Shows

Into the Woods is a Brothers Grimm-inspired musical that follows our favourite fairytale characters post-happy ending. With music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim and book by James Lapine, the 1987 Broadway sensation explores hope, community, and the pervasive power of desire. Oh, the things we’ll do to see our wishes come true.

A Baker (William Duignan) and his Wife (Áine Gallagher) have been cursed by the Witch (Greer Perenara) next door. In order to reverse the curse and fulfil their deepest desire of having a child, they must retrieve magic potion ingredients from Jack (Tara Canton) and Milky White (Felicity Cozens), Little Red Riding Hood (Aria Leader-Fiamatai), Rapunzel (Emily Yeap), and Cinderella (Gayle Hammersley) – each pursuing a wish of their own. Into the woods they go, where they encounter Princes (Jackson Burling, Glenn Horsfall), an overzealous Steward (Ed Blunden), a wicked Stepmother (Joanne Lisik) and her nasty daughters (Aimée Sullivan, Mia Alonso-Green), a ravenous Wolf (Burling), a badass Granny (Paula Gardyne), and a Mysterious Man (Kevin Orlando) who speaks only in riddles. Meanwhile, Orlando narrates the chaos as a Giant (Cozens) sets up shop in the sky above the kingdom. 

Into the Woods is a musical of two parts, where the first half is filled with upbeat music (performed exquisitely by a live orchestra), good humour, and, of course, happy ever afters. It’s clear from the buzz of elation in the atrium at interval that the first half is more enjoyable, but I’m putting that down to the script. The second half descends into grim madness, where multiple tragedies befall our heroes as the consequences of their choices come into sharp relief. The music is discordant, the silence loud. While the action may jolt and shudder, WITCH does a bang-up job of keeping the train from derailing.

There are too many magical moments to pack into this review, even if I wasn’t already over word count. Burling and Orlando’s comedic timing at every turn; Gallagher’s jaw-dropping Moments in the Woods, which I swear rouses one minute of relentless applause mid-scene; the Princes’ Agony and Horsfall’s dazzling twirlies; Canton’s charming portrayal of the earnest, dim-witted Jack; Perenara’s powerful Children Will Listen; Duignan’s understated but assured performance, which crucially grounds the action; Cozens’ star turn as Jack’s best friend, which nearly steals the show… No mean feat considering how exceptional the show is! The entire cast is talent personified and their vocal performances are fire (musical direction by Hayden Taylor and Maya Handa Naff).

Joshua Tucker’s enchanted production design envelops us in a magical world that is a pleasure to escape to. Bravo WITCH, Disney ain’t got nothing on you.    

A random assortment of fruits and vegetables greets us as we walk into RAW! ASMR, set on an otherwise minimally decorated stage. To begin the show, over the speakers, the soothing voice of ASMRtist persona Letitia Lickkit (Amy Atkins) describes in detail everything on the stage, and some of what we are about to observe. When she appears, she is dressed in a “cheeky and glam” gold-sequinned costume. Beginning the evening this way focuses us in on the finer details of what will be presented to us, and invites us to pay close attention to all of the noises that the performer plays with, the central experience of RAW! ASMR!

The show leans into the comedy of this situation – one performer trying everything she can to trigger our ASMR response, a pleasant tingling sensation that many people feel when hearing particular sounds. She whispers into a microphone, plays with fruit, and taps on objects, fluctuating between calming and manic, and the audience laughs at the absurdity of what she is doing as it contrasts with how earnestly she is trying to win us over.

ASMR videos have created their own community and culture on their corner of YouTube, and Amy breaks down the typical characteristics of them, such as previews of her ASMR techniques at the beginning of the show and roleplay portions of the experience. Credit must also be given to the crisp and clear sound quality.

Simple lighting changes support the experiment on our senses as we are treated to (or subjected to) tapping, crunching, whispering, and chewing noises, among many others.

As the performance goes on and Letitia Lickkit becomes more and more frantic, the meaning becomes clear. She’s desperate for this to work, for us to be happy, for us to like her – for us to like and subscribe! The one-woman show feels like a perfect criticism of social media culture and the yearning for attention hidden under what we choose to present, a message that Amy aptly – albeit unconventionally – communicates.

KAT Theatre is the only central Wellington community group regularly mounting a season of short plays. This is commendable as a way for directors to gain experience and actors to flex their performing muscles without the time commitment and staging requirements of a full-length production.

Interactions as a collection is aptly named as it’s the interplay of characters in the three pieces that makes them engaging. This is particularly evident in the first one, Token of Friendship, written by Nataliya Oryshchuk and directed by Marty Pilott. It’s a neat story of cultural awkwardness as enthusiastic employee Carol (Ava Straw) is given a clipboard full of questions and a lei to befriend a colleague in a cheesy corporate getting-to-know-you exercise. Her target is Miroslava (Corrina Gordon), a Belarussian immigrant to Aotearoa. Their amusingly cringe-inducing exchange that converts to common ground over divorce is expertly played by the two actresses. A shoutout to Gordon for her masterful accent skills.

Next up is Anton Chekhov’s The Proposal directed by Hayden Rogers. This over-the-top satire about the greed and shallowness of Russia’s landed aristocracy is energetically played by a committed trio of female actors (Jamie Fenton, Manisha Singh, and Heather Lange), two of whom are playing men. The casting choice provides an interesting and fresh perspective on this classic short play and raises additional questions about male behaviour and motives.

After the interval, Domestic Bliss by Christina Stachurski takes to the stage. At 90 minutes long, this isn’t really a short play. It would have benefitted from cuts to the script to make it fit the one-act format, which would prevent the cast reaching for their lines. While an entertaining and at times poignant exposition of three women (Liz Ebrey, Cinnamon Machin, and Kelly Bennett) from different eras struggling with female life, the script lacks conflict. Conflict equals drama in theatre and this is largely missing. The cast make a good fist of it, however, and their occupation of the same kitchen is cleverly managed.

As a theatre reviewer in Pōneke, I’ve seen some out-there stuff. Women screeching in buckets of mud, bald men singing Rihanna, murder by banana… Since I first started writing for Regional News eight years ago, our creative community has surprised, delighted, and floored me at every turn. But I have perhaps never seen anything as unique as One Night Band.

A live band (MC Liam Kelly, vocalist Pippa Drakeford-Croad, keyboardist Ben Kelly, guitarist Tessa Dillon, bassist Peter Hamilton, and drummer Lennox Grootjans) writes, performs, and records a new song every hour on the hour with audience input. At the end of 12 hours, they have an album.

In my 4pm session, we’re given a prompt: a piece of media that recently inspired us. The chosen audience contribution is a TikTok about trawling for jellyfish. We brainstorm what this might sound like and settle on a blues-rap set in an apocalyptic world where humans only eat jellyfish.

The blues verse is sung (beautifully by Drakeford-Croad) from the perspective of a jellyfish about to be eaten. “It’s hard being a fish made of jelly, when you’re destined to end up in a belly” goes the chorus, which somehow I’m up on stage singing the third harmony for. Meanwhile, two human audience members write and perform a killer rap bridge about eating said jellyfish.

One Night Band is the epitome of a communal experience. There are beanbags, couches, and even colouring activities in the programme. It reminds me of devising theatre with my buddies at uni, something I didn’t think I’d get to relive anytime soon. I so appreciate the opportunity and the atmosphere of camaraderie in the room.

While it might be cosy and casual, there’s unrelenting talent here. The band is a “yes and” machine, accepting any offer and churning out a pretty great song in 60 minutes. The lyrics rhyme, the hook is tight, the bass is thick, and there’s even a keyboard solo that sounds like a jellyfish. How wonderful to watch art being made in real time. And how much more wonderful to have helped in the making.

KidzStuff has done it again and they sure bring lots of fun to the school holidays! Jessica Bo Peep is another amazing production full of fun, adventure, and some valuable lessons.

When we arrive, we receive a warm welcome from Adam Koveskali. We get to meet Jessica, played by producer and creative director Amalia Calder. Jessica is a kind, supportive human being who loves all things and sees the good in everything. Her trusty dog, named Goldfish (Clare Kerrison), interacts with the kids before the show and everyone gets to pretend to be dogs. It’s adorable! Clare also plays the roles of the cheeky Pūkeko and Nettie, the fearsome mother of Jessica and Goldfish’s new friend Tom, whom we meet in the show a little bit later.

Tom the Taniwha (Gareth Tiopira-Waaka) is an amazing character and, together with Jessica, interprets the little lessons in the show, which the whole audience can understand. The show is filled with wonderful music and original songs by Amalia and Chrysalynn Calder. The lighting creates every scene change very well and the set is simple, yet so effective. We dance along to the music and the interaction between the cast and the young audience makes the show even more magical.

In between all the fun, we get to learn new things too, like how to spell geography and about the Māori legend of taniwha. We learn about friendship and kindness, taking care of each other, and loving our friends, family, and animals.

After a show, I like to ask my son what part he loved the most. He says the doggo and all the hugs. My personal favourite element is Tom the Taniwha and his gentleness. In a world where cruelty and fear are the norm, he chooses to be good and kind.

I can’t wait to see KidzStuff’s next school holiday show. With smiles, laughter, and even fresh popcorn, Jessica Bo Peep is great fun for the whole family!

How did a young Kiwi boy from a staunch Catholic family who grew up in the no-nonsense 90s become the uber glamorous Anita Wigl’it, star of RuPaul’s Drag Race Down Under? In this one-hour, one-woman tell-all, replete with sexual innuendo, fabulous costumes with more sparkle than you can shake a sequin at, and some really embarrassing photos, you can discover the unvarnished truth.

Anita (aka Nick) takes us on a highly personal journey of equal parts fun and vulnerability with the help of a projector and a backdrop of prettily painted flats that turn out to be the set from the daytime kids’ show in Circa Two. It all starts in 1989 with the birth of a prince who is destined to become a queen. This is by way of a few years in England, dodgy dress ups, rugby-playing high-school bullies, a lesbian girlfriend, discovering drag in Auckland through Priscilla: Queen of the Desert, playing the Last Post for the Navy in Gallipoli, and winning her first drag competition in Vancouver.

These factoids from Nick/Anita’s life are interspersed with hilarious performances of songs, my favourite of which is Shirley Bassey’s Goldfinger (yes, it does get as smutty as you’d think). If you’re a shrinking violet, definitely don’t sit in the front row. But it’s not all laughs; a heart-breaking video confessional about a pernicious sexual assault followed by a stunning jazz trumpet piece brings the opening night audience to much-deserved tears.

With lovely lighting and slickly operated tech by our star’s husband, who was apparently dragged in at the last minute to operate, this is a simple but effective  ̶  and affecting  ̶  production. A disintegrating microphone causes unintended hilarity, which Anita deals with through some impressively quickfire and smart improv.

Even if drag isn’t your bag, this is an intelligent and inspiring story about someone who has overcome a life full of challenges to become a raging success living as their true self. And we can all take lessons from that.

Surreal comedy meets ridiculous reality is what we are promised from Sarah Delahunty’s newest work, Interrupting Cow, and we aren’t disappointed.

We meet the cast amidst an endless pandemic of annoyance. Annoyance about everything, from shoelaces and global starvation to Twitter and the housing crisis. Our characters appear to be searching for purpose in an ever-changing and damaged world. One (Sarah Delahunty) looks for purpose by being a stickler for the rules – rules she later realises are defined and enforced only by herself. The other (Catherine Delahunty) pursues purpose by surrendering to the endless scroll, constantly glued to their phone and defending the hidden depths of Twitter that go beyond ‘silly pet posts’.

This surreal piece packs so much into 55 minutes, it’s almost overwhelming. The script feels like a free-flowing train of thought, uncovering feelings and fears of most, if not all, the societal, political, and existential issues of today. And yet, with so much said the characters are stuck still, lost. The experience for me is dizzying, but oddly relatable. You know that feeling? The one that makes you want to push for progress, to make a difference, but you just don’t know how? That feeling is at the heart of this piece, driven along by Delahunty’s meticulous and punchy writing.

Ari Leason’s character, a chocolate cake and ukulele-wielding bard of mysterious origins, punctuates the play throughout with original compositions of varying soul and intensity.

The set design (Sarah Delahunty) is a wasteland of tangled tree limbs, overturned chairs, discarded appliances, and traffic cones. Amongst this eclectic array of forgotten items, the characters question whether “this is the right place”. The setting becomes a metaphor for the characters’ feelings of frustration and isolation of not knowing their place in the world anymore.

Interrupting Cow is unusual and thought provoking. It will leave you thinking of the big and sometimes scary things – but will also remind you that when those thoughts get too big, there’s always cake.

Having seen, heard, and loved the 1970s and 80s versions of Cringeworthy, I had high expectations for this production. Those expectations were met, nay exceeded, as four fabulous fashionistas took to the stage in a silhouetted tableau that screamed the 60s and belted out an energetic rendition of Shout, complete with go-go dancers (Amedee Wilson and Annabella Milburn).

Mandy, Sandy, Candy, and… er, Bob (Andrea Sanders, Jthan Morgan, Rebecca Ansell, and Jared Pallesen) kept a full opening night audience whooping, clapping, and laughing as they flawlessly delivered hit after hit, interspersed with loving, nostalgic details of New Zealand in the 60s. For those of us who didn’t grow up here or are too young to remember, these nuggets of history – ranging from the introduction of TV and contraceptives to the Summer of Love and the musical brain drain to Australia – bring to life a different time when our country was an unsophisticated backwater at the bottom of the world.

Sanders deliberately chose songs with four-part harmonies and a cast with the capability to sing them, and these are the highlights of a strong show. Pallesen and Morgan’s vocal gymnastics make The Four Seasons’ Sherry the clear audience favourite. The choreography is excellent too with all the classic 60s moves and grooves.

The production design in the first half (set design by Scott Maxim, lighting design by Mitch Sigley and Gabriella Eaton) is a visual tribute to Coco Chanel with everything in black and white apart from some subtly coloured light. This is reflected in the slick costuming (Show Off Costume Hire and Andrea Sanders). The second half unashamedly embraces the hippy aesthetic with colourful caftans (hilariously enjoyed by Morgan), swirly patterned bell bottoms, peace signs, and psychedelic lighting.

This is a joyous and highly enjoyable tribute to arguably the best decade of popular music, so turn on, tune in, and groove on down to Circa for a trip down memory lane and a night you’ll never forget.

Erika (Hattie Salmon) and Asa’s (Thomas Steinmann) love story starts as all the best ones do: with a one-night stand gone wrong. Beginning with a brief but passionate encounter that blossoms into a lifelong affair, CORE is about how all-consuming, passionate, and volatile your first love can be.

This 90-minute two-hander is peppered with potential and beautiful moments. The chemistry and connection between our two leads is both believable and engaging. While Steinmann has an easy, natural performance style, Salmon’s ‘Ricky’ is more heightened, poetic. The juxtaposition is interesting to watch and serves the script well, which is real and surreal in equal measure.

Centring on a bed, Sid Williams’ functional set design transports us into the couple’s bedroom, while Max DeRoy’s lighting design conveys the passing of time from night to day. It’s lovely to watch as you imagine sunrays slowly spreading across your bed during lazy Sunday mornings with the person you love; moonlight and the amber glow of the city filtering through your window after a big night out in your favourite sparkly dress. All the while, Roco Moroi Thorn’s haunting sound design echoes the heady fever of young love.  

CORE would benefit from more concision and dramaturgical clarity, especially because time jumps are at play – will landlines still be a thing in the future? Regardless, it stands tall on strong bones: the performances, the design elements, and Salmon’s script, which pinpoints some (unfortunately!) relatable sticking points. I see elements of my past dysfunctional relationships in every beer can, hear them in every telephone ring, read them in every email I wasn’t meant to, feel them in every lingering touch. CORE distils a universal subject down into an accessible story sprinkled with specificity. Just like Ricky, I think it’s the small things that capture the true essence of love, and in those little, carefully curated details, you’ll find CORE’s strength and its beauty.

American writer John Patrick Shanley is perhaps best known as a screenwriter, having won an Oscar for Moonstruck, but he is also a prolific, award-winning playwright. This lesser-known work is a cleverly structured witty, bitter, and sometimes brutal exposition of destructive relationships and poor life choices.

It starts with old friends Celeste (Gin Mabey) and Natalie (Stacey O’Brien) meeting in a café where the catty conversation turns much darker than either of them anticipates. Next, we see Natalie with her controlling lawyer husband Henry (Leon Beaton) and learn of her murky past with Tommy (Shay Tanirau) that has come back to haunt her. Henry then goes to see his friend and philandering divorce lawyer Sidney (Martin Hunt), whose toxic masculinity is carried through to a violent confrontation with his territorial wife Marcia (Lisa Aaltonen). There are further connections between these characters, but to say more would spoil the plot.

This ensemble cast is excellent, with each actor thoroughly owning the best and worst of their sometimes-over-the-top characters and the literal and metaphorical ghosts of the lies they tell themselves.

The changes of scene are managed through the installation of a revolve, the first I’ve seen on the Gryphon stage. This works well, although a gap between the set and curtains at one side and a central wall that’s a tad too flimsy to withstand the robust action at the end of the play let down the construction of an imaginative design (Oliver Mander). This staging gives a tight performance space for each pair of actors, but Mander’s direction largely uses it successfully to reflect the claustrophobic nature of their relationships.

Lighting and sound (Jamie Byas and Tim Gruar) work effectively to support the on-stage action. A highlight is the gruesome red glow that drenches Tommy the first time he appears.

Wellington Repertory Theatre’s deft production of an expertly crafted script certainly deserves a bigger audience than it had on its second night and is well worth your money.

I was lucky enough to see Thom Monckton’s The Artist in 2020 in my first foray back to live theatre since the pandemic began. I remember summarising the show as “one man procrastinates making art for an hour”, which, sure, doesn’t sound all that interesting. But in the hands of this consummate physical theatre performer, I noted that The Artist was one of the most engaging solo performances I’d ever seen.

The King of Taking is no different, with a summary that could feasibly read: King spends 35 minutes walking to a table to spend another 35 minutes opening presents. I have very few plot points to report and very little dialogue to dissect, save, perhaps, for the syllabic stress on the name “Jonathan”. And yet I could write for days about how every minute, every moment of The King of Taking is a highlight.

Looming centre stage is a stately throne (production design by Gemma Tweedie, set realised by Lucas Neal) that allows for many gags I don’t want to spoil here. Props like candlesticks, rope pulleys, and rolls of red carpet are further instruments of amusement. Clever lighting (Neal) and sound (Amanda Maclean) cues accentuate Monckton’s physical comedy as he makes excellent use of everything around him. This extends to not just the set pieces but to the gifts bestowed on him by the audience prior to the show – a unique concept I’ve not seen on stage before.

Monckton speaks a thousand unscripted words with the mere twitch of a lip, the bat of an eyelash, with an energy that intensifies when it comes time to open the King’s presents. His portrayal of all-consuming, childlike joy that borders on madness emphasises themes of greed, corruption, and power. In short, of taking. This resonates the loudest when the King continues to tear open his gifts without a thought for the wellbeing of his surprise guest, Tess Sullivan. What a showstopping cameo.

Passionate, perky, and powerful are three of the many words that can be used to describe Celia Macdonald’s first original show, A Fat Girl’s Cry. Macdonald takes us on a musical journey about the importance of plus-size representation in the musical theatre industry. The show feels autobiographical and strikingly similar to Jonathan Larson’s Tick, Tick… Boom!, but of course with Macdonald’s unique, charismatic flair.

Songs are well placed throughout the show, providing an exciting new context to some beloved musical theatre numbers such as All That Jazz from Chicago and Children Will Listen from Into the Woods. Macdonald and fellow actor Scott Christie performing the treasured As Long as You’re Mine from Wicked feels right and questions why we don’t often see plus-size performers in leading roles such as Elphaba.

I have never seen BATS’ The Stage so stripped down. I feel this aids the performance as it allows Macdonald’s potent story to be the focal point, rather than the razzle dazzle that most musicals bring. I love how stage manager Jess Weston takes part in the show, adding another talented performer into the mix.

My heart shatters into pieces at the climax of the show. The performers execute this perfectly. I feel Macdonald’s pain. No performer should ever have to feel how she has felt. It breaks me to think how toxic the musical theatre industry can be to those who don’t ‘fit the bill’.

Whilst specifically addressing the struggles of being plus size in the musical theatre industry, the show feels universally relevant, touching on the idea that oftentimes the things we get ridiculed for the most are our greatest assets. The final number Absolutely Everybody is a fantastic way to end the show by celebrating people of all shapes and sizes.

Macdonald is a genuine, talented performer and I sincerely hope that she continues to take the spotlight that she deserves.

A Fat Girl’s Cry is truly a show for every body.