Marlon Williams charms in new documentary Ngā Ao E Rua – Two Worlds
The deeply private musician pulls back the curtain on his personal life in a moving new film that tells the story of his bid to reclaim his reo.
Reviewing Ngā Ao E Rua – Two Worlds wasn’t easy. Not because the film lacked quality - far from it - but because I’m a self-professed Marlon Williams (Ngāi Tahu, Ngāi Tai) superfan.
As a wāhine Māori, I was drawn to the film’s focus on Williams' cultural identity, reclamation, and the concept of walking between two worlds.
Directed by Ursula Grace Williams, Ngā Ao E Rua– Two Worlds is an intimate and evocative portrait of Williams, whose life and music walk the line between language, culture, identity and art.
Williams said while he is not not fluent in te reo Māori, he is "fluent in the feeling and in the singing," and this film encapsulates that.
Tim Flower
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Grace Williams' describes the film as “spontaneous, delicious, and meaningful” - and these feelings pulse through every frame of the 90-minute doco, filmed across a four-year period.
The film begins with Williams' life on the road alongside his musical counterparts, the Yarra Benders.
We are shown the physical and emotional demands of touring: back-to-back performances, travel, rehearsals, repetition. Williams acknowledges the toll - describing it as “borrowing against the bank” - and that his health has not always been a priority.
The topic feels slightly underexplored, but as he reminds us, the stage remains his sanctuary, where the presence of a crowd replenishes what the road takes away.
From performing at London’s Roundhouse to American late-night TV with Conan O’Brien and alongside the likes of Florence Welch (Florence and the Machine) and Bradley Cooper - we see the vastness of Williams' reach.
Cooper recalls watching Williams perform at The Troubadour in Los Angeles, and how that performance led him to reach out and cast the singer in his Hollywood film, A Star Is Born.
The stories aren’t presented as flashy celebrity endorsements, but moments that reflect Williams' magnetism.
Cultural reclamation
At its heart, Ngā Ao E Rua– Two Worlds is grounded in Williams' return to te ao Māori and the indigenisation of his music - something that gently unfolds throughout the documentary.
Williams seems innately private, and yet here he is, at the centre of a film that delves into a subject as personal and layered as identity.
Marlon Williams and Director Ursula Grace Williams stand in front of Haast Hall, the place Te Whare Tīwekaweka was recorded in.
Tim Flower
We are introduced to his mum and dad, who he describes as extremely private people. Nevertheless, they share the screen alongside him.
Williams' mum, Jenny, invites us into her home, and he reflects on the nuances of their relationship - its tenderness and complexities.
His dad, David, joins him on a journey to Tōrere, where Williams reconnects with his whenua and engages with whānau and rangatahi, sharing kōrero about the album he has been working on, Te Whare Tīwekaweka(A Messy House).
Many Māori will recognise the emotional terrain Williams navigates as he embarks on the four-year journey of creating the album, his first written entirely in te reo Māori. He admits that the album may not be perfect, but that honesty strengthens the work.
Some of the most tender moments come in scenes shared with the Yarra Benders, navigating the use of te reo with heart and encouragement.
Central to the story and Williams’ reo journey is co-writer KOMMI (Kāi Tahu, Te Ātiawa), who guided him through grammar, dialect and language.
It's beautiful to watch Williams navigating the discomfort and reconnecting to his turangawaewae, his reo, his whānau. He rawly reflects on what he does and does not know.
The documentary provide historical context about Aotearoa’s political climate and society’s relationship with te reo Māori, including television broadcasts that revealed widespread disdain for the everyday use of the language.
Threaded through the documentary is his relationship with fellow Aotearoa musician Ella Yelich-O’Connor (Lorde).
We first see them onstage near the beginning of the film, harmonising to the delight of wide-eyed fans. Later, near the film’s end, they reappear, this time in the studio, co-creating the waiata 'Kāhore He Manu E' (There Is Not A Bird).
The emotional arc is subtle but significant.
Where earlier Williams leaned on others for advice, here is Lorde seeking his guidance in te reo Māori. The exchange is a symbol of growth within his journey.
The story is crafted in a way that is natural, his journey seamlessly interwoven - and beautifully filmed. The colour grading, camera work, and editing is brilliant, a reason alone to go and watch.
And while Williams is candid about the possibility of criticism, I found little to fault. His openness, the ambition of the project, and the care taken speaks for itself.
What he has done has the potential to inspire so many young people, Māori or not, in the reclamation of te reo Māori and indigeneity itself, and this film can extend itself beyond the landscape of Aotearoa. It is relevant for all indigenous peoples.
