We Were Dangerous

 

Josephine Stewart-Te Whiu’s We Were Dangerous is bookended by two escapes, one thwarted, one, perhaps mainly by virtue of ending the film in the right place, successful. The film begins in the Te Motu School for Incorrigible and Delinquent Girls in 1954 Christchurch. Nellie (Erana James, The Wilds), Daisy (Manaia Hall) and a third girl attempt to scale the walls of the school/prison, but are caught. In the fallout, the matron of the school (Rima Te Wiata) finds out that they will have to locate to a, presumably more escape-proof (and boy-proof, since one of the attempted escapees was expecting), island off the coast that used to house a leper colony. Before the viewers even witness what exactly happens at this school and how it fulfils its dictum to “Christianise, civilise, assimilate” its charge of girls, the power relationship between the matron (who is Māori, like many of the children under her control) and the suited men who command and supervise makes it clear that this is a profoundly colonial and bureaucratic project, with an ideological goal.

The film succeeds in presenting this inherently violently project of disciplining and shaping girls into a preconceived notion of femininity from the perspective of the girls themselves, who experience it in the lessons they are given in class, the shocking and surprising moments of violence when they transgress (the matron freely beats them for minor infractions), the glimpses they have of the bigger project that is happening on this remote island, where there are no adults for them to trust. A gentle caretaker, played by Stephen Tamarapa, seems like he might be able to help, but in the end, they are left to their own devices to figure out how to resist what they encounter. The film shows us what little it takes for the system to decide that they are “incorrigible” – Nellie and Daisy have ended up there through no fault of their own, because they’ve fallen through the cracks, Nellie sent to the big city after a meat processing plant has closed in her hometown and made feeding all the children impossible, with plans falling through once she arrives, Daisy, who is only 12, after escaping the abuse in multiple foster homes and landing on the streets. Their only crime is stealing to stay alive, and their deep care for each other (at one point, they try to explain the kinship model of cousins that goes beyond familial bonds) stands in stark contrast to the alleged care of the reform school. Newcomer Louisa (Nathalie Morris, Bump) is an outlier – the Pākehā daughter of a doctor, arrives at the island late, after her dalliance with her female math tutor is discovered by her family.  

On the island, the girls are put to work. They whitewash and clean the abandoned huts, with Nellie, Daisy and Louisa assigned the most rickety one among them, with a leaky roof. Louisa is at first regarded with suspicion by the two other girls, but proves her usefulness when she fixes the roof with a raincoat. They bond – Louisa becoming a second source of care for the young Daisy, and something more complex for Nellie, even if the film doesn’t have the space or run-time to explore the feelings developing between the two.
The dynamics between the three, the occasional joy of all the girls (a spontaneous haka, lifting the mood with dancing, all promptly shut down by the matron) is in stark contrast to the educational programme of the island: the stated goal is to reintegrate them into white society, even though it soon becomes clear that all the classes are preparing them for is a life of servitude. A ridiculous lesson in manners and elocution makes it clear that the end goal is to send them to white families as domestic helpers, at best prepare them for marriage, even though that is more like a carrot dangled in front of them. Any expression of Māori culture is punished and forbidden, a sign in the classroom stating that only the use of English is allowed, while the matron holds forth on the civilising power of Christianity. The matron is a fascinating character herself. Raised by nuns, she seems to be making up for coming to religion late with extra fervour, as if her identity as a Māori woman is a moral deficit she must make up for, and punish in the children.

The situation escalates when the already questionable system of schooling, in no way meant to actually educate them meaningfully (Daisy, who can’t read, is repeatedly ridiculed by the matron and punished instead of actually taught), is supplemented with an ominous pamphlet that Nellie finds on the matron’s desk: a pamphlet titled The Fertility of the Unfit, based on an early 20th century publication by a eugenicist. The film never explicitly states what this means in combination with the looming and terrifying medical hut, the arrival of men who take a girl into the hut and perform an unnamed procedure on her, but it’s clear that this is about forced sterilisation. This measure failed in the New Zealand Parliament in the 1920s, but these girls are on a remote island and vulnerable to experiments so far from view, and the matron is unlikely to be sympathetic or understanding. Louisa attempts to appeal to her father in a letter, but it is intercepted by the matron. Left to their own devices, Nellie and Daisy decide that they must destroy the medical hut and escape the island. Louisa seems hesitant to partake in this, and appears to switch sides, becoming a teacher’s pet and even slapping Nellie when she transgresses. Later, the film reveals that all of this is a ploy – in a true heist movie fashion, a flashback reveals that the girls have come up with a plan to collect the necessary ingredients to build a Molotov cocktail, and Louisa’s access depends on being trusted by the matron. For the period of the time that the film makes it seem as if she has betrayed her friends, and especially Nellie, it distinctly feels like this is going to a darker and more hopeless place than it all eventually ends up in – with a successful destruction of the hut, the building of a raft, an escape to the sea, with all three girls united and ready to rely on each other for the care that the system refuses to provide.

This film is carried by the outstanding performances of the leads, with James, Morris and Hall creating an emotional centre to the film that stands in contrast to the horrible things they are confronting. Abuse in state-based and faith-based care was prevalent in New Zealand (as well as in other British colonies interacting with First Nations people) and investigated by a Royal Commission in the 2020s, but what the director and writer of We Were Dangerous accomplishes here is something surprisingly hopeful and elating, a successful act of resistance against an all-powerful institution that attempts to dehumanise those caught up in it.

2024, directed by Josephine Stewart-Te Whiu, starring Erana James, Nathalie Morris, Manaia Hall, Rima Te Wiata, Stephen Tamarapa.