Witi Ihimaera - White Lies

Soon after her mother’s death, so Higham and Moseley tell us, Merle Oberon had a portrait painted of an unknown woman, with brown hair, blue eyes and white skin, dressed in a period costume of some twenty years earlier. The painting always hung in her homes from then on, and, when asked who the woman was, Merle Oberon always said she was her mother.

And so, in the second part of the novella and film, Paraiti is involved in a battle of wills with Rebecca Vickers, whose life parallels that of Merle Oberon: as a Maori passing as Pakeha, she, too, has much at stake.

The battle is over the life of an unborn child: how will Paraiti be able to save the child and not kill it? It is also, of course, over whose history will succeed, identity, race, skin colour and the choices many men and women of ethnicity faced when trying to survive within European society before it rebalanced itself.

There are now two versions of the novella Medicine Woman , which, together with the White Lies screenplay, make three versions of the same story. The following first version of the novella was first published in Ask the Posts of the House (2007), and this is the version on which Dana Rotberg based her White Lies adaptation. The second, expanded and altered version, is published for the first time at the beginning of this movie tie-in.

Those who know my work will understand why: I have a habit of rewriting; for instance, there are two versions of Pounamu, Pounamu (1972 and 2002), two versions of Tangi (1973 and the second substantially revised combined with a sequel called The Rope of Man , 2005), two versions of Whanau ( Whanau 1974 and Whanau II , 2003), two versions of The Matriarch (1986 and its major revision 2009), retouching of various versions of The Whale Rider and multiple published versions of some of my short stories.

My last novel, The Parihaka Woman (2011), actually began life as Erenora , an unpublished rock opera libretto, before becoming a novella originally intended for inclusion in The Thrill of Falling , but it grew into a complete novel instead.

The reason?

Well, I have always believed that a fictional piece of work exists in a continuum. It is not static. Stories rarely leave you alone, they sit like backseat drivers in the recesses of your mind, nagging to come back into the driving seat again. Indeed, my publisher Harriet Allan said to me, ‘Witi, you must have a busload of bossy characters at the back of your bus!’ There’s more: they also nag at me, ‘Pay further attention to who we really are and the landscape that you are driving us through.’ And so in most cases I have added historical context or political inflections or sub-textual resonances.

In the case of Medicine Woman there was another reason. This was that from the beginning the novella was always the first part of a two-part story: Medicine Woman and Paraiti’s Daughter . I still have to write the sequel, but its rewrite was evolving in my head at the same time Dana was writing her screenplay adaptation. I like to think that it is a more complex work, and certainly it provides a richer and more substantial — and longer — experience for the reader.

I’m not going to point out the differences between my original Medicine Woman and this current rendition — they will be apparent when you read them — except to say that two characters have a greater part to play in the expanded version: Ihaka the woodsman and the anonymous gardener; this is because they serve a larger function in the sequel. They were also demanding their own stories in the future. My editor Anna Rogers and Harriet, too, also required me with their excellent questions to audit the original and add detail that they felt was missing in it. All this was done without recourse to Dana’s screenplay.

I should also point out that there are now three variations on the ending. In the original novella in Ask the Posts of the House , it is Rebecca Vickers who throws the baby into the river. However, in Dana’s White Lies screenplay, Rebecca commits suicide, which caused me a dilemma as far as writing any sequel was concerned. This is why I was pushed to make Maraea, and not Rebecca Vickers, the one who takes the baby down to the bridge before sunrise. As it happens, this change has brought Maraea out of the shadows, makes us focus on her motivations — and prepares us for her greater participation in the sequel.

I like to think that the reader and viewer of Dana’s film now have the opportunity to choose which ending they prefer. For fledgling writers and filmmakers, the three endings show the different direction ideas can be taken by different artists, filmmakers, publishers and editors working in different media.

They show that the capacity of the artistic imagination is limitless.

Thanks to my friend and colleague John Barnett, whose production company made Whale Rider and who introduced Dana Rotberg to me. Most people won’t know that it took twelve years to bring Whale Rider , directed by Niki Caro, from novel to screen. John introduced me to Niki, too; she is one of my favourite people. The most successful New Zealand stories that appear on film and television in this country are due to his tenacity; I am humbled and grateful that South Pacific Pictures have produced White Lies — Tuakiri Huna .

Thank you also to Dana Rotberg. What an amazing biography she brings to New Zealand: an acclaimed director in Mexico, with a list of international award-winning films to her credit! After a decade-long hiatus, White Lies — Tuakiri Huna marks her return to international filmmaking. From the beginning, I was excited at the prospect of such an acclaimed filmmaker bringing her aesthetic and vision to a New Zealand landscape and narrative; we have usually been seen only through New Zealand or British or American eyes. White Lies — Tuakiri Huna is clearly the work of a major international director; Dana Rotberg’s notes, written with sincerity and radiance, show why. As well, I could not help but feel some strange rightness in the Mexican connection through Merle Oberon’s marriage to Bruno Pagliai.

In her acknowledgements, Dana thanks the many people from Tuhoe, the Ruatahuna valley and those involved in the production for the making of White Lies — Tuakiri Huna . May I add my thanks that you so fulsomely and generously opened the pathway for her, and the cast and crew.

Thanks also to my agent, Ray Richards, and to my publisher Harriet Allan and my editor Anna Rogers for their superb advice and editing; they never let me get away with anything.

Finally, I want to return to my mother and the scar-faced woman she took me to. She was a woman I never knew called Paraiti.

During the making of the film, John Barnett told the story of Paraiti at the blessing at the marae before production began. I was so proud to know that filming was to take place on the Oputao Marae and I make my mihi and pay tribute to the kuia, koroua and whanau for their generosity and aroha. I was not there, but apparently the local people were intrigued about my story. They were aware of local women who practised medicine but not one of them could identify the real Paraiti.

Does that matter? Yes, because one day I would like to visit her grave, wherever it might be, and thank her for her work.

Anointed to the task of honouring life, she saved mine.