By Kawika Hoke, Showrunner – Moku Moku

People think making a TV show is easy.

You point a camera, say some lines, and it magically ends up on your screen. But if you’re lucky enough to know better or bold enough to try it yourself, you’ll quickly realize:

It takes an army. And then some.

For every shot you see, there are at least a dozen departments, maybe 200 people a day, moving mountains just to get it in the can. That’s before post-production. Before editing. Before release. Before anyone even watches.

And even then, there are no guarantees.

This is what it really takes. This is what it really costs. And this is why the little shows — the local ones, the indie ones, the ones built on grit and community instead of studio money — need your eyes, your clicks, and your voice more than ever.

THE REALITY

The Myth of “Just Make a Show”

Moku Moku took 4.5 years to make. That’s 1.5 years of writing and development, another year of looking for funding, a year to shoot, and months more to edit, distribute, and start begging the world to notice.

We’re still selling Season One. One viewer at a time.

It cost us $140,000 an episode. That’s barely 10% of what a network spends. And we didn’t have a studio. At the center of a small community of micro investors, we had a doctor named Ted Anderson who said, “Screw it. I believe in you.”

He took on nearly 2/3 of the funding for the show.

We owe him everything.

No Budget? No Net.

Every day without a studio feels like walking a tightrope with no safety net. You misstep, you fall. If the money runs out, the crew shrinks, gear disappears, and morale wobbles. But the work doesn’t stop.

Here’s what a “view” earns us:

• $0.04–$0.06 per stream on Tubi or YouTube (ad-supported)
• $1.30 on Amazon per à la carte rental
• $4.60 if you buy directly from us

Yet, I haven’t taken a paycheck since halfway through shooting. I worked a second job just to fund my own show because that’s what it takes to survive when you’re building from scratch.

THE TOLL

Building With People, Not Just Tools

My team sacrificed vision for viability. They worked long hours, operated with low department budgets, and still showed up with their hearts full.

That’s not just work; that’s aloha.

But not everyone got it. One visiting DP insisted on filming ocean b-roll I never asked for because he thought Hawai’i equals beaches. I had to remind him that our stories aren’t set in a postcard. He didn’t stay long.

I had to repeatedly explain that this show wasn’t my vanity project. It was made for Hawaiians. Especially the diaspora, the ones who moved away or never got to grow up here.

This was for them.

And they got it. When they watch, they cry. They remember. They feel home.

Making TV in Hawai’i vs. Making TV About Hawai’i

There’s a difference. One is truth. The other is tourism.

Every time I see a show use a soundstage to fake our islands, it hurts. When Chief of War shot large portions of their productions outside Hawai’i, it proved what I already knew: even when they want our story, they don’t want to deal with us.

We had to buy and fly certain gear out because we couldn’t rent it here. We had to modify scenes because tourists wandered through shots. We had to build everything ourselves, by hand, with pride.

We still paid fair wages—starting at $25/hour—and fed our team two quality meals a day. Because it’s not just about the art; it’s about the economy we’re building around it.

THE HEART

The Fire That Never Went Out

Our lowest moment came during the Lahaina fire, when our landlord tried illegally to evict us during an emergency moratorium while we ran a donation hub for Maui Rapid Response. We kept paying rent even when we legally didn’t have to.

That’s the kind of integrity we built this show on. We walk the walk, even when it costs us everything.

I’ve never wanted to quit. Not once. You don’t get to clock out when you’re an Executive Producer. You stay in it with faith, fight, and whatever hustle you can muster at 2am while making a spam quesadilla and drafting Facebook group posts for fans on the East Coast.

That’s real.

A Wake-Up Call to Viewers

People assume we got a payday just because we’re on Tubi. They think “good stories find their audience.” They think if you build it, they will come.

But Hollywood is spending millions on ads. Influencers give away content for free. And indie shows? We’re in the middle. Drowning in the noise.

Heart and authenticity aren’t enough. We need advocates.

We need someone to hit play, then tell their ‘ohana.

You could be the one that tips the scale.

WHY IT MATTERS

The Edge of Extinction

If Moku Moku disappears, it’s not just a show that vanishes. It’s a whole generation of storytellers who never got the mic.

But if we succeed, the world will get quality, culture, representation, and a future where Hawai’i builds its own studio system—greenlighting stories from us, by us, for everyone.

Hollywood won’t do that unless it profits. But indie creators? We bring everyone along from day one. No gatekeepers. No exclusivity. Just community.

THE RALLY

I named this piece Through the Eye of a Needle for a reason. It’s biblical. To get to heaven, you have to humble yourself, strip everything down, and carry only what matters.

That’s what making Moku Moku has been. And still is.

So, if you read this — I’m asking you:

Watch the show. Review it. Share it.

Help us build something that lasts longer than a season.

The truth is, Moku Moku is the last Hawaiian picture show that is still streaming.

And the first one we truly own.

Watch for FREE. Support Hawaiian TV.

https://bit.ly/MokuTubi