Kūrī

Kurī hasn't been back home to Te Urewera since she was bitten on the face by a dog as a child. She must return home and face the uncertainty of grief - whether she's ready to or not.

INTERVIEW: Dir: Ana Chaya Scotney

What inspired Kūrī?

There were a couple of inspirations behind the film. The biggest was my desire to tell a story that reflects both sides of my heritage. I was raised in Wellington through my mother's family, while my father's family still live on our ancestral land in Tūhoe, a very remote part of New Zealand. It feels like stepping into another world.

Like many biracial people, I'm interested in exploring where different identities intersect. My work isn't therapy, but it is a way of understanding those worlds and how they connect.

How did you go from acting to directing?

 I'd worked as an actress for about seven years in New Zealand before the pandemic. Then, completely out of the blue, I got a phone call from Jane Campion inviting me to apply to a new film school she was creating with Netflix. We spent a year learning to write and direct, and Kūdī became my graduation film. We were fortunate to receive funding to make a short film, and I knew I wanted to tell a story about where I come from rather than something disconnected from my own experience.

Why did you choose to tell this particular story?

I wanted to make a film about my home, my family, and the rainforest where my father's family live. The extinct native Māori dog became a metaphor through which I could explore identity, grief and belonging.

Where is your ancestral homeland?

It's in the Eastern Bay of Plenty in New Zealand. My iwi is Tūhoe and my hapū is Ngāi Tūhoe. It's an incredibly beautiful rainforest and a place that's deeply important to my family and identity.

Your ancestral land has legal personhood. Can you explain what that means?

Yes. Our rainforest became one of the first natural environments in the world to be granted legal personhood. That means it's recognised in law as having rights similar to those of a human being. It was an important achievement led by Tūhoe and has inspired similar protections elsewhere.

What was your vision for the cinematography?

I wanted the film to feel like a wound. The story is about grief, memory and emotional pain, so I didn't want polished, perfect images. I wanted the camera to feel unsettled and slightly dreamlike. I also wanted an archival quality because so much historical imagery of Māori communities exists through old photographs and documentary footage. The film moves between black-and-white and colour to reflect memory, grief and healing.

What role does sound play in the film?

Sound became incredibly important. It helps carry the audience through the journey, especially during transitions. Towards the end of the film, contemporary electronic music blends with a traditional Māori lament from my own tribe. That combination reflects the meeting of ancient traditions with contemporary life.

What is a Māori lament?

It's called a waiata. The lament we use is traditionally performed during a tangihanga, which is a Māori funeral ceremony. Tangihanga is much more than a funeral—it's a communal gathering where people come together over several days to honour the deceased through song, storytelling and shared grief.

Is the film based on your own experiences?

Yes. When my father died, returning home for his tangihanga brought up complicated emotions. As someone who grew up between different worlds, I sometimes felt uncertain about how I belonged within traditional Māori customs. Those experiences became an important emotional foundation for the film.

What are the main themes of Kūrī?

At its heart, the film is about grief and the different ways people carry emotional wounds. The dog bite becomes a metaphor for the experiences that shape us throughout life.

It's also about identity, family, healing and returning home. I wanted to explore how we carry both pain and memory, and how we slowly find ways to reconcile them. Artistically, I was also interested in creating something that felt both ancient and contemporary—something rooted in Māori culture while experimenting with a modern cinematic language.