Shows

Entering through a tempest to get to Circa Theatre, I was unaware of the storm of laughter that The Tempestuous would bring. Inspired by the Bard himself, William Shakespeare, this musical solo show sees Princess Rosa navigating a cyclone of menopausal witches, full-of-themselves courtiers, and much ado about baking tarts.

Penny Ashton multi-roles this captivating story like no other. She commands the audience with great vigour and humour, making us burst into fits of laughter frequently. Each character that Ashton embodies is incredibly distinct – no mean feat considering she plays at least 10 roles as one incredibly talented actor with impressive vocals to boot (musical direction and compositions by Robbie Ellis). Let’s not forget that unparalleled one-person swordfight.

The Tempestuous is a satire, often critiquing the role of men, which I must say is rather deserved. Not just a laugh fest, the show also draws from current affairs and is very politically relevant.

Ashton’s multi-rolling extends not only onstage but also behind the scenes, as she is also the show’s writer, sound designer, producer, publicist, and more. The Tempestuous is well written using ‘ye olde English’ and features many a rhyming couplet. The stage is filled with many surprises, often causing the audience to chuckle when props are revealed (our prop artist is none other than… you guessed it, Ashton).

Ashton wears a stunning corset dress (costume design by Elizabeth Whiting and corset design by Katie McGettigan) that is so detailed, it almost stops the show in its elegant tracks.

Ashton’s gift for audience interaction is a highlight – especially the improvised moments, such as addressing a latecomer and the one who left their glasses. My only criticism is that I wish there had been more audience interaction overall.

The Tempestuous made me cackle like the coven of witches within it. If you want to laugh until your corset splits, then gallivant to Circa Theatre at thy earliest convenience – or be damned!

Welcome to 1990s Illyria! It’s a party resort on a Greek island in the sun, glowing in whitewash and shocking-pink bougainvillea (set designer Amy Whiterod). In his vibrant nightclub, Orsino (Ren Mahuika) bemoans his lovesickness for a grieving Olivia (Lydia Verschaffelt), while Viola (Ivana Palezevic) and her twin brother Sebastian (Blake Boston) separately wash up after a shipwreck. Elsewhere, an unholy alliance of Sir Toby Belch (Allan Burne), Sir Andrew Aguecheek (Sean Farrell), Maria (Catherine McMechan), and Fabia (Margot Allais) set a trap for uptight steward Malvolio (Mike McJorrow). It’s Shakespeare’s greatest comedy, it’s twins, it’s the 90s… you need naught else for the best night of entertainment in Wellington right now.

The vision of directors Joy Hellyer and Paul Kay is steeped throughout this delicious production. Emma Bell and Mike Slater’s lush and colourful lighting design enhances Whiterod’s Mediterranean set beautifully. The wardrobe (Katie Knight and Meredith Dooley, assisted by Amy Vines) is perfectly period with a transformed Malvolio’s bright-yellow Ali G outfit, complete with bling, a stunning and laugh-out-loud highlight.

Kay’s sound design is a continuous playlist of 90s bangers, cunningly woven into the narrative and even replacing the odd line of dialogue. If you feel so inclined, you can boogie with the cast during the interval and join in the final Macarena. Warning: you will find yourself on your feet at the end as it’s impossible not to be swept up in the infectious joy of this version of a Shakespeare classic.

The cast is superb all round, working slickly and harmoniously together to tell a somewhat ridiculous but always entertaining story. It’s hard to pick standouts from such a good lineup but Burne’s Sir Toby and McJorrow’s Malvolio are favourites, both embracing the comedy and tragedy in their characters. Charlie Potter as Feste must also be commended for her wonderful singing and unfettered demand for cash.

The Bard himself would be bopping like the Backstreet Boys in this stunningly sunny Stagecraft production.

I’m a big fan of 7 Days, New Zealand’s longest-running comedy game show on TV Three. Having just marked its 16^th season, the programme originally aired at the decidedly un-family-friendly time slot of 10pm before being brought forward to 9:30pm and then earlier still. In 7 Days Live, the comedians get to cut loose like the good ol’ days. No filters, no censors: just Kiwi comedy at its rudest and finest.

The format is simple. The dynamic, fast-paced first half sees host Jeremy Corbett, team captains Paul Ego and Dai Henwood, and comedians Hayley Sproull, Josh Thomson, Justine Smith, and Ben Hurley each perform a 10-minute solo stand-up set before sitting down for a live version of 7 Days in act two.

After Corbett gets the ball rolling by recounting the hypothetical arguments he has with his wife about how they’d spend the Lotto money they’ll never win (relatable), Ego comes on to tell us about a kindly nurse possibly born out of the procreation of a walnut and a prune. At this point, a random yells “That’s Kelly’s mum!” and Ego handles it like a champ, starting a running joke about the illicit substances in the heckler’s system that the rest of the comedians riff on throughout the night. Henwood earns one or two ovations but many more laughs with a heartfelt set that straddles everything from slow roasting a pizza to thinking he’s been mistaken for a six-foot-something rugby player.

Other highlights of act one include Thomson’s jarring encounter with the Eye of Sauron in a lift, Hurley’s jibe to an audience member that “no one cares about the rebrand” of Countdown, Smith’s assertion that she “too, was surprised” about being punched by airport security, and Sproull’s impression of a chuffed Mr. Bean with a set of knockers.

The sound mixing in the second half is not as great and I lose a lot of lines when the chatter overlaps, but overall, I have a wicked time living out my dreams of catching an episode of my favourite Kiwi panel show live. While the cast love to rip each other to shreds, their camaraderie here is obvious, the chemistry between them sizzling harder and hotter than a saussie straight off the Bunnings grill.

Oscar Kightley’s seminal 1997 play has been given a contemporary refresh in the wake of the New Zealand Government’s 2021 Apology to the Pacific Peoples who came to Aotearoa in the 1970s wanting to make a better life and remained as overstayers. They faced discrimination, persecution, and unjust brutality from police, government, and media, culminating in the infamous dawn raids of the play’s title. Unceremoniously deported back to their island homes, many people’s lives were upended and families were torn apart.

A staple of school drama assessments for the past two decades, it’s a pleasure to see Dawn Raids on a big stage. Despite the grandiosity of The Opera House, this Pacific Underground and Auckland Theatre Company production maintains a cosy feel through straightforward theatrical devices – innovative lighting (Jo Kilgour), flying gauze screens (set design by Marc McEntyre, G.O.M Arts Collective), a spot-on wardrobe (Tony De Goldi, G.O.M Arts Collective), and an ever-present live band (musical director Posenai Mavaega, Lijah Mavaega, Josephine Mavaega, co-director Tanya Muagututi’a, Andrew Sione, Seto Faulo, and Isitolo Alesana) – to tell one family’s story.

The cast is uniformly excellent with Michael Falesiu’s astounding singing voice bridging many of the scenes. He plays Sione, a nightclub crooner with the Noble Hawaiian Sabretooth Tigers who is too afraid to admit to his Samoan heritage in public. It’s his fiancée Fuarosa (Sina Esera) his family are hiding, never able to go out for fear of being grabbed from the streets.

Lauie Tofa gives a performance highlight as Mose, Sione’s father. While the plot focuses on the dawn raids, a running undercurrent is toxic masculinity in Samoan culture and Tofa embodies that hilariously, then frighteningly as he switches from daft dad to domestic dominance and, finally, betrayal.

Of course, coming from the pen of Oscar Kightley, Dawn Raids is very funny and it’s this humour, contrasted with the seriousness of the historical context, that is the play’s great success. It strikes a perfect balance; the dread inherent in the sweeping police torches and baying German shepherds is all the more terrifying in the wake of laughter.

This is a rare opportunity to enjoy a top-notch production of a New Zealand classic. Catch it while you can.

On as part of the 2024 Wellington Jazz Festival, ORO MĀIA is a night of poetry, music, and performance that showcases te reo Māori translations of the work of African American writer and activist Dr Maya Angelou. Maarire Brunning-Kouka leads a seven-piece band, who are joined on stage by the formidable Maisey Rika, Miriama McDowell, Mere Boynton, Erena Koopu, and Tuakoi Ōhia. These five make their entrance from the back of the theatre in a chorus of unnerving laughter, and make their way slowly to the stage, in full command of the space. It’s a fitting opening to a night that revels in the power, joy, and unflinching beauty of Angelou’s poetry.

The translations have been taken from He kupu nā te māia: He kohinga ruri nā Maya Angelou, a new book from publishers Kotahi Rau Pukapuka that contains a selection of Angelou’s poems, translated into te reo Māori by 34 wāhine from across Aotearoa. The translators are all graduates from Te Panekiretanga o Te Reo (The Institute of Excellence in Māori Language).

As the performers share the poems, at times through dramatised spoken word, at times singing alone or in chorus, they embody all the shifting moods of Angelou’s writing, moving deftly between the wit, defiance, sexiness, and wisdom. They are supported by apt original music from Maarire Brunning-Kouka. The music and styling fittingly speak to the legacy of American jazz and soul traditions but are also undeniably Māori and contemporary.

It’s always a joy to return to Angelou’s writing, and it feels like an immense privilege to do so with a creative team and ensemble of performers who so profoundly understand her voice. Like the poetry at its centre, ORO MĀIA is powerful, joyful, and life affirming.

Walking through the doors of Circa Two having never met the famous Cythia Fortitude or Gertrude Rallentando before, I had no idea what to expect from Cynthia & Gertie Ride Again!. Little did I know, I was in for a rollicking good time.

The story follows Cynthia (Helen Moulder) as she prepares for her new opera The Marvellous Sandflies of Aotearoa. The show honours the late Rose Beauchamp, who played the other half of the dynamic duo. Even though Gertie isn’t physically there, her presence is felt throughout.

As Cythia rides into the theatre, it’s clear this is going to be a fun time. Her dotty, eccentric charm does not disappoint. With her wit and many failed attempts to navigate the modern world, she has the audience in stitches from start to finish.

The show is a real-life theatrical opera lesson with a comedic twist. Cynthia humorously educates us and even ropes us into becoming part of the performance, teaching us proper vocal technique and the correct pronunciation of ‘recitative’.

Audience participation is instrumental in this production. As members of the Island Bay Opera Guild, we take on memorable characters such as northern locals, ‘backing packers’, and even eunuch priests. The interaction is hysterical, and Moulder’s way with the audience makes the whole spectacle all the more entertaining.

I must also commend the lighting design. Deb McGuire and Gabriella Eaton’s work aligns perfectly with Cynthia’s very specific ideas and consistently sets the right mood, evoking the perfect emotions in every circumstance.

I never thought I’d find myself enjoying a performance about the plight of sandflies, but here we are. By the end, I’m surprisingly sympathetic to the often-swatted insect.

This is the most I’ve laughed all year. So, whizz down to Circa Theatre while you can and jump aboard the wild ride. You might just leave with newfound respect for Austrosimulium ungulatum. The Island Bay Opera Guild is waiting for you…

Before We Slip Beneath the Sea is a new immersive theatre experience from award-winning local playwright Cassandra Tse. As well as providing a topical and thought-provoking discussion of climate change responses, it’s helping fulfil her PhD requirements.

Set in the hyper-real environment of a village hall, with Aro Valley Community Centre doubling as St Rita’s Hall on the fictional island of Eglantyne, this cleverly structured play allows for the audience to participate as much or as little as they wish. Get fully involved in the narrative by chatting with cast members and eavesdropping on their conversations or sit in a plastic chair with a bikkie and a bottle of (alcohol-free) beer to take in the regular scripted segments that reiterate the key plot and relationship details you might have missed.

The seven featured island-dwellers, nicknamed ‘Eggies’, are a cross-section of Kiwis whose island lifestyle has been threatened by rising tides. The City Council has ordered the permanent evacuation of the island rather than try to mitigate the effects of climate change. It’s their last official night on Eglantyne and some island-dwellers have embraced the need to move on, while others want to stay in defiance of the order and lobby for sea defences that will allow them to live there another decade or two. It’s a straightforward but rewarding narrative that the ensemble cast – Charlie Potter, Hannah McKenzie Doornebosch, Ralph Johnson, Megan Connolly, Billie Deganutti, Helen Jones, and Craig Geenty – deliver in a natural and authentic way under the guidance of Tse’s unfussy direction.

Working in a non-traditional theatrical context means the tech is determined by what’s available. Lucas Neal’s production design leans into the community hall vibe using the in-place lighting, surreptitiously adding sound gear in the guise of a karaoke machine, and rearranging the tables and chairs as the plot advances.

Joining the Eggies in their fight to preserve their home is all the more impactful for tearing down the fourth wall and absorbing the audience into their emotive story. Whose side are you on?

On a tight deadline, siblings Mary (Hannah Kelly), Jason (Simon Leary), and Helena (Stella Reid) must pack up their father’s home – where Jason has been living with his partner Sam (Jthan Morgan) – as they prepare to move the once-celebrated pianist into a dementia care facility. Gus Lochburn’s (Peter Hambleton) mind lives at a different point in time than his body – one where his wife Margaret (Kali Kopae) is still alive. One thing can always pull him back to the present: music.

We watch Gus’ memories unfold as he plays piano, sings, and dances with his wife in flashbacks that are so seamlessly integrated, it is hard to tell where the past ends and the present begins. This mirrors what is happening in Gus’ mind. In his lucid moments when reality hits, and the Lochburns employs some of the most poignant dramatic irony I’ve seen at the theatre. The mother leaves the stage, and the father cannot understand where his wife has gone. While his children simply read this as a symptom of a worsening condition, the audience experiences a knowing, collective heartbreak. It is in these moments that I glimpse more than a few hankies being whipped out of pockets in my peripheral vision. Our emotional response is testament not only to such a lyrical script, but to Hambleton’s gut-wrenching, brilliant performance.

Where and the Lochburns also excels is in its exploration of family dynamics. The characters are so carefully crafted, the exceptional cast so connected with each other and their stories, that I feel I know each sibling well. Sam, too – and it would be remiss of me not to mention Morgan’s showstopping line of the evening about adoption. A well-deserved roar of laughter there!  

With gifted music director Hayden Taylor at the helm, Kopae’s singing is a standout and earns rapturous applause, especially when she’s given a mic. On that note, Meg Rollandi’s detailed production design is stunning but sees the stage extend far back into a cavernous space where dialogue is muffled at times. I hope the acoustics can be improved because I don’t want anyone to miss any of and the Lochburns – a play spun with threads of music, memory, and pure gold.

Billed as “a stunning night of hits from the greatest divas”, the almost-full house was not disappointed. The Lady Killers were Suzanne Lynch, Jackie Clarke, and Sharon Emirali – a very able replacement for Tina Cross, who had COVID.  

With a mixture of group medleys and solo performances, this was a masterclass in top-notch, high-energy singing, with superb band arrangements led by talented keyboardist Grant Winterburn. The simple-themed backdrops included photos and were a great touch that didn’t detract from the onstage action. The minimal light show enhanced the visibility of all the singers and band members, making for more inclusive interaction between artists and audience. 

But the highlight of the evening? The songs from divas as diverse as Nina Simone and Taylor Swift. Jackie said the night was about “women who sing and write with their hearts and souls, and have made the beautiful soundtracks of our lives”.  

Sweet Dreams, followed by the gorgeous (You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman, got vocal chords and the crowd warmed up nicely. An energetic Valerie was followed by Son of a Preacher Man, featuring Suzanne’s sultry vocals. Stop! In the Name of Love featured the solid rhythm section of Karika Turua (bass) and Adam Tobeck (drums). Single Ladies had more than a few ladies out of their seats dancing. For Venus, with Chet O’Connell’s frenetic guitar playing, the audience sang along enthusiastically. 

The Pointer Sisters’ Jump (For My Love) segueing into Van Halen’s Jump, without the band missing a beat, was a masterstroke. How Will I Know had the crowd loudly clapping and singing along – but the sound mix was so good that The Lady Killers were never drowned out! 

After the interval, 9 to 5 got the crowd straight back into party mode. I Will Survive, Man! I Feel Like A Woman!, Jackie’s stunning vocal range on Wuthering Heights... so many songs, too many highlights to list! With the final song Waterloo, after more than two hours of diva hits, we felt like we had just been in party central – Wellington style!

Trees, Bees, and Me definitely tops the list of my favourite shows! I don’t even know where to start in telling you how absolutely captivating, magical, and real this show is.

The excitement in the air is contagious as we enter the theatre. The stage, designed and built by Brendan West and James Searle, resembles the perfect backyard. Three of the most beautiful tūī that you will ever see (Gabby Clark, Ryan Cundy, and Tadhg Mackay) enter with a cheerful song and gorgeous costumes, designed and created by Victoria Gridley. The cast members are so versatile and play multiple different characters throughout the show. They portray each character so well that you can’t help but love even the bad guys.

Mackay also plays Poppa, a loving grandad with a green thumb and a love for the whenua and his whānau. Mimi (Salomé Neely) is a brave young girl who needs some answers. Her brother Trey (Clark) is too funny and has everyone laughing at his quirky personality. Dad (Cundy) is supportive, fun, and very charismatic. Nan (Catriona Tipene) is the perfect nan with her famous ‘bikkies’ and nurturing nature.

Written by Benny Tipene, the songs are playful, meaningful, and bring an extra sprinkle of magic to every scene. Trees, Bees, and Me tugs at your heartstrings and gets you emotionally invested in the relationships of the characters. The audience is rallied up: we belly laugh, boo the bad guys, and cheer for the outcome we’ve all been hoping for.

Of course, my favourite thing to do after a show is to ask Mister Almost Six what part he loved the most. Well, I can’t tell you that this time because I don’t want to ruin it for you… but Binnie creeps deep into your heart!

Produced by Horse With No Name, Trees, Bees, and Me is not a show to miss – trust me!

I grew up watching DVD boxsets of Fawlty Towers with my dad. When I heard a live rendition of the cult-classic BBC Two British sitcom was coming to a Wellington hotel – served up with a three-course meal to boot – I jumped at the chance to review. My plus one? My dad, of course.

We arrive at Oaks Wellington Hotel to be greeted by a (far-too-nice) concierge, so to speak (executive producer Jared Harford), who checks our names at the door. While waiting in the lobby to be let into the restaurant, a roving Basil Faulty (Jed McKinney), Sybil Faulty (Eilannin Harris-Black), and Manuel (Michael Gonsalves) – a cranky and bumbling hotelier, his wife who can kill a man with one blow of her tongue, and a frazzled waiter who doesn’t speak English – begin to bicker under their breath, their whispers hissing through the space like a boiling pot of celery soup. Their characters need to keep their guests in the dark, but as actors, they need their audience to catch every little acidic jab. They nail the balance, and delightfully, the show is late to start. I’m not sure whether this is deliberate, but it’s certainly appropriate.

Our three-course meal starts with soup (which I’ve fondly nicknamed ‘pumpkin surprise’ and ‘perhaps pea’) and cold bread rolls (oddly, there was not too much butter on those trays). Waiters (real ones from Oaks) place our bowls haphazardly on the tables, missing punters left, right, and centre. You can tell they’re having a blast. The main course is a chicken breast with powdery, cakey mash and the dessert is a quite-yummy cheesecake, actually! While we eat, the three actors own the room, riffing with guests and each other in a part-improv, part-scripted interactive dining experience that leaves others I’ve seen for dust.

My favourite moment is when Basil attempts to hang a mounted fish above a vegetarian audience member who has just finished lecturing him on cruelty to animals. He also accuses me of pick pocketing when I try to retrieve something from my jacket out in the lobby, which is gleefully frightening. I sprint back to my seat, whimpering and giggling in the same breath. McKinney is aptly acerbic, though his simmering rage doesn’t boil over until the final scene. When it does, wow – what a show. Harris-Black is a knockout as Sybil and commands our attention with every word – spoken or screeched (sorry, sung). Though, I long to hear Sybil's iconic catchphrase, “Oh I know”. Gonsalves is charming, manic, and gormless all in one as the lovable Manuel.

Put all your money on this horse: Faulty Towers The Dining Experience is deliciously unforgettable.

In Ngā Rorirori, writer, director, and choreographer Hone Kouka has mashed up three of his favourite things: theatre, dance, and farce. The show traces the relationship between the remaining two members of a whānau and their whenua. A brother is on a quest to turn the land into a cash cow while his sister tries to take a considered approach to their joint heritage. He’s a convicted fraudster, she’s a political activist. Throw in a visit from the chief executive of a government department, a hidden boyfriend, and a heartbroken overachiever, and “today is the day”.

Nominally performed by two actors (Mycah Keall and Manuel Solomon) and three dancers (Sefa Tunupopo, Nomuna Amarbat, and Stela Dara), it’s hard to say where the dance ends and the acting begins as each performer has mad skills at both. Keall and Solomon play siblings Manuela and Pillow, each dedicated to their cause and hilariously engaging to watch. The three dancers also bring nuance to their supporting characters. After 90 minutes, I’m exhausted from watching them, such is their energy, with Kouka (assisted by Dara) effectively blending kapa haka and modern dance moves.

Not speaking lines but lip-syncing to a recorded soundtrack allows the performers to emote in the exaggerated manner of farce, as well as carry off the huge physicality that is demanded of them. With music (composed by Maarire Brunning-Kouka, Reon Bell, and Karnan Saba), dialogue by a team of vocal performers, and effects all mixed live by Isaac Kirkwood, the continuous soundtrack is seamless and powerful. The lighting design (Natasha James) is also striking, utilising side and top light.

Mark McEntyre’s set is a seemingly pedestrian but cleverly constructed community hall that allows the performers to flow through and around it. They pop up in unexpected places and make creative use of benches, chairs, and folding tables.

An intense fever dream of movement, sound, light, language, and humour, Ngā Rorirori also has much to say about the nature of culture and our place within it.