My eyes welled up twice while watching Moana. Once was exactly when you’d expect in a Disney film, around the beginning of the third act when emotions are running high. But the other instance caught me by surprise, in that it happened before the movie had even started.

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Since 2009, Disney has begun each of its films with a unique introduction catered to that film’s themes and score. I’ve only seen Frozen once, but I still vividly remember the opening sequence. Moana was no different – except it wasn’t until I heard the first cries of “tulou!” (meaning “pardon/excuse me” in Samoan and other Pacific languages) that I realised how rare and wonderful it was to hear such familiar sounds over such a familiar, but distinctly different, Disney introduction. It’s the same choked-up wave of emotion I got the first time I saw my sister acting on stage.

That proud, slightly teary feeling is what a lot of Pacific islanders and Maori will experience as they watch Moana for the first time. Not because we know anyone in the movie, but because the movie is us.

This sense of proud familiarity is stirred almost immediately: the whole first act taking place on the fictional, but instantly recognisable, island of Motunui. Moana is in line to be chief – a point that isn’t questioned or dwelled upon because women often hold higher positions on the islands and were great pioneers throughout history.

Moana’s family is introduced; her father, mother and Gramma. I looked at her father, with his pe’a (traditional Samoan tattoo), and saw my cousins. I looked at her Gramma and saw my great-aunty Tu’utu’u. Somehow, seeing animated characters that looked like family I love was much more affecting than seeing them in live action films. I now realise that’s because of how much I loved almost every Disney character growing up; the idea that children worldwide will be introduced to, and love, these characters in the same way feels incredible.

When Moana eventually leaves Motunui, it’s with sadness that we say goodbye to the beautiful island full of noise, love and laughter, to set sail on the ocean – a comparatively barren setting that the Pixar animators did well to bring to life.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘I loved almost every Disney character growing up; the idea that children worldwide will be introduced to, and love, these characters in the same way feels incredible.’ Photograph: Disney

The story itself is a common one: a child is born on an island and is raised happily within the community. Then one day that young man or woman has to make a choice: leave their home to seek better opportunities that will hopefully benefit their family in the long term, or stay and help in tangible but short-term ways.

Every Polynesian immigrant has had to make that decision, the same decision Moana makes when she sets off on her voyage across the ocean.

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She teams up with the demigod Maui, a character who has already had more screen time than the others thanks to complaints that he was too “obese” and played into negative stereotypes. Put simply, Moana’s dad looks exactly how I would expect a Samoan chief to look – and he’s big. Maui, meanwhile, is a demigod: to depict him as anything but larger than life would neglect the strength and stature of the Polynesian people.

I expected to love Maui, but instead found myself wishing he would go away. It wasn’t the character himself, voiced by The Rock, Dwayne Johnson; I would simply rather have spent more time with Moana and her family. Disney films usually provide a supporting character who becomes a fan favourite – Mushu in Mulan, Olaf in Frozen – but in Moana, Moana herself is by far the strongest, funniest and most lovable.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘Disney films usually provide a supporting character who becomes a fan favourite, but Moana herself is by far the strongest, funniest and most lovable.’ Photograph: Disney

Moana doesn’t have a love interest – a creative decision that most people have applauded and some have regarded with suspicion. By not giving Moana a love interest, some suggest, she is desexualised and therefore othered, reinforcing the difference between white characters and minorities. Is it a coincidence that the two “cultural” Disney heroines – Merida in Brave and Moana – are the only two who don’t have a romantic relationship? As Kadeen Griffiths wrote for Bustle: “When it comes to characters of colour, having a love life is something of a luxury in mainstream media.”

While I can understand this concern, in watching Moana I simply saw the same story that so many Pacific women have lived. Very rarely, if ever, is the decision to leave their island spurred by a love interest; love for family and culture, absolutely, but not so much romantic love. And in this way, Moana managed to capture the very real and true motivations that are embedded in so many Polynesian women and the decisions they make.

It would be remiss of me to not mention the incredible soundtrack. The dialogue is not as clever or funny as Zootopia or other recent animated films, but the visuals and soundtrack more than make up for it. I can’t wait to hear little kids, brown and white alike, singing along to the songs – and probably mispronouncing every second word.

At the very, very least, Moana is a celebration of the Pacific islands that will make Disney a lot of money – and probably boost the tourism economies in Samoa, Fiji and Tonga. But what Disney has also achieved is a film that educates the world on the beauty and troubles facing the south Pacific, while also uniting sometimes rival islands in the realisation that the water between doesn’t separate us – it connects us.