I dove into episode three of Chief of War expecting another round of spear-clashing and battlefield thunder, but what I got was something slower, more layered, and in many ways more ambitious. This time, the action simmers rather than erupts. The mood leans into tension rather than adrenaline. And that shift works for the most part.
This chapter picks up with Kaʻiana arriving in a new land, one far removed from the wild coasts and chaos of his past. The new city is elegant, careful, and full of eyes watching from behind flowered veils. It’s a place of ceremony and power games, where warriors must now navigate thrones and tradition. It’s here that the series makes a tonal pivot. Action steps back. Strategy and subtlety step in.
Jason Momoa brings a more introspective Kaʻiana to the table this time, and while he still holds the screen with sheer presence, he’s not in command of the narrative the way he was in earlier episodes. Here, he’s in observation mode. He walks through courtyards and hears murmurs of suspicion and prophecy. This episode is less about his decisions and more about the quiet ways his past precedes him. It’s a bold choice, and it mostly pays off, although there are moments where the pacing drags, and you wish the camera would follow him more directly instead of getting stuck in yet another ceremonial exchange.
Parallel to Kaʻiana’s uneasy arrival is Kaʻahumanu’s decision to align herself with Kamehameha, and this is where the episode finds its core. Luciane Buchanan plays her with steady confidence, bringing weight to every scene she’s in. Her alliance with Kamehameha doesn’t feel rushed; it feels inevitable. There's a deep sense that she knows she’s not just supporting a man, but anchoring a movement. Kamehameha, for his part, is not overly glorified, which is refreshing. He’s shrewd, measured, and clearly aware of the growing storm around him. It’s smart writing; the show resists mythologizing him too early.
The cinematography is particularly strong in this one. Every shot in the city feels deliberate. There’s an emphasis on the juxtaposition between lush beauty and simmering unrest. Long tracking shots through flower-lined walkways give way to tight, tense exchanges in dimly lit rooms. There’s something inherently cinematic about a place so gorgeous yet so clearly on the edge of something violent. The costume design, too, continues to impress. It's detailed and rich, grounding the political drama in a tactile world.
Still, there are stumbles. The pacing suffers in some council scenes that overstay their welcome. There’s a lot of talk sometimes, too much, and not all of it adds momentum. A few key moments feel oddly glossed over, like a foreign envoy’s presence that could have had more impact if built up properly. The show seems caught between wanting to build tension and needing to tick off historical plot points. A bit more time spent developing secondary characters would’ve helped. At times, you’re left wondering what drives certain decisions beyond just strategic need.
What helps hold the episode together is its quiet tension. There's a sense of unease that runs beneath everything, whispers of betrayal, colonial interests creeping in, shifting alliances that don’t sit quite right. These aren’t plot twists as much as slow reveals, but they work. The storytelling is confident enough to let things unfold without holding the viewer's hand.
It’s also worth noting that the sound design continues to be a quiet powerhouse in this series. The score doesn’t overwhelm but guides the emotional rhythm of the episode. Traditional Hawaiian instruments blend with a minimalist modern score, giving the entire episode a haunting, grounded atmosphere. Dialogue is often quiet, leaving space for the sounds of the environment, wind through trees, soft footfalls on stone to fill the silence.
Kaʻiana’s internal struggle comes through best when he isn’t speaking. There’s a sense he’s weighing more than just survival; he’s thinking about legacy, purpose, and whether he can belong anywhere. That emotional tension isn’t over-explained, which is a relief. In a show where the weight of history looms large, letting characters breathe is a good call. Still, a few more scenes of him reflecting on his past travels, or deeper interactions with the people around him, might have added layers.
Episode three doesn’t aim to dazzle you with battle or dazzle. Instead, it places you in the middle of a slow storm, where everything looks peaceful but nothing feels settled. It’s a risky tonal shift this early in the series, but it lays a solid foundation for future conflict. The seeds of unification are being planted, but so are the seeds of dissent.
In the end, this episode earns respect for refusing to take shortcuts. It’s mostly thoughtful, well-crafted storytelling, and about some meandering buildup that could use tightening. The imbalance doesn’t ruin the experience—it just slows it down. What’s clear, though, is that Chief of War is not trying to be just another historical epic. It’s aiming for complexity over spectacle, culture over conquest, and legacy over legend. And that’s what makes it worth watching, even when the flowers hide thorns.
Final Score- [6/10]