Shows

Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between and undecided, meet the masters of miracles, the instigators of the impossible, the explorers of the extraordinary, The Fabulous Fabelinskys in this heartwarming dramedy-meets-circus performance.

A travelling circus has just arrived in New Zealand for the first time. Papa, Mama (Rachel Winter Hase), Maisie (Booth the Clown), and Annie (Laura Oakley) have always pretended to be Russian, but everything gets off-kilter when Papa dies, leaving the women to negotiate not only how to survive without him in 1890s society, but who they want to be now that he’s gone.

Met with a set (Erin Belcher and costume magician Gogo Amy) framed by an old-fashioned caravan and plush red curtains connected by a washing line, it feels like you’ve entered the circus tent rather than the black-box theatre of Te Auaha. Colourful and brimming with mystery, the energy in the room is fizzing. Accompanied by the showstopping Show Pony on the fiddle, the rowdy roustabouts (Nathaniel Smith, Gogo Amy, Izzy Christine, Erin Belcher, and Mikayla Heasman) are pottering around as if in anticipation of something exceptional.

And exceptional it is. From the first moment Mama appears in her black shroud, to the slowly building and bubbling-over anxiety of Annie navigating this new uncertain world, and, of course, the always hilarious shenanigans of Maggie providing comic relief, The Fabulous Fabelinskys is performed tightly, intentionally, and with the greatest professionalism. Each and every character arc is as graceful and polished as a trapeze artist’s charted course through the sky. Not to mention the mesmerising circus acts brilliantly choreographed by Oakley – get hyped for hula hoops, ring, rope, and sword swallowing, folks – which weave the story together into a beautiful, cohesive whole.

A story about identity, family, grief, and self-belief that is equal parts perky and poignant and with a heaping dose of razzle-dazzle to boot, The Fabulous Fabelinskys spins a tale fully fictional but rooted in facts that takes audiences through the ups, downs, and loop-de-loops of life. Backflip and cartwheel your way into the tent before the circus leaves town.

Taking inspiration from the popular Netflix series Bridgerton, the improvised Abridged-erton features four performers (Millie Osborne, Simran Rughani, Megan Ritchie, and Lucie Richardson) drawing on audience suggestions to create an impromptu Regency-era dramedy.

Beginning with a nod to Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers from the original TV series, a young paperboy (Rughani) asks the audience for ideas and gossip to inform the coming show. After this, there is little direct interaction with the audience, keeping the performance natural and unrestrained. There are some moments that seem to have been pre-rehearsed in order to reference the original series, such as dance sequences or when the cast speak in unison (“make haste!”). However, the majority of the performance is improvised, and the players do a fantastic job of crafting a dramatic plot with a natural arc and story beats, all while producing great comedic moments – the audience is palpably hooked.

To support the performers, lighting (operated by Lila Black) and live cello music (played by Sebastian Morgan-Lynch) react to and enhance the action. The adaptive music and lights echo and even anticipate the mood of the piece as it unfolds, really elevating the entertainment factor.

The costumes of luxurious gowns and elbow-length white gloves are also a fantastic touch, evoking opulence and refinement even with a simple set and few props.

The performers nimbly change characters, differentiating the distinct roles that they play with quick posture and accent modifications. Even with minimal costume changes, it is clear when they have taken on a new persona or returned to one previously seen, meaning that the plot is engaging and easy to follow even as the cast of characters multiplies.

Modern references are also sprinkled in, contrasting with the sensibilities of the depicted time period. The result is a show that cleverly and comedically parodies the Netflix series, satirising the absurdity of Regency England in the process. Audiences can enjoy a brand-new show every night, where the customs of the Regency era create the perfect environment for frivolity and fun.

Entering a dimly lit warehouse often strikes fear in most people. However, with Entry: Encounter, it becomes a journey of excitement and intrigue as we step into an unfamiliar realm, eager to explore.

Entry: Encounter is a sensory experience filled with surprises at every turn, forcing you to relearn your senses as you engage with the unknown.

Every element in this piece works seamlessly together. The set design by Rebekah de Roo provides a wondrously tactile canvas for the performance, while Matt Asunder’s pulsating rhythmic sounds form the living, beating heart of the show. The lighting (director Jacob Banks) and AV design (de Roo) transform the space into an ever-shifting landscape, immersing us completely. And I cannot forget the ethereal costumes and masks by Anne-Lisa Noordover, which create an eclectic congregation of creatures. These magnificent designs make the performance feel like an interactive wearable arts show.

The performers (Tim Fraser, Trinity Maydon, Xanthe Curtain, Aroha Morrison, Emma Rattenbury, Salomé Grace Neely, Megan Connolly, and Sophie Sheaf-Morrison) draw us into this mesmerising experience, captivating us with movement choreographed by Dan Nodder. They invite us to dance along, making us, the audience, part of the performance itself.

By the end of the piece, everyone is bopping along or dancing to the beat, surrounded by strange silhouettes. The design is immaculate – I cannot think of how it could be done any better. You can’t help but lose yourself in this place as you discover something new you didn’t realise you had inside.

This is such a high-quality production, and I hope to encounter it again. As part of their season, Untitled Warehouse Project also presents Entry: Exhibit and Entry: After Hours, which I can only imagine complement this piece excellently.

I’d be surprised if you didn’t have an out-of-body experience at this show. I implore you to step into the world of Entry: Encounter and see what people are raving about.

Liv Tennet’s solo show For You to Know and Me to Find Out is a masterclass in expressive movement and humour. Exploring Tennet’s own journey through matrescence, parenthood, and artistic identity, the work utilises dance, physical theatre, comedy, and sound (Tom Broome) to build a cohesive world.

Tennet establishes the structure and conventions of the work from the outset, letting the audience know we are in competent hands. The piece is expertly crafted, releasing into vivid phrases of movement only to catch itself and reform. Right when we see our protagonist fully in flow, the lights change and she is interrupted by the insistent voice of a child in the next room, an incredibly simple and effective motif that recurs throughout the work.

Frank voiceovers in between musical segments give just enough narrative structure for the audience to anchor themselves to. The props and costume items do double duty as minimalist set dressing when not in use. Tennet is constantly trying on different selves and modes of expression; a thigh-length red wig that she wraps around her body, or enormous hands which sprout out of a fluffy dressing gown while she does the laundry create surreal imagery as her body is changed and she must rebuild her relationship with it.

While these augmentations are interesting, it is Tennet’s physicality which does most of the heavy lifting during her metamorphoses. The first dance is anguished and vulnerable, and one of my favourites, but other sections relish in absurdities. Tennet’s comedy moves deftly between the woozy silliness of the sleep deprived to keenly observed satires of audition protocols.

All the upheaval acknowledged, we are left with the intensity and beauty of parenthood, and the attachment between Tennet and her child. The closing playful dance with an invisible child is gorgeous, and the final bid for engagement from the child’s voice is met with a warm response from Tennet. We can’t wait to see what she creates next.

Russian-born, US-raised Mikhail Tank is a self-described “visionary multimedia artist, performer, author, and creative alchemist” who has created Transmute Darkness into Light specifically for this year’s New Zealand Fringe Festival audience. It follows an inspirational visit he made to Auckland last year to film a video for the title track to his latest performance art and music album, The Royal Dragon and the Rhythm Within.

Filmed in what appears to be his living room in California with a static camera, Transmute Darkness into Light is delivered direct to the lens. It’s part performance poetry, part mindfulness class with a spontaneous exhortation to explore the protective darkness inside us and use it to inform our creativity, as he has been doing since the age of 13.

Tank begins by expounding on his recent New Zealand visit, his love for our country and people, deep connection with Māori culture, and the significance of a pounamu that he was gifted by a carver on Waiheke.

This segues into an animated performance of a dozen or so “soul-written works” about the dangers of artifice and negativity, which cause us psychosomatic pain and trauma. “Reverse these curses”, he says, by reaching for God and Nature as he blows kisses to the sky or to us through his camera.

Part three is an extension of the themes in his poetry as Tank expands his thoughts on “magic, light, and darkness” by turning the poison of negativity into something positive. Connecting with our souls is, he claims, the most important relationship we have in life. There is an air of the practical in his words as he doesn’t eschew the physical world of possessions, but instead says they can offer us earthly experiences and ways to see life through powerful gifts to cherish, such as pounamu. They contribute to the “soul warehouse”, which also contains resuscitated love and emotions expressed in the moment. These are at the core of this unique creative work.

With book by Ania Upstill and music and lyrics by William Duignan and Andy Manning, Antonio! is an exuberant punk musical that imagines the exploits of a forgotten muse of Shakespeare, a proudly queer merchant-turned-pirate who explores the world searching for love, and, failing that, booty. The name Antonio features in five of Shakespeare’s plays, and the show draws on these to construct Antonio!. Shakespeare enthusiasts will recognise passages from Much Ado About Nothing, Twelfth Night, and The Merchant of Venice. However, the production is firmly grounded in the present; the aesthetics draw on punk and most of the book uses contemporary language.

Fans of Butch Mermaid Productions have been eagerly anticipating Antonio! ever since its sell-out season at Edinburgh Fringe 2023. Duignan reprises his role as the earnest and vulnerable Antonio, with a supporting cast and band of Upstill, Henry Ashby, Emma Katene, and Jthan Morgan.

Presenting the intricate narrative of Antonio! with five musicians, actors, and vocalists is no mean feat. Each performer has incredible versatility of characterisation, committing to even the smallest bit parts. We meet a series of Antionio’s past lovers, each more unsuitable than the last. Ashby’s smouldering Bassanio seduces us all against our better judgement, and Katene’s Don Pedro is ludicrously sick with self-love. The sublime Jthan Morgan is heartbreaking as Sebastian, and outrageously funny in ensemble work.

Much of the narrative seeks to erase Shakespeare and to instead centre Antonio’s voice. But The Bard breaks through eventually, with all the supporting cast donning eerie yet hilarious Shakespeare masks with glowing green eyes, and Upstill’s cold, smooth voice speaking for the worst ex of them all. Upstill’s Shakespeare is a scurvy companion; closeted, manipulative, and cruel.

But Antonio! is ultimately a show that celebrates authenticity and queer joy. Our Antonio liberates himself and finds happiness, and the clear message in the final song is that this kind of freedom is available to all of us.  

Putting your life story on stage is an act of bravery, especially for theatrical performers who are often riddled with self-doubt. So, for Glenn Horsfall to present his journey of personal growth is a daring feat of vulnerability in the intimate, overheated space of Thistle Hall.

Unlike many in the opening-night audience, I don’t know Horsfall personally. Having witnessed his recent performances and lush baritone voice in Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812, Into the Woods, and End of the Rainbow, I was keen to meet the man behind the voice.

Horsfall takes his audience with him on a sometimes-heartbreaking voyage of discovery from early years schooling in Christchurch where he thrived as “the Patty Simcox of intermediate”, excelling as the only boy playing netball. For this, he featured on the front page of the local paper and was interviewed for Paul Holmes on TVNZ. Sadly, that clip resurfaced during his tough years at Christchurch Boys’ High School and led to bullying and self-destructive behaviour that persisted into adulthood.

Behind Horsfall is a moving collage of personal photos (design by Scott Maxim) that illustrate and highlight moments in his life and add depth to the storytelling. Anecdotes from his work as a cruise ship entertainer, then playing a wheelchair-bound dog in a shopping-mall kids’ show, and learning tricky choreography at ‘cat school’ pepper his tales with endearing and self-deprecating humour.

Also interspersed with the narrative are 10 well-chosen songs from a variety of musicals that echo the emotions at key points in Horsfall’s story, excellently arranged and accompanied by Hayden Taylor. Horsfall’s vocal performances are stunning and he really hits his stride with the fourth number, Waving Through a Window from Dear Evan Hansen, which particularly suits his singing style.

This might not have been the plan but it’s nevertheless a privilege to share in the life of a singular talent.

With Noël Coward’s works entering the public domain this year, Stagecraft’s production of Private Lives is the first in Wellington to bring new life to the playwright’s classic comedic style. Despite originally being performed in 1930, the play’s subversive portrayal of gender roles is ripe and juicy for a modern audience. Though he was closeted during his lifetime, Coward’s queerness adds a biting wit to his work.

After a messy divorce, two ex-lovers (played by Dan Harward Jones and Lydia Verschaffelt) have married new spouses (Laura Gardner and Tom Kereama) and are happily honeymooning when they discover that their hotel rooms are right next to each other. Passions reignite and they flee from their new marriages together – only to be reminded of the reasons why they got divorced.

Coward’s characteristically fast-paced, witty dialogue is realised confidently by every member of the cast, which is rounded out by Margot Allais as Louise. Dialogue is clear even with the speed of the banter, the cast’s accents are consistent, and there is skillful variety in the pacing of the lines. The effect is a delightful show that keeps the audience laughing. It is clear that the actors understand the humour in their lines, and their comedic timing and delivery make the most of the hilarious script.

Set design by Tanya Piejus is also fantastic, beginning with the cast pulled forward in front of a curtain for a believable hotel balcony. The set then opens up to a stylish box set for a Parisian apartment, complete with charming painted streets visible through the back windows. Both spaces are used well by the cast, whose movement feels natural and motivated. Costume design (Meredith Dooley) and hair styles and make up (workshopped by Aimée Sullivan) all add great believability and personality to the characters and the era of the play.

Janet Noble’s direction has made an exceptional interpretation of the script as a time capsule of a classic comedy filtered through a modern lens. Stagecraft’s Private Lives is a very enjoyable production with plenty of risqué humour that still has plenty to say about modern gender roles.

In a scarily possible near future, a new government has favoured tax cuts for the middle classes over investing in the public health system, resulting in the Last Year of Life Bill. This sees people with terminal illnesses denied all but palliative care once they’ve been ‘classified’ as too far gone to be worth treating, so freeing up beds and medication for younger, more worthy patients.

One of the classifieds is Irina (Perry Piercy), a Ukranian refugee who escaped before the ongoing war. Her two children, Yulia (Mel Dodge) and Daniel (Tāmata Porter), have very different attitudes to their mother’s plight. Yulia is a nurse who daily sees the effect of an ageing population on a struggling health system and believes the new law is saving lives, while Daniel procures and administers black-market cancer drugs to try to buy his mum more time. Also in the mix is Adam (Jack Buchanan), one of Irina’s former piano students whose own health issue has arrested his career as a maestro.

Starting with an attempted suicide and seemingly about a heavily doom-laden subject, Hope is surprisingly uplifting. That’s largely because it’s funny and this vein of humour as each character wrestles with the ethics of the appalling situation they find themselves in is what stops Jenny Pattrick’s finely balanced script being a buzzkill.

The cast is excellent, each clearly articulating their character and interacting with believable emotions and chemistry. They are supported by a lusciously coloured set (Ian Harman) that leans strongly into the mosaic motif that threads through the dialogue and anchors the hope within it. Marcus McShane’s lighting adds to the visual feast, with subtle practicals and shades that clearly pinpoint the time of day. The accompanying piano-based soundtrack (composer Briar Prastiti, sound engineer and designer Chris Ward) weaves beautifully around the action.

A call to action in a disintegrating world, Hope celebrates the deeper things that bring us together and make us live, love, and laugh.

Sailing from the Welsh Dragon Bar to two/fifty-seven with a fresh new crew of scallywag actors is the updated The Man Whose Mother Was A Pirate – The Musical. Inspired by Margaret Mahy’s beloved children’s book and made with the consent and approval of her estate, this production features new songs with music and lyrics by Nino Raphael and even more audience engagement, including dancing in the playing area.

Each actor plays within the theatre-in-the-round so well, both vocally (musical direction by Hayden Taylor) and physically. Finlay Morris as Sam the Man stuns with his vocal prowess and smooth movement. Jo Hodgson (The Pirate Mother) fully embodies what it means to be both a mother and a pirate, delivering beautiful vocals. Aimée Sullivan keeps the audience in stitches with her many roles as The Rugged Pirate, while Stuart Coats’ expanded portrayal of Mr Fat delights with its depth and humour. Mike McKeon as the Rosy Pirate Captain is a superb narrator and commands the audience with his stage presence. Isobel Lee shines as Jenny, a new addition to the crew of characters, stealing every scene she is in. Every performer adds their own unique energy, and I almost choked with laughter at several moments.

The new songs add so much to the show’s charm, combining sea shanty vibes with Raphael’s distinctive style. The technical elements, like the simple yet effective lighting (Scott Maxim), enhance the setting without distracting from the action. The addition of retractable cutlasses and other props (Becka Tiongson) elevates the theatrical experience.

This version of The Man Whose Mother Was A Pirate – The Musical retains the magic of its Welsh Dragon Bar original, but blows it out of the water with its energy, humour, and creativity. It feels sharper, bigger, better, and is even more of a standout. It’s a fantastic story for all generations about setting sail from the ordinary to explore uncharted waters. I have no doubt that with the creative team behind it, future productions will raise the (rum) bar even higher. For now, I would fight off crews of pirates to watch it again.

A new, locally written adaptation of Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations, this musical is a massive feat and obviously a labour of love. It features original music composed by Katie Morton, an 11-person strong orchestra (musical direction by Saar Cohen-Ronen), and over 20 committed performers.

Gryphon Theatre has been rotated so that the audience sits lengthways down the auditorium, allowing for a wide stage space. The band is visible behind the action on one side, while the other has been built up for a raised acting area. This orientation creates some challenges, as the acting space becomes thin, limiting the depth for the blocking of action and making it difficult to hear the dialogue over the lively large band when the performers are in one corner of the stage.

Dickens’ Great Expectations has a complex, drawn-out plot, which poses another challenge in adapting it to the stage. The show is close to three hours long, with much of the dialogue and lyrics leaning more into exposition than character development. Many technical elements are employed to tell the story, including sound effects (sound design by director Tanya Piejus), projections (AV design by Emma Maguire), smoke, and even a puppet. As the lighting (design by Jamie Byas and Brian Byas) uses colour creatively to set location and mood, the projections – which are tricky to see – feel superfluous to me. Wardrobe design by Wendy Howard assisted by Hayley Knight excellently captures the characters and time period. I would love to see more focus on the emotion in the acting and blocking over the use of technology, which I feel would help to lift the story (and music) off the page.

While an adaptation of this scale faces many challenges, when the full ensemble sings in harmony there is a fantastic sound and vibrancy. I hope to see future productions of Pip and commend Wellington Repertory Theatre for going all out on this ambitious project, dedicated to the memory of John Golder and his wife Alison.

The MILK canon is rightly capitalised because it is very loud (like a canon, wow) and chaotic. “It’s like Wipeout but inside!”, creator Sean Burnett Dugdale-Martin yells in a press release, proving my point. MILK is long-form improv meets water balloons, whereby a group of players – in this case Salomé Grace Neely, Anna Barker, Sarah Penny, Adriana Dana Vasinca, and Ezra Prattley – create a story out of suggestions from the audience, who pelt them with projectiles whenever they want something onstage to change.

This could be as simple as a performer going from happy to sad, stoked about a hegg (hairy egg, of course) to grossed out by it, or it could be as dire and consequential as a death in the MILK family. This happens when a seemingly ordinary, secretly legendairy water balloon explodes, revealing its creamy contents and changing the course of the show forever.

In The MILKYVERSE, which MC Dugdale-Martin introduces in a fittingly hilarious and hectic manner (in fact, they even forget to tell us what to do with the water balloons) (all good, it’s pretty self-explanatory), our protagonist (Dana Vasinca) has moved out of Mum/Grandma’s (Grace Neely) home into a flat with an exceedingly hairy roommate (Prattley) whose mum (Barker) has a hernia, according to a doctor moonlighting as Chappell Roan (Penny). Tasked with clearing the hair out of the flat lest the Milkyverse combust, the protagonist travels to a different dimension where people (especially whoever Barker is playing at the time) can open doors with their minds! Only doors in their line of vision though! Still, impressive!

Special shoutout to design lead and technician Anne Larcom for a brilliant insertion of Enya’s Only Time in The MILKYVERSE, the third out of six milky seasons that I’ve seen. I love these fun and funny, silly and soggy shows and lean into each one harder than the last. In fact, as a fresher for 2022’s MILKOWEEN!, I threw no balloons! For my second encounter, Milly Monka’s MILK Factory (2023), I threw one! And for The MILKYVERSE, I threw 2(%)! Get it, like two-percent milk!

I will now officially sign off and leave the puns to the experts: Ruff as Gutz, who have churned out yet another udderly fantastic show. Whey to go!