I remember that fateful morning like it was yesterday. The police car rolling over the undulating green hills at a snail's pace, the faint feeling of sick rising in my throat, and the heavy stack of paperwork sitting in my lap -and yet, I couldn’t have been happier.
Now, you might be wondering what it was that brought me such happiness notwithstanding the long, winding roads and dizzying motion sickness. Perhaps it was the crisp air? Perhaps the natural beauty of the surrounding bushland? Oh no, the cause for my happiness was sitting hunched in the backseat.
Ricky Baker. To the normal eye, he’s nothing more than an innocent foster kid - albeit one not to be trusted around your fridge - but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Capable of disobedience, stealing, spitting, running away, throwing rocks, kicking stuff, defacing stuff, burning stuff, loitering, and graffiti, he’s quite possibly the worst kid I have ever dealt with, and I’ve been in this game a long time. His foster care history speaks for itself - I’ve introduced him to more families than you could count on one hand, none of whom were able to bear his behaviour for longer than a couple of months, little to my surprise. I couldn’t wait to be rid of him.
As we rolled into the gravel driveway of the Faulkner property, I had no doubt in my mind that the unsuspecting couple waiting for us would meet the same fate, but this didn’t concern me in the slightest. You see, Ricky had hit his third strike long, long ago. If it wasn’t for the senseless generosity of my superiors, who, frankly, are far too lenient towards kids like Ricky, I would have put him away long ago. But now, it seems even their generosity has run out. After this, there would be nowhere else for him but juvie. No more paperwork, no more feigning sympathy as I consoled his traumatised foster parents, I could finally wash my hands of him.
The transition process ran like clockwork. Like an actor, I delivered my lines with practised ease, making sure to notify Bella Faulkner and her partner all the necessary information to eliminate any liabilities. Ricky was difficult throughout this, of course, but a few words of encouragement and a suggestion of the grim alternative shut him right up. As the final arrangements were made and a brief property inspection was conducted, we said our goodbyes and handed over Ricky’s things.
I remember the surge of relief I felt as we drove away. Finally, Ricky would no longer be a burden on me. If only I knew how wrong I was. This wasn’t over, not by a Mangaweka mile.
Bella Faulkner was dead. I was watching The Brokenwood Mysteries when I received the tedious phone call. Mike Sheperd would have to wait; quite inconsiderate, really. Of course, the altered circumstances warranted a letter offering my condolences and discussing the necessary course of action. This constituted reviewing Ricky’s care and taking him back into state custody until alternative arrangements could be made. The paperwork would be a nightmare.
As specified in the letter, Andy and I arrived at the property on June 1st, and what we discovered that cloudy morning was beyond comprehension. The property was abandoned and the adjacent farmhouse burnt to the ground. A diversion of sorts had evidently been assembled, but I’m not easily fooled. I alerted the police without hesitation.
In the weeks that followed the media erupted in panic. All fingers pointed to Hector Faulkner after a run-in with some rangers. Hector with his whole crocodile Dundee persona and grisly past was a prime candidate, but I knew that this sheer destruction and mass panic could only be the work of one, particularly round child. Ricky was a spanner in the works and I was the mechanic who would stop at nothing to take that spanner and put him back in the toolbox. Where he belongs.
Four months at large, it seemed that even my tireless efforts weren’t enough to bring the pair to justice. Then Andy and I received a piece of vital information. A diabetic ranger had been found incapacitated at Point Hut after an anonymous phone call to emergency services. Ricky had been there. The ranger was little help in his weakened state, although I could tell he knew something. Still, the police on the scene wouldn’t let me interrogate him further until he was “in a stable condition”. Amateurs. They did, however, introduce me to ‘Stingray’, a swanky tracking device that would send false signals, causing any mobile devices within a given radius to latch on. In short, it seemed I now had the upper hand.
I was like the terminator, scouring the bush relentlessly in search of my Sarah Connor. After a few weeks, my tireless efforts finally came to fruition. Sneaking with surprising ease through the rugged terrain, Ricky’s red flannel suddenly shone like a beacon in front of us. We had found him. Only there was one problem, a steep ravine lay between us. I explained to him that he was playing with a bag of snakes, one with many holes. I even resorted to bribery, offering him a new home and some delicious scroggin. But it seemed my expert negotiating skills were no match for his stubbornness. If it weren’t for the ravine, I would have been on him in a heartbeat. But by the time we made it over the muddy creek and up the riverbank, he was gone.
A car chase. Helicopters soaring overhead. Guns blazing. After five long months of relentless searching, widespread panic, and mountains of paperwork, we had finally cornered the rat. “Stingray” had worked its magic, lighting Ricky’s location up like a Christmas tree. After that, it was only a matter of securing the vicinity. We hadn’t expected them to obtain a working vehicle, but we were prepared nonetheless, a blockade of government vehicles obstructing the way. They didn’t back down easily, stopping only when they took out a corrugated iron fence; not cool, not cheap. But in the moment, I couldn’t have cared less about the property damage. For as soon as I wrapped my arms around Ricky, like securing precious cargo, I was flooded with relief and satisfaction. The spanner was officially back in the toolbox, no child left behind.
Rationale
I have chosen to write a short story from the perspective of Paula Hall, the child welfare worker in Waititi’s Hunt for the Wilderpeople, to elaborate upon themes of determination, superiority, and indifference present in the text. My ideas originated from the peculiar nature of the character. Specifically, the juxtaposition between her profession and her attitude towards others. As a child welfare worker, one would expect her to be able to work with children and approach all aspects of her profession with formality. Instead, Paula frequently appears indifferent towards Ricky’s wellbeing and behaves inappropriately, habitually using colloquial language and demeaning those around her.
The main techniques I used in order to construct my work were dialogue and language choice.
Written in first person, the short story consists of Paula Hall recalling a series of events that occurred throughout the movie. Dialogue was incorporated several times alongside these recollections to communicate the character’s interpretation of said events, shedding light upon her disposition. This technique was also used for comedic effect to build upon the farce nature of the film studied.
One of the most prominent examples of dialogue in the text is the statement “quite inconsiderate, really”, prompted by the interruption of Paula’s television channel as a result of being notified of Bella Faulkner’s recent death. The complete lack of sympathy or remorse present here is demonstrative of Paula’s callous nature, which links to the theme of indifference.
Another example of dialogue present in the text is Paula’s assertion “Amateurs.” in response to being told by police officials to refrain from interrogating the weakened park ranger, fearful for his health. Not only does this usage of dialogue imply that Paula believes she is above the police officials, but it is also further demonstrative of her unsympathetic nature, expanding upon the themes of superiority and indifference.
Throughout the short story, I have made frequent use of language choice to demonstrate Paula’s superiority complex and determination. This is particularly evident in the latter portion of the short story wherein Paula is pursuing Ricky through the bush. Language such as “tireless”, “relentless”, “scouring”, and “expert” were implemented to convey how Paula perceives herself, suggestive that she is incredibly self-centred and regards herself as superior hence expanding on the theme of superiority.
Language choice was also applied through the lack of description provided to characters regarded as ‘insignificant’ in Paula’s eyes. Which, in this context, comprises of everybody but Ricky and herself. Not only does this lack of description demonstrate a disregard for others, but a strong determination evident from her extreme focus on pursuing Ricky and putting “him back in the toolbox. Where he belongs.”.
I initially approached the creative by selecting a narrative format from the perspective of Paula Hall as it would best allow me to delve into the fascinating mind of the character. After analysing her in more depth, I determined that the primary themes to convey in my creative piece were determination, superiority, and indifference as they were all present in the stimulus material and particularly relevant to the chosen character. These ideas were represented through the implementation of dialogue and language choice amongst other literary techniques to great effect. After much thought and revision, a short memoir-style text was successfully produced that encapsulated the themes of superiority, determination, and indifference present in Waititi’s Hunt for the Wilderpeople through the steely eyes of Paula Hall.