An opulent, saturated world oozes out from the screen as Grand Tour flickers to life. The footage may be mostly black and white, but somehow each scene is vivid and bursting with sultry, seductive temptation. Earning director Miguel Gomes the prize for best director at Festival de Cannes, this romantic, extravagant, and comic epic makes a pitstop in cinemas across Aotearoa in March.

In 1917, British civil servant Edward (Gonçalo Waddington) loiters on the docks in Rangoon awaiting his fiancée Molly Singleton (Crista Alfaiate). It’s been seven years since they’ve been engaged and as time passes, Edward gets increasingly panicked about the prospect of marriage. Impulsively, he hops aboard the steamer heading to Singapore. As he luxuriates in the bar of the Raffles Hotel, he receives a telegram from Molly reporting that she is inbound. Thus begins the couples’ grand tour as Edward flees across Asia pursued by his betrothed, zigzagging through Thailand, the Philippines, Vietnam, Japan, and China, but also through time and space.

Unlike Edward and Molly, the marriage between cinematography (Guo Liang, Sayombhu Mukdeeprom, and Rui Poças) and editing (Telmo Churro and Pedro Filipe Marques) is a match made in heaven. Grand Tour features a docu-realist approach as the black and white narrative scenes are juxtaposed against modern-day documentary clips from each location Edward visits. The voiceover is in the language of whatever destination is currently in focus, narrating the action over the present-day clips rather than showing it. This interesting technique draws attention to the passage of time and its relationship with place as the story progresses. Meanwhile, the second half, in which Molly’s story becomes the focus, is almost entirely narrative-based. A headstrong, formidable woman focused on her future with her fiancé, she contrasts the melancholy Edward who is always chasing past delights.

Grand Tour does not end as we would like it to. With a spoonful of self-awareness at its conclusion, it instead makes a poignant comment on time. As Edward fixates on the past and Molly on the future, their dreams come to nothing, their present moment wasting away into oblivion.

Tormented by writer’s block, Will Shakespeare (Christopher Horne) attempts to write his next play. However, when he meets his muse, Viola De Lesseps (Yasmine Alani), it draws the attention of many, making the staging of his production of Romeo and Juliet increasingly difficult. 

Adapted from Marc Norman and Tom Stoppard’s 1998 film of the same name, Lee Hall’s Shakespeare in Love is an easy-to-watch play about pursuing your dreams, no matter what obstacles society puts in your way. Viola, for instance, defies convention (and the law) to become an actor in an industry of men. Hashtag women in male fields! While Hall’s script is often hilarious, it occasionally pokes fun of women too, which surprises me given that the story feels inherently feminist.  

When it comes to Wellington Repertory Theatre’s lively production of Shakespeare in Love, the impressive live band (led by musical director Kathryn Ennis) provides a lovely soundtrack that helps root the play in Elizabethan England. The wardrobe (led by Anne de Geus) is spectacular. From wimples to the bedazzled Queen Elizabeth I dress (worn by Catherine McMechan), the costumes are a show in and of themselves.

I feel that the blocking doesn’t always suit the theatre-in-the-round seating arrangement, which often results in the action being obstructed by the bodies of performers – especially when so many people are on stage. There are many moments I can’t see because of where I am seated and how the actors are positioned. Despite this, there are plenty of standout performers, just some of which include Horne, who plays a hilariously lovesick Will, and the equally comedic Rio Futschek Ryan, who shines as Henslowe. Alani graces the stage with elegance as the determined and strong Viola, and I admire all her quick changes. Finnian Nacey also brings much laughter as Sam and Juliet. One cannot forget Equinox as Spot the Dog, who is a total scene stealer.

Presented in a strikingly cinematic way and memorable for its ensemble feel, this Wellington Repertory Theatre production is bound to make you laugh. Head upstage to Gryphon Theatre and I’m sure you’ll also fall in love with Shakespeare in Love.

Colin McColl, after 18 years with Auckland Theatre Company, has returned to Wellington to direct Noël Coward’s Blithe Spirit. The farce centres on a séance gone wrong at the home of Charles Condomine (Phil Peleton), a sceptical novelist who has invited the famed medium Madame Arcati (Ginette McDonald) into his home in order to gather material for his next book. But Madame Arcarti’s otherworldly powers prove all too real, and Charles and his new husband Rudi (Simon Leary) find themselves sharing their home with the ghost of Charles’ dead wife Elvira (Laura Hill).

This production makes an effort to modernise the 1941 play, with some choices hitting the mark. The gender swapping and re-queering of the story are effective approaches. The script has been cleverly, lightly tweaked to make both Charles and his dead wife Elvira bisexual. The changes align with the risqué and socially insightful voice of Coward and help a modern audience to feel his radical edge.

On the other hand, a confusing combination of garments and set pieces makes it unclear which period we are in, and the set (John Parker) doesn’t feel luxurious enough for a modern household with the fulltime domestic staff who feature in the action. While these may have been conscious decisions, the incongruity became a distraction for us. Some of the costumes (Nic Smillie) are very fun, but Rudi’s costumes each feel like they belong to a different person, rather than reinforcing characterisation.

We are treated to a standout performance from Hera Dunleavy, who is double cast as Edith and Mrs Bradman. I failed to realise these two characters were being played by the same actor until we read the programme at interval, a testimony to her transformative physicality. As Mrs Bradman she is hysterical, with a subtle understanding of the inner life and absurdities of the character. Together with Peter Hambleton as her husband she portrays a long-married couple, with perfectly timed deliveries that make the most of Coward’s astutely observed one-liners.

Timeless Beauty is a foray into Baroque, presenting the works of the period’s luminaries George Frideric Handel and Georg Philipp Telemann alongside their lesser-known forerunner Matthew Locke. Featuring a reduced orchestra of 26 musicians, the evening opens with the Overture and Sinfonia from Handel’s Occasional Oratorio. The NZSO deliver the technical mastery and precision that befits Handel, and as usual make it sound easy.

We then move further back in time. Locke’s The Tempest Suite accompanied a revival production only 60 years after Shakespeare’s The Tempest premiered. Before delving into the storm, Vesa-Matti Leppänen (director and violin) places the work in its historic context, describing innovations in string instruments during this period. It is a lovely touch when he draws attention to the profound age of one of the violins on stage, which was made around 1690, just over a decade after Locke’s death. The little instrument is held aloft, prompting the audience to break into delighted murmurs.

The inclusion of the Locke in the programme is an inspired choice, adding interest and giving us fresh perspective on the otherwise overly familiar Handel and Telemann. The Tempest Suite is new to most of us, including Leppänen, who confesses to never having played Locke’s work before. We feel included in the orchestra’s exploration, which melds sounds from what we categorise as the early Modern period with emerging Baroque modes. The Tempest Suite is evocative, dramatic, and pacey. The orchestra seems less assured in this music than with the more familiar works, but this feels like fellowship with Locke, who was innovating with new, unfamiliar instruments and compositional possibilities.

When we move back into the familiar territory of Telemann, it is with recalibrated ears. His Concerto for 3 Trumpets and Timpani in D Major sounds edgy. A warm, almost sultry oboe leads us through the piece, most prominently in the middle section. All principals shine in this performance, and by the concluding Vivace we are fully enraptured.

Borderline Arts Ensemble, the multi-disciplinary group co-directed by Lucy Marinkovich and Lucien Johnson, are known for their virtuoso dance productions. They return with a meditation on nocturnal themes that pairs the serene piano compositions of Johnson with the movement work of dancers Marinkovich and Michael Parmenter.

Martyn Roberts’ lighting design is a crucial element of the production. The show is set against the black void of a profoundly dark stage, and lighting is used to construct positive spaces within that. Gauzy fabrics suspended from the ceiling become enormous vessels filled with illuminated smoke or water. Puppetry brings us birds and moons floating in black, empty air, while mirrors and shadow-work play with our depth perception.

 As our dances explore these spaces, movement seems to be a secondary concern to imagery. There is minimal connection between the two dancers, or between the dancers and the audience. It feels more like visiting a series of art installations or watching a film than participating in a live performance. That said, this feeling of abstraction is part of the strange beauty of The Night Has A Thousand Eyes.

Indeed, much of the show explores imagery from early film. Parmenter dons an overcoat and watches the moon under streetlights before commencing a contemplative, slow tap dance worthy of the most stoic of film noir leading men. In a vignette reminiscent of Loïe Fuller’s serpentine dance from the 1890s (which became a staple of black and white cinema), Marinkovich appears in a billowing tent of silk that hangs floor-length from her throat and whirls the fabric around into forms that evoke peonies, sea creatures, and birds. This early cinema aesthetic is supported by the minimalist and cool-toned lighting favoured by Roberts.

A quietly masterful show, The Night Has A Thousand Eyes is a balm and curiosity. Many from the audience linger in the foyer afterwards, marvelling softly, before moving off into the dark.

Wellington comedy duo Ginge and Minge (Nina Hogg and Megan Connolly) present their new show, House of Ick, the craziest whirlwind of outrageous, crass, and cringey sketch comedy that I have ever seen. This is my first time seeing Ginge and Minge and I’m not entirely sure what to expect, although I don’t think anything could have really prepared me for this. Hogg and Connolly interact with the audience as we enter, asking us if we have seen “Mike”. An infectious, charged anticipation fills the room, and as the lights go down and the show begins, there is raucous applause – clearly there are lots of fans in the audience tonight.

Hogg and Connolly perform with no boundaries or inhibitions, making a mess of various fluids on the stage and themselves. Sketches are frantic and even stupid at times, and often the second-hand embarrassment makes me unsure if I want to laugh or wince. The characters they play are inspired, engrossing, and irresistible, including Monster Energy drink-obsessed preteens Kyle and Kayden, Mike the inappropriately forward comedian from Facebook Marketplace, and a pair of talkative “horse jizz” saleswomen.

While it might simply sound like shock-value humour, the show is in fact expertly put together and performed by a phenomenal duo who make it look effortless. There is a cohesiveness to the sketches, where nothing is taken seriously, and our expectations are constantly subverted. In an effort to break away from “gross or overtly personal humour”, we are subjected to a dramatic reading of W. H. Auden’s Funeral Blues, accompanied by a transfixing, deliberately tasteless tap routine. The contrast here sums up the show for me – uncomfortable, unpredictable, and utterly hilarious comedy.

By the end of House of Ick, I am a converted Ginge and Minge fan. I want to see more of this type of theatre in Wellington – original ideas that can be produced without a massive budget, more stimulating than anything playing at the cinema. In fact, I want a visceral hour like this every week.

Welcome to the House of Ick. Sit in the front row.

HAUSDOWN is a farcical romp through regency tropes that manages to be both deftly crafted and delightfully silly. Our ensemble call on skit comedy, clowning, dance, and melodrama to tell the raucous story of seven queer aristocrats and their servant during a visit to the country seat of the Hausdown family.

The actors work wonderfully together to deliver expressive, committed performances. Energy and pace are maintained throughout, and the cast are strongly connected to each other and the audience. Much of the comedy hinges on precise tone and timing when delivering one-liners, which they pull off again and again. Even more impressive is the ensemble work and movement – the opening slow-motion tableau and the dance scene that switches repeatedly between a reserved country dance and sexually charged clubbing are hysterical.

All this tomfoolery is grounded by brilliant technical elements. Ruby Carter’s costume design does bounteous work establishing the fluid historicity and gender play that are at the core of this project. Carter’s skill as a seamstress and knowledge of the period is abundantly apparent. This reviewer was especially gratified by the arrival of gorgeous bonnets and hats when our characters headed outdoors to take in the country air. The costumes also support character work, communicating status and gender expression. Carter has developed a distinctive style for each character, and each costume was suited to the physicality of its actor.

The rest of the production team also deserves praise. The set design by Sam Hearps is simple but refined. The minimalism suits the contemporary theatrical conventions of this show, but the proportions, colours, and textures are period appropriate and executed beautifully. Likewise with sound (Joshua Lees) and lighting (Teddy O’Neill), which are both effective, clever, and in service of the on-stage action rather than being intrusive.

All elements of Inconceivable Productions' HAUSDOWN cohere to form an exceptionally well crafted and joyful production. We eagerly anticipate an invitation to their next soirée.

Terry Taylor has been an Uber driver for years and sure has a story or two to tell about life on the road. Luckily for us, he’s prepared to share as he ushers our audience of eight into his party van, parked outside Hannah Playhouse and fully kitted out with lights, cameras, and more action than we bargained for.

In the world premiere of Tom Knowles’ one-man show ROADKILL: The Uber-Cool Musical, Terry (Knowles) talks and sings us through his childhood dreams and major milestones, including marrying Mary (Knowles) and meeting her father (Knowles) during a serendipitous ride that changes the racecourse of his life forever.

A velvet-voiced Knowles, decked out with an earpiece mic in uber-driver-meets-tour-guide garb, revs up with a medley of popular vehicular-themed bangers (Shut Up and Drive, Highway to Hell, Ridin’, et al). Interspersing direct address and audience banter, he sings along to pre-recorded, full-throttle backing tracks (performed by Knowles and his band of Jed Parsons and Josh Logan) with a 30-strong choir (Knowles x30) behind him. The soundtrack largely comprises rockin’ originals (all by, you guessed it) accompanied by hilariously kitsch and melodramatic music videos (starring the one and only Knowles). What a mammoth effort from this one-man van!

The fitout inside said van is impressive and spans ceiling-mounted screens, speakers, and even a reverse camera that generates real-time footage so that the front-seat passenger can watch the back-seat action unfold. A fellow passenger is handed a remote to control the LED party lights and told she could well be up for a Fringe award for best lighting design (I’m voting for you, Olivia). With audience interaction a highlight of the musical, more of us are recruited for various tasks, from holding fans to pressing space bars and even singing “I do”. Did I mention the carpool karaoke? We all have a ball thanks to Knowles’ natural, easy grace that puts us at ease. A showman through and through.

I’d love to see the story more fleshed out, particularly around the shock twist (I suspect another three songs here would work a charm). But take that with a grain of wheat: ultimately, this is an innovative, funny, and highly original production. Buckle up for a rally of a riot!

Have you ever wondered what you would do if you had killed somebody? Who would you call? What about if your best friend needed your help burying a body? Three Feet Under turns this idea into a hilarious story, as best friends Jax (played by Ivana Palezevic) and Libby (Helen Vivienne Fletcher) find themselves needing to bury the body of Sammy – Jax’s ex and Libby’s cousin. After digging a hole in a planter box in their garden, they wildly swing between arguing, panicking, and planning what they need to do next, testing their friendship in the chaos.

With green turf and a white picket fence (set design by Jo Marsh and Caleb Havill), Te Auaha’s Tapere Iti has been transformed into Jax and Libby’s back garden. The set is effective and believable, particularly as the characters react to noises and lights coming from neighbours' houses and constantly remind each other to keep their voices down to not draw attention. There are some great moments of physical humour, like when they drag a bloodstained, wrapped-up body across the stage, struggle to dump it into the hole they have dug, and position themselves in front of the planter box to stop anybody from seeing in.

The emotional variation throughout the play is navigated deftly by Palezevic and Fletcher, whose characters sway between a detached hyperfixation on hiding the evidence and full-blown panic, taking turns freaking out, then forcing a calm and sensible response to placate the other. At times, some of the lines feel a little too anticipated, making the responses muted, and I find myself wanting to see more impassioned and impulsive reactions. However, the plot is woven into their conversation well: the script is hilarious, relatable, and structured in a way that compellingly doles out the story.

This is the perfect show to take your bestie to if you’ve ever wondered how you would support each other in a crisis.