Taratoa Stappard’s Mārama gives voice to the voiceless. Born to an English father and an Indigenous Māori mother (Ngati Raukawa, Ngati Toa me Ngati Tuwharetoa), the writer/director excavates decades of brutality imposed against the Māori people. The film, which carries as much cultural and cinematic significance as 2019’s La Llorona, feels devastatingly raw and visceral in ways most horror-based films are not. Stappard pulls threads from a long history of trauma—specifically rooted in the colonized Aotearoa New Zealand—to create a story that will shake you to your core. Even if you don’t rattle easily, Mārama obliterates those barricades.
Mary Stevens (Ariana Osborne) doesn’t know where she fits in. Adopted as a baby, she’s lived a life in the shadows, never knowing her colonial history. Thomas Boyd, a man she’s never met, summons her to Whitby in North Yorkshire and promises to reveal her origins. When she arrives, she’s instead greeted by Sir Nathaniel Cole (Toby Stephens), a rich landowner and South Wales whaler. He carries a rather disarming air about him. He’s charming, but a deception simmers just below the surface. He requests that Mary stay and be his daughter, Anne’s (Evelyn Towersey), governess. She’s reluctant to take up such a permanent post, but she has nowhere else to go. She quickly befriends Peggy (Umi Myers), a maid who only arrived six months prior, and vows to make the best of it.
Mary begins seeing visions of herself, often bleeding out from the neck, and they even come when she’s wide awake. The unnerving, unwanted images leave her shaken and preoccupied. These warnings burrow themselves deep within her, and as they escalate in frequency, so does Sir Nathaniel’s agitated and menacing demeanor toward her. All is revealed in due time, with Osborne displaying such a provocative, layered, and explosive range of emotions that is nothing short of extraordinary.
Taratoa Stappard extracts real-world horrors of genocide for a remarkable and soul-crushing story. Given the current socio-political turmoil in the United States, particularly involving immigrants, Mārama arrives with blinding fury. The story of Mary Stevens is that of countless Māori people, who have been tortured, raped, and killed by white colonizers, and it echoes back to the dawn of time. It’s not an easy pill to swallow, but it’s an essential one for deconstructing white supremacy and dissolving inherent racism.
Mārama only feels surreal in that Stappard invites the audience into Mary’s broken mind. We see what she sees. She peers into the past and witnesses the savagery inflicted upon her Māori ancestors. Once reality sinks in, she turns into the “monster” they wanted her to be. Through exposing such cruelty, Taratoa Stappard peels back the layers of humanity, and we all better start paying attention.
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