TL;DR: Chief of War is a brutal, beautiful, and sometimes unwieldy historical epic powered by Jason Momoa’s passion and presence. It’s as much about reclaiming history as it is about spears and sharks, and while its script can sag, its cultural weight and visual grandeur make it a must-watch.

The Shark Wrestler Who Wanted to Tell His Story

There’s a particular kind of moment that makes you sit back, slack-jawed, and think, Oh, they’re really going for it. For Chief of War, that moment comes early, before we’ve even settled into the show’s sweeping opening credits. Jason Momoa — as Ka‘iana, our central warrior — strips down, dives into the surf, and quite literally wrestles a shark. Not as a stunt, not as a CGI-laden superhero gag, but as a cultural rite and act of survival. He performs the proper rituals. He shows respect. And then he kills the thing. The villagers will eat well tonight.

That’s how Chief of War tells you what it’s about. Not just the man, but the place. The sea is not a backdrop here; it’s a character, as alive and dangerous as any human in the story. And Ka‘iana is the man who can navigate it — in both the literal and political sense.

It’s also how Momoa tells you who he is. This is no generic sword-and-sandal period piece. This is a work co-created, co-written, produced, and led by a man whose Hawaiian heritage runs deeper than any Hollywood contract. Jason Momoa didn’t just star in Chief of War — he willed it into existence. He used every ounce of Aquaman fame, every Game of Thrones warlord gravitas, and every ounce of stubborn star power to bring a chapter of Hawaiian history to the screen that the mainstream has never touched.

That makes this show more than just a historical drama. It’s part reclamation, part spectacle, part personal love letter — and occasionally, part messy overreach. But even when Chief of War stumbles, it stumbles forward.

The History Under the Blood

For the uninitiated, Ka‘iana is not a household name, though in Hawaiian history he’s one of those figures who seems to stride straight out of a myth. In the late 18th century, Hawaii was not the postcard state we know today. It was a fractured chain of fiercely independent kingdoms — O‘ahu, Maui, Kaua‘i, and Hawai‘i — each ruled by chiefs with their own power bases, armies, and ambitions.

Ka‘iana was born into this world of shifting allegiances and volcanic tempers. Historically, he was known as a fierce warrior and master navigator who played a key role in the battles that would eventually unify the islands. But the real Ka‘iana’s life was also complicated: a man caught between loyalty to his chiefs, personal ambition, and the arrival of European ships that would upend Hawaii’s destiny forever.

The show embraces this complexity — and then adds swords, bone towers, and blood enough to fill a tide pool.

O‘ahu, Maui, and the Chief Who Loved Blood Too Much

When we meet Ka‘iana in the show, he’s already estranged from Maui’s ruling chief, Kahekili (played with volcanic menace by Temuera Morrison). The two have history — the kind you can see in the way Morrison’s eyes narrow whenever Ka‘iana’s name comes up. Ka‘iana once served Kahekili but walked away, disgusted by his “lavishly bloodthirsty” ways.

This doesn’t sit well with Kahekili’s men, especially the second-in-command who greets Ka‘iana with the immortal threat: “I would feed your heart to the pigs.” That’s not idle talk — this is a show where threats are followed by immediate action. In this case, a spear fight. One that Ka‘iana ends by catching a spear mid-flight, driving it into his attacker’s flesh, and proving why he’s the most dangerous man on the island.

It’s one of the less gory fights in the series.

Kahekili, in a rare moment of humility (or manipulation), apologizes for his past excesses and asks Ka‘iana to return for “one last job.” That job? Defend Maui against an aggressive O‘ahu army. Ka‘iana, against all better judgment, says yes. And here is where Chief of War makes its first real statement: this isn’t going to be a story of easy heroics. Loyalty in this world is often a curse.

The battle ends in what can only be described as a war crime. Kahekili’s forces massacre O‘ahu’s civilian population, and then — because Morrison’s Kahekili is not a man for subtlety — he orders a tower to be built from the skulls of the dead. It’s a gruesome image, but one that sticks with you. The bone tower is less a monument to victory than to the rot at the heart of Kahekili’s rule.

For Ka‘iana, it’s also a breaking point. This is not the Hawaii he wants to fight for.

Ships, Guns, and Foreign Tongues

The massacre sets Ka‘iana adrift — both figuratively and literally. He’s separated from his family, taken aboard a ship crewed by post-Cook European explorers, and thrust into a new world of languages, weapons, and colonial intentions. This section of the show is slower, quieter, and for some viewers, it might feel like a momentum break after the brutal battles.

But here’s where Chief of War deepens. Ka‘iana learns English. He becomes familiar with firearms. He sees, with his own eyes, the technological and cultural forces that are about to crash into Hawaii like a rogue wave. This is where the reluctant warrior becomes a strategist — and where Jason Momoa shifts from brute force to thoughtful gravitas.

The Battles That Bleed Into the Land

Let’s be clear: Chief of War is gory. Not gratuitously, not in a Spartacus-for-shock-value way, but in a way that feels both grounded in the historical brutality of the era and committed to the spectacle of a prestige drama. The fight choreography is tight and visceral. Spears don’t just pierce — they thud, they twist, they stick. Blades leave sprays on volcanic rock. There’s a weight to the violence that makes you feel the physical cost.

And yet, the show never loses sight of its setting. Every fight is rooted in Hawaii’s geography — cliffside ambushes, shoreline skirmishes, battles fought waist-deep in surf. Director Justin Chon captures these with a painter’s eye. The islands are not just pretty backdrops; they shape the way war is fought.

The Script, the Scowls, and the Women Who Deserved More

If Chief of War has an Achilles’ heel, it’s in the dialogue and some of its secondary characters. The script often hovers in the “perfectly serviceable” zone, with exposition-heavy scenes that sometimes feel like you’re sitting in a history lecture where the professor keeps getting interrupted by sword fights.

Too many of the men spend entire episodes glowering. Too many of the women are reduced to the feisty-but-loving archetype, orbiting the male characters without their own arcs given the same care. This isn’t unique to Chief of War — prestige historical dramas often struggle with this balance — but it’s one of the areas where future Hawaiian epics could push further.

Why This Show Matters

Even with its pacing issues and uneven character work, Chief of War matters in a way that most historical dramas don’t. This is the first time the story of Ka‘iana and Hawaii’s unification has been told at this scale for a global audience. It’s history reclaimed and reframed by someone who has skin in the game — and not just in the literal sense of Momoa’s shirtless scenes.

Jason Momoa plays Ka‘iana with a mix of physical dominance and quiet dignity. For all his muscle and swagger, there’s a stubborn gentleness in him — a credibility as a man who doesn’t seek war but knows how to wage it. That’s the heart of Chief of War: not a celebration of violence, but an acknowledgment of the people who bore it, shaped it, and tried to survive it.

The Verdict

By the time the credits roll on the ninth episode, Chief of War has done something rare. It’s taken a piece of history almost entirely absent from mainstream pop culture and given it the budget, scope, and star power to match the likes of Shōgunor The Last Kingdom. It’s imperfect — dense where it could breathe, uneven where it could sharpen — but it’s also vital.

If Chief of War is the opening shot in a wave of Hawaiian-led historical storytelling, then Jason Momoa has just fired the cannon.