Chief of War, the Apple TV+ series, is far from a flat experience — you can breathe it, feel it; it smells of earth, blood, and sea salt. It grips you from the opening minutes, as Kaʻiana (played by Jason Momoa) faces off against a shark in the depths, and it doesn’t let go until the final shot, when spilled blood stains the slopes of a volcano. This is a story that seeps under your skin.
It’s one of those stories that gives you goosebumps — not just because of the emotional weight of certain scenes, but because of the sheer magnitude of what it represents: a mostly Polynesian cast, speaking ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi, honoring their ancestors through one of the most epic stories ever told about their people. Powerful, moving, and essential. Undoubtedly one of the best series of the year.
Based on true events, Chief of War follows the story of Kaʻiana, a Hawaiian warrior chief who becomes involved in a fierce war between islands with a clear goal: to unify the archipelago. His struggle is not only territorial but also cultural, as he fights to preserve his people’s identity against a growing common threat: the arrival of colonizers.
The dream of Jason Momoa and Thomas Pa’a Sibbett, who imagined this story in 2015, began to take shape with that premise. It was not an easy pitch to sell in an industry where many narratives repeat themselves trying to replicate past successes. Chief of War breaks with that formula: it is a powerful and deeply authentic work. But beyond the visual freshness or historical value, what really makes it unforgettable is its soul.
They insisted on achieving a level of total genuineness: from the costumes to the traditional canoes, every detail was carefully recreated. Even the language — which Momoa says was the biggest linguistic challenge of his career — plays a key role. Most of the story takes place in ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi, with only a few dialogues in English, which reinforces his connection to the land, culture, and roots of a people who are finally represented with respect and truth.
They follow such a defined vision that some of their methods completely break the rules of Hollywood. One of the most significant examples is the choice of Kaina Makua who plays Kamehameha. Momoa discovered him in a video where he was teaching children and, without hesitation, he knew he had found their king. When the executives asked about the casting, Momoa was blunt: they already had their Kamehameha. One look at him on screen, and it all makes sense.
Makua, despite having no previous acting experience, commands the screen with a deep serenity—the silent strength of someone rooted in the land, as if the soul of a farmer lives in his gaze.
He is not the only one who shines. Te Ao o Hinepehinga, in the role of Kupuohi — Kaʻiana’s wife — strikes a powerful balance between tenderness and strength, between woman and warrior. Temuera Morrison (as Kahekili) and Cliff Curtis (as Keōua) masterfully dominate the language of power, filling the screen with an imposing presence. And Momoa, in addition to co-creating, writing, producing, and directing some episodes, delivers what might be the deepest performance of his career. It’s no coincidence: the series carries his soul, and it shows. He knows how to navigate all its dimensions with skill — the brutality of war, the tension of historical drama, the ferocity of survival, the grief, the love of his land — and builds, step by step, the evolution of a hero who never forgets where he comes from.
The story begins with a peaceful and contemplative rhythm, like an offering to the immense sea that surrounds the islands and gives meaning to everything. Soon, that silence is broken with brutal hand-to-hand combat that not only reveals rivalries between kingdoms, but also, on screen, is transformed into precise and powerful choreography. As it progresses, the narrative delves into politics and different ways of understanding the world: power, peace, loyalty, and sacrifice. These are ideas that have crossed all civilizations, but here they take on a new dimension, rooted in a culture that resists.
“As far as I’ve seen, Ka’iana, men of every color do unspeakable things for their gods and the prophecies they believe in,” says Tony (played by James Udom).
After witnessing how colonization sows slavery, pain, and death, Kaʻiana no longer hesitates: protecting his people becomes his sole priority. He refuses to see them imprisoned or chained. That is why, after long avoiding conflict, he finally seeks it out — aware that the colonizers’ ambition won’t stop at other shores. The only way to curb that greed is to face it head-on before it devours everything in its path.
The story also moves through loss, grief, and the relentless strategies of war, leading to a sweeping climax: a battle that looks, both symbolically and visually, like the eruption of lava. A confrontation that not only devastates but also purifies and gives way to something new. Because in this narrative, as in the volcanic land that inspires it, destruction is not only the end, but the origin.
With Momoa being a Game of Thrones alum, comparisons are inevitable. But let’s be clear: Chief of War is just as epic, savage, and visceral, but has a much deeper soul. The spirit of the ancestors pulsates in every scene, in every look, and in every word spoken in ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi. I can’t say I simply enjoyed it—because it’s more than entertainment. It’s a historical and emotional work that invites us to honor our roots (wherever they lie), to look back with reverence, and to feel—if only for a moment—that we all share a common heart.
