Billed as “a stunning night of hits from the greatest divas”, the almost-full house was not disappointed. The Lady Killers were Suzanne Lynch, Jackie Clarke, and Sharon Emirali – a very able replacement for Tina Cross, who had COVID.  

With a mixture of group medleys and solo performances, this was a masterclass in top-notch, high-energy singing, with superb band arrangements led by talented keyboardist Grant Winterburn. The simple-themed backdrops included photos and were a great touch that didn’t detract from the onstage action. The minimal light show enhanced the visibility of all the singers and band members, making for more inclusive interaction between artists and audience. 

But the highlight of the evening? The songs from divas as diverse as Nina Simone and Taylor Swift. Jackie said the night was about “women who sing and write with their hearts and souls, and have made the beautiful soundtracks of our lives”.  

Sweet Dreams, followed by the gorgeous (You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman, got vocal chords and the crowd warmed up nicely. An energetic Valerie was followed by Son of a Preacher Man, featuring Suzanne’s sultry vocals. Stop! In the Name of Love featured the solid rhythm section of Karika Turua (bass) and Adam Tobeck (drums). Single Ladies had more than a few ladies out of their seats dancing. For Venus, with Chet O’Connell’s frenetic guitar playing, the audience sang along enthusiastically. 

The Pointer Sisters’ Jump (For My Love) segueing into Van Halen’s Jump, without the band missing a beat, was a masterstroke. How Will I Know had the crowd loudly clapping and singing along – but the sound mix was so good that The Lady Killers were never drowned out! 

After the interval, 9 to 5 got the crowd straight back into party mode. I Will Survive, Man! I Feel Like A Woman!, Jackie’s stunning vocal range on Wuthering Heights... so many songs, too many highlights to list! With the final song Waterloo, after more than two hours of diva hits, we felt like we had just been in party central – Wellington style!

The Secret Society was an early 20^th century club of French musicians, writers, and artists. Claude Debussy’s music greatly influenced this group. Two other featured composers in this concert programme, Maurice Ravel and Florent Schmitt, were members. A fourth composer, Lili Boulanger, was not a member though musically she would have fitted admirably. The Secret Society did not admit women. Tragically, she died in 1918 aged 24.

Debussy’s Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun was the only work in the programme that is standard in the orchestral repertoire. (How well conductor Marc Taddei educates his audience!) This haunting and largely dream-like work feels almost like a 10-minute improvisation. There is little urgency in it but the whole is beautifully balanced and complete. Taddei did not go for the lushest interpretation and I was happy with that.

The audience loved Ravel’s Piano Concerto for the Left Hand with soloist Jian Liu. Written for a soldier who lost his arm in war, the one hand achieves all (and more) that you would expect of two. The full brass and thumping percussion and lovely use of lower-pitched instruments made for satisfying listening. Jian Liu was thoroughly on top of it. His encore, Flight of the Bumblebee by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, was cheekily for right hand only!

Boulanger’s D’un Soir Triste (Of A Sad Evening) was her final work. The range of emotion and expression is remarkable. It is morose and gaunt at times, dignified, fearful, resigned, then quietly reflective. A monumental work, strongly performed.

Congratulations to Orchestra Wellington for the dynamic delivery of a very challenging programme; challenging for listeners as well as players. After the final item, Schmitt’s The Tragedy of Salome, a very dramatic piece with brass and percussion just about lifting the roof off, I felt quite wrung out! The Tudor Consort contributed to this work, providing great relief with their lovely voices.

Trees, Bees, and Me definitely tops the list of my favourite shows! I don’t even know where to start in telling you how absolutely captivating, magical, and real this show is.

The excitement in the air is contagious as we enter the theatre. The stage, designed and built by Brendan West and James Searle, resembles the perfect backyard. Three of the most beautiful tūī that you will ever see (Gabby Clark, Ryan Cundy, and Tadhg Mackay) enter with a cheerful song and gorgeous costumes, designed and created by Victoria Gridley. The cast members are so versatile and play multiple different characters throughout the show. They portray each character so well that you can’t help but love even the bad guys.

Mackay also plays Poppa, a loving grandad with a green thumb and a love for the whenua and his whānau. Mimi (Salomé Neely) is a brave young girl who needs some answers. Her brother Trey (Clark) is too funny and has everyone laughing at his quirky personality. Dad (Cundy) is supportive, fun, and very charismatic. Nan (Catriona Tipene) is the perfect nan with her famous ‘bikkies’ and nurturing nature.

Written by Benny Tipene, the songs are playful, meaningful, and bring an extra sprinkle of magic to every scene. Trees, Bees, and Me tugs at your heartstrings and gets you emotionally invested in the relationships of the characters. The audience is rallied up: we belly laugh, boo the bad guys, and cheer for the outcome we’ve all been hoping for.

Of course, my favourite thing to do after a show is to ask Mister Almost Six what part he loved the most. Well, I can’t tell you that this time because I don’t want to ruin it for you… but Binnie creeps deep into your heart!

Produced by Horse With No Name, Trees, Bees, and Me is not a show to miss – trust me!

There are moments in which we realise that life is all about perspective. My Week with Maisy is just that, both within the world of the short film and in real life. A Show Me Shorts Film Festival submission starring the inimitable Dame Joanna Lumley as uptight retiree Emily Foster, this short albeit sweet story takes place in a chemotherapy treatment room. Anxious, brimming with feelings of self-pity, and with a glass-half-empty mentality, Mrs Foster can think of nothing worse than to share her time slot with Maisy (Ellie-Mae Siame), a whirlwind inquisitive child aspiring to be a lesbian. As their treatments progress, the pair form an unlikely bond that offers healing and unexpected, newfound hope.

Set entirely in an incongruously chirpy fuchsia and blush space, the design team deserves huge props. Production designer Anna Papa and set dresser Lydia Perez breathe freshness and vitality into a weighty world. Rather than compounding feelings of hopelessness and fear, the candy-pop décor is a physical representation of looking on the bright side of life. In perfect harmony, Hannah Teare’s costumes capture the two characters’ essences – Mrs Foster in a dowdy, prim suit and Maisy in outlandish onesies, a neon green wig making more than one surprise appearance. It would be remiss of me not to mention the immense talent of cinematographer Emma Dalesman, her saccharine landscape gleaming bright from the screen.

Under award-winning director Mika Simmons’ deft guidance, Lumley and Siame shine. They bring writer Mark Oxtoby’s exquisitely complex characters to life tenderly, wholly, and with the utmost deliberateness. The tightly coiled Mrs Foster gently begins to unwind as Maisy, wise beyond her years, wiggles between the cracked façade with her unapologetic candidness. “My dad says it’s always best to say what you mean,” Maisy declares in their first conversation. Taken aback at first, by the end, Mrs Foster has been won over by Maisy’s charm, eagerly awaiting each visit and entreating her to never change.

A short film supported by the Create Health Foundation that says so much in so little time, My Week with Maisy will fill your cup.

Aaron Copland is the ‘Dean of American Music’ who established a distinctly American style. His Appalachian Spring Suite, written for a ballet and often played alone as an orchestral work, is one of his most recognisable pieces. It tells a simple story of ordinary people in 19^th century rural Pennsylvania. The music has a clarity and calmness that reflects the lives and values of Appalachian society. A solo clarinet always sounds pastoral and the audience was transported immediately to a rural setting. The sequence of images continued to be clear, thanks to a stellar performance by the orchestra under the baton of principal conductor Gemma New.

Pianist Stephen De Pledge was gifted Lyell Cresswell’s Piano Concerto No. 3 upon the composer’s death in 2022. De Pledge described it as “swathes of contrasting colour like a painting by Howard Hodgkin”. The pianist brought every note to life, carefully crafting and presenting it like a Hodgkin abstract. It was an unmistakably modern piece but, at the same time, one with a familiar tone. De Pledge led us through the music – complex and multi-layered, sometimes noisy and perplexing – and we could see him clearly putting his heart and soul into the performance.

Undaunted by the switch from a 21^st century abstract representation to Mozart’s Symphony No. 41 in C major, New was obviously enjoying herself. Perfectly weighted, positioned, and balanced accents in the opening bars of the second movement were followed by a most delicate but lively third movement, and the delayed phrasing in the fourth felt like we were always on the brink of ending the evening only to be lifted up again by the next phrase. A highly skilled orchestra, in tune with a talented conductor, brilliantly interpreting a mature Mozart symphony combined to an impeccable performance. Our creative capital has plenty in the tank. It’s our job to get out there and enjoy it!

I grew up watching DVD boxsets of Fawlty Towers with my dad. When I heard a live rendition of the cult-classic BBC Two British sitcom was coming to a Wellington hotel – served up with a three-course meal to boot – I jumped at the chance to review. My plus one? My dad, of course.

We arrive at Oaks Wellington Hotel to be greeted by a (far-too-nice) concierge, so to speak (executive producer Jared Harford), who checks our names at the door. While waiting in the lobby to be let into the restaurant, a roving Basil Faulty (Jed McKinney), Sybil Faulty (Eilannin Harris-Black), and Manuel (Michael Gonsalves) – a cranky and bumbling hotelier, his wife who can kill a man with one blow of her tongue, and a frazzled waiter who doesn’t speak English – begin to bicker under their breath, their whispers hissing through the space like a boiling pot of celery soup. Their characters need to keep their guests in the dark, but as actors, they need their audience to catch every little acidic jab. They nail the balance, and delightfully, the show is late to start. I’m not sure whether this is deliberate, but it’s certainly appropriate.

Our three-course meal starts with soup (which I’ve fondly nicknamed ‘pumpkin surprise’ and ‘perhaps pea’) and cold bread rolls (oddly, there was not too much butter on those trays). Waiters (real ones from Oaks) place our bowls haphazardly on the tables, missing punters left, right, and centre. You can tell they’re having a blast. The main course is a chicken breast with powdery, cakey mash and the dessert is a quite-yummy cheesecake, actually! While we eat, the three actors own the room, riffing with guests and each other in a part-improv, part-scripted interactive dining experience that leaves others I’ve seen for dust.

My favourite moment is when Basil attempts to hang a mounted fish above a vegetarian audience member who has just finished lecturing him on cruelty to animals. He also accuses me of pick pocketing when I try to retrieve something from my jacket out in the lobby, which is gleefully frightening. I sprint back to my seat, whimpering and giggling in the same breath. McKinney is aptly acerbic, though his simmering rage doesn’t boil over until the final scene. When it does, wow – what a show. Harris-Black is a knockout as Sybil and commands our attention with every word – spoken or screeched (sorry, sung). Though, I long to hear Sybil's iconic catchphrase, “Oh I know”. Gonsalves is charming, manic, and gormless all in one as the lovable Manuel.

Put all your money on this horse: Faulty Towers The Dining Experience is deliciously unforgettable.

The boys are back! They’re grubby, swashbuckling, and here to save France – you best believe they’ll do it with panache as well in The Three Musketeers: Milady.

The second instalment of this cinematic treatment of Alexandre Dumas’ classic novel is just as rambunctious and rollicking as the first. In fact, it packs even more of a punch as war no longer looms over France but engulfs it. Full of intrigue and deceit, the festering and convoluted plot centres around the famous three musketeers – Athos (Vincent Cassel), Porthos (Pio Marmaï), and Aramis (Romain Duris) – alongside new recruit and friend Charles D’Artagnan (François Civil) just like in the first half. This time around though, the scheming Milady de Winter (Eva Green) no longer relegates herself to the sidelines – she gladly takes centre stage in a role that’s equal parts femme fatale, trained assassin, and betrayed lover. She is an equal match for the men both in sword fighting and mental games, and she does it all in heels and a corset.

Opening with an expertly spliced recap courtesy of editor Stan Collet, you don’t even need to see part one of Martin Bourboulon’s lavish, all-star adaptation… though I would highly recommend it. The extravagant €70 million production wants for nothing as armies traipse across the countryside, battalions commandeer castles towering over the sea, ships crumble in the wake of cannons, and fire sets the world ablaze in part two. This is a stark contrast to its predecessor, which took place primarily in courts bedecked like cakes.

I was pleasantly surprised to find part two of The Three Musketeers as engaging as the first. Nuanced performances are coupled with scenes of epic grandeur, both working towards a result that strikes the perfect balance between Hollywood blockbuster and European period drama. If you don’t mind subtitles, you’re in for a treat. If you refuse to watch a film just because it’s in a foreign language, you are missing out on some truly incredible cinema, not just with The Three Musketeers: Milady but at large.

When it comes to The Three Musketeers: Milady, let them eat cake, I declare! Bring your snacks and settle in for the finale of an incredible two-part series… or is it just the beginning?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Ngā Rorirori, writer, director, and choreographer Hone Kouka has mashed up three of his favourite things: theatre, dance, and farce. The show traces the relationship between the remaining two members of a whānau and their whenua. A brother is on a quest to turn the land into a cash cow while his sister tries to take a considered approach to their joint heritage. He’s a convicted fraudster, she’s a political activist. Throw in a visit from the chief executive of a government department, a hidden boyfriend, and a heartbroken overachiever, and “today is the day”.

Nominally performed by two actors (Mycah Keall and Manuel Solomon) and three dancers (Sefa Tunupopo, Nomuna Amarbat, and Stela Dara), it’s hard to say where the dance ends and the acting begins as each performer has mad skills at both. Keall and Solomon play siblings Manuela and Pillow, each dedicated to their cause and hilariously engaging to watch. The three dancers also bring nuance to their supporting characters. After 90 minutes, I’m exhausted from watching them, such is their energy, with Kouka (assisted by Dara) effectively blending kapa haka and modern dance moves.

Not speaking lines but lip-syncing to a recorded soundtrack allows the performers to emote in the exaggerated manner of farce, as well as carry off the huge physicality that is demanded of them. With music (composed by Maarire Brunning-Kouka, Reon Bell, and Karnan Saba), dialogue by a team of vocal performers, and effects all mixed live by Isaac Kirkwood, the continuous soundtrack is seamless and powerful. The lighting design (Natasha James) is also striking, utilising side and top light.

Mark McEntyre’s set is a seemingly pedestrian but cleverly constructed community hall that allows the performers to flow through and around it. They pop up in unexpected places and make creative use of benches, chairs, and folding tables.

An intense fever dream of movement, sound, light, language, and humour, Ngā Rorirori also has much to say about the nature of culture and our place within it.