Shows

While on a break from his snarky, sneering boyfriend M (Simon Leary), John (Jack Buchanan) falls for a woman, W (Karin McCracken). After cheating on M again when they reconcile, John must choose between the person he has been with for seven years or the person he has just met; between security and vulnerability, knowledge and discovery, M and W.

But John flounders, shudders, a vessel of guts and nerves wrapped up warm and cosy in a flannel T-shirt.

Incensed by such indecision, M insists on meeting W. And so begins the most awkward dinner party in the history of dinner parties. Because the audience is illuminated at close quarters on this thrust stage, we see others cringe and spasm more than the characters they’re captivated by. I watch through my fingers and chew my programme as M’s dad (played by Matt Chamberlain) informs John that being gay is fixed, being gay is forever.

On that note, Cock addresses, then fiercely rejects antiquated notions of sexuality. Remembering the play is set amid a monogamous relationship, M’s confrontation of the stigma around bisexuality is one such brilliant moment. “Yes John”, he spits, “it’s fine to be both, it’s absolutely fine to be both, but not at the same time.”

What we have then is a razor-sharp, progressive, powerful work capable of provoking vital conversation afterwards that’s as funny as all hell during.

With no set, no lighting cues, and no music – save for a disarming boom between scenes that makes a lot of people jump – the actors must carry it all on a barren, bright white stage. Luckily, these cast members have arms of steel, wholly inhabiting their roles. I want to have the best argument of my life with M, shake the living daylights out of John, console and bolster W, and do what she did to M’s dad. No spoilers here, but these exceptional actors make their characters feel vividly, painfully alive.

“Who’s got a thing?” asks New Zealand Improv Festival (NZIF) director and tonight’s vibrant MC Jennifer O’Sullivan. “I’ve got a thing!” eight improvisors respond enthusiastically in turn. Cam Percy, Daniel Allan, George Fenn, Jason Geary, Katherine Weaver, Lyndon Hood, Liz Butler, and Tara McEntee all step up over the course of this casual but well-run show. After a brief ‘interview’ with O’Sullivan, in which the amusingly underprepared candidates haphazardly detail their upcoming NZIF shows, they propose and direct their fellow cast members in an improv game.

Audiences are treated to a pop-up storybook, a monologue from a superhero, a conversation made up entirely of the word “mate”, and much more. Familiarity isn’t a requisite; each game is explained clearly and concisely by its director, and of course, nothing in improv is ever the same.

For example, one scene tonight features Weaver, Hood, Geary, and Fenn. After accepting obscure audience suggestions – spoon, teacher, rollercoaster, and cat – they each take turns outlining the way their characters die. Links between characters are quickly and cleverly woven and in the end, the reapers responsible are a loose screw, a stuffy backpack, a handle in a heart, and height. What we’re witnessing then is something that will never happen again. It’s a special feeling for those in the room. Great improv deepens bonds with people we know and forges bonds with people we don’t. This is great improv.

O’Sullivan expertly oversees the show, ensuring it runs smoothly and doesn’t derail. Individual directors are also quick to step in when needed, with fast thinking from improvisors on the sidelines sprinkling hilarity to stop things falling flat. Fenn running past as a skyscraper is one such moment.

I find myself craving more throwbacks to characters and situations from previous scenes throughout the night, but overall, this Thing! is a rollicking good time. Our improvisors are equally matched in talent, wit, and alacrity, dolling out delicious tasters of what is bound to be a brilliant festival.

115 finalists from 22 countries were selected for this year’s World of WearableArt Awards show, where their designs were exhibited in a stage spectacular with colossal production values.

WOW is always breathtaking. There’s nothing quite like it in Wellington – nay, the world. If this was my first time, I’d be ranting and raving about how wonderful it was even after the cows came home. Unfortunately, I felt this year’s show was not as cohesive as the four phenomenal productions I’ve seen in the past.

The creative team had a massive job: tying six very different worlds together – Aotearoa, Avant-garde, Open, Mythology, Transform, and White – into one that showcases and celebrates the incredible works at the heart of WOW. A lot of different elements were brought into this show to never return: a little girl who ran out to marvel at her surroundings, two emcees who disappeared into the ether, a real-live ballerina inside a mirrored jewellery box that wasn’t utilised to its full effect. John Strang’s brilliant AV design wove the strongest thread between the worlds for me, with marvellously drawn throwbacks to the show’s recurring motifs of fire, slimy creatures, and eyes. Torches and giant tentacles served to strengthen these references on the ground, while a dazzling scene featuring deep sea divers caused an audible “wow” to escape my lips.

This show featured a large group of dancers who, while clearly talented, weren’t always able to keep up with Sarah Foster-Sproull’s demanding contemporary choreography. It’s the type of choreography that requires such precision, small missteps become glaringly obvious. One hand out of place, one rākau (stick) hitting the floor a split second after the next, one taiaha (close-quarters staff) raised a millimetre higher… these weren’t rare occasions. When working in time, the dancers’ wild energy and camaraderie shone through, highlighting Foster-Sproull’s visionary approach.

The 2019 World of WearableArt Awards show was a jaw-dropping affair, with plenty of moments that stood alone as exceptional.

Sir John Falstaff is a stout, snotty, slimy knight intent on married women. Not one to put all his eggs in one basket, he attempts to woo two wives at once: Mistress Page and Mistress Ford. Unimpressed by Falstaff’s lazy advances, they enlist the townspeople in an elaborate revenge scheme involving dung, drag, and fairies. Playing every single character with gusto and flabbergasting energy is actress Katie Boyle.

This 90-minute one-woman show is an exercise of endurance. Boyle does a remarkable job; she never lets up, loses her place, fumbles a line, or switches roles at the wrong moment. No accents or attributes linger as she jumps from one character to the next with lightning speed and commitment. Her characterisations are both clear and comedic. While Boyle makes every effort to take her audience with her, at this mile-a-minute pace, you can’t pause to think about the line you’ve just heard or you’ll miss the next one. I do think condensing the work into a one-act play would make it easier to follow and give it more impact.

Where The Merry Wives of Windsor shines is in Boyle's adlibs, asides, and audience interactions. I would be really interested to see more social commentary in this production. Boyle pokes fun at the characters and makes topical observations but doesn’t go that step further. When Mr Ford (aka Mr Brook) flies off the handle into a violent rage because he suspects his wife of infidelity (on no grounds), his actions perpetuate a dangerous, pervasive attitude towards women. Because this isn’t your run-of-the-mill, word-for-word Shakespeare production, highlighting this toxic behaviour wouldn’t be out of place, but would elevate the work from simply entertaining to one with intent and purpose.

Overall, The Merry Wives of Windsor is a riotous romp. It’s fun and funny but lacks the emotional dimension that makes a show stick with you.

Liz (the deliciously delirious Rebecca Parker) and Frank (sheer brilliance from Gavin Rutherford) live a comfortable life in a nice house that even has a garage. Their long-time friends Martin (Patrick Davies, who plays strong and silent with sensitivity) and Carol (a committed performance from Fingal Pollock) gave it all up to provide healthcare in a war-torn Third World country. The two couples reunite for a dinner party six years after they last met. When the wine begins to flow, so too do the secrets and resentments that both have harboured.

Peggy Pickit Sees the Face of God is not slice-of-life theatre. While we are witnessing a dinner party, almost half the play is direct address, with characters regularly breaking the fourth wall to express their thoughts and feelings. It’s hard to place the chronology of events, with countless repeated lines, instances of foreshadowing, and moments of stillness when one would expect a storm. My favourite scene is when Frank busts out Simon & Garfunkel’s The Boxer on vinyl, but I doubt two people would calmly sit down to listen to a song after slapping each other.

I love a work that keeps me guessing, but don’t quite see the point here. I understand that Peggy Pickit aims to explore the gap between the Western and developing world by juxtaposing the perspective of two dolls while its characters ramble on about artisan salads. What I don’t get is why it spends 70 minutes making its audience question which parts of a dinner party have happened and which parts haven’t.

While I’m not a fan of the play, I’m a big fan of the production. Debbie Fish’s sleek grey set sets the scene beautifully, and director Giles Burton does well to create cohesion out of a convoluted script with concrete lighting and staging decisions. Rutherford’s genius comedic timing is one of the best parts of the show for me. The other? Watching Davies drink like it’s the six o’clock swill.

Four women sign up to a carpentry workshop, prepay their fees (a hefty $400 apiece), and then show up to find their tutor Maggie has done a runner. Maggie’s husband Woody (Alex Greig) is none too thrilled about the strangers in his shed, especially not Annabel (Bronwyn Turei), who takes down his smutty calendar in an attempt to dismantle the patriarchy within minutes of arriving.

They’re a group of personalities, alright. Siobhan (Harriet Prebble) plans to seduce someone by building them a kennel (gets ‘em every time), while Louise (Anne Chamberlain) bakes gluten-free, vegan, kale muffins for fun. Horse breeder Helen (Ginette McDonald) will not be bringing a plate, thank you very much.

Michele Amas’ The Pink Hammer goes beneath surface comedy to explore characters that step out of their stereotypes in surprising ways. Woody isn’t as much of an unyielding Kiwi bloke as his name would suggest, Annabel’s fire has its origins, Siobhan is still running away, Louise is carrying a heavy burden, and Helen has just received a big blow. Underlying every beat of the script is the need for human connection and companionship, resulting in a funny but touching play.

Intuitively directed by Conrad Newport, cast members of The Pink Hammer take great care and delight in peeling back the layers of their characters. Highlights include Chamberlain’s sensitive portrayal of loneliness, McDonald’s purse-lipped disdain for affection, and Prebble’s cheeky, charming turn as a lascivious woman with an accent so convincing my friend was shocked to learn she’s not actually Irish. While I happily swallowed most of the script, I’m surprised none of the characters – especially Annabel – called Siobhan out for making unnecessary jokes that trivialised the Holocaust.

The twist ending is beautifully staged, featuring exceptional lighting design by Tony Black that bounces brilliantly off Daniel Williams’ impressive set, and great use of music. I would love to see more integration between the music and the rest of the play, but overall I thoroughly enjoyed this lovely production.

Based on John Waters’ cult classic film starring Johnny Depp (which I haven’t seen, but intend to immediately), Cry-Baby – The Musical is set in Baltimore in the 1950s. It follows Allison Vernon-Williams (Flora Dryburgh), a teenage member of the super conservative, Squeaky Clean clique The Squares. Much to the delight of Allison’s grandmother Mrs Vernon-Williams (Malea Nicholson), Allison and Baldwin (Devon Neiman), the frontman of The Squares, are like, totally an item. That is, until Cry-Baby (Matt Mulholland) enters the scene. Cry-Baby is the ringleader of The Drapes, a group of rebel misfits who talk a big game but really just want to be loved like everyone else.

The plotline echoes West Side Story, but it’s not a particularly violent story – er, except for the part about Cry-Baby’s parents being executed because somebody Did Something Wrong, Once. I won’t spoil who that somebody was here but a direct note to the actor: your performance of that song was a show highlight.

In saying that, there are so many highlights, this production became its own highlight – of my week, month, even perhaps my year. Te Auaha’s musical theatre students just keep getting better and better. Standout moments include an extremely entertaining tantrum from Neiman; a mic-drop stare from Jake Elston, who was brilliant in every role he played; killer dance moves from the gifted Fipe Foai; a marvellously maniacal karaoke performance from Lane Corby; and grin-inducing boot licking from Bentley Stevenson. Special mention must be given to Dryburgh for a knockout performance – she’s really come into her own since The Addams Family – and to Jade Thomson, Caitlin Penrose, and Moana Leota for their exquisite ensemble work and harmonies.

Cry-Baby – The Musical is the epitome of a stage spectacular. It’s a dizzying explosion of colour, movement (phenomenal choreography by Leigh Evans), and sound, with musical director Kate Marshall producing exceptional powerhouse vocals from a cast filled to the brim with talent.

With their fifth show, Rigoletto, Eternity Opera has served up the perfect invitation to opera for newcomers with some seriously engaging leads and a strong orchestral performance. Although, some die-hard fans may have been left wanting more.

The story concerns the egomaniacal Duke (Boyd Owen) and his jester, Rigoletto (James Clayton), who spends his days humiliating others for the Duke’s enjoyment. Rigoletto mocks Monterone (Roger Wilson) when he accuses the Duke of seducing his daughter, maddening him to the point of cursing the two men. Mistakenly, word gets out that Rigoletto is hiding a young lover, his daughter Gilda (Hannah Catrin Jones), who has taken a liking to the vile Duke.

With its twists and turns of paranoia and revenge, this story is dramatic enough to bring even the most resistant opera fans to the edge of their seats. Galvin leans into the action by minimising distractions. Sparse staging and no sets leave lighting and music to set the tone and assure the audience of where they are at a given time.

Owen and Clayton are worth the price of admission. They deliver their characters with charm and true understanding, never relying on their voices alone to startle the audience. Both gave extremely physical performances on opening night. We see a clear, heart-breaking difference in Rigoletto when he performs for the Duke versus his time hiding, protecting his beloved daughter. Owen has so much confidence it’s almost sickening, which works perfectly for the Duke. Every smirk, laugh, or contemptuous look is lapped up by the audience.

Owen, Clayton, and Jones deliver stunning vocal performances that, when paired with the tight chamber arrangement of the score, fill the Hannah Playhouse with ease. Watching Owen indulge in every beat of La donna e mobile is delightful. Unfortunately, this leaves weaker vocalists amongst the chorus and supporting cast to appear rather exposed. While visual minimalism allows aspects of the show to shine, it draws attention to less impressive elements, such as the costumes (Sally Gray), which lack consistency and flair.

El (Hannah Banks) is unhappy. Nothing in her life is wrong, per se, but nothing’s that right either. El is not herself lately, and when she meets her noisy neighbour Liz and the offensively happy Beth, things take a turn for the sinister.

Uther Dean’s script is like if Inception, If/Then, and Coraline had a love child. It’s Inception because the whole thing is a trip with a mind-bending ending, If/Then for the Liz/Beth alternate lives paradigm (and for Beth, who acts like she’s in a musical), and Coraline for its fantastical darkness and the pervasive horror it incrementally inflicts on its audience. Then, Symmetry is like if that love child was swaddled in a blanket woven from the gut-strings of a town-eating monster from The Powerpuff Girls (those things were scary).

Delivered by Banks, who must have utilised about an octave in her vocal performance, Dean’s language evokes potent, vivid imagery. While the script more than holds its own in Banks’ hands, I would be curious to see some of that imagery played out in a design vision incorporating projection, soundscape, and maybe even costume (I’m thinking about the plant scene here).

This development showing of Symmetry uses lighting states (Lucas Neal) to differentiate between multiple characters, mostly to great effect. The warm white used for Liz and cool white used for Darkness are a little too similar. Because Banks performs these two characters at a similar pitch, even with the establishing convention of the microphone, I’m still confused at first. My brain would be quicker on the uptake if there weren’t so many other things to figure out, which is why clarifying the basics (like who’s speaking when) is especially important.

I most enjoyed Banks’ brilliant performance as El and Beth for its dramatic contrast and comical, snappy transitions.

With plenty to laugh at and recoil from during, and to chew on afterwards, I cannot wait to see where Symmetry goes next. What a wild ride of a show.

The Royal New Zealand Ballet's Bold Moves is a mixed bill featuring four works that have transcended the realms of classical and contemporary ballet.

George Balanchine's Serenade is a treat for ballet lovers and romantics alike. To Tchaikovsky's Serenade for Strings, a cast of waiflike female dancers in pale blue tulle float exquisitely across the stage. Their straight lines and long limbs create beautiful shapes and convey a gorgeous unspoken emotion. Nadia Yanowsky steals the show with intense strength and well-refined technique. The piece ends with a dancer raised above the rest, bathed in a divine glow; an image resounding with remarkable grace.

Mayu Tanigaito and Laurynas Vėjalis electrify the stage in Vasily Vainonen's Flames of Paris. The pair alight the stage with incredible chemistry and exceptional discipline. Tanigaito is always a delight to watch with her charismatic stage presence, but it is Vėjalis who really flourishes on stage with his extraordinary elevation and immeasurable control. The audience is left breathless.

Andrea Schermoly's Stand to Reason was originally commissioned for the company's 2018 suffrage programme, Strength & Grace. Inspired by an 1888 pamphlet outlining the reasons why women should vote, Stand to Reason features eight women moving in unison with emphasis on arm movements and body percussion. There is a deep-set power in this work and the women perform with conviction and alacrity. The choreography is poignant and compelling; it couldn't be executed by a more determined cast of dancers.

William Forsythe's Artifact II explores the more contemporary capabilities of ballet. With an exposed backstage there is an effective depth and reality in the performance. Clad in yellow leotards the dancers form various geometric patterns and play with imitation. Every so often the curtain falls and lifts again to reveal the dancers in a new configuration. Artifact is a clever ode to ballet and George Balanchine, which the dancers attack with assurance and modernist flair.

Bold Moves proved to be an excellent evening of dance and successfully exhibited the versatility of our national ballet company.

Cringe Worthy! is a musical hark back to the 1970s in New Zealand. Featuring two original members of The Beatgirls, Andrea Sanders and Carrie McLaughlin, alongside Tom Knowles and Jeff Kingsford-Brown, it’s a harmony-laden, tangerine-hued, bell-bottomed adventure through the songs and artists that dominated the decade.

I have to admit, I don’t know the first thing about the 70s. In fact, I was negative 22 years old when they rolled around! If you’re in my boat, don’t hesitate to see Cringe Worthy! because you don’t know the songs. I only recognised four, but that didn’t put a damper on my experience. Not only did I take great pleasure in the relentless cacophony of laughter emitting from audience members of an older generation, I also relished in learning more about the era. After listening to Spotify on my iPhone on the way to the theatre, hearing about the rip-roaring excitement New Zealanders experienced upon the introduction of a second TV channel was a real eye-opener.

Regardless of when you were born or how interested you are in the 70s, you’ll find the musical prowess on display in Cringe Worthy! extraordinary. Each performer brings something different to the table. Sanders has an incredible range, Kingsford-Brown huge power, Knowles a stunning falsetto, and McLaughlin wonderful stage presence. Though there aren’t many moments of acapella to really let the vocals shine and the backing tracks are sometimes a smidge loud, the four-part harmonies get right down to your soul.

It’s not all soul-stirring though; Cringe Worthy! features plenty of songs that are silly and fun, with glorious choreography to match. My friend emerged with a newfound favourite called Put Another Log on the Fire (so sexist it’s laughable), while I’m still humming Take the Money and Run (the epitome of cringe worthy).

Lucas Neal’s groovy, attention-grabbing set (those lava lamps! That tweed sofa!) is the perfect backdrop for Cringe Worthy!, a superb show overflowing with talent and joy.

Aroha Party leader Aria (Kali Kopae) has just won a seat in parliament. She’s in the thick of champagne-sprinkled celebrations with her PR spin doctor George (Sophie Hambleton) when young intern Danny (Dryw McArthur) makes sexual allegations against her mentor and long-time friend Richard (Andrew Laing). It’s George’s job to sweep the scandal under the rug and preserve the integrity of the Aroha Party. Will she do what’s right when Labour Party weasel Lauren (Lara Macgregor) and Stuff journalist Harriet (Jean Sergent) come a-knocking?

Playwright Sam Brooks has a remarkable way with words. His witty, quick dialogue weaves biting sarcasm with painful truths about this dog-eat-dog world in which women must work harder and faster to come out on top. Golden one-liners cause shouts of laughter to ring around the theatre. I miss a few obviously hilarious jokes because the blocking occasionally sees the actors deliver lines to the outskirts of the cavernous space.

The stage is magnified by Debbie Fish’s spectacular two-storey set. It’s a pleasure to look at, though audience members at the front and sides are sometimes cut off from the action. Multiple screens project a live feed of press conferences held at the front of the stage, creating an arresting aesthetic that to me smacks of the pervasive nature of political media.

Kopae and Hambleton stand alone as compelling actors and come together as unforgettable ones. Their chemistry is undeniable. Sergent and Macgregor both excel in devious roles; Sergent delivers a bombshell with a sense of justice and a twinkle in her eye that cues a 200-breath gasp. Macgregor’s stroppy negotiations induce whoops of delight. McArthur’s considered, sensitive approach to his character evokes sympathy and compassion from the audience, while Laing confronts the challenge of conveying a character that deserves none. In Burn Her, director Katherine McRae has chosen and honed a brilliant, balanced cast.

Burn Her is a tremendous production that has me hooked from start to finish.