It’s hard not to be impressed by Kirsty Baker’s Sight Lines: Women and Art in Aotearoa. With its lofty heftiness and fabric cover, it’s a work of art even before the first page’s turn.

What Baker has compiled is a stunning account of the extraordinary creative genius of women across Aotearoa: those who have come before and those who continue to create in contemporary times. 

Not limited to one genre, Baker offers an almost panoramic view of an art history constructed by women that – though not exhaustive by the author’s own admission – spans mediums and decades, from curators and photographers to sculptors, poets, and writers to name just a few.  

What’s interesting is how Baker has brought the artists’ collective and individual voices to the fore, their words as fluid and engaging as the art they have created. Through images and essays, their storytelling is reflective and impactful. The book covers the influences, history, and connections to time, place, and space that have informed the artists’ work. Political, cultural, societal, and gendered contexts wind, thread, and integrate like branches through both the narrative and the art, sometimes subtle, sometimes profound. 

I found artist Yuki Kihara’s work Quarantine Islands interesting. Much of it focuses on challenging societal norms and concepts. Through a series of lenticular photographs made during the global pandemic, Kihara speaks to the themes of isolation, contagion, and quarantine. It’s like the present meets the past. “The series of work follows a long history of human confinement across the land and ocean that she pictures”, Baker writes.

This collective and collaborative account from Baker and contributing writers is nuanced, interesting, and bold, told through the eyes of women. I thoroughly enjoyed this striking collection and I’m sure it will resonate with many art enthusiasts.

If a goofy, funny, heartfelt, heroic adventure is what your little one enjoys, then KidzStuff Theatre for Children’s Badjelly the Witch is the show to check out these school holidays!

Meet the lovely brother-and-sister duo of Rose (Adriana Calabrese) and Tim (Haydn Carter) as they look for their beloved cow Lucy (Calabrese and Carter), who was stolen by Badjelly (wonderfully portrayed by creative director Amalia Calder) and her giant Dulboot (Dryw McArthur).

Joining in on their adventure, the set and props (creatively designed by Andrew and Laura Loach) transport you between the different locations of the story and introduce you to all the cute characters that help Rose and Tim find their beloved cow. Alongside these friends that we meet along the way, the enthusiastic audience ventures through forests and mountains to bring Lucy home. Technical manager Deb McGuire creates magic by changing the vibrant lighting, music (Geoff Davidson, with lyrics by John Cairney), and sound effects on cue with the scenes. And from a little person’s perspective, when the theatre illuminates red, we all know what that means!

The costumes and puppets are colourful and bring the characters to life with talented voice acting from Calder and McArthur. Davidson’s music brings the show together so well and Cairney’s fun lyrics have everyone dancing and chiming in. The audience is on edge to see what happens next, and the cast improvises beautifully to interact with us during the show, which keeps us all on our toes – and not just the kids amongst us!

Of course, after every show, I always love to ask Mister Six what his favourite part was. “My favourite was the cricket, the witch, and the giant!” Full of surprises, Badjelly the Witch has the audience pitching in with the rescue, belly laughing all the way.

We love chaos, mess, magic, and a good belly laugh! Kitchen Chaos ticks all the boxes and so much more.

In Kitchen Chaos, Spray (Lizzie Tollemache), Wipe (Darlene Mohekey), and the whole audience are invited to a surprise birthday party. Everyone is so excited and we all help prepare for the surprise. Wipe is so goofy, with a weakness for chippies and cake, and often comes up with brilliant ideas that Spray goes along with. While goofing around, there is an accident and the duo needs to fix the situation pronto. They enlist the help of the audience, a very helpful cookbook named Edmonds (voiced by original production director Greg Cooper), and some magic!

The colourful set and props (production design by Rollicking Entertainment) enhance the magical experience. The magic itself is mind-blowing – just some of the reactions I overhear are “wow,” “that’s unbelievable,” and “how did they do that?” The sound effects and lights are on cue and create hilarious scenes.

The playful and mischievous vibe is so contagious that Mister Six could not stop laughing, dancing, and just wanted to join in the fun. The magic intrigued him so much that when we got to meet Spray and Wipe after the show, he had to know how they did it. He also showed them his dancing skills and we all danced together in the foyer. They were happy to indulge their newfound fans with photo opportunities and high fives!

He was still dancing as we left, and we were having a good giggle when we discussed the show afterwards. His favourite parts were the magic, Spray and Wipe being stuck together when they high fived, and the sneaker juice! Guess what, though? Kitchen Chaos had me laughing even harder than my son at some stages. Bringing out the excited kid in all of us, we had the best fun and laughs at this must-see show.

Are you one of the Fish People? Even if you’re not and have no idea what that means, there’s still much to enjoy in this Kate Bush tribute show cum comedy cabaret. If you are one of the Fish People (i.e. Bush’s die-hard fans), you’ll be hoarse by the end, so frequent are the opportunities to sing along with Sarah-Louise Young’s impressive vocals in An Evening Without Kate Bush.

Bush’s fans are nothing if not supportive and the spirit of collective celebration is strongly encouraged through Young’s frequent audience engagement. Don’t sit in the first couple of rows if you’re shy about being lured to the stage. One brave couple slow danced to Don’t Give Up while Young sang Bush’s part beautifully.

While not trying to do a straight impression of one of pop’s quirkiest divas, Young pulls off a spirited and highly entertaining homage. Her powerful voice doesn’t quite have Bush’s freakishly huge range, but who other than Kent’s favourite daughter could sing the opening notes of Wuthering Heights? Young, to her credit, doesn’t try. Her renditions of Bush’s biggest hits and some lesser-known B sides are stunning and her ability to pull off Bush’s signature dance moves is astonishing and hilarious by turns. The comedy highlight is a rendition of Babooshka in Russian, including its correct pronunciation of BAH-booshka.

Stage manager Will Spartalis becomes an unintended star when Young’s head mic battery fails not once but twice. Young’s stellar ability to improvise song lyrics about buying more double As at the supermarket makes this technical glitch even funnier.

With just a red leotard plus various add-on costume pieces and wigs, a few props, and some fantastically creative lighting effects (all by Young), the performer’s segues between songs are a joy to watch and keep the show flowing.

If you want to howl with the Hounds of Love, go Running Up That Hill with the other Fish People, or snigger knowingly at the Stranger Things reference, you can’t go wrong with An Evening Without Kate Bush.

2025 marks 50 years since the death of Soviet composer and pianist Dmitri Shostakovich, considered by many to be the most significant composer of the 20^th century. Orchestra Wellington is marking the occasion with an entire season – The Dictator’s Shadow – dedicated to his life, from his early success as an internationally celebrated teenage prodigy to his censured adult career beset with threats of imprisonment and death during Stalin’s purges. Celebrating Shostakovich’s teenage years, this opening concert also features the work of his fellow prodigies Georges Bizet and Felix Mendelssohn.

Prodigy opens with Bizet’s Symphony No.1 in C Major, written as an exercise while Mendelssohn was a student at the Paris Conservatoire. The orchestra launches into the neat and cheerful first movement with precision and clarity. The horns are maple-syrup toned and perfect. The orchestra draws out the romanticism and contrasting moods of the symphony, but we can still taste the slightly pedantic quality of this schoolboy piece.

This is followed by Mendelssohn’s Concerto for Violin op. 64 in E minor, a surprising choice, since this is not one of his early works. Concertmaster Amalia Hall takes the stage as our soloist and delivers the kind of performance we have come to expect from her: dynamic, engaging, and technically masterful.

Finally, Shostakovich’s first symphony, which he wrote as a graduation piece from the Leningrad Conservatory at only 18. Symphony No. 1 op. 10 in F minor is famous for its melding of modernist style and classical structure, with a satirical quality that became Shostakovich’s signature. The orchestra accentuates the dynamics of the piece, opening with intensity and almost harsh phrasing. Brass, percussion, and woodwinds spark against each other in the first movement, progressing through moods and colour. The sultry, mournful oboe and stochastic trumpets of the second movement are disturbingly delicious, before we are plunged into the turmoil of the glorious finale. Conductor and music director Marc Taddei leads the orchestra in a dexterous and evocative performance of this masterpiece, which bodes extremely well for the rest of our Shostakovich season.

The Anatomy of Sand is an extraordinary poetry collection with an esoteric nature that enhances the already salutary content and tone.

Mikaela Nyman’s grasp and use of English is strikingly confident and erudite. As a poet myself, I do sometimes question, should reading a poem require a dictionary? Does a lack of plain English make a poem inaccessible? Reading The Anatomy of Sand, I frequently needed to check out a mythological reference or the meaning of an unfamiliar word or technological term. Take, for example, The Hybinette process. Impressive! What is a Hybinette!

Imagine a poem in praise of hyperaccumulators: plants that are apparently capable of pulling out high concentrations of certain metals! Ah, but the notes help: we learn that this poem contains found descriptive language about Nyman’s great grandfather, an inventor of – wait for it – extractive metallurgy. “He was a Victor and a Noak, a Noah of the Nordics. Metal was his ark.” “Yet did he ever pause to consider?” asks his great granddaughter. The final lines set the theme of further poems and let us know our poet has her own ark.

I loved “Whakapapa in a whalebone church” – recognised all four whale types! It’s a heartfelt tribute to both the writer’s Nordic roots and her current dwelling place of Taranaki.

Black swan diaries is easier on the intellect with its notes of familiarity – if an unwelcome one. Recalling the days of COVID and lockdowns, here are some truly memorable poetic vignettes: “Teddy bears pop up in cars and windows”, “sourdough refuses to rise”, “people of Chinese origin are being snubbed” and “we know how to craft a mask from the armpit of an old T-shirt”.

Examining as it does our relationship with nature and the environment, involving both laments and suggestions, The Anatomy of Sand is unquestionably a book for our times.

Set in the backdrop of a Japan recovering from World War II, Rising Sun Falling Rain is about forbidden love and all the pain that comes with it.

As a child of mixed ancestry, the central story of Mick Mitchell and his lover, and later his wife Emiko, struck me harder than it perhaps would another reader. Like them, my parents came from different worlds, and like them faced opposition in the face of traditional norms. It was not too long ago that even in a country like New Zealand, mixed marriages were almost taboo. This is the situation that Mick and Emiko find themselves in when they fall in love and break tradition by marrying.

Trish Devine’s writing is amazing. She captures the atmosphere of post-war Japan perfectly. Rising Sun Falling Rain never shies away from the harsh realities of war and its devastating effects on the average person. Some of it just rips your heart out, and the fact it’s based on real-world suffering adds to the book’s atmosphere.

Devine provokes heartfelt empathy for the characters and their circumstances. The two main characters feel alive and I loved watching their story unfold. My favourite aspect of the book was Emiko’s arc as she goes from a wide-eyed innocent who had always been sheltered by her father and other guardians to someone who becomes more self-aware. Mick’s journey was equally as satisfying: from small-town farm boy to suddenly being thrust into a world where the customs and adherence to age-old traditions must’ve boggled his mind.

If you love drama then you will love Rising Sun Falling Rain. While it deals with some weighty issues regarding love, acceptance, and pain, there are moments of genuine joy that made me smile – Mick’s fish-out-of-water approach and moments of Kiwi ingenuity often got a knowing chuckle out of me.

This was a lovely read. If you like a good tearjerker with solid characters, then Rising Sun Falling Rain will be the book you are looking for.  

In a programme of two parts, we were transported from the delights of a Roman holiday to an epic, Romantic masterpiece of Russian longing, magnificently played by Russian virtuoso pianist Daniil Trifonov.

A perfectly crisp start, followed by the smoothest woodwind and then rich, deep, balanced strings built excitedly to the party that is Berlioz’s Roman Carnival. Conductor Umberto Clerici, animated and energetic, perhaps caught up in the mood, brought the orchestra to the final flourish, a piece of precision percussion on two tambourines.

Respighi’s Fountains of Rome was a slightly more sedate but still majestic tour around the city. From the early morning start, past majestic sights, Clerici skilfully led the audience and orchestra on a joyous and delightful excursion.

The Times described Trifonov as “the most astounding pianist of our age” and after hearing him play Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 3 in D Minor, an almost full house of more than 2000 people wholeheartedly agreed.

A lyrical start, briefly overwhelmed by the lower strings, picked up as the complexity this concerto is famous for grew into something intense, rich, and gorgeous. Trifonov brought a tangible sensitivity to the movement and flow. He took full control in the ferocious, intricate passages and incredible cadenza.

The second movement started with strong, quiet intensity before the piano came rumbling in, then the melody came forward, clear but still intense and especially light over the lower register. The confluence of strings and piano in the third movement created a huge sense of freedom and richness.

There is more to this concerto than a showpiece of a pianist’s technique. At times it almost seemed as if Trifonov was listening to his piano breathe, reflecting on the relationship between them. This piece demands the right musical interpretation and balance between the piano and the orchestra. The NZSO, Clerici, and Trifonov absolutely nailed it on the night.

Leni Riefenstahl was Hitler’s beautiful and brilliant filmmaker, creating the Third Reich propaganda-fest Triumph of the Will for him. She also documented the 1936 Berlin Olympics, her last film to achieve a theatrical release in the wake of her post-war fall from grace in Europe and Hollywood. Throughout her life, she clung to the belief that she was innocent and knew nothing about the Nazi atrocities and that she, like millions of others, had fallen under the spell of a charismatic dictator.

Jan Bolwell’s new one-woman play delves into Riefenstahl’s mindset with a first-person commentary on her rise and fall and fervent self-defence of her role in the Holocaust. She was a strong and self-possessed young woman who, through her drive and lack of qualms about manipulating men through sex, rose to artistic heights in dance, theatre, and film before meeting Hitler and reading Mein Kampf.

Helen Todd’s production design is simple yet beautiful. A long oblong of white light defines the area in which Bolwell moves. On the back wall is a projected sequence of black and white photos in front of which are two tall, clear Perspex panels that divert slanted images onto the stage floor. This is a brilliant creative touch that lends a wonderfully cinematic quality to the whole. Bolwell’s simple black dress adds to the monochrome effect. Music composed by Jan Bolton and sound effects (Neal Barber) provide a soundscape that effectively supports the narrative.

Bolwell owns the stage, resisting the urge to descend into hyperbole and passion to deliver Riefenstahl’s deeply vain view of herself. By the end, my friend and I agreed we didn’t buy her version of the truth, which was clearly the point. As Bolwell states in the programme, we’re veering again towards fascist autocracies and the excuse of being blinded by charisma is one that’s far too easy to hide behind. Supping with the Devil makes the past real and relevant through one woman’s self-delusion.

Solarise is an original musical from Wellingtonian Ruby Kemp that explores the impact of impending apocalypse on relationships, passion projects, and power structures. This musical feels like the love child of Don’t Look Up and Rent, both projects that contend with existential threats, and asks us to consider the fragility of human connections and the resilience of hope amid looming catastrophe.

The musicality and vocal styles, overseen by musical director Michael Stebbings and assistant musical director Stephen Clothier, and the selective use of movement and dance from choreographer Celia Macdonald, are in service of the storytelling and support narrative clarity. There are some off-key phrases, but the ensemble pieces are strong, especially the rock number We’re Gonna Riot. The offstage five-piece band are excellent.

Several actors are double cast or alternate between ensemble and character roles. Wardrobe (Emily K Brown) is used consistently to identify characters, allowing for quick transitions. The set, designed by Anne-Lisa Noordover, and props by Deb Maguire, are aesthetically consistent and ground the production in a gritty, believably untidy world. However, the cardboard radio feels out of place amid the other realistic set pieces. The use of a multi-set, with the workshop and home sets permanently in view and the central unlocalised acting area or plateau in the middle, is a smart choice that facilitates the frequent scene changes.

Lighting (Ruby Kemp) and sound design (Victoria Norgrove) are used unobtrusively and effectively support the narrative, with some lovely projections from Scott Maxim. Nonetheless, I feel these effects could be pushed further, especially since the characters frequently refer to auroras, and sequences featuring rocket launches and rioting could benefit from enhanced visual and auditory elements. Projections also help locate the action in time, an essential feature given that the narrative makes many time jumps back and forth within a five-year period.

The Wellington Footlights Society’s Solarise is an ambitious and heartfelt production. Ruby Kemp must be commended for conceiving of and creating a work of this scale.

Any musical that promises “adult themes/coarse language” on its programme cover is off to a great start and The Toxic Avenger: The Musical – with book by Joe DiPietro, music by David Bryan, and lyrics by both – delivers in green-tainted shovelfuls. Based on Lloyd Kaufman’s comedy splatter films, this is a devilishly funny, filthy, and fantastical deep dive into superhero comic tropes.

Our protagonist is nerdy Melvin Ferd III (Corey Moir) who, with the assistance of his love interest, the blind librarian Sarah (Millie Fuller), uncovers the dodgy dealings of the randy Mayor (Kirsty Huszka) of Tromaville, New Jersey. An unceremonious dunking in a vat of industrial waste by the town bullies (Carys Tidy and Richie Rewa) transforms him into Toxie, a “mutant with superhuman strength” who can rip people’s heads off without blinking his eviscerated eye. Will he save Tromaville? Will the Mayor discover his kryptonite? Will he get the girl? Will he ever fit that dangling eyeball back inside its socket?

The cast is fantastic, delivering every song and role with high energy and gusto. They clearly love the show and passion oozes out of every performance. Huszka doubles as Toxie’s gutsy mum. The song Bitch/Slut/Liar/Whore, in which she rapidly alternates between Ma Ferd and the Mayor, is a stunning highlight in an exceptional show. Tidy and Rewa as the Dudette and Dude pull off a mind-boggling collection of characters with absolute commitment and versatility. Moir is electric, expertly balancing the soft heart of Melvin with the outsized strength of Toxie. Fuller is charming and hilarious as Sarah. Her song My Big French Boyfriend is another standout.

A huge shoutout to transformation specialists Polly Crone and Stephen Edwards for the spectacular change of Melvin into Toxie. Rewa’s set and scenic design also deserve special mention for their clever versatility and comic-book vibe, excellently supported by Tom Smith’s lighting.

With a top-notch band and musical direction by Sue Windsor smoothly integrated with Sandy Brewer’s smart direction and Melanie Heaphy’s fun choreography, this is a superbly slick production.

The title says it all: From the Depths Sound the Great Sea Gongs: Part 1 – The Invocation of the Sea. A classic in the Aotearoa repertoire, Gareth Farr’s sparkling and vibrant work built from the gentlest ripple on the water, through the sounds of pan-Pacific drums and bells, to a breathtaking invocation, a call from the sea itself.

Next came the world premiere of Guillaume Connesson’s Danses Concertantes, Concerto No. 2 for Flute and Orchestra. Seven dances, alternately fast and slow, showcased the remarkable talent of Emily Beynon. We were flung straight into a frenetic and, for Beynon, fiercely complex first movement, followed by an abruptly gentle and melodic second movement. If Beynon’s technical mastery of her instrument was on fire in the fast movements, it was her exquisite clean and clear tone and sensitive expression that shone in the very beautiful slow dances. The sixth movement was something really special. The balance between orchestra and flute was immaculate through different states, feelings, and sounds, using the flute’s lower register to great emotional effect. Beynon’s performance was a masterclass in the range of sound and sentiment this virtuoso can draw from her instrument.

Modest Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition started life as a suite for solo piano. Almost 50 years later, Maurice Ravel orchestrated the suite and created the rich and luxurious piece we love so well today. The music depicts the patron walking (promenading) through the exhibition hall, looking at 10 pictures. Under Gemma New’s direction, the orchestra produced a highly colourful sound, rich in variety, tone, mood, and texture. The orchestration and interpretation, with the connecting promenade theme, created a wholeness to the experience, easily visualised even without knowing the detail of each picture. The finale was colossal, music and paintings surrounding the audience in a mass of sound and vision and intensity. This is an exhibition you would want to experience.

Last year, I was lucky enough to catch the official premiere of Trick of the Light Theatre’s Suitcase Show, which the ‘notorious tinkerers’ built through a series of showings in site-specific venues (like a bar and a photography darkroom, where the vibes would’ve been on point) before putting the pieces together for the New Zealand Fringe Festival debut. Back then, I saw it twice in a row, with opening night technical glitches (that did little to mar the magic) already ironed out by show number two.

Suitcase Show is currently travelling the length and the breadth of the country on a nine-date national tour. The Hannah Playhouse stop (number seven on the tour and my third viewing) is polished to black-mirror perfection. Whilst this boxset of dark tales continues to tighten, sharpen, and evolve, its eerie essence remains unchanged: as spine-tingling and as evocative as ever.

At an airport with a connection to make, a solo traveller (Ralph McCubbin Howell) is flagged and pulled aside by a rigid and robotic customs officer (Hannah Smith) who doesn’t like surprises. During screening, he unpacks and unfolds the story of each suitcase like origami.

From a little matchbox girl to a burly bear, an outcast autocrat to a prophetic shadow, an ambitious astronaut to a Red Right Hand hankering for the business lounge, McCubbin Howell brings characters to life in ways audiences would never expect – as evidenced by the sharp intakes of breath and shudders of delight rippling through the theatre.

With each suitcase containing its own little universe, the design team – sound and composition by Tane Upjohn-Beatson; additional composition by Robyn Bryant; videography by Dean Hewison; figurines by Jon Coddington; and craft and prop design by Smith and McCubbin Howell alongside Rebekah de Roo, Romina Meneses, and Emory Otto; with production and technical design collaboration from Brad Gledhill and Rachel Marlow of Filament Eleven 11 – should be rebranded as world-builders.

Trick of the Light’s Suitcase Show is a one-hour masterclass in storytelling and stagecraft.

An opulent, saturated world oozes out from the screen as Grand Tour flickers to life. The footage may be mostly black and white, but somehow each scene is vivid and bursting with sultry, seductive temptation. Earning director Miguel Gomes the prize for best director at Festival de Cannes, this romantic, extravagant, and comic epic makes a pitstop in cinemas across Aotearoa in March.

In 1917, British civil servant Edward (Gonçalo Waddington) loiters on the docks in Rangoon awaiting his fiancée Molly Singleton (Crista Alfaiate). It’s been seven years since they’ve been engaged and as time passes, Edward gets increasingly panicked about the prospect of marriage. Impulsively, he hops aboard the steamer heading to Singapore. As he luxuriates in the bar of the Raffles Hotel, he receives a telegram from Molly reporting that she is inbound. Thus begins the couples’ grand tour as Edward flees across Asia pursued by his betrothed, zigzagging through Thailand, the Philippines, Vietnam, Japan, and China, but also through time and space.

Unlike Edward and Molly, the marriage between cinematography (Guo Liang, Sayombhu Mukdeeprom, and Rui Poças) and editing (Telmo Churro and Pedro Filipe Marques) is a match made in heaven. Grand Tour features a docu-realist approach as the black and white narrative scenes are juxtaposed against modern-day documentary clips from each location Edward visits. The voiceover is in the language of whatever destination is currently in focus, narrating the action over the present-day clips rather than showing it. This interesting technique draws attention to the passage of time and its relationship with place as the story progresses. Meanwhile, the second half, in which Molly’s story becomes the focus, is almost entirely narrative-based. A headstrong, formidable woman focused on her future with her fiancé, she contrasts the melancholy Edward who is always chasing past delights.

Grand Tour does not end as we would like it to. With a spoonful of self-awareness at its conclusion, it instead makes a poignant comment on time. As Edward fixates on the past and Molly on the future, their dreams come to nothing, their present moment wasting away into oblivion.

Tormented by writer’s block, Will Shakespeare (Christopher Horne) attempts to write his next play. However, when he meets his muse, Viola De Lesseps (Yasmine Alani), it draws the attention of many, making the staging of his production of Romeo and Juliet increasingly difficult. 

Adapted from Marc Norman and Tom Stoppard’s 1998 film of the same name, Lee Hall’s Shakespeare in Love is an easy-to-watch play about pursuing your dreams, no matter what obstacles society puts in your way. Viola, for instance, defies convention (and the law) to become an actor in an industry of men. Hashtag women in male fields! While Hall’s script is often hilarious, it occasionally pokes fun of women too, which surprises me given that the story feels inherently feminist.  

When it comes to Wellington Repertory Theatre’s lively production of Shakespeare in Love, the impressive live band (led by musical director Kathryn Ennis) provides a lovely soundtrack that helps root the play in Elizabethan England. The wardrobe (led by Anne de Geus) is spectacular. From wimples to the bedazzled Queen Elizabeth I dress (worn by Catherine McMechan), the costumes are a show in and of themselves.

I feel that the blocking doesn’t always suit the theatre-in-the-round seating arrangement, which often results in the action being obstructed by the bodies of performers – especially when so many people are on stage. There are many moments I can’t see because of where I am seated and how the actors are positioned. Despite this, there are plenty of standout performers, just some of which include Horne, who plays a hilariously lovesick Will, and the equally comedic Rio Futschek Ryan, who shines as Henslowe. Alani graces the stage with elegance as the determined and strong Viola, and I admire all her quick changes. Finnian Nacey also brings much laughter as Sam and Juliet. One cannot forget Equinox as Spot the Dog, who is a total scene stealer.

Presented in a strikingly cinematic way and memorable for its ensemble feel, this Wellington Repertory Theatre production is bound to make you laugh. Head upstage to Gryphon Theatre and I’m sure you’ll also fall in love with Shakespeare in Love.

Colin McColl, after 18 years with Auckland Theatre Company, has returned to Wellington to direct Noël Coward’s Blithe Spirit. The farce centres on a séance gone wrong at the home of Charles Condomine (Phil Peleton), a sceptical novelist who has invited the famed medium Madame Arcati (Ginette McDonald) into his home in order to gather material for his next book. But Madame Arcarti’s otherworldly powers prove all too real, and Charles and his new husband Rudi (Simon Leary) find themselves sharing their home with the ghost of Charles’ dead wife Elvira (Laura Hill).

This production makes an effort to modernise the 1941 play, with some choices hitting the mark. The gender swapping and re-queering of the story are effective approaches. The script has been cleverly, lightly tweaked to make both Charles and his dead wife Elvira bisexual. The changes align with the risqué and socially insightful voice of Coward and help a modern audience to feel his radical edge.

On the other hand, a confusing combination of garments and set pieces makes it unclear which period we are in, and the set (John Parker) doesn’t feel luxurious enough for a modern household with the fulltime domestic staff who feature in the action. While these may have been conscious decisions, the incongruity became a distraction for us. Some of the costumes (Nic Smillie) are very fun, but Rudi’s costumes each feel like they belong to a different person, rather than reinforcing characterisation.

We are treated to a standout performance from Hera Dunleavy, who is double cast as Edith and Mrs Bradman. I failed to realise these two characters were being played by the same actor until we read the programme at interval, a testimony to her transformative physicality. As Mrs Bradman she is hysterical, with a subtle understanding of the inner life and absurdities of the character. Together with Peter Hambleton as her husband she portrays a long-married couple, with perfectly timed deliveries that make the most of Coward’s astutely observed one-liners.

From the mind of actor, comedian, and singer Alexander Armstrong comes Evenfall: The Golden Linnet, a story about Sam, a 13-year-old who finds himself thrust into a world of powerful magic and an adventure that will change his life forever.

If that seems a bit overblown, it is because Sam’s world is crazy, full of secret societies and Bond-style villains who want to control the world. For a book that is not very long, it packs one heck of a punch and leaves me on the edge of my seat wanting more.

Armstrong’s writing is on point, bringing the characters to life and at the same time making me care about them. Their world is fresh and the villains that Sam finds himself up against come across as plausible threats that even frighten me a little. Strangely enough, while I enjoy all the characters, the bad guys grab my attention the most. The two antagonists seem to have a genuine, dare I say loving connection. While I will not spoil anything here, for me, their relationship rises above the stereotypical ones I’ve come to expect. It’s refreshing, unexpected, and fun.

Unlike so many other reads that take an age to get to their juicier plot points, it is not long before Sam is on the run and discovering powers he never knew he had. Evenfall: The Golden Linnet is a thrilling adventure, and the buildup to the final confrontation is well worth the time I invested in the book.

Don’t be put off or fooled by the fact that the novel is aimed at young adults aged from nine to 12: the writing is clever, intelligent, and I suspect will engage audiences of all ages. The bottom line is if you see this and want to enjoy a brand-new adventure, pick it up. For me, Evenfall: The Golden Linnet is the highlight so far of 2025 and I can’t wait for more (if more’s coming).

The earliest evidence of ships is from Egypt during the fourth millennium BCE. Ships have since become an indispensable way of life on a planet that is 70 percent water. From finding new trade routes to meeting (and sometimes conquering) new civilisations, they are at the forefront of human civilisation.

Fifty Ships that Changed the Course of History shows us how important ships were, are, and how they changed our history for the better – or in some cases, the worse. From the German battleship Bismarck that haunted the allies during World War II, to the Mayflower that transported the first pilgrims to the ‘new world’, aka America, in the 17^th century, the book explains it all in great detail and why each one rightfully has a place in maritime history. It is a fascinating read into the past that will undoubtedly give you a better appreciation of these vessels.

While it might be a bit bias, my favourite ship charted in Fifty Ships that Changed the Course of History has to be our very own Rainbow Warrior. I cannot put my finger on it but the idea of a little country thumbing their nose at a greater power just fills me with a certain pride, as I am sure it will for almost every New Zealander who reads this book. Unfortunately, this brings me to the one negative: it might not appeal to everyone simply because of its subject matter. If you think a book about ships is not for you, chances are you will simply give it a miss, which would be an incredible shame as it’s a treasure trove of everything sailing.

I loved my time with this title, where Ian Graham’s passion for his subject shines through. Even a landlubber like me could easily understand the content thanks to the accessibility of the author’s writing and his infectious enthusiasm.

Timeless Beauty is a foray into Baroque, presenting the works of the period’s luminaries George Frideric Handel and Georg Philipp Telemann alongside their lesser-known forerunner Matthew Locke. Featuring a reduced orchestra of 26 musicians, the evening opens with the Overture and Sinfonia from Handel’s Occasional Oratorio. The NZSO deliver the technical mastery and precision that befits Handel, and as usual make it sound easy.

We then move further back in time. Locke’s The Tempest Suite accompanied a revival production only 60 years after Shakespeare’s The Tempest premiered. Before delving into the storm, Vesa-Matti Leppänen (director and violin) places the work in its historic context, describing innovations in string instruments during this period. It is a lovely touch when he draws attention to the profound age of one of the violins on stage, which was made around 1690, just over a decade after Locke’s death. The little instrument is held aloft, prompting the audience to break into delighted murmurs.

The inclusion of the Locke in the programme is an inspired choice, adding interest and giving us fresh perspective on the otherwise overly familiar Handel and Telemann. The Tempest Suite is new to most of us, including Leppänen, who confesses to never having played Locke’s work before. We feel included in the orchestra’s exploration, which melds sounds from what we categorise as the early Modern period with emerging Baroque modes. The Tempest Suite is evocative, dramatic, and pacey. The orchestra seems less assured in this music than with the more familiar works, but this feels like fellowship with Locke, who was innovating with new, unfamiliar instruments and compositional possibilities.

When we move back into the familiar territory of Telemann, it is with recalibrated ears. His Concerto for 3 Trumpets and Timpani in D Major sounds edgy. A warm, almost sultry oboe leads us through the piece, most prominently in the middle section. All principals shine in this performance, and by the concluding Vivace we are fully enraptured.

Borderline Arts Ensemble, the multi-disciplinary group co-directed by Lucy Marinkovich and Lucien Johnson, are known for their virtuoso dance productions. They return with a meditation on nocturnal themes that pairs the serene piano compositions of Johnson with the movement work of dancers Marinkovich and Michael Parmenter.

Martyn Roberts’ lighting design is a crucial element of the production. The show is set against the black void of a profoundly dark stage, and lighting is used to construct positive spaces within that. Gauzy fabrics suspended from the ceiling become enormous vessels filled with illuminated smoke or water. Puppetry brings us birds and moons floating in black, empty air, while mirrors and shadow-work play with our depth perception.

 As our dances explore these spaces, movement seems to be a secondary concern to imagery. There is minimal connection between the two dancers, or between the dancers and the audience. It feels more like visiting a series of art installations or watching a film than participating in a live performance. That said, this feeling of abstraction is part of the strange beauty of The Night Has A Thousand Eyes.

Indeed, much of the show explores imagery from early film. Parmenter dons an overcoat and watches the moon under streetlights before commencing a contemplative, slow tap dance worthy of the most stoic of film noir leading men. In a vignette reminiscent of Loïe Fuller’s serpentine dance from the 1890s (which became a staple of black and white cinema), Marinkovich appears in a billowing tent of silk that hangs floor-length from her throat and whirls the fabric around into forms that evoke peonies, sea creatures, and birds. This early cinema aesthetic is supported by the minimalist and cool-toned lighting favoured by Roberts.

A quietly masterful show, The Night Has A Thousand Eyes is a balm and curiosity. Many from the audience linger in the foyer afterwards, marvelling softly, before moving off into the dark.