The sacred symbolism of light has inspired many composers over centuries and singers love to sing the Latin word ‘lux’, a word capable of much expressive beauty. 

The concert opened with one of four pieces called Lux Aeterna, the first a plainchant originating in the 12^th-century Catholic church. Sung by male voices only, it was a simple, peaceful, and thoughtful start to the concert. The other bookend of the concert was also a Lux Aeterna, an arrangement of Edward Elgar’s Nimrod from the Enigma Variations. Light years away from the plainchant, it had all the powerful sweetness associated with Elgar.

It was in the five movements of Lux Aeterna by Morten Lauridsen, an American contemporary of great stature in the choral world, that the choir performed best, creating a lovely tone – warm, clear, and well blended with a convincing range of dynamics, good energy, and excellent intonation.

Bob Chilcott’s Canticles of Light was another contemporary work. Its third movement, O Nata Lux de Lumine, was particularly well sung by the women choristers, their voices fading away beautifully into nothingness at the end.  

The capacity audience also heard a rich, solemnly prayerful Lux Aeterna by Brian Schmidt, and an elegant O Nata Lux by Guy Forbes, both contemporary American composers. Choir member Michael Winikoff’s Lux was a worthy addition to the programme.

The mostly a cappella programme was challenging. Despite being overall an entertaining concert, the choir was surprisingly tentative at times. Some entries were a bit untidy, some intonation momentarily unconfident, and the blending of soprano voices was occasionally wanting. Was it the unaccustomed acoustics of the venue? Or in the accompanied pieces, did the odd quality of the organ’s lower register have an impact?

Nevertheless, congratulations to music director Maaike Christie-Beekman and Nota Bene for the interesting, enjoyable, and seasonally appropriate concert.

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.

Tessa Ensler (Mel Dodge) is a top criminal defence barrister at a top legal firm. Relishing the cut and thrust of the court room as she cross-examines witnesses, often in sexual assault cases, she works and plays hard with her colleagues. One of these colleagues is ‘Damo’, with whom she starts a casual sexual relationship. After a fun evening date, they end up in bed and he sexually assaults her, even though she has clearly said no. She reports the crime and, more than two long years later, finds herself on the other side of the witness box being cross-examined on her recollection of events. There she faces the legal system she wholeheartedly believes in head on, but it’s clearly stacked against her.

Having watched the debut run of Prima Facie last year, I was intrigued to see how it’s changed as a production. Mel Dodge’s solo performance was impressive then, but it’s pitch perfect now. Obviously more comfortable and familiar with Suzie Miller’s script, she and director Lyndee-Jane Rutherford have matured the depths and rhythms of the language and tone of this striking piece of writing. To carry an entire 100-minute show is a feat in itself and Dodge is utterly engaging throughout. I’m glad they’ve held the decision not to include an interval, despite the distracting need for audience members to leave for the bathroom.

This is a thoroughly impressive production all round. Rebekah de Roo’s projection design, with its steadily growing cracks and giant drops of water, is stunning and has been enhanced by Marcus McShane’s intelligent lighting design that subtly reflects the mood on stage. The lighting has been given extra intensity by the addition of floating haze. I was also glad to see the unfussy set has been expanded and loosened so Dodge has more room to move.

Still important, still brilliant, this is a theatrical experience not to be missed.

Stagecraft provides a fresh take on Anton Chekhov’s beloved classic The Seagull, transporting us to a beautiful lakeside, which one might expect to be a source of pure bliss. Far from it. Everyone at this picturesque estate is tragically unhappy and completely in love with the wrong person.

This production is as hilarious as it is heartfelt. Under Josh Hopton-Stewart’s direction, the comedy is well explored and equally matched with vulnerable moments that make us empathise with characters who are, frankly, rather horrible. This is no easy feat.

Each character stands out – whether it’s the awkward, nervous Konstantin (Zachary Klein), the doting Nina (Tess Lavanda), the cantankerous Sorin (Julia Harris), who despite her age has achieved little in life, or the comedic Jacob (Finlay Morris), who seems to be the only truly happy person on stage (probably thanks to his unlimited access to the estate’s collection of fine wine).

The set design (Josh Hopton-Stewart) is breathtaking, like a scene out of a postcard. Paired with Mike Slater’s soothing lighting design, it paints a peaceful picture that contrasts sharply with the characters’ misery. That said, the setting feels more like a beachside retreat than a lakeside estate.

The British accents feel a bit out of place, given that there is no specifically mentioned setting besides the lake. The blend of mentions of horses and carriages with modern-day garb (vibrant costume design by Meredith Dooley, Katie Knight, and cast) adds to the confusion. A bit more clarity on these choices would avoid things getting as muddled up as the characters’ feelings.

Stagecraft’s The Seagull captures the feeling of being surrounded by people but still feeling utterly alone, a sentiment that I think resonates universally. This production breathes new life into the classic, situated right in the middle of paradise. Come watch the show – just like Boris Trigorin (Jimmy Sutcliffe), you’ll never want to leave.

Tangihanga, presented solo by powerhouse performer Kristyl Neho, is a 60-minute comedy-drama centred around Jess, whose beloved father Karanipa dies in a hospice at a ripe old age. His whānau and friends travel from near and far to gather at the marae and mourn his loss. As the tangi progresses, tensions rise, family dynamics unravel, and long-harboured secrets are exposed. All the while, Jess and her whānau grapple with their grief and differences.

Neho embraces around 30 characters, from noble Karanipa himself through bickering and bossy aunties, posturing uncles, and a transgender teen all the way to sweet mokopuna Mikaere, who wonders why Karanipa looks “all grey and weird” as he lies in his coffin. Switching swiftly and effortlessly between these assorted personalities, Neho is magnificent as she uses her body and voice to create their nuances, always clearly expressing who’s who and never tipping into cliché. Gossiping Aunty Margaret in her “dramatic hat” is an instant favourite.

The technical design (Monique Cowern) is a masterwork of minimalism, using light to establish place and mood and never getting in the way of the performance. A box filled with tiny blue spots and covered in a soft drape subtly captures Karanipa’s enduring spirit as his family grieves for him. Matiu Whiting’s soundscape of music, effects, and recorded voice beautifully serves Neho’s performance. Even Neho’s simple, flowing costume (Cheryl Downie) of black with a green, koru-patterned cape is elegant and effective.

The directing team of writer Neho and contributing writer Eunice Smith, together with contributing directors Clan Elyse White and Jo Randerson, have evidently considered every move. The action flows seamlessly around the stage, allowing the audience to imagine each place and activity with only a handful of boxes as props. This choice of staging allows the story and personalities to breathe into the space and inhabit it with richness and life, even in the context of death.

As a collaborative work about whānau and community, Wahanui Productions’ Tangihanga is a graceful celebration of the power of theatre to create and tell a story.

Growing up, was there anything better than a sleepover with your girlfriends? I remember staying up till 10pm (gasp) talking about Pokémon with my childhood best friend, swapping stories about ghosts and crushes in primary school, and eating a bowl of melted white chocolate chips in a pillow fort with one of the cool kids from intermediate. Her dad made us pancakes the next morning and I bragged about it for months. I squeaked and squealed my way through Midnight Confessions, a nostalgic celebration of this time-honoured tradition that relishes in the joys and magic of girlhood.

Devised and directed by its performers – producer Abby Lyons, Alia Marshall (Tūhoe), Mia Oudes (Te Arawa), and Anna Barker – Midnight Confessions is neatly structured to take audiences on a journey through the ages (literally). Sleepovers between groups of gals aged 10, 16, 17, 19, and 20-something are interspersed with open-mic snippets of the secrets they whisper to each other at midnight. Transitions are clearly demarcated thanks to production designer Rebekah de Roo (AV, set, and lighting), whose stage is softly lit and pastel hued, lined with pillows and draped in princess nets. It is here that, with a twinkle in its eye, Midnight Confessions sends gasps and giggles of recognition bouncing round BATS Theatre as it reminds us of everything from playing “Romeo and Juliet doing kissing” to spending our birthday money on the Cookie Monster t-shirts from Jay Jays.

What goes up must come down, right? Not in the vignette Gone Fishing, a killer of an opening scene (after the impeccably choreographed dance number, of course) that traces the unfortunate misplacement of a moon cup. Comedic performances play out to a chorus of bark laughs from the crowd. But Midnight Confessions isn’t afraid to venture into the hairy parts of growing up either. Highlights include the aching Letters to Lucy and Sheet Girl, which ends in a tender kiss as one girl realises the other feels the same.

Charming, funny, and special, Midnight Confessions is woven together with the heartstrings of female friendships.

In a dirty, drought-ridden city where water is a precious commodity, citizens must pay for the privilege of… peeing. Under the all-seeing eye of mega corporation UGC (Urine Good Company), helmed by Caldwell B Cladwell (the brilliant Monēt Faifai-Collins), public urination is outlawed and anyone who breaks the rules is picked up by the police and hauled off to Urinetown, never to be seen again.

As born-leader Bobby Strong (a feverish and fiery Mackenzie Htay) tires of the status quo, the spirit of resistance and rebellion grows – despite the best efforts of toll collector Penelope Pennywise (the vocally gifted Corrie Milne). But any potential uprising against UGC and Cladwell’s cronies – Mr McQueen (Josh Franken, a hilarious highlight), Senator Fipp (a suitably snivelly Christopher Horne), and more – is complicated by Bobby’s blossoming relationship with the doe-eyed Hope Cladwell (an enchanting Maddi Barnes). And Hope is not a favourite amongst the rebels, especially not Hot Blades Harry (a terrifying, riveting Logan Tahiwi) and Little Becky Two Shoes (the snarling Marilyn Mansilla)…

With book and lyrics by Greg Kotis and music and lyrics by Mark Hollmann, Urinetown: The Musical is a delightfully ridiculous, meta musical that regularly breaks the fourth wall – courtesy of narrator Officer Lockstock (Maya Gatling, who crushes a massive role with comedy and panache) and his sidekick Little Sally (Emily Holden, who rightly scores some big laughs) – to poke fun of not only itself, but musicals at large. Underneath the satire and black comedy, it explores poignant themes of poverty, politics, and corruption. Presented by students of the Whitireia and WelTec New Zealand Diploma in Performing Arts – Musical Theatre programme, this production of Urinetown: The Musical combines all moving parts into a visual and aural stage spectacular that you simply must see.

Michael Trigg (lighting) and Scott Maxim (set) have melded minds and magic to create the vibrant backdrop upon which the pitch-perfect cast and ensemble (music director Kate Marshall-Crowe) nail every beat, every flourish of director Leigh Evans’ superb choreography. Talent streams all over the stage and all I have left to say is: golden. 

In this production of The Creation, Orpheus Choir Wellington endeavoured to reimagine Haydn’s famous oratorio. As with a traditional staging of an oratorio, an orchestra, choir, and voice soloists performed the full score of The Creation, but these were supported by a 1.9 tonne LED screen and dancers from Footnote New Zealand Dance.

The Creation is arguably one of the most famous oratorios, and in German-speaking countries has much the same status as Handel’s Messiah does in the anglosphere. The text is drawn from Christian scripture and Milton’s Paradise Lost and relates the story of God’s creation of the world from “let there be light” down to the early days of Adam and Eve’s life in Eden.

The enormous screen was suspended above the choir and accompanied the story’s progression though the catalogue of creation with footage of galaxies, oceans, geological features, wildlife, and fruit. The visual effects walked a line between enhancing the production and distracting from the wonderful performances. There were a few times when the imagery was more abstract, and this was when it most effective because it felt far less dominant.

The three soloists, Anna Leese (soprano), Frederick Jones (tenor), and Joel Amosa (bass), were outstanding, especially when they sang as a trio. Jones’ recitative sections were particularly gorgeous thanks to his rich tone and expressive phrasing, and Leese and Amosa’s duets with the chorus in the third movement evoked all the delight and contentment of Eden.

The third movement featured dancers Airu Matsuda and Jemima Smith as representations of Adam and Eve. Despite having only a very narrow strip of floor space to work with in front of the orchestra, Matsuda and Smith managed to deliver a sensitive and affectionate performance to accompany one of the most beautiful passages in the oratorio.

Orchestra Wellington and Orpheus Choir Wellington provided the foundation of the production from the first disquieting bars of Representation of Chaos through to the triumphant finale Praise the Lord, Ye Voices All. It was wonderful to see so many local artistic elements come together in this innovative production.

Even if you didn’t know Helios is the god of the sun, Carl Nielsen’s wonderfully evocative Helios Overture had us listening to the sun rise, move across the sky, and set over the sea. This was clever programming to open the concert and was beautifully played.

Spontaneous applause from the audience marked the end of the first movement of Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D Major. The whole piece is regarded as one of the harder violin concerti, but soloist Augustin Hadelich made a lie of that and simply blew us away with his performance. The first movement has some very impressive scales, triads, runs, and moments when it seems the violinist is the only one on stage, as well as one of the most ambitious cadenzas in a violin concerto. Hadelich absorbed the challenge and almost became one with his violin. Under Dima Slobodeniouk’s very attentive direction, orchestra and soloist flew along, keeping up an enviable, but not overdone speed.

If the first was his tour de force, the third movement was Hadelich’s pièce de résistance. The final cadenza was sublime, virtuosic, and a spectacular end to a very happy piece of music. Hadelich’s encore showcased almost every sound, technique, and musical style you could think of and we enjoyed every note.

The Oceanides by Jean Sibelius is one of the best musical expressions of the sea in all its moods. Storm and wind were brought magically to life by surging and receding timpani and violins and the calm that followed by oboe and harp over strings. My companion heard the wave crashing on the shore and immediately recognised it as the rocks at Kaikōura.

Debussy’s La Mer is also a glorious musical description of the sun and the sea. Slobodeniouk and the orchestra interpreted Debussy’s intent and gave us a stunning representation of our natural environment.

It was an exceptional evening. Thanks, NZSO.