous process during the casting for the role of ‘Chief of War’.

Admitting a chuckle, Momoa confesses that he might not have been the best at it, but we put in a lot of effort. Even when I was directing, my language coach was out of sight, and he played a crucial role in determining if I could proceed to the next scene.

As a movie enthusiast, I can’t help but appreciate the meticulous attention to detail given to the soundtrack of this series. The prospect of securing a composer like Hans Zimmer, whose iconic scores for films such as Gladiator, The Lion King, and the 2021 Dune have left indelible marks on cinema, initially seemed like a long shot to the creative team.

To convince Zimmer, Momoa, and Mendoza decided on an impromptu approach, which Momoa referred to as a “last-ditch effort” presentation. They ventured out in a compact catamaran to O’ahu’s North Shore, where the actor donned a homemade cape and helmet, filmed captivating visuals – what he described as a collection of engaging little themes – intended to encapsulate the show’s mood and essence. They swiftly edited the footage into a raw trailer, added music by Zimmer they were fond of, and sent it along with the script, aiming to provide him an immersive experience of the project’s overall feel.

When Zimmer summoned Momoa for the meeting, Momoa steeled himself for a refusal. As he remembers it, “We had prepared a 20-minute pitch, something like, ‘No, but you simply must hear us out… it means so much to us, and no one has ever attempted this before,'” he said. However, Zimmer cut them off before they could present their case: “When do we get started?

The final composition is richly textured and multi-layered. Strong drum beats, eerie choir harmonies, and powerful string melodies create an atmosphere of weightiness and majesty for the play’s most personal and heroic scenes. Hans Zimmer, who crafted the main theme, teamed up with James Everingham to develop the overall score, which blends traditional Hawaiian instruments like shark-skin drums. The composers also joined forces with Native Hawaiian artist Kaumakaiwa Kanaka’ole to maintain cultural accuracy in the music. This results in a melodic link between history and modernity, contributing to a vivid portrayal of ancient Hawaii that feels real, tangible, and vibrant.

A show shaped by fire and sea

Set in both Hawaii and New Zealand, the series “Chief of War” is not only grand in its narrative but equally so in its cinematic scope. With guidance from cultural experts and consultants, authenticity was prioritized in every scene of the production. As showrunner Doug Jung puts it, “It felt comprehensive.” This approach, he elaborates, helped to avoid assumptions or good-intentioned yet incorrect decisions. “There was always a correct path,” Jung explains, “We strove for that, while still acknowledging and navigating modern times.

The entire coastline was meticulously rebuilt using traditional methods. Skilled canoe builders constructed 47 Hawaiian wa‘as, which are double-hulled boats used for long voyages. Moreover, over 42,000 feet of Evolon fabric, known for its strength and adaptability in clothing design, were utilized to create garments that paid tribute to the textures and styles of the past, including the feathered capes and robes worn by high-ranking leaders.

– The team went the extra mile to enhance the intense scenes in the show, particularly during an action-packed scene involving Ka‘iana and King Kamehameha I (portrayed by Makua). For this sequence, they reenacted holua sled racing, an ancient Hawaiian sport considered sacred. The filming took place at Awhitu, a rugged stretch of New Zealand’s coastline with long tracks of solidified lava. Here, the crew captured riders hurtling down these tracks on narrow sleds, reaching speeds close to 60 miles per hour before diving into the Pacific. Most of this scene was shot practically, with cameras positioned close to the ground to simulate the terrifying speed and viewpoint of the racers.

In other locations, something more fundamental was required. On the Big Island, approximately 75 stunt performers assembled on the black lava plains of Kalapana to record one of the series’ crucial battles. The land was tranquil, with jagged rocks extending far, until Mauna Loa awakened. Suddenly, after a gap of 38 years, the volcano erupted. To ensure safety, the team sought advice from the production’s geologist; filming continued as the volcano growled in the background.

On the last day of filming in the barren black desert, they concluded production and marked the occasion with a modest gathering. By dawn the following day, the volcanic activity had subsided. To the cast and crew, this coincidence seemed eerily prophetic, as if the land itself were responding, its ancient tale echoing the narrative they were portraying.

When the past rises like a wave

In “Chief of War,” a tale both personal and grand delves into the rich and tumultuous history of Hawaii, illuminating its dangers and splendors. According to Sibbett, the narrative was intended to resonate universally. “It doesn’t matter where you’re from; we all experience similar struggles,” he explains. “You can liken it to an epic like the Iliad of the Pacific. It’s not just a Hawaiian story, but its essence is Hawaiian – the themes and subtleties are rooted in Hawaii.

The story might take place in different eras and locations, yet it echoes timeless realities. It shuns easy resolutions and portrays characters who aren’t just black-and-white heroes. King Kamehameha I embodies both unity and conquest, while Ka‘iana is a mix of loyalty and internal struggles. Even the foreign sailors – some are allies, others are opportunists – possess intricacies and depth. As Jung puts it, “The more you can depict any culture with all the colors of human experience, the more relatable that culture becomes. You recognize yourself in it.

At a certain moment during the chat, Momoa pauses to ponder, looking down at his feet, lost in thought. As he reminisces about the years spent embodying Chief of War, his voice becomes softer. He shares that mastering the islands’ native language has strengthened his connection with his ancestry. When he wanders through Honolulu’s Bishop Museum, a sanctuary of its cultural and natural heritage, he can decipher the ancient inscriptions on its walls with comprehension. “It takes time for me, but I’m committed to keep learning,” he says. “My children are learning now, and I eagerly anticipate growing old and hopefully one day conversing with my grandchildren in Hawaiian as well.

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2025-08-01 17:18