A music-rich weekend had started with a fine Friday night classical programme, Mozart and Salieri, and was followed with a feast of the best baroque in Brandenburg on Saturday night. Johann Sebastian Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos were so named because they were found in the Brandenburg archives 99 years after Bach’s death. Like Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante in E-flat Major in Friday’s concert, they were not performed during the composer’s lifetime but are widely considered to be some of the best orchestral works of the Baroque period.

The soloists Bridget Douglas (flute), Yuka Eguchi (director/violin), and Rachael Griffiths-Hughes (harpsichord) were accompanied by a small chamber orchestra for Brandenburg Concerto No. 5. The acoustics in the Wellington Cathedral of St Paul are quite different from the Michael Fowler Centre. The high ceiling and stone structure added a short echo, well suited to the balance and tone and the Baroque sound. The first movement includes a long and spectacular harpsichord cadenza, exceptionally well played by Griffiths-Hughes.

Brandenburg No. 5 is the first concerto written with a solo keyboard part and the next piece, Telemann’s Concerto for Viola in G Major, is the first viola concerto to be written. I have a soft spot for the little-known and often-overlooked viola. Soloist Alexander McFarlane played with skill and feeling and a really lovely tone from the first slow movement to the fourth and final fast movement.

Handel’s Concerto Grosso in G Major No. 1 was introduced by principal second violin Andrew Thomson, who also explained the difference between a Baroque and modern bow – it’s all to do with the hair! Handel explored a variety of styles and techniques in the five movements making up the concerto and the strings sounded magnificent in the church acoustics.

To conclude, Telemann’s Overture Suite in G Minor, La Changeante, was a series of eight playful postcards depicting a wide variety of styles and form from a musical holiday in France.

The New Zealand Symphony Orchestra is bringing itself up to date as carefully and subtly as a national institution can. In the last month we have enjoyed the glorious and joyful return of Te Matatini and Polyfest, both taking the stage after suffering the devastating effects of the COVID pandemic on our performing arts. In this post-pandemic renaissance, the NZSO is working to extend its reach to new audiences. Director Vesa-Matti Leppänen gave us an informative, humorous introduction to each half in which he outlined the programme and introduced us to the music we would hear. Full programme notes are now only in digital form, the audience referring to a simple run sheet for guidance on the night.

A scaled-back chamber orchestra, not sitting but standing, opened with a bright, lively start from the strings and Haydn’s short Overture to L’Infedelta delusa. This was followed by Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante in E-flat Major for orchestra and a woodwind quartet. Lost for almost a century, the sinfonia was not played in Mozart’s lifetime but the NZSO soloists did a tremendous job on the night, well balanced and articulate.

The outstanding part of the programme was Antonio Salieri’s 26 Variations on La Folia di Spagna. 26 variations present opportunity for an impressive range of musical styles, forms, instrumental combinations, and solo performances. Leppänen had set the scene for us to be able to listen for the differences, enriching the experience for a very receptive audience. The musicians rose to the challenge as well as ever and some outstanding playing matched the complexity of the composition.

Hummel’s Eight Variations and Coda on O du Lieber Augustin is based on a familiar children’s song and the audience was encouraged to join in and hum the theme. The concert ended on a lighter, simpler note but it was Salieri’s sophisticated and extraordinary variations I will seek out for future listening.

Get Stuffed promises so much: “a creepy uncle’s man cave showcasing a curated taxidermy collection” and a line-up of comedians who “ask the hard-hitting questions around the double standards of stuffing a bird”. And, indeed, there are some choice examples of weird stuffing on display – an inflated blowfish with stuck-on googly eyes, a sexily reclining fox, and a toucan being embraced by a Barbie doll. These are the “4am delusions and drunken purchases” of comedian Semi Cho whose debut Fringe Festival Show this is.

The delivery of this promise, however, comes up a little short. Cho’s introduction is amusingly quirky, starting with a confession about how much she loves funerals because most people are just there for the catering, and her obsession with “glamorous roadkill”.

She then introduces the first of her guests, Australian Darryl Wilson. His short set is fine in and of itself with a bit of politics and a diatribe about bringing one’s whole self to work. It’s hard to see how it fits with the theme of stuffed animals, though, as it seems like a routine he would perform anywhere rather than one tailored to this show.

Michael Macaulay, Cho’s second guest, does try to get with the programme and relates three surprisingly funny jokes he asked ChatGPT to create on the theme of animals. He also recreates what Sir David Attenborough sounded like before he lost his Middlesborough accent (the TV legend actually grew up in Leicester but hey, don’t let the truth stand in the way of a good story!) and tells a titter-inducing tale of accidentally peeing on a hedgehog.

Both guests are also invited by Cho to perform a touch test on a stuffed animal hidden under a blanket. Wilson’s turns out to be a rooster, spawning the inevitable cock joke, and Macaulay’s is a surprised-looking cat, clearly once someone’s much-loved pet.

Get Stuffed is a brave effort at an original comedy show but needs stronger attention to unity of theme.

There was a buzz of expectation in the Opera House foyer on Wednesday night. Many local musicians also made the pilgrimage to witness three top American drumming legends performing with the Rodger Fox Big Band as part of The Big Drum Off Concert Tour, celebrating the band’s 50^th anniversary.

Rodger Fox CMNZ has led his band to become an institution in New Zealand and overseas over the last 50 years, and he has played with some of the world’s biggest names in jazz and blues. He is held in such high esteem that legendary musicians of the calibre of Gregg Bissonette, Peter Erskine, and Dennis Chambers are here to play with him and his band. 

The drummers each had a 30-minute set in which to showcase their own style and taste, and this allowed the Big Band soloists to feature. 

Bissonette, a jazz and rock drummer, was up first. Starting with a breathtaking version of Fireshaker, he moved on to the old jazz standard Just in Time. Stratus was followed by Time Check. During one of Bissonette’s spectacularly complex solos I actually lost the beat – but it only took a glance at Fox’s left trouser leg, which was steadfastly keeping time, to find it!

The second set featured Erskine, who has appeared on over 700 albums and film scores. At times his more delicate, nuanced classic jazz style was simply stunning. His open-mouthed smile was infectious. He started with Miles Davis’ Full Nelson followed by Still of the Night, Groove, and Sunday Morning and finished with his composition Hawaii Bathing Suit. 

Last up was Chambers, who is known for his impeccable and funky timing and fast chops – not to mention his jazz fusion, funk, and Latin music playing. He didn’t disappoint. Cissy Strut, Soul Sacrifice, and Sister Sadie led to his final tune Some Skunk Funk, where the funk power didn’t let up. 

The encore Ruth, with all three drummers on stage together, was a jazz masterclass by world-class musicians – including the homegrown ones. It was indeed a night to remember.

Marilyn Moonroe (Laura Oakley), a diva with a lunar crescent for a head, and her sidekick Sonny (Jackson Cordery) warmly welcome you to Te Auaha for 60 minutes of variety performance.

Using a miniature leaf blower to recreate the classic moment from The Seven Year Itch where Marilyn Monroe’s white dress is blown up by a subway vent, this is a cute and quirky hour of songs, silliness, and sensational circus.

‘Stage manager’ Britney Spears pops on to set out six hula hoops on the floor and we’re treated to a flawless hoop-twirling display by Lightning Lola (Oakley). An attempt at a sexy striptease by Mark Malady (Cordery) to the song Fever is comically ruined by COVID symptoms, and so the fun continues.

Sitting in the front row is not for the faint-hearted as several audience members are brought into the action. One gamely pops a balloon from between the legs of Oakley while she’s in an open-legged handstand. Another has an improvised song written about her by a nervous pomegranate with a tiny ukulele.

Always polite and inclusive, Oakley and Cordery are charming performers with some mean circus skills. Cordery’s silks and aerial routines are spectacular and Oakley’s floor routines slick and strong. They also have a gift for light-heartedness and audience interaction that makes everyone feel a part of their world. It’s refreshing to experience a comedic performance that is uplifting rather than relying on putting others down.

A bare, black-box stage is used well to deliver the big circus numbers and the smaller, more intimate pieces. Dean Holdaway’s lighting creates a dazzling whirl of spotlights and two blinders at the back of the stage facilitate a dramatic entrance for Moonroe at the start of the show.

If you’re looking for something a bit different this Fringe Festival where you’re made to feel you belong, you can’t go wrong with Moonroe’s Happy Hour. After all, as Moonroe says, we’re just seeds in one big pomegranate.

I never thought I would see a sitcom presented not on television, but on stage. In Women Drinking Hemlock, writer Sacha Acland executes a theatrical sitcom with ease. Inspired by the title of a lost Greek play, the show follows two rival breweries seeking out their slice of Wellington's nightlife. One is owned by Archie (Nathan Arnott), entrenched in misogyny and toxicity. The other is owned by Maven (Alanah Munn), new to the brewery business, overflowing with optimism and hope.

The show strikes a perfect balance between realism and comedy. Through the expertise of the actors, the action doesn’t feel too slapstick, but nor does it feel too dreary in tone. The hijinks aren’t too ridiculous, and likewise, the heavier moments aren’t too turgid. Even though we only get to meet the characters briefly, it feels we have known them for quite some time.

I find it clever how the set design (Helen Oliver) and lighting design (Teddy O’Neill) clearly differentiate the two breweries. We can see a striking contrast between Archie’s dark and barren brewery and Maven’s, which is more enticing and homely. Not only that, but the show is extremely accessible, providing audio descriptions as well as captions by Alexander Garside throughout the performance. Additionally, touch tours of the set are available.

I feel that an incorporation of music would alleviate the few awkward silences and assist in portraying the emotions of the scenes better. I would also be interested to see the character of Sam (Holly Kennedy) fleshed out a little more, as they feel like the only character to not have a complete story arc. I can certainly see this play being translated into an actual televised sitcom easily.

Women Drinking Hemlock is thoroughly enjoyable and I recommend it if you want a night of both laughter and drama that doesn’t sacrifice one for the other.

Sprawled out on the bow of a luxury yacht cruising the Greek isles, a perfectly poised and bejeweled vieux riche hand cradles an Aperol while the smell of fresh pasta wafts up from below deck, the sea gently lapping the boat, someone in the distance quoting Homer or Virgil for good measure. It’s the epitome of unattainable class and refinement of an almost unreal world. Don’t be fooled by the turquoise water of the Aegean or the saccharine deference of the staff…  for something lurks beneath the surface.

A quintessentially European film, Swedish writer and director Ruben Östlund’s newest film Triangle of Sadness has already received a Palme d’Or for best film at Cannes Film Festival and will likely win many more in the upcoming awards season. A wickedly clever satirical dark comedy, Triangle of Sadness dissects, dismembers, and spits back out the intricacies of social hierarchy.

Divided into three acts, the first carefully tiptoes around gender roles and the privilege (or curse) of being beautiful via celebrity couple Yaya (the beautiful, talented, and tragically late Charlbi Dean) and Carl (Harris Dickinson). In act two Carl and Yaya are gifted a trip on a luxury cruise in exchange for advertising on their social media channels. Surrounded by the uber-rich, the yacht seems a dream come true until rough seas both within and without see the rehearsed congeniality and phony gentility devolve into, well… excrement. In a fight for survival, the passengers battle (graphic) food poisoning and a hijacked intercom echoing an argument about capitalism and communism during nausea-inducing high seas. Blatant allegory at its finest.

By act three the survivors marooned on an island find themselves in a Lord of the Flies situation in which lineage and wealth are no longer valued and it is real-world survival skills that crown a new leader (Dolly De Leon). Beauty, however, becomes directly linked to power, reversing the gender roles of act one. There are so many small details that truly elevate this film to greatness.

Triangle of Sadness is a rotten and festering meal of social hierarchy served on a silver platter, and it’s absolutely delicious.

Are you ready to get enlightened? The Awkward Company invites us to learn two very serious lessons from Two Very Serious Plays.

First on the double bill is Tightbutt, a crash course on how to be tough presented by Johnny Beranucci (Ryan Holtham). The youngest Don of his Mafia family, he knows a thing or two about being tough and breaks it down in his 10-step programme. Johnny is the epitome of what he preaches – “Chew gum. Get yourself a nice weapon. Have a catchphrase.” But the veil soon slips, and the weight of ‘sucking it up to be a man’ becomes too much. A witty yet heart-rending piece.

Next we learn The Meaning of Art from not just any artist, but the great Phillip James-Lucy-Smith XXVIII (Alex Fox). Phillip deconstructs what art, theatre, and acting is, all while poo-pooing comedy as an artform. He is steadfast in his volition that artistry and comedy are unequal, with ironic results. The more Phillip tries to show the integrity of art, the more stage blunders he encounters. As a final resort, a letter from the first of his line turns everything he believes on its head.

Across both pieces, our protagonists come from a long lineage and have carried on both their names and their ideals, perhaps intended as a reminder of how prior generations impact and shape us – even when it's not always productive. This makes for a lovely through-line between the pieces that unlocks extra depth.

Both Tightbutt and The Meaning of Art present their own commentary on seriousness: the seriousness of being open with your emotions and the true strength it requires, and the need for joviality and comedy to help us through the seriousness of life and its everyday tragedies. This perfectly summarises the efficacy of Two Very Serious Plays and the impression it leaves – a hilarious joy to watch with the heart to match.

The New Zealand Fringe Festival is an annual arts festival held in Wellington whereby “participants are encouraged to take a creative and artistic risk”. The collaboration between the Other Futures Big Band and Gallery Orchestra, a co-production between Daniel Hayles (conductor) and Leah Thomas (clarinetist) involving over 50 musicians, certainly contained an element of risk!

This was a controlled, melodic cacophony of sound – at times the big band's powerful force blending with the soothing, almost dreamlike orchestral pieces. The hour-long concert consisted of five instrumentals, and four songs each featuring two very popular local guest vocalists, Wallace Gollan and Zoe Moon, both providing very different but assured vocal styles and musical genres.

The first instrumental For Sale demonstrated the excellent sound mix, thanks to sound engineer Marc Freeman, and special mention also to lighting designer Joshua Tucker for the ambient lighting that ensured the audience could see all musicians at all times. 

Hayles described the second track as “a spiritual jazz ECM take on Debussy’s The Girl with the Flaxen Hair”. Johnny Lawrence's stunning bass solo had shades of Mingus, and Dave Wilson on sax also featured.

Wallace’s at times scat-like vocals featured on her song Every Stroke, with a beautiful sax solo by Aiden McCulloch. Zoe Moon’s I Like the Rain showcased her powerful vocal range and featured an inspired trombone solo by Kaito Walley. Moon praised Hayles' arrangement of the Nina Simone song Baltimore, which included a soaring trumpet solo by Ben Hunt.

Guitarist Callum Allardice’s original Dark Love, with a fluid George Benson-esque solo, highlighted his compositional and musical talents.

Wallace’s gorgeous vocals on Orchid Care, together with Hikurangi Schaverien-Kaa’s complex, energetic drum solo, were both highlights. Saxophonist and composer Louisa Williamson’s The White Room showcased the considerable talent on display.

The last track, Hayles’ Mark of the Axeman, featured a breathtaking sax solo by Bryn van Vliet and brought the performance to a close. The audience’s ecstatic clapping and cheering showed how successful the collaboration project had been. Full marks to co-producers Thomas and Hayles.

In contrast to some of the more offbeat shows that the Fringe Festival serves up, Matt Harvey’s Wage Against the Machine is classic stand-up comedy – an hour of humorous stories spoken directly to the audience. Harvey talks us through his experiences working a variety of minimum-wage jobs, from a theme park to a sex shop, with the infuriating struggles of dealing with Centrelink (Australia’s version of Work and Income) in between.

Harvey has brought Wage Against the Machine to us across the ditch after having performed it in Australia already, but Te Auaha’s cinema is less than an ideal venue for a stand-up gig, with fluorescent lights and steeply tiered seats that make us feel disconnected, like we are staring down at Harvey from above. The movie screen behind him is also left blank throughout the show. Despite this, Harvey works well to connect with the audience, spontaneously picking out and commenting on our reactions to his stories, letting us know that he can tell when we have perhaps been through something similar. There is a genuine hopefulness and a sense of camaraderie in the telling of the story, and those with experience in customer service jobs particularly will find much to connect to in Harvey’s tale.

The humour is relatable and engaging as Harvey explains the feeling of being a cog in the machine, working boring jobs for corrupt and exploitative companies. The show digs into this idea, taking a satisfying dive into a powerful anti-capitalist message. Although much of Harvey’s story is centred on Australian politics, he does well to explain the context, such as Centrelink’s Robodebt scheme. In saying that, mistreatment by large corporations is not a foreign concept, and neither is anger at a poorly run social welfare system.

Harvey does well to cover a broad range of experiences, some of them quite bleak, all tied together with authentic, personable delivery that invites the audience in. “It’s okay, you can laugh”, he says. “I’m still alive. It’s fine.”

Back in 2011, in New York City, I giddily bought tickets from a tout for an intimate Flight of the Conchords show. Alas, my mother questioned the legitimacy of the tickets and marched us back for a refund. 12 years on I still regret that missed opportunity, but that changed after watching Truly Friday – Before They Were Famous.

I almost feel guilty making the comparison but the musical duo of Truly Friday – Jackson Herman and Nathan Roys – beat me to the punch, quipping that their “sustainably made comedy” recycles chord sequences straight from the Conchords. That’s not shade – if you want something familiar, nostalgic, and hilarious, then this show is for you.

We witness Herman and Roys as they attempt to find that one song that will catapult them to fame. We open with a short film (by Kelsey Robson and edited by Ashneil Dutt) of a dramatic shootout with parallel and future versions of the boys, dead set on stopping our heroes from making it to the stage and setting off an unavoidable sequence of events. The footage ends with the duo wrestling with the blackout curtains, breaking the fourth wall as they take to the stage.

Set against acoustic love letters to pop punk and mid-2000s indie, we are taken on a journey through a myriad of cleverly crafted topics. The raunchy Sexy Serial Killer perfectly pokes fun at the misplaced fascination with and borderline eroticism of true crime, followed up with more on-the-nose hits about everything from killing billionaires to single moms and grieving that men can never experience lesbian sex. You know, the big stuff.

On top of their hysterical lyrics and musical flair, these two have chemistry in spades. Their banter between songs – both with each other and the audience – is infectious, all culminating in an onstage meat raffle and an ode to the great Kiwi tradition, Crate Day.

If you like your music funny, and your funny musical, you need to see this show. The future depends on it.

Imagine, if you will, a barren stage containing nothing but a chair, a seat, and a home phone. With just a couple of simple elements, what follows is a show based around an idea that is taken, flattened, stretched, bent into a triangle shape, and then thrown off the side of a building. It’s clever, it’s unusual, and it plays with awkwardness to lengths you’d have never thought possible.

The Sensemaker is a genre-bending solo performance from Elsa Couvreur (concept, choreography, soundtrack) featuring the back-and-forth of an answering machine robot and a woman waiting patiently. We can all relate to being stuck on hold on for far too long whilst having to endure some form of pop music or elevator chimes, but this show imagines just how bizarre and extreme this scenario could become. What if instead of responding by voice, you had to respond with claps? What if you had to agree to all terms and conditions over the phone? What if you had to perform a dance routine from High School Musical just to get your request submitted? In The Sensemaker, nothing is off the table. 

The show is as gripping as it is uncomfortable, with the performer standing still on the stage waiting for extended periods of time. That’s not to say that little is happening though; Couvreur knows exactly how to use awkwardness in a way that provokes and keeps the audience on the edge of their seats for the entire duration of the show. She is as skilful a writer as she is a performer, having to utilise precise timing to sync her movements and dance with the backing track that keeps The Sensemaker on course. 

We’re left to wonder – what exactly could she be waiting on the line for that makes it worth jumping through so many hoops? After everything that the performer goes through, let’s hope it’s for more than just to cancel a flight.

I don’t know how to begin a review of a show that made me feel virtually every emotion on the planet. Never have I laughed so much or felt so uncomfortable (in a good way) at the same time! This is all kudos to one fantastically crafted production. Written and performed by Laura Jackson as Katie, The Culture explores – through the close friendship of Katie and Will (the humorous Mina Asfour) – the dangers of romance in the modern world. Every word has been crafted for maximum impact. We get an intimate view of this dynamic duo, an ambitious woman and a gay man who take us on a journey of finding love that becomes all too real. So visceral, so captivating.

The lighting design (Capri Harris) and sound design (Charlotte Leamon) allow us to seamlessly flow from Katie and Will’s lounge to the wider Sydney area. This show translates well onto New Zealand soil; particularly because of how relevant the themes are to us. It finds a perfect balance of telling an important story beautifully interwoven with comedy and seriousness.

The Culture is an important conversation piece that all need to see for the way it addresses partner violence. People need to become aware of how real this is, how it is quite literally happening under our noses. What’s scary is I don’t know who I know that has gone or will go through this. What’s even scarier is I might know or be friends with the perpetrators of such actions. One-third of women in New Zealand have experienced partner violence to date. This show brings voice to the voiceless. It empowers those who are faced with such events that it is okay to stand up for yourself; it shines a light on something that is seldom spoken about or seen by others.

This piece moves me. I know that I will be thinking about it for weeks to come, and I hope that anyone who gets a chance to watch it will. The Culture is not to be missed.

Part stand-up, part informational slideshow, Enter the Sandman sees comedian Keegan Thomas detailing how, in 2022, he watched every Adam Sandler movie ever made – all 42 of them – just because he wanted to. Now, he gets to share all of the highs and lows of Sandler’s filmography with us.

The show begins with a video montage of Academy Award winners being announced, with Adam Sandler noted to be missing from the list. The use of the projector screen is a great warm-up act that has the audience laughing before Thomas even steps on stage. The screen is then used for the remainder of the performance as Thomas clicks through a hilarious slideshow, covering every one of Sandler’s films. A sound board is also used to support Thomas’ improvisation, and the lighting changes subtly for different emotional moments (lighting and music by Leki Lyons).

Thomas’ performance brings us into this manic hyperfixation with Sandler’s films so convincingly. The delivery is hurried and frantic, the slideshow looks like a school project that has been slapped together the night before it is due, and the soundboard is pushed to play absurd soundbites at random moments. The script is exceedingly varied, featuring such moments as an audience singalong, three different AI-generated raps about the Hotel Transylvania movies, and a crowd member being brought up to read a role in a scripted skit.

Thomas makes the most of every second on stage, squeezing in jokes and ideas at a speed that becomes a little unhinged – because who wouldn’t be after a whole year of Adam Sandler movies? At times the performance becomes rushed and unfiltered, and perhaps could have been edited down to make the comedy more apparent, but it also feels like the point is that the show is a chaotic rollercoaster ride.

The finale is a dive into the ‘Sandler-verse’ conspiracy theory, which alleges that all Adam Sandler films are connected in a shared universe. This theory does not entirely convince me, but Thomas’ frenzied energy on stage sure does.

It's Friday the 13^th of July 1951 and composer Arnold Schoenberg (Gavin Rutherford) has taken to bed in his Los Angeles home, convinced this is the day he will die. Having been forced to move to the US by the rise of Fascism in Europe, Schoenberg reminisces about his early life in Vienna where his atonal compositions and “horrible music” caused uproar and his students became more successful than him, his struggles in an unappreciative Hollywood, and his often-fractious relationships.

Andrew Laing who was originally cast as Schoenberg had to pull out at the last minute and his role has been admirably filled by Rutherford, who makes the stage his own. Shuffling around in pajamas and silk dressing gown, he is by turns grumpy and self-aggrandising, then vulnerable and undervalued. Coming from the pen of Dave Armstrong, the script was always going to be funny, and Rutherford especially shines in the moments of wry humour. He holds a full audience in thrall from start to finish.

Supporting, but never directly interacting with, Rutherford is a superb string quartet led by Dave’s brother Donald Armstrong on violin. Sophie Bird (violin), Sophia Acheson (viola), and Brenton Veitch (cello) work seamlessly alongside him to play snatches of Schoenberg’s work along with that of other greats, such as Mahler and Mozart. Somewhere Over the Rainbow even sneaks in. This balance between script and music is the play’s great success and brings to vivid life a composer whose work many Kiwis will be unfamiliar with. Schoenberg’s compositions were as eccentric as his personality and it is entirely appropriate to give them equal weight.

A beautifully simple set (William Smith) of bed, music stands, and oblong panels that look like beaten copper is cleverly lit (also Smith) to spotlight actor and musicians. A well-placed side light spectacularly throws half of Rutherford’s face into shadow when he talks about the Holocaust.

Overall, this is a beautifully scripted, played, and rendered production that hits every note.

U R Here by Barbarian Productions is a unique experience – a choose-your-own adventure walk through Martin Luckie Park filled with surreal attractions and a story that can only unfold through exploration. Despite damp weather there is a reasonable turnout of people, so the park is bustling with an audience of all ages, surrounded by performers in loud, eccentric costumes. It feels like a carnival from another planet, and appreciation must be given to the craftsmanship of the quirky costumes, puppets, props, and set elements (set and costume design by Frankie Berge, puppets by Roxanne Black).

We are guided through the first part of the experience by enthusiastic ‘aunties’ in 80s athletic wear before setting out “into the unknown”. Our journey begins in a field with a range of games and activities. I particularly enjoy the zone covered in balls of mud with popsicle sticks in them, created by the audience over the day. We are asked to make one ourselves and write on the stick something we “know to be true”. This is one of many subtle ways that we are asked to reflect on ourselves before setting out on the wider adventure through the park. These self-observations turn the experience introspective as we consider who we are and genuinely see ourselves in the space. This idea is expanded on as we continue through the park and the devoted performers react to our input – we are as much a part of the performance as they are, and the story only progresses if we do.

This makes for a fascinating experience. The large performance area is taken advantage of to continually hide the next attraction from view around a bend. However, this does mean some of the walks between attractions are rather steep and slippery.

I find myself often asking, “Is this part of it?” when coming across different parts of the park, which, depending on your perspective, could be exasperating or exciting. U R Here is what the audience makes of it, and if you aren’t excited to participate, the frustration can outweigh the fun. Overall, I enjoyed the experience, and applaud Barbarian Production’s experimentation.

Friday night at Ivy Bar, and the crowd is instantly on Laura Piccinin’s side as she begins to recount her coming out stories. Her wry, ironic delivery coupled with moments of expressive physicality get big, satisfying laughs from the audience along with enthusiastic whoops and cheers. The venue is intimate enough that there is opportunity for Piccinin to engage with us on an individual level, furthering our sense of familiarity and inclusion with her experiences.

Many parts of her show have broad relatability, and the listeners are just as likely to be nodding along as they laugh. Piccinin has dated both men and women, and knowingly tells us that “men are stupid, and women are insane”. This is one of many quips that have the audience roaring with laughter as she explains the experiences that have informed this oversimplified reasoning of hers. Piccinin also takes the opportunity to explain identities that exist between and outside the gender binary and their personal exploration of this, one of many satisfying moments where the audience feels seen; the room is welcoming and cosy for everyone along the sexuality and gender spectrums.

The social commentary that is mixed in is also witty and acute, covering ideas like the changing nature of what it means to be queer as society becomes more welcoming, but how the feelings of shame and guilt can linger – only making us feel more shameful and guilty for not being able to let go. Ultimately, this is a tale about learning to love oneself, despite all the confusion caused by the reactions of our loved ones, and the myriad of labels that can feel prescribed. Piccinin asks why queer people have to bear the responsibility of explaining and quantifying queerness – let straight people work it out, she says, and stop feeling an obligation to “come out”.

Piccinin doesn’t claim to have all the answers, and acknowledges personal slip-ups and confusion in her journey. It is this unabashed honesty that is so endearing about her performance.

Fringe is like a box of chocolates… you never know what you’re going to get. And that unpredictability, that suspense, that adventure, is what keeps audiences coming back. The pieces I find most exciting are the ones that are ever-shifting. The ones that can be influenced and shaped by the audience, as well as the delicate nuances and energies in the room. These shows are rare, but when you find them they are always interesting. All of that rings true with Access, created by Hamish Annan in collaboration with Katie Burson and Rob Byrne.

I’ve returned to Te Auaha for the third time in a week to soak up more of that delicious mystery. The audience is welcomed into a well-lit gallery space with sparse seating. At the centre are two vacant chairs inside an intimate performance space, tidily marked out with tape. On the wall are the instructions for engaging with the performer, Annan: “This performance includes: Aggression, Happiness, Grief, Lust, Disgust”. Audience members are instructed that one person at a time may sit with Annan and request an emotion. The prompted emotion is then performed for as long as the contributor remains seated. 

Access is an exploration of authentic human emotion. Emotions of performer, prompter, and we the spectators. The audience becomes part of the work, with every empathic tilt of their head in response to grief, every eyebrow lift to lust, and each flinch from aggression. Each response is incredibly moving and visceral.

Annan is a valorous performer, poignantly expressing each emotion with breath and facial expressions, without physical contact or dialogue. The result is something truly guttural and deeply confronting.  At its heart, this performance art is about human connection and emotional vulnerability. An unforgettable, alive, and incredibly unique experience, existing solely for the participants who happen to be there in that place in time – like a journal entry. And since every performance is different, what will your entry be?

Come one, come all, and experience the tales from a strip club that you never thought you’d hear, including the highs and lows of the culture, clientele, and craziness of what happens on stage and behind the curtains. 

Just The Tip is an eye-opening storytelling comedy show that explores the etiquette of strip clubs by weaving through the stories of several different personalities that stop by. Set from the point of view of the audience as a new stripper on the first day of the job, writer and performer Vixen Temple talks the audience through the kind of customers she often sees before transforming into the various roles before our very eyes. 

From Bruce the Tradie (“Don’t get too close ladies, I’m a married man!”) to Leo the Male Feminist (“I’m actually in a band, we’re called The Generic White Guys”), Vixen delves into these examples of obnoxious strip club ‘civilians’ (the sex industry’s name for the non-sex-industry population), and their various different excuses for why they don’t need to tip. The audience even meets some female ‘civilians’ that end up being just as bad as the men for different reasons, including Sarah the Girl Boss and even a hens bride who’s had far too much to drink and fails to grasp just how loud her “WOOOOOO”s are. 

Just The Tip was the perfect show to grab a drink at the bar, find a good seat, and sneak in sips between the all-too-frequent laughs. Vixen’s performance was outstanding, offering valuable insight and perspective into an industry from a person who clearly knows it better than a fish knows water. The show was a joy to watch, funny till the very end, and more importantly, showed a side of the industry that we don’t often reflect on. If you’re lucky enough to catch the show, know that you’re in for a ride and above all else, don’t forget to tip!

In the stark but intimate Meanwhile gallery, the audience is seated on an assortment of borrowed chairs to hear James Ladanyi’s monologue Where the Water Lies. Ladanyi tells us about events in his life – from a date at the beach, a movie night with friends, to watching rugby at the pub. His story highlights the cause and effect that tie these moments together into something more significant, and while at first the pieces of the story are jumbled and unrelated, they come together like a satisfying puzzle. This is underscored by his description of the background of the Rubik’s cube, then solving one on stage after a member of the audience has shuffled it – all while effortlessly continuing in his telling of the story.

A table lamp that flashes different colours and ethereal music to begin and end the show (design by Nino Raphael, direction by James Cain) help to make the most of the simple space, but it is Ladanyi’s energy and connection with the audience that really suck us in. At times he is infectious and dynamic, and at others wistful and nostalgic, balancing changing between these emotions skilfully. While at first the audience is waiting for the point of connecting the pieces to become apparent, and some of the comedic timing gets lost, the structure of the script engages us as the picture Ladanyi is painting comes into focus.

During the show, Ladanyi hangs pieces of art by local artists that reflect ideas in the work, and at the end we are invited to come forward to appreciate them more closely. This is a nice touch, and imparts the feeling that the telling of his story has changed the space.

Where the Water Lies is a personal but relatable story about moments when life decides to happen to us, the cause and effect normally invisible behind events in our lives, and appreciating the coincidences and serendipity this all energises.