Hawaii (1966)

Hawaii is the kind of old-school epic Hollywood barely attempts anymore: a sweeping historical romance that uses its lush island vistas and grand set pieces to tell an intimate story about faith, pride, and the price of trying to “save” a world you don’t understand. George Roy Hill directs with a steady, intelligent hand, letting the spectacle serve the human drama, while Max von Sydow gives Abner Hale a flinty intensity that keeps you watching even when you disagree with him, and Julie Andrews brings warmth and moral clarity that quietly breaks your heart. The film’s tone is stately and emotionally bruising rather than escapist, with a literate script that treats the culture clash as tragedy instead of pageantry. It isn’t for viewers who want a breezy adventure or who are put off by dated attitudes and some frank content, but if you’re on the fence and crave a serious, beautifully mounted drama with powerhouse performances, it’s a compelling trip.

Hawaii is clearly aiming for an old-school epic: big history, big emotions, and a serious look at culture clash as missionaries arrive in the islands. The problem is it often plays like a very long prestige pageant—gorgeous locations and earnest speeches, but the drama can feel oddly stiff and remote, with pacing that sags hard between the major incidents. If you’re expecting an adventure-romance with momentum or a nuanced modern take on colonialism, this may leave you more drained than moved, and the period attitudes can be grating. Still, Julie Andrews brings warmth, Max von Sydow commits fully to the severity, and when the film focuses on human cost rather than spectacle, it briefly earns the scale it’s reaching for.