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.

Wellington comedy duo Ginge and Minge (Nina Hogg and Megan Connolly) present their new show, House of Ick, the craziest whirlwind of outrageous, crass, and cringey sketch comedy that I have ever seen. This is my first time seeing Ginge and Minge and I’m not entirely sure what to expect, although I don’t think anything could have really prepared me for this. Hogg and Connolly interact with the audience as we enter, asking us if we have seen “Mike”. An infectious, charged anticipation fills the room, and as the lights go down and the show begins, there is raucous applause – clearly there are lots of fans in the audience tonight.

Hogg and Connolly perform with no boundaries or inhibitions, making a mess of various fluids on the stage and themselves. Sketches are frantic and even stupid at times, and often the second-hand embarrassment makes me unsure if I want to laugh or wince. The characters they play are inspired, engrossing, and irresistible, including Monster Energy drink-obsessed preteens Kyle and Kayden, Mike the inappropriately forward comedian from Facebook Marketplace, and a pair of talkative “horse jizz” saleswomen.

While it might simply sound like shock-value humour, the show is in fact expertly put together and performed by a phenomenal duo who make it look effortless. There is a cohesiveness to the sketches, where nothing is taken seriously, and our expectations are constantly subverted. In an effort to break away from “gross or overtly personal humour”, we are subjected to a dramatic reading of W. H. Auden’s Funeral Blues, accompanied by a transfixing, deliberately tasteless tap routine. The contrast here sums up the show for me – uncomfortable, unpredictable, and utterly hilarious comedy.

By the end of House of Ick, I am a converted Ginge and Minge fan. I want to see more of this type of theatre in Wellington – original ideas that can be produced without a massive budget, more stimulating than anything playing at the cinema. In fact, I want a visceral hour like this every week.

Welcome to the House of Ick. Sit in the front row.

HAUSDOWN is a farcical romp through regency tropes that manages to be both deftly crafted and delightfully silly. Our ensemble call on skit comedy, clowning, dance, and melodrama to tell the raucous story of seven queer aristocrats and their servant during a visit to the country seat of the Hausdown family.

The actors work wonderfully together to deliver expressive, committed performances. Energy and pace are maintained throughout, and the cast are strongly connected to each other and the audience. Much of the comedy hinges on precise tone and timing when delivering one-liners, which they pull off again and again. Even more impressive is the ensemble work and movement – the opening slow-motion tableau and the dance scene that switches repeatedly between a reserved country dance and sexually charged clubbing are hysterical.

All this tomfoolery is grounded by brilliant technical elements. Ruby Carter’s costume design does bounteous work establishing the fluid historicity and gender play that are at the core of this project. Carter’s skill as a seamstress and knowledge of the period is abundantly apparent. This reviewer was especially gratified by the arrival of gorgeous bonnets and hats when our characters headed outdoors to take in the country air. The costumes also support character work, communicating status and gender expression. Carter has developed a distinctive style for each character, and each costume was suited to the physicality of its actor.

The rest of the production team also deserves praise. The set design by Sam Hearps is simple but refined. The minimalism suits the contemporary theatrical conventions of this show, but the proportions, colours, and textures are period appropriate and executed beautifully. Likewise with sound (Joshua Lees) and lighting (Teddy O’Neill), which are both effective, clever, and in service of the on-stage action rather than being intrusive.

All elements of Inconceivable Productions' HAUSDOWN cohere to form an exceptionally well crafted and joyful production. We eagerly anticipate an invitation to their next soirée.

Terry Taylor has been an Uber driver for years and sure has a story or two to tell about life on the road. Luckily for us, he’s prepared to share as he ushers our audience of eight into his party van, parked outside Hannah Playhouse and fully kitted out with lights, cameras, and more action than we bargained for.

In the world premiere of Tom Knowles’ one-man show ROADKILL: The Uber-Cool Musical, Terry (Knowles) talks and sings us through his childhood dreams and major milestones, including marrying Mary (Knowles) and meeting her father (Knowles) during a serendipitous ride that changes the racecourse of his life forever.

A velvet-voiced Knowles, decked out with an earpiece mic in uber-driver-meets-tour-guide garb, revs up with a medley of popular vehicular-themed bangers (Shut Up and Drive, Highway to Hell, Ridin’, et al). Interspersing direct address and audience banter, he sings along to pre-recorded, full-throttle backing tracks (performed by Knowles and his band of Jed Parsons and Josh Logan) with a 30-strong choir (Knowles x30) behind him. The soundtrack largely comprises rockin’ originals (all by, you guessed it) accompanied by hilariously kitsch and melodramatic music videos (starring the one and only Knowles). What a mammoth effort from this one-man van!

The fitout inside said van is impressive and spans ceiling-mounted screens, speakers, and even a reverse camera that generates real-time footage so that the front-seat passenger can watch the back-seat action unfold. A fellow passenger is handed a remote to control the LED party lights and told she could well be up for a Fringe award for best lighting design (I’m voting for you, Olivia). With audience interaction a highlight of the musical, more of us are recruited for various tasks, from holding fans to pressing space bars and even singing “I do”. Did I mention the carpool karaoke? We all have a ball thanks to Knowles’ natural, easy grace that puts us at ease. A showman through and through.

I’d love to see the story more fleshed out, particularly around the shock twist (I suspect another three songs here would work a charm). But take that with a grain of wheat: ultimately, this is an innovative, funny, and highly original production. Buckle up for a rally of a riot!

Have you ever wondered what you would do if you had killed somebody? Who would you call? What about if your best friend needed your help burying a body? Three Feet Under turns this idea into a hilarious story, as best friends Jax (played by Ivana Palezevic) and Libby (Helen Vivienne Fletcher) find themselves needing to bury the body of Sammy – Jax’s ex and Libby’s cousin. After digging a hole in a planter box in their garden, they wildly swing between arguing, panicking, and planning what they need to do next, testing their friendship in the chaos.

With green turf and a white picket fence (set design by Jo Marsh and Caleb Havill), Te Auaha’s Tapere Iti has been transformed into Jax and Libby’s back garden. The set is effective and believable, particularly as the characters react to noises and lights coming from neighbours' houses and constantly remind each other to keep their voices down to not draw attention. There are some great moments of physical humour, like when they drag a bloodstained, wrapped-up body across the stage, struggle to dump it into the hole they have dug, and position themselves in front of the planter box to stop anybody from seeing in.

The emotional variation throughout the play is navigated deftly by Palezevic and Fletcher, whose characters sway between a detached hyperfixation on hiding the evidence and full-blown panic, taking turns freaking out, then forcing a calm and sensible response to placate the other. At times, some of the lines feel a little too anticipated, making the responses muted, and I find myself wanting to see more impassioned and impulsive reactions. However, the plot is woven into their conversation well: the script is hilarious, relatable, and structured in a way that compellingly doles out the story.

This is the perfect show to take your bestie to if you’ve ever wondered how you would support each other in a crisis.

Guy Gunn (played by Kevin Orlando) is the host of an online beast-hunting series where he tracks down and kills mythological creatures, monsters, and cryptids. When he discovers that the beasts he is hunting have a meeting planned, he infiltrates it with schemes to reveal and destroy them. However, he soon learns of the struggles of the monsters, and sees their true humanity.

The opening sequence of the play is manic and wild. Presented as an introduction to the web series, Gunn and his assistant (Sean Dugdale-Martin) give a frenzied exposition to the story, intensified by rock music, haze, flashing lights, slick projection, and vivid voiceover. Guy Gunn and his assistant have impeccable, hilarious chemistry – the highlight of the show. They are sensationally over-the-top, with hammed-up facial expressions, gratuitous physical comedy, and exaggerated southern accents that seem to be a zany parody of Alex Jones.

Lighting design by Madyson King adds dynamism to the production, which is already bursting with energy. Projection and sound (both by director Mitchell Botting) are used extensively, bringing the audience in as viewers of Guy Gunn’s show and fantastically punctuating the humour without becoming overwhelming or overdone.

The pace lets up as the plot progresses, but the humour remains high, with jokes that are witty and delightfully crass in equal measure. At times it is hard to catch the fast-paced dialogue and abrupt voiceover lines, which saps energy by making the characters’ emotions or motivations unclear. However, the audience is kept laughing and engaged by the hilarity of the script and the commitment of the actors to their antics.

Guy Gunn: Beast Basher is a delightful show with actors who have unwavering dedication to the silliness of the plot and their characters. It also delivers an earnest message about being open-minded and not fearing what we do not understand. The play has been put together by a clearly brilliant ensemble who have buckets of fun squeezing every moment for all the golden comedy they can get.

Edit the Sad Parts is Jack McGee’s romantic drama about Debi (Aimée Sullivan), who is writing a short story about a break-up, eventually collaborating with her boyfriend Keith (Jamie Cain). Through Debi’s fictional characters Theresa (Emma Katene, Ngāti Kahungunu) and Montgomery (Dryw McArthur), the couple discovers a lot about their relationship, with some truths harder to chew on than a crayfish’s claw.

This performance offers up heartfelt and hilarious moments in equal measure. One second, your feelings are hit deep and hard, and the next, you’re bursting into laughter. McGee’s script is incredibly witty and depicts romance so well. All four actors bring these characters to life and add a realism that sometimes hits a bit too close to home – in the best way. Not only that, but the cast’s vocals are great, especially in Katene and Cain’s hilarious singing number.

While there are many unexpected moments that make the audience laugh, the most impactful are the quiet, revealing ones between the characters. Just when you think this is an ordinary play reading, something unhinged happens. Edit the Sad Parts expertly balances reality and fiction. 

I appreciate that there is no specific setting, as the plot is so universal it could happen to anyone in a relationship. However, it might have been helpful to place the story somewhere specific to ground it. I also love the technical elements towards the end, such as the use of Andrew McGee’s software and the total chaos of the final scene. However, it feels like there’s more of the story left to tell: the ending seems unresolved, as if something is missing.

All in all, Edit the Sad Parts strikes a harmonious chord on your heartstrings. Conceptually, it’s something special and has a lot of potential. I look forward to future renditions of this great play.

Ania Upstill’s solo clown show Transhumance is a sophisticatedly silly exploration of gender that entrances all ages. The show follows The Clown as they explore a series of train stations, each standing in for a prescriptive heteronormative gender identity. Upstill’s technical skills in physical theatre form the foundation of the work. Much of the movement utilised is deceptively simple, but their deployment and timing are expert. The Clown is a consistent, fully realised character throughout, even as they play with different modes of gender expression and physicality.

The set is minimal, an information sign and a suitcase of gendered clothing (scenic and prop design by Milo Robinson). There is no dialogue from The Clown, but sound is used to great effect; each station has music (Kendall Perry), and an officious voice issues instructions. From the outset, Upstill establishes rapport with the audience. Their character is warm, open, and curious, although we often see them in distress. We are called on to help interpret the information and objects available to The Clown. Upstill has us miming, lending objects from our bags, calling out suggestions, and, of course, laughing.

Gendered language is never used, but Upstill elucidates through physicality just how absurd our concept of rigid genders is, and how tiring it is to perform gender roles. Exhausted and troubled, The Clown rejects these narrow options, and boards a train once more.

In this third act of the piece, all the labour Upstill has put in thus far pays off in a series of simple, beautiful moves. The final station is peaceful. We all get some space to breathe, and The Clown shares a satsuma with us. The suitcase is cautiously opened once more, but this time it reveals a flourishing of flowers and birdsong. The sound of contentment that the audience makes in response is one of the loveliest things I’ve ever heard in a theatre. The Clown leaves a circlet of these flowers at the information counter for whichever travellers come along next.

Come in close: I have a tale to tell. Illuminated only by the torch glaring ‘neath my chin, my eyes blaze. The campfire crackles as the icy wind whips through the trees, carrying with it the secrets we hissed in the night. Blinding, the full moon rises behind the hilly horizon, crested with wisps of mist as a faint howl resounds in the distance. As fear shudders down your spine, the howl sounds again, closer this time. The beast grows hungrier.

Don’t you just love scary stories?

The narrator spinning tonight’s chilling yarn is one R. L. Stine, played by Malcolm Morrison, the director of this Goosebumps-inspired New Zealand Fringe Festival improv show. The beast in question? Stay tuned, reader.

Geesebumps kicks off when Morrison and a team of players from Outfox Improv – Tristram Domican, Guanny Liu-Prosee, Dianne Pulham, and Jem Palmer – ask the audience to call out something that evokes nostalgia from the 90s. Before I know it, I’ve yelled “Tamagotchi!” My suggestion is accepted and a famished and sinister handheld digital pet comes beeping into life.

The show takes the inherent unpredictability of improvised theatre to the next level, modelling itself off the Goosebumps choose-your-own-adventure spinoff Give Yourself Goosebumps and its iconic tagline ‘Reader beware… you choose the scare’. Tech plays a huge and brilliant part, with operator and producer Elliott Lam creating and projecting slides on the fly that determine the action. One such example is, typed in melty, monstrous font, the scenario:

The new Tamagotchi starts singing. Do you:
A) Tell it to shush
B) Join in the singing
C) Give it to the ants

My highlight is when Morrison decides we’ve chosen the wrong scare and instructs the cast to repeat the scene until he’s satisfied with the outcome. My next favourite moment is when Domican ominously intones “nom nom nom” as the Tamagotchi. As to whether our beasty is sated in the end… drum roll please… the episode is cleverly titled Tamagotcha.

Geesebumps: where improv and innovations swarm into one heaving anthill of silly, spooky nostalgia.

Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between and undecided, meet the masters of miracles, the instigators of the impossible, the explorers of the extraordinary, The Fabulous Fabelinskys in this heartwarming dramedy-meets-circus performance.

A travelling circus has just arrived in New Zealand for the first time. Papa, Mama (Rachel Winter Hase), Maisie (Booth the Clown), and Annie (Laura Oakley) have always pretended to be Russian, but everything gets off-kilter when Papa dies, leaving the women to negotiate not only how to survive without him in 1890s society, but who they want to be now that he’s gone.

Met with a set (Erin Belcher and costume magician Gogo Amy) framed by an old-fashioned caravan and plush red curtains connected by a washing line, it feels like you’ve entered the circus tent rather than the black-box theatre of Te Auaha. Colourful and brimming with mystery, the energy in the room is fizzing. Accompanied by the showstopping Show Pony on the fiddle, the rowdy roustabouts (Nathaniel Smith, Gogo Amy, Izzy Christine, Erin Belcher, and Mikayla Heasman) are pottering around as if in anticipation of something exceptional.

And exceptional it is. From the first moment Mama appears in her black shroud, to the slowly building and bubbling-over anxiety of Annie navigating this new uncertain world, and, of course, the always hilarious shenanigans of Maggie providing comic relief, The Fabulous Fabelinskys is performed tightly, intentionally, and with the greatest professionalism. Each and every character arc is as graceful and polished as a trapeze artist’s charted course through the sky. Not to mention the mesmerising circus acts brilliantly choreographed by Oakley – get hyped for hula hoops, ring, rope, and sword swallowing, folks – which weave the story together into a beautiful, cohesive whole.

A story about identity, family, grief, and self-belief that is equal parts perky and poignant and with a heaping dose of razzle-dazzle to boot, The Fabulous Fabelinskys spins a tale fully fictional but rooted in facts that takes audiences through the ups, downs, and loop-de-loops of life. Backflip and cartwheel your way into the tent before the circus leaves town.