Shows

I’m so glad I brought my friend who is a new mama along to Rants in the Dark. Leaving her six-month-old for the longest time yet to attend the show, she told me, was totally worth it. She laughed, she cried, and she’s bringing her other new mama friends along too because she knows it will resonate deeply with them – especially the ones who are struggling.

For me, whose only child is a cat (and I’m profoundly aware that this doesn’t count), Rants in the Dark is an expressive and hilarious insight into motherhood – and what I might be in for should I choose to extend my family. Does a dog count though? Can it, please? I’m inclined to agree with the rumours that the show acts as a pretty darn good method of birth control, and not (just) because of the poop.

Beautifully adapted by Mel Dodge, Lyndee-Jane Rutherford, and Bevin Linkhorn, Rants in the Dark sheds light on the brutal judgement parents are subjected to. It’s fantastic to see such an emphasis on redefining the way we regard and treat mothers.

But that emphasis is as gentle and kind as it is strong and powerful – much like Emily (Renee Lyons), the mother of toddler Eddie (Amelia Reid-Meredith) and a newborn. One of my favourite actresses, Lyons’ performance surprised me on the night, never quite peaking when I wanted it to but reaching unexpected heights in other moments. Nevertheless, she approached the role with tender understanding.

Bronwyn Turei (drolly aloof as Emily’s husband) and Reid-Meredith were fabulous as the chorus, working in perfect harmony to deliver snapshots of pure comedy gold. The production shone when the three worked as an ensemble – a scene involving glittery playdough was my highlight. A set trick (Wai Mihinui and Ebony Tiopira-Waaka) created a colourful, messy, and delightful stage picture and was another favourite moment of mine.

Rants in the Dark is brilliant – funny, fierce, frank, and above all, sincere.

Ellie Stewart witnessed the swan song of If/Then on Broadway in 2015. Moved by the sheer emotional force of the work, she decided to stage it in New Zealand for the very first time with The Wellington Footlights Society. How lucky for us.

If/Then follows Elizabeth (Cassandra Tse), a city planner living in New York. While in the park one day, she receives a phone call that changes her life. Beth answers the phone, but Liz doesn’t. And so opens a parallel universe. We walk down two paths: the If of Liz, and the Then of Beth.

This Wellington Footlights production is polished to perfection, with delicious harmonies from a committed, talented ensemble. Each member is exquisitely energised and perfectly in sync with the next. It’s excellent ensemble work with enthusiastic choreography from Katty Lau. At times though I craved a little less action.

I found some of the blocking quite distracting. During a poignant scene, an exerciser zealously stretched stage left, pulling focus from the tender moment taking place centre stage. Distracting too were clunky changes of scenery (the images adorning the three frames lining the back of the stage), but most importantly, I often found my line of vision obstructed. Staging a full-scale musical in a small space can foster serious intimacy. Not being able to see the emotion etched on the actors’ faces pulled me out of the play and meant it had less impact on me overall.

Of course, that’s not to say I didn’t cry! Tse’s phenomenal performance had me all of a blubber, the purity, clarity, and power of her voice outstanding. My companion and I particularly enjoyed Caitlin Penrose’s sincere portrayal of Kate, and Michael Stebbings’ superb comedic timing as Lucas. Playing Stephen, Chris McMillan’s unique, gravelly voice was the standout for me, though each cast member should be commended for their vocal work under the expert guidance of musical director Cameron Stewart.

If/Then is a supremely entertaining production that will hit you right in the gut.

Every year The Imperial Russian Ballet Company return to New Zealand and complete an extensive national tour of some of the most beloved ballets. This year's line-up was a triple bill featuring Sleeping Beauty, Carmen, and Les Sylphides.

The evening opened with Sleeping Beauty and the marriage between Princess Aurora and Prince Désiré. The stage was alight with colour and vibrant fairy-tale characters presenting refined balletic form. Nariman Bekzhanov as Prince Désiré performed well and with ease, while Puss in Boots and the White Cat delighted the audience with their spirited pas de deux. Though one cannot fault the technique and dedication the dancers possess, it was hard to ignore the missteps, the somewhat plain choreography, and the ingenuity of the overextended smiles and melodramatic gestures.

There was a change in the order of the programme and Carmen marked the second act, lifting the standards of the evening slightly. Anna Pashakova performed the role of the tempestuous Carmen with graceful defiance and bold seduction, her pointe work and timing remarkable. The drama of the piece was heightened by the presence of a chorus of bandits who sat forebodingly in a semi-circle, stiffly poised and ready to crusade, while Carmen's suitors, Don José and the Toreador, danced in fierce competition and with intense determination.

The final act was an excerpt of Les Sylphides, a work with no narrative but a beautiful aesthetic. Set to the musical score of Chopin, Les Sylphides is a romantic and dreamy corps de ballet, performed by female dancers with elegant integrity and unfaltering discipline. Adorned in flowing white tutus and with beautiful extensions and delicate hand movements, the dancers created a vivid picture of serenity and grace. Bekzhanov, as the wandering poet, is enchanted by the Sylphs but serves no other real purpose – this piece is all about the women in the company and is a delight to watch.

A Russian Triple Bill had its moments and plenty enjoyed it, but it was by no means ground-breaking ballet.

Puccini’s masterpiece, Madam Butterfly, opens with Lieutenant BF Pinkerton (Boyd Owen) marvelling at his new Japanese home. It’s so practical! So handsome! And just like his new Japanese wife, Butterfly (Hannah Catrin Jones), he can toss it off any time he likes. Thus the tragic love story of Madam Butterfly begins: with an opportunistic American and a kind-hearted young woman. By the end of the show, her delicate wings have been squashed underneath his foolish, selfish feet.

Madam Butterfly is the first opera I’ve ever been to – and I’m so glad I started with this one. Not only was this Eternity Opera production in English, but it was intimate, well-acted, and compelling. A few notes for my fellow novices: all dialogue is sung, even if it’s only a line; the style of operatic singing is such that you may not catch every single word; and it definitely helps to know the bones of the story before the lights go down.

The three leads, Owen, Jones, and Kieran Rayner (playing Sharpless), sounded impeccable to my ears. I loved when they sang together, their combined voices effortlessly lifting over the compact orchestra tucked to the side of the stage.

They were also superb actors. Jones was heart-breaking and appropriately fragile as Butterfly; I’m pretty sure that during her vigil for Pinkerton’s return, she didn’t so much as blink. And Leo McKenzie as her young son almost stole the show in his tiny sailor suit.

The only thing that struck me after the show was how un-Japanese it was. There was a distinct lack of Japanese cast members, and as the piece had been re-contextualised to the 1950s, the costumes were western. I would like to have seen a show where the two cultures had collided more visually, more viscerally, and more strangely.

That said, Madam Butterfly and Eternity Opera have made an opera fan out of me. Who would have thought it!

In a sad shack in Aro Valley, Camilla Miller (Gavin Rutherford) and her son, Arthur Miller (Ben Emerson), struggle to get by. Hoping to catch a break after the death of Mr Miller, the family is excited to receive his last will and testament by way of NZ Post (/the supermarket/the lotto shop/the liquor store). That is, until they discover he’s squandered every last cent of his hard-earned dough during a mid-life crisis. He does, however, leave them one thing: a cat (Jonathan Morgan). The cat talks. And, well. You know the rest.

Puss in Boots The Pantomime is absolutely, unequivocally delightful. My colleague and I had a blast and frequently found ourselves in hysterics. If you’re a kid, go. If you’re an adult with kids, go. If you’re an adult without kids, go. If you’re a cat, go. Anyone and everyone should see this show if they’re seeking a fantastic night out at the theatre and a belly full of laughs.

This was one of my favourite performances of Rutherford’s, whose ad-libbing was a show (and year) highlight. Ben Emerson was suitably silly and wide-eyed as the Dame’s parkour-practising son, while Simon Leary added a sensitive touch to the cast as the gormless King Justin. Morgan’s sultry, slinky Puss in Boots was beautifully balanced against Natasha McAllister’s sweet yet sassy Princess Martha (hiya!).

Carrie Green and Jeff Kingsford-Brown nearly stole the show as the nasty trolls (boo!). Their performance of The Logical Song by Supertramp (incredible musical direction by Michael Nicholas Williams) was the best unexpected musical number I’ve witnessed at the theatre for a very long time.

It’s a well-known fact that Circa’s annual pantomime features adult jokes, and last year I commented that I found some of them inappropriate for children. I felt there was a marked improvement this year, with the lewdness less explicit and not nearly as likely to cause unwanted questions around the dinner table.

I cannot recommend Puss in Boots The Pantomime highly enough. Go!

Actual Fact begins when three women witness a series of simultaneous, bizarre events. K (Karin McCracken), M (Madeline McNamara), and F (Freya Finch) are happily exchanging jokes when a fan turns on out of its own accord, a tarpaulin lights up, and two green buckets fall over. A satsuma and a cabbage are also involved, but I won’t spoil anything here.

For the rest of the show, the characters attempt to piece together the inciting incident. Each time they recount the events, they change the details of the narrative ever so slightly. It’s something we all do, but don’t care to admit. By the end of Actual Fact, even the audience is not entirely sure what happened, and nobody knows what it all means – but we’ve had fun trying to work it out alongside the exceptional cast.

Technical design elements are a focal point and highlight of this production. With cyclical videography by Charley Draper, Meg Rollandi, and Isobel MacKinnon; bass-heavy, distortive sound design by Thomas Lambert; and hypnotic, hazy lighting by Owen McCarthy (a design team at the top of their game, overseen by technical manager Michael Trigg), plus rhythmic and repetitive dialogue, I regularly found myself sinking into a trance. Rather than fight that temptation, I’d encourage the viewer to embrace it. In a dream-like state, I was able to insert my own memories and meanings into the script. This meant Actual Fact took me on an entirely subjective journey of my own experiences, and resonated more deeply as a result. I found myself exploring how I might have subverted my history, which I suspect is one of Rollandi and MacKinnon’s ambitions for the work.

Add to this stellar performances from a balanced, adroit cast, and you’ve got a winner. It’s a show you have to be in the right mood for, but if you’re willing to embrace Actual Fact, you’ll have a great ride during and an abundance of food for thought afterwards.

Sam runs the Saleyards Café in Feilding. A local institution, his customers are the very definition of regulars. Always first to arrive are Walter and his dog, Jack, who would rather sit inside thank you very much. Next is the fast-talking, clueless farmer Joseph, who couldn’t fix a fence or cook a roast to save himself. And let’s not forget the lovely lady who likes to sit at the café with a cup of tea and wait for her husband – even if his “I’ll be back in one hour dear” always means three.

Craig Geenty plays all these characters and more in this one-man show that strides the seasons – a metaphor beautifully expressed in the action of the play. In just 45 minutes, we traverse a year in the lives of the Saleyards folk.

Reihana and Karla Haronga wrote Friday’s Flock about the real Saleyards Café in Feilding, where it has been performed countless times for the patrons who inspired it. The authenticity of this process shines through, not just in the crafting of such genuine, believable, and lovable characters, but in the staging of the work as a whole.

The set (constructed by Blair Ryan) resembles a small-town café to a tee. No detail has been overlooked; it even boasts a real pie warmer stocked with pea pie pud (townies like me might be baffled by this one). In this replica Saleyards interior, the audience becomes completely immersed in the world of the play.

Geenty energetically switches from one character to the next, his transitions seamless and his characterisation clear. I’m never confused about who he is playing when, and each portrayal starts off strong. However, after the initial tableau, Geenty occasionally drifts back into his natural demeanour. Nevertheless, his performance is passionate and considered.

Friday’s Flock is a tender, poetic, and sensitive work that will warm the cockles of your heart. Plus, it’s worth seeing just for Geenty’s hilarious embodiment of a dog.

The Nutcracker is a classic Christmas tale and, alongside the likes of Giselle and Swan Lake, a ballet company staple. With choreography by Val Caniparoli (USA) and Tchaikovsky's illustrious score delightfully performed by the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra (NZSO), the Royal New Zealand Ballet (RNZB) brings the magical Christmas story to life.

The Nutcracker isn't necessarily a traditional Kiwi Christmas experience, so for those of you who are unfamiliar, the story goes; a young girl is gifted a Nutcracker doll by a brilliant toymaker, and on Christmas Eve she dreams the doll turns into a handsome prince who rescues her from the clutches of the evil Mouse King. The pair journey through a wintery wood and partake in a glorious celebration led by the Sugar Plum Fairy and her dapper Cavalier.

The world created on the stage at the Opera House drips with fairy-tale magic and a bit of sleight of hand magic too. From the impressive set designed by Michael Auer, the vibrantly coloured costumes, and the swirling snowfall cascading over the enchanting dancers to the selection of local child performers who almost steal the first act from the professional ballerinas beside them, RNZB’s The Nutcracker presents a whimsical and merry evening at the theatre.

The dancers perform with alacrity and endearing passion, leaping skyward with ease and trusting each other inherently. Live music from the NZSO and a (disappointingly) short appearance by the Orpheus Choir beautifully transports one into an epic experience. A pas de deux between the Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier is exquisitely romantic, setting a highlight of the evening, alongside the cheeky trio of 'Russian Caviar', who squat dance across the stage in marvellous unison.

The Nutcracker manages to deliver something for everyone. Whether you are a dance connoisseur, an appreciator of music, or someone who just loves a good old Christmas classic, you will be swept into the charming storybook world crafted by the RNZB and their fine collaborators.

Patricia Goldsack (Katie Boyle) – Pat to her friends and lovers – has had more sex than you can swing a stick at. She’s figured a few things out in her time, and in this show, she sure doesn’t hold back on telling us all about it.

In this solo comedy show from Sparrow & Boyle Productions, Boyle walks a tightrope between stand-up comedy and chatty theatre show. While the jokes aren’t new, she’s a remarkably likeable, warm performer who manages to somehow remain palatable.

The audience is ostensibly attending one of Pat’s famous swingers club meetings. She begins by telling us the rules – which include leaving with the same person you arrived with and using a safe word if things get uncomfortable. My favourite section is where Pat elaborates on healthy consent (“no means no”, rather than my preferred ‘an enthusiastic yes’, but that’s pretty good for an octogenarian). She traverses the audience asking for individual members’ consent to various acts, and to my horror (or delight), one consents to being on the receiving end of a wet willy.

Along the way, we hear about Pat’s many husbands and her longing for a child. Unfortunately, a lot of the material relies on tired tropes of old women and feminine sexuality. A particularly cringeworthy moment comes early, as Pat requests a young man’s help and they end up in a suggestive position; it’s the kind of thing that’s funniest to bored teenage boys. The laughs play on how gross and weird it is hear an old woman talk about her desires – ew! Women over 60 aren’t really women anymore – they’re more like deflated marshmallows holding knitting needles, right?

I know, I know; I’m a total feminist killjoy. But If the show is meant to be satire, it misses the mark by several miles. That said, Boyle does her best and many audience members were in stitches. Pat Goldsack’s Swingers Club and Brothel is sexy and silly – but don’t expect anything ground-breaking.

Three 20-somethings try to sort their lives out in a paddling pool installed in their lounge whilst drinking copious amounts of gin. Fran (Jayne Grace) acts as ‘mama bear’, looking out for ‘the middle child’ Kate (Catherine Zulver) and their new flatmate Daniella (Charlotte Thomas), ‘the runt’. Though the women are friends and flatmates, they behave more like a family. Their relationship is dysfunctional and totally charming.

With a little bit of fat trimmed off its bones, In It Together could be a spectacular work. Originally staged as a 10-minute piece in the Short+Sweet Festival, Zulver has done an excellent job of extending the work – but I’d argue it could lose 20 minutes. Cutting it down to an hour would prevent the action dragging in the middle section and the main event losing its impact.

On to the main event. The climax of the play comes from one character’s decision to have an abortion, which is met by a resistance from her friend that dismays me. Personal views aside, it seems odd that the crux of a feminist work would be a relationship breakdown resulting from an issue that women already cop so much flack for. It’s sad to see such fantastic females and friends pitted against each other onstage in response to it too.

Performance-wise, the actors’ chemistry is convincing and touching. Grace is a feisty matriarch, conducting everyday conversation in a no-fuss, professional manner that takes a while to warm to, but soon delights. Zulver brings layers of understanding to her role, presenting a façade that’s as messy and complex as it is confident and natural. Just like her character, Thomas grounds her castmates. Her performance appears effortless, with a filthy drunken look and a statement about pyjamas being a show highlight.

In It Together shines in its depiction of sisterhood. I don’t think it quite hits the nail on the head for its emotional exploration, but it’s fun, funny, and a pleasure to watch.

“I want to make something that I’ve never seen before in Aotearoa.” These are the words of celebrated playwright Hone Kouka (Bless the Child) who describes Ngā Rorirori as a culmination of three artforms that intrigue him: dance, farce, and theatre. I couldn’t put it better myself: Ngā Rorirori is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before and I doubt I will ever see anything like it again.

Pillow (Regan Taylor) and Manuela (Mycah Keall) Rorirori stand to come into some moolah from their marae, which could become a cash cow if they impress the Chief Executive of the Department of ‘Whenua, Whakapapa and Whatever’ Ripeka Goldsmithworthy (Hahna Nichols). Newly heartbroken filmmaker Stacey Li Paul (Nomuna Amarbat) documents Pillow’s life while he tries to dazzle Manuela’s partner Rere Ahuahu (Sefa Tunupopo) instead in a classic case of mistaken identity with hilarious consequences.

I could tell you that you’re in for a surprise when Ngā Rorirori segues from dance to theatre, but I don’t think that would cover it. We open with contemporary choreography (Braedyn Togi) that aches and thrusts to measured, precise beats (compositions and karanga by Sheree Waitoa, compositions by Maarire Brunning Kouka and Reon Bell, who infuse a hip-hop and R&B flavour into the sound design). And then we’re bowled over by an unrestrained tornado of colour, sound effects, physical theatre, and clowning in scenes where actors lip sync to dialogue performed by a separate vocal cast. Only the characters of Pillow and Stacey share the same actor both onstage and off it.

The dubbing is super jarring at first but ultimately serves to heighten the dialogue so it can thrive in the magical, elevated realm of Ngā Rorirori. Cohesion is achieved here because if naturalism was integrated at any point, it would stand in too stark a contrast with… well, everything else! One can’t really interact with a surtitle machine come to life and act normal about it now, can they?

Elements of cinema come into play with said surtitles, which incorporate te reo translations (Hōhepa Waitoa) to great effect. Aspects of French farce and melodrama, Italian commedia dell'arte, Broadway musicals, children’s TV shows, and more influences than I can count are woven into a work where te ao Māori beats fast, hard, and loud at the centre.

All the while, actors throw mammoth energy into delivering and honouring Ngā Rorirori. How big, how bizarre, how beautiful.