See the line where the sky meets the sea it calls me, And no one knows, how far it goes

Rating: 9/10 (7 March 2017)

They're called 'I Want' songs, moments where characters survey the world around them and declare their dissatisfaction in the only way they can, through music and lyric. Quasimodo with the best view in the world but no way to touch it, shunned for his appearance. Rapunzel prancing around the tower, longing to see the world outside. Ariel with her museum of human utensils, transfixed by a handsome prince on two legs. And now Moana has given us one of the trope's best with the heart-soaring "How Far I'll Go", which marries the lyrical genius of Lin-Manuel Miranda with a skipping, spirited Polynesian princess (she insists that she's heir to the chief, but as Maui points out whilst winking to the audience, "If you wear a dress and have an animal sidekick, then you're a princess."). Listening to the way in which the song transitions from its chorus to second verse with punchy, irregular beats makes it clear that this is isn't just shower business, it's a spoken plea to the ocean's call that tugs at her heart. The more cynical of the Disney veterans might be rolling their eyes at this point - these moments are just about obligatory for their animated features, and everyone loves to rally behind a character stuck in a rut, longing to seize their destiny with both hands. But the strength of Moana's 'I Want' moment isn't because it is an act of feminist rebellion ala Tangled or Brave, where the protagonists broke free of their cages, but a courageous bid to save the island and family that she treasures. The initiative lies with her, to go beyond the reef and seek a way to restore their home.
Moana's opening reminds us of Hercules, beginning with epic myth and heroic battles shrouded in mystery, only to pull back humorously and wave away historical accuracy. A reaction shot of the captivated children tells us all we need to know the pick the main character - she's dead centre, with a pink flower in her hair and a big smile on her face. A following scene reiterates her calling, and doubles as a stunning tech demonstration at how far animators have come since Finding Nemo's watershed moment more than a decade ago. Moana, a bundle of toddler cuteness, waddles down to the beach, urging and protecting an equally tiny turtle hatchling, and then the water shifts out of her way like a loyal subject and wraps around like a living, breathing aquarium. What's especially impressive is how the underwater scenes shimmer under the sunlight and tremble along with the current, and how it reacts to Moana's curious touch, churning with bubbles and showering her with water droplets. The major studios have all but arrived at photorealism, and audiences will soon be spoiled for choice.
Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson looks and sounds the part of Maui, the demigod half-heartedly recruited on Moana's quest, and who sports the same broad, satisfied smiles. The voice acting musters all of the theatrical flair of his professional wrestling background - he flexes his action figure build with swagger, and in the endlessly catchy "You're Welcome", manages to take credit for things he probably had no business creating (the tides, the sun and the sky to start, but there is so much strutting bravado and confidence crammed into the song that you're likely to cheer along like Moana does). The lofty figure is best when he is at his most theatrical, which is why I came to admire him not for his soft interior, but his selfless actions in the climax. He charges the lava demon Te Ka with little hope of victory, and has his weapon charred and broken beyond repair, but instead of cowering, he bellows at the behemoth before him, and launches into a fierce haka. This is the traditional war cry of the Maori, a proclamation of strength and resolve, and in the face of certain defeat, Maui is choosing to sacrifice himself so that Moana can make right his own wrongs. It doesn't get more heroic than that. Another endearing feature of Maui is his animated tattoo counterpart, which serves not only as comic relief but also as an extension of his conscience. The tattoo works in the most universal type of comedy, pantomime, and the way in which he constantly scolds, guides and keeps a running score on Maui's naughtiness is refreshingly original.
Along the way the pair battle a sassy, egotistical crab who hoards treasures and puts a face to all the nagging, doubting voices in the back of both Maui and Moana's minds. Tamatoa seeks to crush dreams and sneer at their aspirations; he's moulded his identity around shiny superficiality, and dismissed everything but the skin deep. Only later do they buck his accusations and yes, find their true self that lies deep inside.
Watching Moana reminded me of another movie which focused on the plight of a Pacific Island community and their heroine - Niki Caro's Whale Rider. While their approaches might be a little different, what is remarkable is their authenticity. We're long past the red-skinned Indians of Peter Pan, or the causal hand-waving of history in Pocahontas, and Moana shows it in strides. Her journey offers a chance to prove herself, and through it she reaffirms the pride and strength she holds in her Polynesian ancestry, trusting in it to guide her along the way. Witness the reprise of her 'I Want' song, which initially poses an identity crisis. Then her grandmother dies, but not before passing on their cultural legacy, in the form of a radiant stingray which provides that extra push to sail beyond the reef. And as she rides the wave, she proclaims loudly and proudly: And the call isn't out there at all, it's inside me/It's like the tide; always falling and rising/I will carry you here in my heart you'll remind me/That come what may/I know the way/I am Moana!﻿