Karl Puschmann: Alien Weaponry: Kua Tupu Te Ara is not a heavy metal documentary
“What we saw was the beginning of their journey because at the time, when I first started shooting with the boys pre-the-film, they were only 16 and 18, but already on a massive trajectory and taking off in Europe.”
After completing the project Belcher and his producer spoke to the boys’ parents about their vision. A few meetings later, he was welcomed into the whānau.
“I became part of the furniture,” he laughs. “I was with them 24/7. I was away for eight weeks on the first tour hanging out with them every day. The second tour. They got so used to having me around with the camera. Everything you see is really honest.”
At the time none of the parties involved knew he’d be with them for six years. That wasn’t originally the plan and no one in their right mind would agree to have a camera following them for such a long period.
“Two and a half of those years was Covid,” he says. “So, that plays a part in the film, but it helped stretch out that time with the boys and see their growth and the change that happened.”
It was during this time that the film became a passion project and funding dried up. Not that he let that stop him.
“It was easy for me to just go and do it because it didn’t cost me any money to go and film them up at home or do New Zealand shows with them. There were like three years of me running around with them in New Zealand, unfunded. We didn’t know if we were going to get funding or not. We just had to keep plodding on.”
This naturally leads to a conversation about funding, especially with a Government focused on pulling money away from projects that tell our stories. While one project clearly can’t expect funding for six years, the attack on arts and culture is worrying.
“Funding’s like the tide. It goes in and goes out,” Belcher says, explaining that right-leaning governments tend to strip funding while left-leaning governments tend to restore it. “It’s a cycle that keeps happening. It’d be great if the arts weren’t politicised. Because it’s super important that New Zealand stories are told.”
As an example, he cites his own film.
“When we started this project, the relationship between Government and Māori was okay. And within the last year, that’s all changed. In five years, how’s our film going to age?” he muses, before asking a bigger question. “And where are we going to be as a nation?”
Alien Weaponry’s Māori heritage is important to them. Not only does it power their music, it’s also extremely present in their lives. Something their international fans have latched on to. Just about every overseas interaction either with fans or fellow musos, people are asking about Māori culture and wanting to learn more. At gigs in places like, say, Sweden, huge crowds are singing along.
“That’s a conscious thing they are doing,” Belcher says. “They’re taking their culture to the world to show everyday New Zealanders that the Māori culture is cool.”
It’s one thing to read about the band playing a US tour or European festival. It’s another to see it. To see hordes of diehard fans and the passion people have for the band. To see the rise of a metal behemoth and see boys become men. To see them walk the path of their kaupapa and encourage others to join them, not with words but through actions.
Alien Weaponry: Kua Tupu Te Ara is about a heavy metal band, but, as Belcher says, it is not a heavy metal documentary.