At 5:45 a.m., I was sitting on the balcony of my room at the Hilo Hawaiian, watching a Matson cargo barge hook up with its pilot ship in Hilo Bay and reflecting on the history of the Merrie Monarch Festival, on this, the last day of the 2007 event.
The festival originally was cooked up as a way to attract visitors to Hilo, when the city was in the midst of a bad business slump. Judging by the no-vacancy hotels, the traffic, the packed restaurants and the amount of brand-new alohawear seen at the event, it appears to have worked.
But the key to that was the hula competition. The first few years of the festival, which was founded in 1964 by the County of Hawai'i, were dismal failures with its royal court, beard-growing contest (to resemble Kalakaua, get it?), street dances and so on.
It wasn't until Dottie Thompson volunteered to chair the event, and enlisted the right cast of characters to create a competitive hula event (the first of which was in 1971) that Merrie Monarch began to grow. Though the festival continues to comprise a group of events (craft fairs, free hula performances, a parade, a couple of ho'olaule'a-style celebrations that bracket the week-long celebration), the hula competition is by far its best-known, best-attended, best-loved feature.
Last night, KITV coverage co-host Kimo Kahoano twice broke away from the business of kahiko group competition to exhort the crowd to thank Thompson with applause in this, the first year since 1971, that she has not been seen at the hula event, due to illness. As the crowd clapped and screamed, her daughter, assistant director Luana Kawelu, ducked her head with the humility and aversion to the spotlight that is typical of her family.
Also thanked was Uncle George Naope, who was on the original team that proposed the idea of a Merrie Monarch festival, and later helped Thompson found the hula competition.
Visiting Merrie Monarch during the hula competition is an experience that should be on the "do-this-before-you-die" list of every hula lover.
But two things were on my mind as I sat and watched glass-calm Hilo Bay reflecting the misty clouds over Hilo early this morning:
• that I can't wait to come again when it isn't Merrie Monarch time, to experience the "real" Hilo, so much more peaceful. (And also, I'd have some time!)
• and how much I miss watching the hula competition on TV with my friends, which was an annual, no-can-cancel appointment until I began covering Merrie Monarch.
Last night, I left the Edith Kanaka'ole Tennis Stadium at intermission and came back to my room to watch the competition on television to observe the differences in the experience. (And, no, I did not miss one minute of competition, since the Hilo Hawaiian is so close to the stadium.)
And the thing is, there are advantages to both.
On television, frankly, the view is better unless you're a judge (because they're on a raised dais and right up front). In the stadium, you have two choices; sit close on the floor and you can't see the feet (and what is hula without the feet, which root the dance to the 'aina?). Sit farther away and you're constantly asking your friends, "What is that flower they're wearing? Do you think that fabric is really silk? Who is that in the back singing?" Or you may be able only to see certain angles.
(By the way, if you noticed that TV didn't have the overhead views that have been a feature of previous years' broadcasts, it's because, as director John Wray explained to me, KITV's "spider-cam caught a virus." They'll be restoring it next year. They call the machine the spider-cam because, when they installed it some years ago, using a boom to lift it to the rafters, they found that spiders had colonized the area. One year, they could actually see a spider crawling across the lens during competition. "It was hilarious; we had to laugh and laugh," Wray said. Wray said he worked hard this year to try to give a more 360-degree view because the dance is really in the round, especially as halau advance their choreography and begin to use the stage in more innovative ways.
On the other hand, on TV, you can't smell the flowers, spend the intermission people-watching (and it's GOOOOD people-watching) and evesdropping on people's conversations (Ho! I heard some interesting comments about bad-boy Mark Keali'i Ho'omalu's performance!), hear the roars at full volume or really feel the mana.
But when you watch on TV, you don't have to worry about parking (if you get here past 4:30, you're in the cow pasture, where, as likely as not, some guy will block your car and then stay late).
But when you're in the stadium, you can have a program and really 'ono local-kine grinds.
But when you watch it on TV, you can invite all your friends over, eat and drink all you want and wala'au through the whole show and not upset anyone else. (And no waiting in line for the lua, either.)
Also, if you're watching it in the stadium, you don't hear any of the information on the dances that you get on TV; you generally have only the vaguest idea what's going on in the mo'olelo. And, especially, you don't hear Pua Kanahele's expert commentary; bringing her on board is one of the smartest things KITV ever did. She's always giving me information I didn't have — the names of steps and flowers and so on.
You see what I mean? If you are interested in this, you ought to try to come at least once in your life. But if you're watching it on TV, don't feel you're missing out. You're just experiencing it differently.
As I file this, I'm getting ready to rest up for tonight's marathon. I went out early and bought my Big Island Candies omiyagi for the office (because if I didn't, they wouldn't let me back in the door!) and my adornments for this evening (tiny orchids, roselani for my home Island of Maui, baby's breath and a little greenery in a lei po'o, in case anybody cares). I'll blog late tonight...hard to believe, my final report from Merrie Monarch 2007.
A hui hou. Malama pono.