By Wanda A. Adams
Assistant Features Editor

HILO, Hawai'i — Q. How do you get a Merrie Monarch crowd to scream as though the Edith Kanaka'ole Stadium was on fire?

A. You say the three little words all of Hilo loves to hear: Johnny. Lum. Ho.

If that doesn't work, parade a group of women past the crowd wearing nothing but fabric-covered strapless bras, thigh-baring pareau and, in some cases, just a few well-placed ti leaves and crotons. Have them sing a Christian hymn while they're at it.

Or, alternatively, bring out some Maori with bare, tattooed buttocks to leap, hiss, scream, stamp, punch, growl, sneer, prance, wag their tongues, bare their teeth and bug their eyes out.

You can try having Halau O Kekuhi perform a powerful aiha'a-style kahiko hula that tries the integrity of the old, scuffed wooden stage.

And when you really want to get the crowd worked up, have two gorgeous kupuna perform a hula from the vastness of their experience. When the pair of gray-haired beauties in bright scarves and charming culottes mime riding ahorse, or savoring the salty taste of limu wet from the sea, then flash their eyes knowingly at the crowd, you'll be glad the place is open at both ends, because if the room were enclosed the roof would come off under the pressure of the screams and applause.

All this happened tonight in the course of the three-and-a-half-hour free Ho'ike, part of the annual Merrie Monarch Hula Festival.

On the night when nothing is at stake — no pahu drums or 'ukulele, no Hawaiian bracelets or trophies — the pressure isn't necessarily off at Merrie Monarch, it's just channeled into a different place. It's truly the celebration of the culture that the founders of the event envisioned; it's Hawaiians and their Pacific islander friends (Maori, Japanese, Tahitian) doing that which [they] know well how to do, and wishing each other well.

Kumu Hula Johnny Lum Ho, who this year is acting as a judge (recommended for the honor by his fellow kumu hula), was hailed as a conquering hero every time his name came up, but especially when he added a sinuous and slow Tahitian segment to the repertoire which ended with a performance by the scantily clad women of the popular contemporary Christian song "Master/I Call Him Lord" — an odd but heartfelt choice by the devoutly Christian teacher.

Ho'ike is the night when Hawaiians share the stage with others and tolerantly embrace those who have fallen in love with the language and the dance. Kumu hula Noelani Chang of Halau Na Mamo O Ka'ala in O'ahu put together a three-part performance that included two Japanese hula schools (Puanani Takahashi Hula Studio and Halau Nalei Lehua I Kauanoe) and her own group. The three troupes wore the same rich velvet holoku but in different colors (hunter green, garnet and royal blue) and each presented one number of their own followed by a dance they had studied separately and then brought together in last-minute rehearsals.

There's also a fair leavening of fun on Ho'ike night. When the Maori troupe Te Wharekura Kaupapa Maori A Roheo Rakaumanga kidnapped a group of male spectators and schooled them in their culture's heavily postured threat-and-response style of dance, teaching them to stamp their feet, waggle their tongues, shout taunts and charge the "enemy," the giggles capered around the room. When a heavily shod volunteer accidentally stomped on the bare foot of a Maori performer, who dramatically danced around clutching his damaged appendage, gales of laughter rolled around the room.

As the crowd filed out on Wednesday, exhausted, with their sleeping babies in their arms and souvenir programs tucked in their totes, I thought as I do so often of my favorite 'olelo noa'eau (proverb), which translates, "The canoe ride is pleasant when the paddler is skilled."

A performance that began with perhaps Hawai'i's most respected and yet daring practitioners of old-style hula and ends with a friendly and refreshingly freestyle example of a sister culture's approach to dance illustrated this aphorism perfectly.

Both halau knew exactly what they were doing and inhabited the dance like a familiar room, leaving the audience to relax and take delight even when they didn't fully understand.