Stacey Leilua: Making art accessible for everyone

If you’re an actor working in New Zealand, and especially if you’re Māori or Pacific, it helps to have a few strings to your bow, as Stacey Leilua found when she first came out of drama school.

Stacey was one of the founding members of Kila Kokonut Krew, a Pasifika theatre group that wrote and produced their own work back in the early 2000s. Since then, she’s also landed roles as the Rock’s mum in the hit TV series Young Rock, and in groundbreaking Pacific theatre like Wild Dogs Under My Skirt and The Savage Coloniser Show.

Now, she’s teaming up again with her longtime friend and collaborator Anapela Polata‘ivao — star of the hit movie Tinā — to stage NZ Opera’s season of The Monster in the Maze, which kicks off in Christchurch this Friday (September 5). Dale caught up with her between rehearsals.

 

Tēnā koe, Stacey. I see that you’ve had a lot of experience in the creative sector, and I’m really intrigued by your new project, The Monster in the Maze, and this idea of it being a “community opera”. I’m going to steer towards the production later — but can we start with names and villages and whakapapa connections?

Kia ora. Talofa lava. O lo’u igoa o Stacey Leilua. He uri tenei no Waikato Tainui, no Ngāti Te Ata Waiohua hoki. Sau mai le nu’u o Fusi, Safotulafai ma Papa Sataua, Savai‘i.

So, I whakapapa to Waikato Tainui, Ngāti Te Ata Waiohua, and to the villages of Fusi, Safotulafai, and Papa, Sataua, in beautiful Savai‘i, Sāmoa.

Tēnā koe. Do you carry any middle names, Stacey?

I do. My full name is Stacey Maree Fonofili Leilua. Fonofili is the one that I carry proudly — that’s my grandmother’s name.

I see that you slipped easily between reo Māori and reo Hāmoa. Tell me, do you speak both or little bits of both?

Oh, gosh, Dale, I didn’t really grow up with either language. My grandparents on my father’s side came from Sāmoa in the 1950s, and like so many of that generation, they wrongly thought they had to shut away parts of themselves and assimilate into the Pākehā culture. And so, the language was never really passed on to my father’s generation, and then it didn’t get passed on to me either. But I try my best.

And likewise on my mother’s side, with my Māori whakapapa, we didn’t grow up with it. I need to do more to reclaim it, and I try my best, but it’s not much past very basic knowledge.

You’re talking to someone in the same boat. Your whakapapa is interesting, though. Did you find that you were sort of in the middle of both worlds? Where did your family grow up?

I was born and raised in Tāmaki Makaurau. I sort of naturally gravitated more towards my Sāmoan side growing up. We lived in Sāmoa for a year when I was young, which was a very formative period of my life, and I have a lot of beautiful memories of that time spent in Sāmoa.

And consequently, I gravitated towards Pasifika creatives and storytelling. People like Anapela Polata‘ivao and her husband Vela Manusaute, who were both graduates of Toi Whakaari. I met those guys when I was very young and fresh out of drama school.

It’s actually been quite recent that I’ve started understanding my Māori whakapapa. And what’s interesting is that I’m a descendant of the first Māori King, Pōtatau Te Wherowhero. Tracing it back has made me realise how young our country is, because we’re only talking about six generations, and it’s easy to connect to those ancestors.

As a mother, those ties become very important, especially when you’re thinking about legacy and your connection to both the past and the future. But yeah, it’s a journey I’m still on.

It’s a taonga to celebrate to have these strong connections between Sāmoa and Aotearoa. And, also, there is this undeniable genetic, linguistic, cultural connection that exists among all peoples of Te Moananui-a-Kiwa.

Absolutely. I’m also of Pākehā heritage on my mother’s side. Her father was from England, from Liverpool. I think it’s important to be proud of every aspect of who you are, and that, for me, includes my Pākehā heritage as well.

But I absolutely agree with you. Once upon a time, being half caste or ‘afakasi was muddy and confusing, whereas now, I think there’s more acceptance and pride in acknowledging every part of yourself. And again, it’s important to pass this way of thinking on to your children.

Tēnā koe. I have a Pākehā dad, too. He’s no longer with us, but I can’t deny that I’m part of the colonisers and the colonised. Where did you go to school? What suburb did you grow up in?

I grew up in South Auckland. I went to primary school and intermediate in Papakura. Then, when I was 12, we moved to Sāmoa, and I was pushed straight up into high school level. I was at Saint Mary’s College in Vaimoso, Apia. My father was a teacher there, so we lived on the school grounds.

When we came back, I went to two different high schools, again because my father was a teacher. So I was at Manurewa High School, and then I finished my studies at Howick College. Then I went to the Unitec acting school from there.

Were you expected to be a teacher because of your dad?

It’s funny, because I have two sisters who went into education, and my dad has siblings who are in education. They now work for ERO and RTLB (Resource Teachers: Learning and Behaviour), and the Ministry of Education — so they’ve moved out of the classroom.

But no. I grew up seeing how hard my dad worked, and after watching him constantly marking papers and writing reports at home, I was like: No, this does not look like fun.

But also, I got into drama at school, and Dad was the one who actually encouraged me to do that. I’d always been interested in art, but it was more visual arts, and then he said: “Hey, why don’t you give drama a go?” And I did and loved it. So, he’s always been very supportive of my chosen career path, which has made things a lot easier.

I really admire people in the creative sector, Stacey. It would be a bland world without them. Some parents encourage their tamariki rangatahi into drama because their kids are quite introverted, and they’re hoping to develop a little more confidence. Was that your situation? Or were you a bright, bubbly sort of kid and just warmed to what was on offer in drama class?

I wouldn’t call myself extroverted or bubbly. I definitely wasn’t that kid, but I wasn’t reclusive either. I think I sat comfortably in the middle. And drama gave me permission to use my imagination and tell stories and embody characters, and then let them go and move on to something else.

And maybe because my dad was an English teacher, I’ve always had a love of literature. And then literature opened up into theatre. I was reading play scripts and learning about characters and wonderful writers like Shakespeare, and it was just like: “Wow, I love this so much. It’s so rich and there are so many stories to be told.”

The added layer for me was understanding that we have our stories and our own experiences as Māori, as Pasifika. And then asking: How do we share those stories with the rest of Aotearoa and the world?

It takes discipline, though, when you choose it as a career, because work can come in fits and starts. I know that you act and you’re now producing and perhaps even taking on other roles within the creative sector. But some might see it as a very delicate sort of area to navigate to put kai on the table. Did you ever think that you’ve chosen one of the harder routes for financial security?

Oh, absolutely. I think anyone who goes into acting as a young person is kidding themselves if they think they’ve won the lottery. You really have to consider and strongly hold on to your “why” — what’s your motivation? Why are you doing it?

Because times can definitely be tough. Especially when you’re a young actor just out of drama school, where, ideally, you’ve been held and supported in a cocoon for three years, you’re with your classmates, everyone’s feeling optimistic, and the teachers are really supportive. Then suddenly, you’re in the industry, and if you don’t have a strong reason for why you’re there and what will keep you going every day, it’s very tempting to choose a different career path.

There were definitely times, probably in my 20s, when I thought: “This is too hard. Things aren’t happening, and I need to think about the future.” And then I’d apply for university. I’d always been book smart, and I was interested in things like criminology and sociology. I got accepted into Auckland University, probably three times over my 20s.

But just when it came time for me to start studying, something would always come up. I’d get a role or something else, and then I’d put the studies to the side, and go: “No, I don’t actually want to do that. I’m really passionate about the acting, and I’m passionate about the storytelling, so I’m gonna stick with this.”

I kept going like that for a long time. I was a theatre baby for most of my 20s and into my 30s, and then, every now and again, a dream job would come along.

And for me, that was Young Rock — and that changed my life.

Suddenly, being able to buy a home was an option. When you’re a young actor, you don’t think about that because it seems unattainable. I’d be trying to work some sort of part-time job, and then in the afternoons, I’m rehearsing a theatre play that I absolutely love, and it makes my heart sing. But because it was usually some sort of co-op situation, I might walk away at the end of the production with 500 bucks.

You’re young, you’re optimistic, and there’s a romantic ideal about acting, especially in the theatre, which is such a beautiful space. But the cold, hard reality hits once the play’s finished and you’re like: “Oh gosh, I’ve got no money.”

But luckily, the opportunity came along for Young Rock, and that was successful. And that really changed the trajectory of opportunities for me.

You played a great role there, sis, and there was a lot of critical acclaim for you as the Rock’s mother. What did you learn from that experience, Stacey?

It was really my first long-term experience on screen, so that was a very steep learning curve early on. But there’s something about the discipline of working in that medium, and it really surprised me what I was capable of.

The accent was the first thing. The Rock’s mum is Sāmoan, but she also lived in Hawai‘i, and she’d travelled all over the US, so it wasn’t just a straight American accent.

And I taught myself to play the ukulele for the singing scenes. I think I had a bit of a phobia about singing, but I guess I surprised myself.

At one point, I had to play an Elton John song on the ukulele, but the production still hadn’t secured the rights, so the night before we had to shoot the scene, they gave me a different song and asked me to learn it. And I was like, are you joking? I’m talking about learning the chords on the ukulele, playing it and singing it. Like, bro, this is not my thing.

But you’re over there in another country, in your hotel room by yourself, and no one’s helping you do that stuff. And you finish filming at 7pm that night, and then your call time the next day is 6am. But you do it, and you show up on set the next day, and they say: “Oh no, we’re gonna go with the Elton John one because we’ve got clearance now.” And I’m like: “A’e!”

We filmed the first two seasons during Covid, so I was away from my family for five months at a time, which was really hard.

Good on you, Stacey. How important is it for us to try to instil confidence among our Māori and Pasifika youth that they have a place in the creative sector, as difficult as it is? Some are just great at it, and I’m not saying that they wouldn’t be great academically as well, but it’s a path that lights the fires within. What responsibilities do we have to nurture this talent?

I think it’s extremely important. Seeing the arts as a viable career option is definitely a conversation that should be happening more in schools.

I have a lot of friends who trained at Toi Whaakari or trained through Unitec back then. And we used to have PIPA (Pacific Institute of Performing Arts) as well, but that’s gone now. There isn’t the same level of practical training to be an actor that was available to us 20 or 30 years ago.

So yes, we absolutely need to instil in rangatahi that it’s an important and achievable career path, but then where’s the support for them when they leave the school system?

I think for most parents whose children choose this career path, there’s an understandable fear that there’s no money there, no job security.

What I say to young actors who ask for advice, whether they’re in drama school or they’ve just graduated and they’re having a hard time, is to think about diversifying their talent so that they stay attached to the industry or to the craft.

So, right now, I’m working on The Monster in the Maze as a creative producer, but at the same time, I’ve got a residency through Playmarket and Creative New Zealand, where I’m learning how to be a dramaturg or a script advisor. The acting is still happening, I’m going for my auditions, and I’ve got a project in the pipeline.

I’ve been a stage manager. I write. I also work as a voiceover artist. Some people move into the technical aspects of the work, so they can do things like operate lights as well.

It’s just finding ways that you can still be involved and hopefully get some revenue coming in, so you’re not just an actor sitting at home waiting for an email from your agent. Which is a bit of a cliche, but it’s so true.

It’s very easy to get down on yourself and fall into a dark place at those times, because you haven’t quite figured out ways to support yourself. And if you can find friends or peers in the industry, that support system is so vital.

And you found that with Kila Kokonut Krew, didn’t you? It was a very proudly Pasifika theatre company. Tell us about that.

We were so lucky to have that support with Kila Kokonut Krew back in the early 2000s. And again, that was with Anapela and Vela.

We would get together weekly and just go: “What should we create now?” We had no money, but we were all driven by the really important need to be seen out there on our stages and screens and to tell our stories.

That’s what brought us together. We supported each other — and we’re still working together now. So, you know, those connections that young people can make in those spaces are really important, and they sustain you through a career.

Pretty bold stuff. I remember it was pretty impolite to use the term coconut, eh?

It absolutely was! And, you know, full credit to Vela for having that “no fefe” (no fear) vision. He came from a comedy background with The Brownies, where they had this very irreverent humour.

And I think that sort of morphed into him really unashamedly coming out and saying: “Look, there’s no roles for us. And when we do get cast, we’re being written as the peripheral, supporting characters with no depth. Why aren’t we out there, front and centre?”

So that’s what drove us to create our own stuff. It was about saying: “Here we are. This is what our truth is, like it or not.” It was 13 brown creatives at the start, just coming out and doing our thing.

The Factory was a good illustration of that. It showed us this wave of people from the Pacific arriving in the ‘70s, and there were challenges, but also a lot of laughs, a lot of celebration to settle into a new land. It became very popular and even developed into a web series. And hopefully it provided an income, Stacey?

Yes, it did eventually! And again, this was Vela’s concept after a conversation that he had with his mother. She said: “You know, with all these works that you guys are doing, what about writing something for your father?”

Vela’s father came here from Niue, and worked on the factory floor, and that was the experience of so many of our parents and grandparents. It was my grandpa’s story as well.

A lot of them were leaving their families behind and coming into these harsh environments and just really being treated like second-class citizens. The government had been so keen to have them here when New Zealand needed workers, and then a few years later, they’re kicking them out, and you’ve got the Dawn Raids. So that’s where The Factory came out of. It’s such an important part of this country’s history.

We took The Factory around Australia, and we went to the Edinburgh Festival. And the feedback that we got from audiences, especially in Edinburgh, where we had people from all over the world, was that they recognised themselves in that story. Even though they weren’t Pacific, they were like: This is an immigrant story. It’s another version of what we went through.

Wild Dogs Under My Skirt by Tusiata Avia would’ve provided plenty of opportunities for you to travel as well?

Wild Dogs Under My Skirt was Tusiata’s book of poems that she performed as a solo show around the world in the early mid-2000s. And in 2016, her cousin and playwright Victor Rodger approached Anapela and said: “Let’s get this back up on the stage. But instead of just a solo show, how about we split up these characters?”

Tusiata had performed all six characters in her solo show — they kind of represent the range of the female experience. So you’ve got a young village girl, 11 years old, all the way up to these mean aunty figures that are so recognisable. And in the middle of it all, you’ve got Tusiata. And Anapela said to me: “I’d love for you to play Tusiata because she’s also ‘afakasi.”

I didn’t really know much about Tusiata at that time, but as soon as I read those poems, I was so moved. I remember just crying as I was reading them. I was in my early 30s, and I was a new mum — and I’d also just become a solo mum. So there were all these similarities to what Tusiata had experienced in her own life. It was like seeing a different version of myself reflected back at me.

So, of course, there was no way that I wasn’t playing that character!

Then, when we got into the rehearsals, it was Anapela’s genius of being able to take those poems off the page and turn them into a performance piece, which included song and movement, that just made it so full.

If I had to choose any show or series or anything in my life that I’ve been a part of that stands out as a high-water mark, it would be Wild Dogs. For me, there’s life before Wild Dogs and after Wild Dogs.

We were able to take that show around the festival circuit in Aotearoa. Then it got picked up by the Soho Playhouse in New York. And then Covid hit, which stopped that trajectory. But we were able to tour it again last year, in Australia.

Anapela has also directed The Savage Coloniser Show, from Tusiata’s book, The Savage Coloniser Book, which won the Ockham Award for poetry a few years ago.

So now Anapela has this wonderful relationship happening with Tusiata’s words, and it just makes things so rich as an actor. And every time she says: “Oh guys, we’re going to do Savage Coloniser again” or “Wild Dogs has been picked up,” you just know that you’re about to go on a journey with a wonderful ensemble of actors, who’ve worked together so closely over the years, and who all understand the kaupapa of the work.

I’m just so grateful and fortunate to have been a part of it all.

And that brings us to The Monster in the Maze, which you’re producing with NZ Opera. It’s kicking off next weekend in Ōtautahi (Christchurch).

My experience with opera was being a singer with the Auckland Children’s Light Opera, 50 years ago, so I’m interested in this idea of a community opera. It’s a really interesting mix. You’ve got the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra, the Christchurch Symphony Orchestra, and the Auckland Philharmonia — and then you’re also getting community voices, including rangatahi and tamariki, involved.

It must be pretty exciting to pull this one together. Tell us about The Monster in the Maze. From what I can gather, it’s an old story, but with a particular Aotearoa twist or face.

NZ Opera had asked Anapela if she’d be interested in directing it, and then she asked me if I’d be the creative producer.

And I jumped at the chance. It’s the story of Theseus and the Minotaur. I’d always loved reading the Greek myths and legends when I was growing up — the Greek heroes were the first superheroes in a way — so I was instantly drawn to that aspect of the story.

The Monster in the Maze was written by Jonathan Dove. And when we met with NZ Opera, they told us that the opera had been staged in different countries, and each country had done their own take or version of it. And so they wanted a Māori, Pasifika version. They also told us about their long-term plan to make the world of opera more accessible.

That was the drawcard for me. Bels (Anapela) and I have done a lot of work in our communities, and we’ve also produced our own opera with Sol3 Mio in 2018 — so we’ve kind of done a smaller version of this. We reached out to rangatahi from high schools around the Manurewa area and got those kids involved, and then we staged that opera outdoors at the Nathan Homestead.

And what I loved about that — and this is the same sort of kaupapa again — is bridging that gap between our community members, especially our youth, and the professional setting of the opera.

What’s been really rewarding is that, as we’ve gone around the country taking all these registrations from our communities — some attached to bigger choirs or church choirs, but a lot of them just individuals — they’d be saying: “I’m really nervous about this. I just want to give it a go, but we’ll see how we go.” And then, by the end of the first round of wānanga that we had in each city, they’re coming up to us and just going: “That was amazing. I can absolutely do it!”

And I’m like: Yes! This is exactly what it’s all about. It’s about making the art accessible to everyone — and that, for me, has been the most rewarding thing.

In terms of challenges, it’s a different medium, and there was so much to learn about opera itself and music and scores and instruments and sounds.

I mean, we’re staging this in three different cities — Christchurch, Wellington and Auckland. As theatre practitioners, we’re used to getting a script and then putting the show on in that same city that you were rehearsing in for four weeks before that. So that was a bit of a challenge, adapting to a new way of working. But I love a challenge because that’s how you grow and learn.

I love the fact that we have our younger Māori and Pasifika coming into the space and being able to work with people like Maaka Pohatu, who plays our king. We’ve got Ipu Laga’aia and Joel Amosa, both big opera talents. So for them to be able to be in those spaces and see our Māori and Pacific practitioners at the top of the game is really inspiring.

And, of course, there’s Anapela, who everyone loves, thanks to Tinā. I’ve got this running joke where I say to her: “Look, we’ve got to schedule 10 minutes of photo time at the end of each rehearsal with our choirs.” Because you literally have a line of people going: “Oh, sorry, can I take a photo with you?”

It’s amazing to walk into a space, and these kids are coming up to Anapela and me and giving us big hugs. They’re buzzing. And I love that we can open up this world for them. They’re not just coming into a show and being told where to stand and what to do. It’s an all-encompassing experience for them.

We had a beautiful wānanga weekend in Wellington recently. One of the local choirs was bringing their kids in, and so they just decided to put on a big kai for them. But there was so much food, of course, and before you know it, we’re all sitting there with them, just having a laugh and sharing food.

This is what it’s about. It’s bringing our Māori and Pacific way of working and bonding and manaakitanga into a space where it may not have existed in that way before. And, of course, it’s also how you get the best work out of people because they’re happy, they’re feeling loved and supported, and they’re in a good place to then create their best work on stage.

So it’s just been awesome.

(This interview has been edited for length and clarity.)

NZ Opera’s season of The Monster in the Maze plays in Christchurch: September 5-6, at the Isaac Theatre Royal with the Christchurch Symphony Orchestra. Wellington: September 12-13 at St James with the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra. And Auckland, September 19-20, at the Kiri Te Kanawa Theatre with Auckland Philharmonia. Tickets and info www.nzopera.com.

E-Tangata, 2025