Fairytales offer a chance for writers and their readers to enter worlds of enchantment and magic, peopled with mythical or fanciful beings. Kate DiCamillo’s The Hotel Balzaar features all of these, plus a writing style that may seem simplistic but nevertheless carries a serious theme.

The story is set in the eponymous hotel where Marta and her mother have come to live. We do not know where they have come from or why they are here – only that the mother works as a maid in the place, and the child Marta has the day to wander the hotel and occasionally to converse with its eccentric staff members.

Significantly, Marta dreams – and the dreams are of her missing father.

Enter an old woman, a countess, she professes, and on her shoulder perches a large green feathered parrot, a bird it transpires with an extraordinary secret identity. Now the tale gets truly underway with the countess’ invitation to Marta to visit her and the parrot, and to hear what they have to tell her. War is mentioned, and Marta’s sorrow for her missing father acknowledged.

The countess seems to understand, and by way of comfort promises more stories. The parrot, Blitzkoff, seems to understand also, and has his own way of furthering Marta’s mystified sense of knowledge, using his beak and his claws to guide her exploration of the hotel. “Perhaps I am only imagining all this,” Marta says to herself – something we might all be thinking from time to time.

At this stage, adult readers of this tale – or series of tales – will become increasingly engaged as the countess’ information, dressed as fairy story, takes greater hold. Marta has been promised seven stories, but she hears only six before the countess and her feathered friend disappear.

But this is a fairytale, and it cannot have a sad ending. The denouement of The Hotel Balzaar is possibly predictable, but its unravelling is both dramatic and touching.

Illustrations by Julia Sarda enhance a story that has much to say to any reader.

In our bustling, busy world, Hana Tapiata’s Atua Wāhine is a calm and cosy nook. Her book collects the ancient wisdom of Māori goddesses and applies it to the modern world, hoping to help us navigate daily challenges by following in the footsteps of our ancestors.

Tapiata draws on whakataukī (proverbs) and pūrākau (stories) to compile the energy and wisdom of 17 atua wāhine (goddesses). Through these, she eloquently and sensitively gives voice to their teachings, unlocking ancestral lessons. After recounting the stories and whakapapa of each Māori goddess, Tapiata applies the messages intrinsic within each pūrākau to her own life experiences and modern society followed by posing a series of questions and exercises the reader can use to apply this newfound knowledge in their own lifestyle.

Atua Wāhine becomes thus an exploration of self-awareness that fosters an approach to life rooted in tradition by guiding the reader through cycles of change and reframing ancient interpretations of the world to fit our modern systems and practices. This is where Tapiata’s writing is at its strongest. In collecting the story from an abstract place and condensing it down into a much more accessible space, she makes it relatable and applicable. She transforms ancestral knowledge into something not only essential for the future, but necessary for understanding the past and key to making the most of the present.

First and foremost a celebration and a tribute to women, Atua Wāhine is also for tāne (men), irakē (gender queer persons), and whānau. Tapiata makes a point to acknowledge the lack of focus dedicated to goddesses and acknowledges the sometimes demonised perspective through which they are depicted. My favourite passages are those in which she reframes a pūrākau to paint a more positive portrait of a villainised female figure. These moments are thoughtful, powerful, and essential to her goal of applying traditional stories to present practices.

Nuanced and nurturing, sensitive and strong, Atua Wāhine offers us a new perspective through which to perceive the world, while grounding us in the ancient knowledge of our ancestors.

From helping a mother cow give birth, to saving someone’s dog, it’s all in a day’s work for Rory Dean. Since moving to New Zealand from Edinburgh in 2015, he has had one amazing adventure after another as – you guessed it – a country vet.

While veterinary medicine might not be the first thing that comes to mind when you think of adventure, Rory would beg to differ. After almost a decade as a country vet in his adoptive homeland, he has seen it all, including the less fortunate, uglier side of life. One example that comes to mind is a dog that had broken one of its legs and was obviously in a lot of pain. Its owner was having troubles of his own and while Rory does not explicitly spell it out for us, it soon becomes clear there was more going on there than met the eye.

For animal lovers and people thinking about becoming a vet, this might be the book for you. Not only is it a fun read, but it will also give you a preview of what you’ll be getting into if you’re a budding animal doctor. Adventures of a Country Vet tells it like it is, and never sugarcoats the facts. This is not like a TV show where everything is clean and shiny. Sometimes things get messy, and we see what life as a vet is really like. Some people may not like that or be that into animals and will give this book a miss, but that would be a mistake, as it provides a glimpse into a life that not many people get to see.

Rory’s writing is open, honest, and without pretence. Despite everything he has done since arriving in New Zealand, he is downto-earth and humble. If you find Adventures of a Country Vet at your local bookshop, I suggest you pick it up and give it a go.

In Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Michelle (Mickey) is the girl who never quite fits, who never finds the thing that makes her heart soar – until the day she discovers running. It becomes an obsessive focus – an escape from her everyday reality and a fractured family left adrift by her dad Teddy, who has left to start a new family.

Mickey, the underachiever, labelled lazy by an absent yet controlling Teddy, is now destined for running greatness, setting her sights on winning the nationals. Emboldened by the physicality of running, the power it brings to her body and the exhilaration, it becomes the ultimate vessel by which she can achieve: one that will test her in ways she could never imagine. Her mother Bonnie, at first unsure whether to support her daughter’s new passion, spurs her on with a new pair of shoes.

Running for her life, running for her everything, Mickey sinks into the depths of a gruelling training schedule that leaves her on the brink of starvation and at the mercy of a lecherous coach.

Josie Shapiro writes quickly, boldly conveying the visceral energy that running entails, capturing the blood, sweat, and tears, the sheer commitment and the mental exhaustion, the “gritty residue of pain” that storms through a runner’s “entire body, where nothing felt clean or in its proper place”.

At times, Mickey finds herself flying high, her body transversing the air, all light and lithe and powerful. Here, everything is beautiful. At other times, her rail-thin sinewed body rallies against itself, pushed

Some things in life are reassuringly predictable. Every year seems to pass more quickly than the last, Christmas arrives before we are ready, and summer is later than we hope. The New Zealand Symphony Orchestra’s Messiah comes round every year too but, as this performance showed, familiar does not always mean as predictable as we might expect. The story, the music, solo voices, choir, and orchestra combine in a glorious whole. It’s magnificent, with so much scope for musical interpretation that this year’s concert was only predictable in its scheduling.

The Tudor Consort specialises in performing early music and their enduring reputation for excellence and meticulous attention to period detail were surely behind the very high bar Thomas Blunt set for his musicians. In what is generally thought of as a choral work, Blunt was not afraid to use his small orchestra of only 32 performers and lift them from liturgical accompaniment to equals in the storytelling. Surges in dynamics, unexpected accents, lyrical phrasing, shifting tone and tempo, and specific placement of performers on the stage gave this Messiah a refreshing and enjoyably different sound.

The four distinct styles of the soloists contrasted well with each other. Filipe Manu’s rich tenor soared operatically through Comfort Ye in a way that perhaps shouldn’t have worked but did. Anna Pierard’s He Was Despised was heavy with grief and sorrow without overly dramatic emotion. Madison Nonoa’s soprano voice has a surprising, delicate purity that lent more variety to this extraordinary performance. Hero of the hour, bass-baritone Samuel McKeever, did a remarkable job coming into this production at short notice to cover for the unwell Benson Wilson.

The NZSO was absolutely excellent and the star of the show was The Tudor Consort. Their precision, clarity, perfect diction (an essential part of the storytelling), and a flawlessly balanced and controlled sound produced too many perfect moments to name but many to remember. A glorious end to the year.

Orchestra Wellington crowned its year with Benjamin Britten’s War Requiem, a towering work of the 20^th century, deeply felt by the pacifist Britten and full of emotional impact for contemporary audiences in the current global conflicts. It is an inspired, spine-tingling, heart-wrenching work and the assembled musicians did it proud.

The work uses massive resources. A large choir, soprano soloist, and orchestra perform the Latin mass for the dead. A smaller orchestra accompanies two further soloists – baritone and tenor – who thread through the mass the disillusioned and bitter words of the First World War poet and soldier Wilfred Owen. The contrast between the sentiments of each component could hardly be more stark. And adding to this dramatic contrast is a smaller choir of children’s voices suggesting the innocence so harmed by war.

The music was variously reverential, mournful, beseeching, and consoling. But the dramatic and terrifying sense of war and disillusionment were omnipresent. The opening Requiem Aeternam, for example, started with a soft choir joined by ghostly children’s voices. But then, suddenly, an angry tenor voice was injected asking “What passing bells for these that die as cattle?” That dramatic juxtaposition continued throughout the work.

The soloists were soprano Morag Atchison, tenor Daniel Szesiong Todd, and baritone Benson Wilson. Atchison’s voice was dramatic and soaring, while Todd’s and Wilson’s were more intimate and restrained. The Orpheus Choir, marvellously prepared as usual by their director Brent Stewart, sang infinitely softly when needed and elsewhere thundered angrily.

Orchestra Wellington’s current composer-in-residence, Eve de Castro-Robinson’s impressive Hour of Lead preceded the requiem. She said that she thought of the piece as a prelude to Britten’s work. It reflected Britten very well, contrasting warlike instrumentation (including the orchestra’s tramping feet) with two exquisitely sweet well-known hymns.

Thank you Orchestra Wellington and Orpheus Choir for a very memorable concert.

The long-awaited screen adaptation of the Tony-winning Broadway musical Wicked trades the Yellow Brick Road for a trip down memory lane, whizzing through the story of how the green-skinned woman Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo) and Ozian it-girl Glinda (Ariana Grande) came to be known as the Wicked Witch of the West and the Good Witch of the North. An adventurous tale that celebrates female friendship and champions standing up for what’s right, this magical musical is as whimsical as it is wondrous, as outrageous as it is off-kilter.

Like its Broadway predecessor, the film version is also presented in two acts, with Defying Gravity serving as a show-stopping ending to part one. In many ways, the screen adaptation remains faithful to the stage play, which in turn was based on Gregory Maguire’s 1995 novel that reimagines the characters from The Wizard of Oz books. Like the stage musical, Stephen Schwartz wrote the music and lyrics, while Winnie Holzman wrote the book, but the director’s seat is occupied by Jon M. Chu, who crafts a multicoloured, maximalist dreamscape alongside production designer Nathan Crowley and costume designer Paul Tazewell. Arm in arm with these wonderful world-building wizards, cinematographer Alice Brooks adds the icing on the emerald cake with her bold colour choices and sweeping shots. I just wish Myron Kerstein’s editing had featured slower cuts so we could take it all in better.

The story is an archetypal myth where good is pitted against evil, the comfort of the status quo juxtaposing the freedom of changing the world. Wicked does not reinvent the wheel in its saga of misunderstanding and alienation – even with its subplot of animal persecution. But the wheel isn’t broken, and with Erivo and Grande behind the reins it trots along nicely. Their excellent chemistry is made all the more enjoyable by their opposite vibes, while appearances from Michelle Yeoh as Madame Morrible and Jeff Goldblum as Oz add an extra layer of grandiosity. What begins as loathing between Elphaba and Glinda blossoms into love and mutual respect, and there is always room for more interactions that pass the Bechdel Test in Hollywood.

Fun and fantastical with more than a few Easter eggs for fans, Wicked is wickedociously, whimsifyingly wonderful.

The 2023 New Zealand general election may go down in history as one of the more exciting and important ones in a very long time. The implications could be staggering for ordinary Kiwis, now and years down the line. Some people might still be asking themselves, are we truly back on track, or will issues like the ever-widening wealth gap and the cost of living get worse over time? The title Back on Track? The New Zealand General Election of 2023 raises an interesting question, and if you took a survey, you would probably get several different answers depending on which side of the political fence people sit on.

Rather than concentrating on just the politics, editor Stephen Levine focuses on all facets of the election. This includes the media’s involvement and its role in shaping the news. There is genuine introspection into how the mainstream media has lost some of the public’s trust, and the obstacles they face to reclaim it. While it’s a debate for another time, it needs to be had, especially now when people are relying so much on social media for news coverage.

Political leaders are interviewed, giving readers a chance to peer behind the curtain and see what was going through their minds at the time and why they did what they did. My favourite part of the book was the cartoons – those little political illustrations that poke fun at our politicians but tell a story that news articles never could. It was fun learning a little about the function of the cartoon in our media landscape and how much sway they hold over today’s readers.

At first glance, Back on Track? might not interest those who are less interested in politics. However, for the political animals out there that eat this stuff up and want to know more about the election’s inner workings? This is going to be magic from heaven.

In the second installment of this fantasy series, author Jessica Jayne Webb builds on her first novel, The Secrets of Wilderfort Castle by expanding her otherworldly setting of mystery, intrigue, and a plot full of twists and turns.

In The Waiting, Agatha Wilderfort, now well versed in the many secrets her inherited Wilderfort Castle holds, is at first listless and disengaged – Charles (her love) is missing, or perhaps worse, in the daemon realm. Buoyed by those around her, Caelan, Variwen, Naga, Helgam, the girl-witch Pollyanna, and the deadly but loyal Fey, all encourage her indomitable spirit. The possibility of being able to contact Charles to find his exact whereabouts by combining three dangerous spells is irresistible to a desperate Agatha, and so the journey begins.

The Waiting is Charles’ story too, with the alliances and tradeoffs he must make to survive and return to Agatha unscathed. Lord Caspian is back in all his ugly glory and an uneasy suspense unfolds over Oxxy, the air daemon. Retrieved from Caspian’s manor, Oxxy’s subsequent behaviours beg the question whether he is in the throes of a stunning betrayal, or the victim of something more sinister.

It’s hard not to notice Webb’s progress as a writer in this fantastical saga with daemons – both good and bad – and the parallel realms in which they reside. I enjoyed the carefully crafted characters, the water daemon, shape changer, forest daemon, warlock, and girl-witch. These otherworldly beings with their magic and nuanced powers complement the romance element of the story.

Whether thwarting an impending threat of a greater daemon entering the human realm or summoning her burgeoning powers as a choler, the race is on to open the door to where Charles lingers.

My only slight frustration with The Waiting was the trees printed on the pages, most probably intended to evoke a sense of a dark and foreboding realm. Instead, they were a little distracting. This aside, I look forward to reading the next installment from Webb: The Change, where a new war is brewing.

“Eclectic” is an understatement as a descriptor for this collection. The latest Landing Edge anthology continues its tradition of social commentary – this time with contributions from 92 writers of all ages and from varying cultural and language backgrounds. In place of the erudite and the esoteric, we get a diversity of poetic reflections on the theme of generations that are appealing in their relatability.    

Asher Carey, aged seven, has a view on how generations start – you can say a lot in five lines! Vaughan Rapatahana writes his poem in te reo and English, and concludes with “I walk backwards into the future, with my eyes fixed on the past.” And James Brown opens with “Ancestors are deceased people who bother you sometimes.”

Life’s worth by Maytal Noy, whose extended family lives in Israel, offers a spinechilling view of the conflict between Israel and Gaza: every line here is a challenge. It demonstrates that a poem can make a powerful statement every bit as effective as a political one.

Sure to rise by Suse MacGillivray is, perhaps predictably for some readers, a tribute to the Edmonds Cookery Book. Here is an affectionate look at a century-old recipe collection, recalled with images to make us smile: “from dog-eared, sticky and stained” to deluxe editions espousing tahini and cashew cream.   

Kaumatua by Ricky Masterman is the only poem here that rhymes! Rhyming gives momentum and that’s what enhances a ballad-style account of a long and satisfying life. I loved “the kids came fast and grew like grass, we squeezed the beggars in.”

Among the poems about women, Do not go by Jan Jordan is one of the most outstanding. Known for her writings about women as victims and survivors of sexual violence, Jordan’s use of language powerfully recalls the times when the “nymphs of the pave” were most vulnerable “to the blue sleeve of the law”.

Now and Then is an accessible read, an encouragement to new writers, and a breath of nostalgia for us all.

This slim volume comes to us by way of a poet and a painter. The poet is Dinah Hawken and the painter is Patricia France. They never met. But their collaboration gives us a unique blend of words and paintings that evokes a sense of beauty and reflective wisdom.

When she was in her fifties, France – in a remarkable act of self-responsibility – admitted herself to Ashburn Hall, a psychiatric hospital in Dunedin. And it was at her psychiatrist’s urging that she began to “paint out the past” as a path to rebirth. This she continued to do for the rest of her life, and we have this book as a record of her visual reflections.

The paintings feature women – especially their faces – and flowers. I can’t imagine two subjects more suited to contemplation and peace of mind! Hawken references the “straight backs and Wesleyan beliefs” of their forebears and lo! the accompanying painting is of a backward-leaning woman looking straight ahead. The poems throughout comment similarly and sometimes subtly on France’s work. That the writer can only guess the artist’s intention adds to the intrigue of her poems.

Titles are sometimes borrowed from other works: often T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets which France listened to while painting. A boatshed below the Caselberg house in Broad Bay is charmingly recalled: “It’s as if each artist waits like an upturned boat / for their season and their oars.” One of the more challenging paintings is matched by Hawken’s title What are they thinking? She asks this of three female figures – a mother and on either side two daughters. They “look through / the present, in which she is absent, into the future.” The unimaginable summer is another less-than-optimistic poem, placed side by side with a painting redolent with fiery red – referencing in our poet’s mind the Australian bushfires.

Faces and Flowers: Poems to Patricia France is a tribute to painting, to poetry, and to the colour they both celebrate.

A new, locally written adaptation of Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations, this musical is a massive feat and obviously a labour of love. It features original music composed by Katie Morton, an 11-person strong orchestra (musical direction by Saar Cohen-Ronen), and over 20 committed performers.

Gryphon Theatre has been rotated so that the audience sits lengthways down the auditorium, allowing for a wide stage space. The band is visible behind the action on one side, while the other has been built up for a raised acting area. This orientation creates some challenges, as the acting space becomes thin, limiting the depth for the blocking of action and making it difficult to hear the dialogue over the lively large band when the performers are in one corner of the stage.

Dickens’ Great Expectations has a complex, drawn-out plot, which poses another challenge in adapting it to the stage. The show is close to three hours long, with much of the dialogue and lyrics leaning more into exposition than character development. Many technical elements are employed to tell the story, including sound effects (sound design by director Tanya Piejus), projections (AV design by Emma Maguire), smoke, and even a puppet. As the lighting (design by Jamie Byas and Brian Byas) uses colour creatively to set location and mood, the projections – which are tricky to see – feel superfluous to me. Wardrobe design by Wendy Howard assisted by Hayley Knight excellently captures the characters and time period. I would love to see more focus on the emotion in the acting and blocking over the use of technology, which I feel would help to lift the story (and music) off the page.

While an adaptation of this scale faces many challenges, when the full ensemble sings in harmony there is a fantastic sound and vibrancy. I hope to see future productions of Pip and commend Wellington Repertory Theatre for going all out on this ambitious project, dedicated to the memory of John Golder and his wife Alison.

The MILK canon is rightly capitalised because it is very loud (like a canon, wow) and chaotic. “It’s like Wipeout but inside!”, creator Sean Burnett Dugdale-Martin yells in a press release, proving my point. MILK is long-form improv meets water balloons, whereby a group of players – in this case Salomé Grace Neely, Anna Barker, Sarah Penny, Adriana Dana Vasinca, and Ezra Prattley – create a story out of suggestions from the audience, who pelt them with projectiles whenever they want something onstage to change.

This could be as simple as a performer going from happy to sad, stoked about a hegg (hairy egg, of course) to grossed out by it, or it could be as dire and consequential as a death in the MILK family. This happens when a seemingly ordinary, secretly legendairy water balloon explodes, revealing its creamy contents and changing the course of the show forever.

In The MILKYVERSE, which MC Dugdale-Martin introduces in a fittingly hilarious and hectic manner (in fact, they even forget to tell us what to do with the water balloons) (all good, it’s pretty self-explanatory), our protagonist (Dana Vasinca) has moved out of Mum/Grandma’s (Grace Neely) home into a flat with an exceedingly hairy roommate (Prattley) whose mum (Barker) has a hernia, according to a doctor moonlighting as Chappell Roan (Penny). Tasked with clearing the hair out of the flat lest the Milkyverse combust, the protagonist travels to a different dimension where people (especially whoever Barker is playing at the time) can open doors with their minds! Only doors in their line of vision though! Still, impressive!

Special shoutout to design lead and technician Anne Larcom for a brilliant insertion of Enya’s Only Time in The MILKYVERSE, the third out of six milky seasons that I’ve seen. I love these fun and funny, silly and soggy shows and lean into each one harder than the last. In fact, as a fresher for 2022’s MILKOWEEN!, I threw no balloons! For my second encounter, Milly Monka’s MILK Factory (2023), I threw one! And for The MILKYVERSE, I threw 2(%)! Get it, like two-percent milk!

I will now officially sign off and leave the puns to the experts: Ruff as Gutz, who have churned out yet another udderly fantastic show. Whey to go! 

After a busy international season, principal conductor Gemma New is at home on the podium with the NZSO and it was a pleasure to see her expressive, expansive style again.

We know a lot about what the universe looks like, but the resonances of space have to be enormously augmented by technology before we can hear a sound wave in a vacuum. Music often settles in this absence of sound and Kaija Saariaho’s Asteroid 4170: Toutatis is unquestionably what my contemporary experience tells me space sounds like. Wonderful orchestration of slow and eerie sounds of strings and harps punctuated with blasts of brass and percussion left us in no doubt there is a lot to listen to in that vacuum.

Christian Tetzlaff tackled Elgar’s Violin Concerto in B Minor with absolute mastery. His rich, confident, emotional tone contrasted with technical excellence where the combination of speed, double stopping, and huge shifts with the bow didn’t faze him at all. After Toutatis, this was musically more Earth bound but also sky high.

Gustav Holst’s The Planets is epic, evocative, and vivid. New’s sense of drama is well suited to bringing these astrological characters to life. The quality of the interpretation between conductor and orchestra was absolutely on point. Holst’s composition, rhythm, and orchestration is of course critical and brings the characters to the stage – Mars, the Bringer of War; Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age; Neptune, the Mystic and so on – but the conductor and musicians must make them real. Musical excellence gave each of the planets their individual nature, the section principals were brilliant as usual, and the tone and volume of the Voices New Zealand Chamber Choir were flawless. There was also something extra going on in this performance. New somehow linked the heartbeats of the planetary cousins to create connection and an awe-inspiring sense of the whole universe.

Celebrating 20 years of the Circa pantomime, this year’s offering was always going to be special. It’s fitting, then, that this edition of the panto has a Dr Who-inspired, time-travelling twist with Anita Minute (Jthan Morgan) dressed in a sparkly third-Doctor-themed tailcoat and necktie (costume design by Sheila Horton) and a Portal-Oo in place of the TARDIS. It’s great to see Jackson Burling back in a full role, rather than playing swing, as Justin Time, Anita’s companion. There’s even a nerdalicious nod to Jurassic Park in Natasha McAllister’s velociraptor minion and the occasional callback to previous pantos, including Lyndee-Jane Rutherford’s Goosey with her nasal “Hoooooonk!” for those of us old enough to remember Mother Goose 11 years ago.

Writers Gavin Rutherford and Simon Leary have created another wonderfully entertaining, homegrown adaptation of a classic fairytale with all the Wellington-themed and political jokes we’ve come to expect. The digs at David Seymour, Winston Peters, and Shane Jones elicited laughs from the largely adult opening-night audience and Bronwyn Turei tearing in half a sheet of paper and performing a haka with Morgan received the biggest roar of applause for acknowledging current political events.

The cast of experienced performers work beautifully and energetically together and lean into the gender-fluid and inclusive nature of the panto. No one does a villain like Bronwyn Turei as evil fairy Dusk, and Simon Leary and Kathleen Burns are charming as Dawn and Day, fairy dads to the delightful Aurora Australis (Rachel McSweeney) and her stunning singing voice.

As ever, Michael Nicholas Williams comes up trumps with his musical arrangements of pop hits by stars ranging from The Beach Boys to Cher and Ed Sheeran and even sneaks in a homage to the Dr Who theme.

Ian Harman’s set design, including a stunning painted cobblestone floor, and Marcus McShane’s lighting create a lush and vibrant stage for yet another fabulous, funny, and flirty pantomime. Oh, no they didn’t! Oh, yes they did!

The huge, urgent string opening was the surge of adrenaline and excitement Icarus might have felt when he took flight on the wings his father made for him. Lera Auerbach’s Icarus flew through the orchestral gamut, exploring melody, dissonance, rhythm, movement, tone, and some superb instrumental arrangements. The flute might often represent flight but Auerbach somehow did the same with just the brass and reed woodwind.

Alexander Gavrylyuk brought his virtuosic piano talent to the work of another virtuoso and proved himself more than equal to the task. With 24 variations to play with, conductor Vasily Petrenko held the orchestra perfectly in its complex supporting role. Sergei Rachmaninov’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini must cover every key the piano has. Gavrylyuk’s touch is equally wide ranging. In a slower, perhaps even mournful variation, he conveyed an incredible weight of emotion through the piano keys with enormous sensitivity. In the showpiece cadenzas and livelier movements, he proved he could combine great technical skill with that same sensitivity to give each variation on the theme its own distinct character and style.

Béla Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra lived up to its somewhat confusing title as the orchestra stepped into the limelight for its own solo performances. In five movements Bartók gave every section of the orchestra their 15 seconds of fame. The strings had us captured from their slowly building start, Petrenko drew an impressively delicate and transparent sound from the brass section, the clarinet solo was prominent, the piccolo had lots of perfectly executed exposure, and my favourite, the violas, did a superb job of their solo passage. The final movement built to fever pitch before its sudden but joyous end. Earlier in the evening Petrenko had told us this was “funky, and fun to play” and the NZSO always seem to add an extra something when they’re clearly having fun.

Simultaneously an ode to Italy and a denunciation, Caro Diario (1993) is a far cry from the mainstream media who idealise the European lifestyle. If that’s the world you’re dreaming of watch this first, because this is how it truly feels, what it actually looks like, and how it really is.

Caro Diario, which is both written and directed by Italy’s contemporary auteur filmmaker Nanni Moretti (who also stars in the film), is autobiographical in style with a touch of magical realism. It’s an open diary that doesn’t follow the narrative form we are accustomed to. Rather, it ambles through moments and emotions, thoughts and events, capturing the essence of a time, place, or feeling instead of prioritising story. That said, it’s not without structure.

Segmented into three chapters, On My Vespa pays homage to Moretti’s beloved Roma, but the back alleys and suburbs that are deserted and desolate during the summer holiday of Ferragosto – an occurrence ingrained in the culture and intrinsic to the country. The centrepiece Islands is a Ulyssean journey to the Aeolian Islands to find inspiration for his next film, but without success, Moretti tells us as we sit in the cinema watching his antics. The final chapter Doctors is a slice of life with actual footage of medical notes, appointments, and treatments – the disdain for Italian bureaucracy is palpable.

Caro Diario is intimate, in part due to Moretti’s narration, which feels like he’s talking to a friend, paired with Mirco Garrone’s slow editing that allows Giuseppe Lanci’s poetic cinematography to wash over us. Marta Maffucci’s authentic and unpretentious production design completes the trifecta, creating a world that you are firmly a part of. In what is reminiscent of a Roman epic or a classic saga, Caro Diario is rooted in philosophical musings, but it doesn’t forgo lightness, charm, and humour. Much like in life itself, moments simply happen, good and bad waltz arm in arm, and the little things are the most special.

Screening as part of the Italian Film Festival, Caro Diario may not depict the Italy you’re dreaming of, but it distils the visceral, infuriating, poetic, and magical place it really is.

After almost 40 years since he formed Crowded House with bassist Nick Seymour and drummer Paul Hester, Neil Finn’s voice sounds almost unchanged. What has changed, however, is that his two sons Liam (guitar) and Elroy (drums) play alongside him – and it’s obvious that this means a lot to him.

It may just be because this was the first of 16 concerts in Australasia, but the band was clearly excited to play to their home crowd again. Neil and Nick are the sole constant members, but Mitchell Froom (keyboards) actually produced the first three Crowded House albums – the first in 1986! This is a band with longevity.

They came on to the stage in the dark with lanterns, leading into the raging When You Come, a surprise starter. The follow-up World Where You Live had the audience rocking. Teenage Summer was the first song from the new album Gravity Stairs – the new songs mixing seamlessly with the classics. For Oh Hi, Neil got the audience to sing on the chorus and though the verse was almost too high for him, he had strong backing-vocal support from Liam, Nick, and Elroy. To the Island, featuring lead guitar by Liam and Mitchell’s ethereal keyboards, received special applause.

Four Seasons in One Day had the phone-waving crowd singing along, followed by It’s Only Natural, which got some up dancing. The light show was stunning – especially when highlighting the stage props, which looked like giant pipe cleaners!

Neil then switched to piano for a selection of songs, including the languid Night Song – which segued cleverly into Message to My Girl. Private Universe, driven by percussionist Paul Taylor, rose to a crescendo. Elroy then switched to acoustic guitar, with Taylor on drums, for Thirsty.

This was one of the most interactive concerts I have seen. The audience needed no coaxing to join in singing the choruses on the classics: Four Seasons in One Day, the first encore Weather With You, and the finale Better Be Home Soon. This iconic New Zealand band, playing vital new music and much-loved classics, showed their adoring audience the meaning of being entertained. Legends.

Marc Taddei’s choice of George Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess to illustrate the part jazz has in the history of music was inspired. The music combines classical, jazz, gospel, spiritual, and blues idioms and is full of energy, colour, and sheer beauty. This performance was a 1956 arrangement of the opera by Russell Garcia for full orchestra, a choir, and three solo vocalists, including one who narrates offstage action.

The orchestra was on fire throughout, the large brass section having a particularly good time with the jazz idioms. Soprano Deborah Wai Kapohe, playing all the female characters including Bess, was outstanding, her voice flexible, with an excellent range, and both sweet and strong. Bass Eddie Muliaumaseali’i, as both Porgy and Crown, his villainous rival for Bess, was equally impressive. He had an imposing presence and his wonderfully integrated voice was rich, smooth, and dramatic. Tenor Siliga Sani Muliaumaseali’i (Eddie’s brother in real life) provided the narration and sang the role of drug-dealer Sportin’ Life with convincing menace. The audience was treated to characterful performances of arias such as Summertime, I Got Plenty O’ Nuttin’, It Ain’t Necessarily So, and Bess, You Is My Woman Now. The choir complements the soloists in creating the drama and pathos of the opera. An outstanding group of Pasifika singers from the award-winning, Wellington-based Signature Choir provided this component of the performance very sympathetically. Jacqueline Coats’ staging of the opera was minimal, clever, and amusing.

Porgy and Bess was preceded by the annual appearance of Arohanui Strings, a group of Wellington and Hutt Valley youngsters grasping the opportunity to learn and make music. This always heartwarming event featured A Kalahari Eclogue, an attractive composition by Keith Moss, supplemented by simpler pieces that even smaller children participated in. “Adorable”, said Taddei, and they were.

In sum, with Taddei’s imaginative programming and natural ebullience, Orchestra Wellington triumphed again.

Entering through a tempest to get to Circa Theatre, I was unaware of the storm of laughter that The Tempestuous would bring. Inspired by the Bard himself, William Shakespeare, this musical solo show sees Princess Rosa navigating a cyclone of menopausal witches, full-of-themselves courtiers, and much ado about baking tarts.

Penny Ashton multi-roles this captivating story like no other. She commands the audience with great vigour and humour, making us burst into fits of laughter frequently. Each character that Ashton embodies is incredibly distinct – no mean feat considering she plays at least 10 roles as one incredibly talented actor with impressive vocals to boot (musical direction and compositions by Robbie Ellis). Let’s not forget that unparalleled one-person swordfight.

The Tempestuous is a satire, often critiquing the role of men, which I must say is rather deserved. Not just a laugh fest, the show also draws from current affairs and is very politically relevant.

Ashton’s multi-rolling extends not only onstage but also behind the scenes, as she is also the show’s writer, sound designer, producer, publicist, and more. The Tempestuous is well written using ‘ye olde English’ and features many a rhyming couplet. The stage is filled with many surprises, often causing the audience to chuckle when props are revealed (our prop artist is none other than… you guessed it, Ashton).

Ashton wears a stunning corset dress (costume design by Elizabeth Whiting and corset design by Katie McGettigan) that is so detailed, it almost stops the show in its elegant tracks.

Ashton’s gift for audience interaction is a highlight – especially the improvised moments, such as addressing a latecomer and the one who left their glasses. My only criticism is that I wish there had been more audience interaction overall.

The Tempestuous made me cackle like the coven of witches within it. If you want to laugh until your corset splits, then gallivant to Circa Theatre at thy earliest convenience – or be damned!