Nanny Jo and the Wild Mokopuna | Nani Jo me Ngā Mokopuna Porohīanga is a poignant tale: one of sadness, celebration, and whānau. Local author Moira Wairama incorporates traditional oral storytelling into her children’s book, which sees Nanny Jo gently weave the significance of Matariki into her mokopuna’s lives by sharing the story of the great fisherman Taramainuku and Te Waka o Rangi.

“Each night Taramainuku sails his canoe Te Waka o Rangi across the sky”, Nanny Jo says. “It’s hard to see his waka in the darkness, however if you find the right stars you will know where it is. Look for the stars of Matariki as they are at the prow of the waka. Look for the stars of Tautoru, as they are at the stern of the waka.”

As Taramainuku sails Te Waka o Rangi across the sky, he drops a great net down to the Earth; the spirits of those who have recently died are invited to climb into his net. For a while, the stars of Matariki and Taramainuku’s waka disappear, but one winter morning the stars reappear, guiding Te Waka o Rangi back into the sky. Taramainuku flings his net high into the sky and the spirits who have travelled with him become free. Some become stars, some return to Hawaiki, and some journey towards the great unknown.

“This can be a sad time, but also a time to celebrate as the return of Matariki and Te Waka o Rangi marks the beginning of the Māori New Year,” Nanny Jo explains.

Nanny Jo tells the story to comfort her mokopuna when she dies. I am reminded of the village it takes to raise a child as Nanny Jo’s whānau cloak her and her mokopuna in their care – taking the children to the park, the river, the bush as she becomes more weary.

Margaret Tolland perfectly conveys a sense of connection and belonging through her illustrations. The ‘wild’ mokopuna seem just that: free, adventuresome, and spirited.

Nanny Jo and the Wild Mokopuna is a moving dedication to Joanna Huriwai and to all the women who battle breast cancer.

Prisencolinensinainciusol. If you haven’t heard this Adriano Celentano song before, I recommend you scurry over to YouTube stat. It’s central to director Emanuele Crialese’s newest film L’immensità, screening in Wellington as part of Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival.

Having grown up in Italy, I’m familiar with Celentano and the song. He’s an icon and often considered the man who brought rock and roll to Italy. A trailblazer of the 1970s – a period of enormous turmoil, political upheaval, and change in Italy – Celentano was authentically himself. Prisencolinensinainciusol is a song that sounds like English but is complete gibberish. Its theme is the inability to communicate. It’s one thing craving to be something else, and in doing so, becoming something in between.

L’immensità follows 12-year-old Adriana or Adri (Luana Giuliani), the eldest child of three who identifies as a boy and begins to increasingly assert his trans state. Meanwhile Adri’s mother, Spanish expat Clara (Penélope Cruz), struggles to cope with her marriage to an abusive, cheating man. Unable to express themselves, both Clara and Adri feel trapped. Their relationship grows closer as their burdens increase. Celentano’s hit song frames the pair perfectly.

Production designer Dimitri Capuani and costume designer Massimo Cantini Parrini had a field day recreating the vibrant absurdity of 1970s Italian style. From furniture to clothes, the colours are vibrant, the forms fanciful – a stark contrast to the inner turmoil of our protagonists. There are inserts of Cruz and Giuliani recreating scenes from famous Italian songs that provide a nice break from the intensity.

There is a lot to unpack in L’immensità, but at the same time I feel there were many moments that merely touched the surface, never delving deeper. So much happens, yet nothing ever changes – life shifts into limbo. With Italy, it’s virtually impossible to speak of something in an isolated way. As a region that has history dating back more than 3000 years, everything bleeds into everything else. A people so influenced by our ancestors and what came before, everything is connected. How can you include it all? Perhaps this immensity, l’immensità, is exactly the feeling Crialese wanted to capture.

It is often overlooked that the Channel Islands were occupied by Nazi forces during WWII. Gabriel is set in Guernsey, populated by locals, the German occupiers, and imported slave labourers. The sense of oppression is felt instantly in this Stagecraft Theatre production, with clever soundscapes (Alan Burden) of marching forces and far-off drumming. This is continued with Charlie Potter’s remarkable, yet claustrophobic set design. The stage is busy despite only featuring the survival essentials: a small kitchenette, stove-fire, an attic bedroom, and some black-market brandy, illustrating the declining misfortunes of our characters.

Jeanne Becquet (Hannah Thipthorpe) has been moved from her home into a small farmhouse to make way for a German billet. With her are her young daughter Estelle (Pypah McGregor), her daughter-in-law Lily (Gracie Voice), and their housekeeper Mrs Lake (Trudy Dalziel).

Moira Buffini’s play is a masterclass in strong female characters, all of whom do what they can to survive. Estelle attempts to summon an angel to help save her family, all the while hilariously haunting the Germans. However, her mother Jeanne’s chosen survival strategy is a degree of cooperation with the occupiers, particularly with Major Von Pfunz (Phil Peleton). Thipthorpe and Peleton’s chemistry is palpable, with both possessing the acting chops to nail the drama and uneasy mirth that the script demands.

A prickly relationship is made perilous when Jeanne lets slip that Lily is secretly Jewish. Tensions intensify when Lily rescues a stranger (Jamie Morgan) who has washed up onshore with no clothes or memory of who he is. She brings this man home, despite the threat it imposes on the household. Here, Voice wonderfully portrays an isolated young woman, desperately trying to grasp who she is.

At its heart, this story is about choosing to cling to your identity, to who you are, even when the very fabric of identity is ripped away in the reality of life under occupation. Gabriel is a tense tale of wartime intrigue and romance that makes for riveting watching and is a strong entry in the Stagecraft canon.

With great excitement, mister almost-five and I make our way to Circa Theatre to see Little Dog Barking’s long-anticipated new production. As we collect our tickets, we are told that we can sit anywhere we want to. My son chooses to sit right at the front and shortly after, the show starts with lovely music and a squawk?

Well, yes, because The Adventures of Tahi and Kōwhai is about two hoiho (yellow-eyed penguins) and their natural journey of finding their soulmates, the dangers they face, and the unlikely friends they make along the way.

The stage is brought to life with amazing lighting (Jason Longstaff) that sets the scene for Tahi and Kōwhai’s time on land and under the sea. The set (Tolis Papazoglou) is simple and very effective. The props are unique and work well with the various scene changes. Sharon Johnstone did an outstanding job in designing the props and puppets, which each have various characteristics that enhance their personalities. The puppets are so expressive, it feels like they are real.

The room is filled with people of all ages, young and old. Everyone is enjoying the loveable puppets and great music, composed by sound designer Liam Reid and performed by Kenny King and Jeremy Hunt (also the puppeteers for all the characters). The laughs, squeals of excitement, and dancing can be seen and heard in every row.

As much as I would love to get more into what the show is about, it’s worth checking out this inspiring, entertaining, and heartwarming adventure for yourself to experience the world of our local wildlife and some of the struggles that they face.

As always, I had to know what part stood out for my son. He said, “All of it, but I really loved the songs!” My favourite part was the integration of te reo Māori and New Zealand Sign Language, but I loved all of it too.

Members of the NZSO National Youth Orchestra (NYO) meet each other once a year for a full week of rehearsals before they perform together. It sounds a little like cramming before a test, but the skills and musicianship demonstrated by these remarkable young people were the product of much more than a term’s worth of work.

The NYO had what must have been the absolute pleasure of working with a conductor whose sheer delight in the experience was evident to all of us in his energy and empathy. Giancarlo Guerrero’s directing style seems perfect for young musicians in particular. It is dynamic, energetic, dramatic, and empathetic all at once.

This was a demanding programme. In the convergence of oceans by Nathaniel Otley (2023 NYO composer-in-residence), the orchestra was immediately and literally in deep water. At times more an acoustic experience than conventional musical composition, the use of found percussion instruments added particular interest. This piece would have presented new challenges for some of the young musicians, but they were very comfortable with their debut.

Aaron Copland was the American composer in the show. We heard his Billy the Kid: Suite and it was every bit as evocative as the title suggests. The orchestra did an excellent job bringing to life Guerrero’s version of a young man’s action-filled life.

The finale, Elgar’s Variations on an Original Theme (Enigma) is a crowd pleaser, well known and difficult to make special. However, Guerrero’s interpretation and direction to the NYO produced an uplifting and exciting performance. It really felt like something new, which is no mean feat when you consider it was written by an Englishman over 100 years ago.

The 80 or so musicians who journeyed with us from the deep ocean to the open prairie and then to the English countryside proved their versatility and talent. The future of orchestral music is safe in their hands.

I actually have a personal connection to Harrison Ford but let’s start by talking about the newest instalment of the Indiana Jones franchise, Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, shall we?

I grew up watching these movies. And as a true little tomboy I could think of nothing better than going on adventures around the world, discovering hidden treasure, and saving the world from the forces of evil. Let’s be honest, there has never been a cooler nerd than Indy. My disappointment was palpable when I learned most archaeologists spend their days digging in the dirt with a spoon. But Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny did not disappoint me. It’s fun, it’s exciting, and it’s just what every Indiana Jones fan would hope for.

I’m not saying it’s as good as Raiders of the Lost Ark or Last Crusade. I mean, there is no guest appearance from Sean Connery – though Antonio Banderas was a welcome surprise – but it is exactly what you would expect. Nazis, exhilarating yet comical car chases, booby traps, our grumpy yet lovable protagonist, and just the right amount of history to make it interesting but not boring. Director James Mangold alongside designer Adam Stockhausen and cinematographer Phedon Papamichael do a wonderful job of carrying on the legacy of such a beloved series.

I appreciate the new take on an ageing Indiana Jones who can’t quite do as much, though, when necessary, pulls out his whip and signature moves. The CGI to make Ford younger was a bit jarring but it was neat to see flashbacks without using a different actor. The only qualm I really had, aside from a few moments of suspended belief that are inevitable with action movies, that the iconic theme song was played at odd moments rather than for triumphant victories.

Now you’re probably wondering about my two degrees of separation from Harrison Ford. He ordered a burger with nothing on it from my mother while she was working in a restaurant in my hometown – probably on some sort of diet. Obviously disappointed by the boring meal placed in front of him, he flipped the bun at her. So I have to dislike him on principle, but Indiana Jones is always a pleasure.

From the outside looking in, Hayley Holt has it all: a beautiful woman with a successful career and a loving family behind her. But not everything was as it seemed. Growing up, she danced (eventually becoming a champion), took up snowboarding, acted (in Barbie commercials), and even had her own horse, which she paid for with her those aforementioned acting gigs.

While it all must have been great at the time, it was a strain that took its toll. She grew up thinking she had to be the perfect one, the one that her parents never had to worry about. Second Chances is a peek behind the curtain into the life of someone we read about, but don’t really know. Hayley’s book is a fascinating read, and one that hits hard.

I found her writing genuine and down to earth, and I related to some of what she went through. We all put on masks for other people in order to fit in, which I think is somewhat of a rite of passage growing up. My heart really went out to her, and there were times that I had to put the book down and take a breather before tackling it again because it was so sad. It’s not a big book by any means, but it packs an emotional punch all the same.

While Hayley’s been in the papers and the public have been privy to some of the goings-on in her life, up until now they have never known the full story. Second Chances gives us all the details as told in her own words in her own way.

While I have never considered myself ‘gossipy’, I have to admit to enjoying myself and would happily recommend this to anyone who wants to pick it up at the local bookstore. I guarantee it’s a book that will make you nod your head in agreement, while maybe making you appreciate your own life a bit more.

“Sprinkle, snickle, shinkle, spinkle…” My son and I sure had fun with the name of this book, Shrinkle, when it escaped me while we were out travelling in the car.

I wondered what he had thought of Game On: Shrinkle, despite being witness to his obvious enjoyment when reading it both together and alone. Here’s what he had to say: “It was awesome, great, and I couldn’t wait to find out what was going to happen in Level 9.” Yes, there are no chapters, only levels in this gaming saga written and illustrated by Emily Snape.

It’s always a good sign when a child is ensconced on the couch reading the book that has just arrived in the post.

Game On: Shrinkle is just the kind of adventure that appeals to your average 10-year-old, with shrinking brothers, a maniac cat, a hungry spider, a babysitter named Ms McBoob no less, and the fail-proof addition of winning poo humour.

Shrunk by a mysterious app named Shrinkle on Ms McBoob’s phone, brothers Liam and Max are thrown into a world of tiny, where scaling rubbish bins and outsmarting a frenzied cat are no easy feats. The cat is a leering taskmaster delivering its riddles and rhymes: “Now my little players, I want you to find: What can’t be used until it’s broken.”

There’s some weird facts thrown in for good measure too, like insects on eyelashes and powdered Roman toothpaste made from mouse brains. Again, totally enthralling to a young audience.

The brothers – once adversaries, now turned collaborators – have leveled up, ready to tackle the heights of grubby rubbish bins, climbing frames within the fridge, and the unavoidable dangers of their baby sister Clio, an unwittingly wobbly threat to tiny people who is now more giant than baby, to solve the riddles and get through the levels.

Game On: Shrinkle is lots of fun, fast paced, simple, and chaotic. This zany adventure will not disappoint.

Tastefulness, mystery, and a celebration of nature characterise this poetry collection and are aptly heralded by its cover: full grown blossoms amongst dark tree foliage, a bright-coloured bird nestling, and a mysterious figure just discernible in the background.

De Montalk is clearly captivated by trees and birds. Descriptions of both are deeply rooted in her poems and fly about in them as reassuring images. Indeed, the need for reassurance is a theme – our poet is seeking solace for her own critical life-changing condition. Fixed wing has as its central metaphor a medical evacuation flight during which the plane’s trajectory embodies and reflects the physical condition of the passengers.

As the Trees Have Grown suggests a simplicity of content perhaps, but the language and some of the references are another matter. Referring to the end notes will be essential for most readers. That said, I recognised with delight the title Amor Fati (the love or embrace of fate), which is the central tenet of the stoic philosophers. The poet recalls the story of a brown trout, said to be the pet of a train driver, and which travels – haplessly – towards a possibly unwelcome destination with its owner. You can’t get much more esoteric than that!

There’s a return to the creatures de Montalk loves and celebrates in In Passing, where we read about mountain hares, Siberian tigers, and frugivorous (you see what I mean about language) bats. Plus a kererū “Hefty, red-eyed, / shuffling along a branch, / stretching its rainbow neck”. And in After the rains broke there’s plenty of weather: “Creeks stalked the undergrowth” and “campers stowed / biddable awnings / and multi-roomed tents”.

The final poem, Sleave of care, is a lengthy hymn of celebration and thankfulness to trees. Esoteric again, the ‘sleave’ of the title originates in Shakespeare’s Macbeth with its reference to the balm of sleep. Amongst catkins and camelias, elms and spruces and oaks, the writer’s preoccupation with nature and its calm and reassurance prevails.

This a charming book with a sweet main character who you’ll want to triumph and be happy by conquering her fears. It’s also desperately sad in places.

Meredith hasn’t left her house in three years after having a panic attack one day as she got ready for work. There are deeper reasons though for Meredith staying within the safety of her four walls, and these are gradually revealed as the plot gently unfolds. We start to understand how Meredith became a recluse as we get glimpses of a tough childhood, a self-absorbed mother, and a strong older sister who was Meredith’s biggest supporter – until she wasn’t.

We are also welcomed into the life she shares with her beloved rescue cat Fred and old school friend Sadie. A life where time goes slowly and is dedicated to working remotely as a writer, baking, jigsaw puzzles, and exercising by running up and down the stairs.

While the plot takes its time, it definitely pulls the reader in and ratchets up the tension and Meredith’s inner conflict at times, as she experiences panic attacks and deep-seated anxiety triggered by a traumatic experience.

It’s the characters that ultimately make this a book you want to keep reading and remember long after you’ve read the final page. All of the key characters are well rounded, and all have their challenges – some aren’t even very likeable. Meredith is beautifully written, and as a result she is the one we really connect with as readers and have great empathy for. We cheer her on as she grows her connections with the outside world, including her new friend Thomas, and want her so badly to take that first courageous step beyond her front door. Thomas is also likeable, as is Sadie and Meredith’s sister Fi – although as a reader, I felt let down by a late plot twist involving Fi.

Overall, this is a moving and uplifting book that will fill you with compassion and understanding for people in Meredith’s situation. It was a bit of a departure from the type of book I would usually go for, but I recommend it.

When creator and performer Roy Iro told me that Flames was a hip-hop musical but it wasn’t like Hamilton, I have to admit I couldn’t picture it. But boy was he right. As Iro’s counterpart Reon Bell said: “Flames is a show that is not ashamed of its unique voice.”

Flames is a detective drama set in Wellington. Five suspects find themselves mysteriously summoned to a crime scene: Don’s Enterprises has been set ablaze. The Don (Moana Ete), The Godfather (GypsyMae Harihona), and Andre ‘The Great’ Bambino (Rivera) are three experienced criminals, and they’re proud of it. Mathematically challenged Morgan Reed (Iro) and quasi-octogenarian Ian Sheff (Bell) are two detectives, and they’re thoroughly confused. With motives and accusations coming in hot, who will be found guilty of arson?

What I didn’t expect was for Flames to be so funny. And I mean genuinely funny. I laughed the whole way through. It’s clever, and it had me guessing the whole time. It plays on the tropes of the genre, but it moulds them into something fresh. From the beginning it laid out clues, it drew me in – I simply had to know who done it. Everyone has a motive; everyone has a means. With twists and turns, alliances and intertwined histories, the cast brilliantly dance around each other in a blazing and fiery tango of deceit and distrust, or perhaps it’s confidence and trust.

Flames celebrates the whakapapa of hip-hop culture in Aotearoa and truly showcases the genre in all its iterations. Between instruments, decks, and beatboxing, every piece of music is produced live on stage (sound design by Bell). The performers often switch out on instruments. A theatre performance and a concert, Flames is an incredible feat of musicianship, and it truly honours and elevates hip-hop while bending the rules of theatre. A testament to this was the audience moving and grooving, clapping and stomping, not constraining themselves whatsoever – and so they shouldn’t have. Flames is meant to be enjoyed collectively and out loud. It’s made to set the room ablaze.

I’m not a Marvel, DC, superhero saga, blow-everything-up movie girlie. Shocker, I know. But let me tell you my partner was very pleased when I asked if he wanted to see Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3. I thought he’d be extra happy when I asked if he’d watch the first two with me so I would know what’s what and who’s who. To my complete and utter surprise he informed me we had already watched the first one together? So we re-re-watched them.

As far as these movies go, the Guardians of the Galaxy series is quite fun, and it is refreshing. It has its issues – like they really couldn’t think of better aliens than just people dyed blue, red, or green? Really? But it is clever, and witty, and self-aware. There are a lot of jokes that poke fun at the genre itself and it was the first superhero series to not take itself so seriously. And before you come for me, I know they’re all based off comic books and I do respect the genre. I just think there are plot holes that could be avoided. Like sometimes space is deadly and sometimes it’s not. Sometimes they get lasered and almost die and other times they get rag-dolled against buildings for 20 minutes and don’t even tear their suits.

But Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 is a good follow-up of the first two. John Murphy’s soundtrack – which the movies are famous for – is still just as banging. There are some very sweet and introspective moments between all the characters, like when they begin to appreciate each other’s strengths instead of critiquing weaknesses. You learn a bit more about Rocket the Racoon’s (Bradley Cooper) past as well. In fact, he is the protagonist of this chapter. The special effects and editing are of course top tier – think fast cuts, perfectly synchronised music, epic battle scenes. This movie is well made and it’s great fun.

My favourite part? The conversation we had afterwards about the moral implications of whether, due to his hyper-intelligence, Rocket is still a racoon.

Veteran entertainer Margaret Austin has had a more colourful life than most and Please Adjust Your G-string is a glimpse into the most luminous parts. Resplendent in gold high heels, a red jacket, and matching feather boa, she regales us with her adventures in travel and love. These are interspersed with snatches of era or location-appropriate music to which she employs her dance training and sashays along.

Born just after World War II in Palmerston North, she grew up in an environment “marked with a lack of excitement”, handing round her mother’s famous cucumber sandwiches to guests and musing on her mysterious journalist father’s emotional detachment. After a conventional school-university-teacher training-marriage path, it’s not surprising that this born adventurer decided to up sticks and head to Italy with two friends.

This was the beginning of numerous daring adventures, starting with a stint as an orange-skinned dancer at the Folies Bergère in Paris, then onto Cannes interviewing Anthony Hopkins for Playgirl magazine, and meeting a man from Cameroon in a nightclub with a briefcase full of gold bars, probably from Omar Sharif.

Austin is a charming and engaging performer who doesn’t shy away from the hard parts. A near and an actual sexual assault are also part of her European journey, which Ralph McAllister’s direction powerfully shows us as Austin steps down from her centre-stage podium and cowers against a pillar.

Her poetic nature burst out on a paper tablecloth in Greece where the attitude of Greek men towards women was the subject of her first scathing scribble, which we hear. She recites another of her lovely poems later in the performance to honour her lover and best friend Anthony, who some might remember as the Duke of Wellington. Running into both of her ex-husbands in the same supermarket inspired my favourite line of the night: “Romance may come and go, but groceries go on forever”.

What a privilege it is to share in such a well-lived life.

In both his pre-concert talk and within the concert, conductor Marc Taddei spoke of the arts gaining strength through collaboration across artforms.

Arjuna Oakes, a young singer-songwriter and his mentor, John Psathas, collaborated in the composition and performance of Safe Way to Fall, a short song for voice, piano, and orchestra. It was a deeply personal song. Oakes’ expressive performance and lovely voice, miked as befitted the genre, was well received by the audience which, unsurprisingly, included more young people than usual.

The performance of Béla Bartók’s ballet, The Miraculous Mandarin, was a collaboration involving both the Orpheus Choir and BalletCollective Aotearoa. While Taddei could have performed a concert version, he chose to include dancers and present the complete work. The dancing told a horrific story of sexual exploitation and violence extremely well. Alas, for me, the music became mere backdrop to the visual dance. Bartók described the music as “hellish” and “pandemonium”, but even so, I could not pay it much attention.

Also performed was Psathas’ saxophone concerto, Zahara, placing another story of brutality and endurance in the desert. The soloist, Valentine Michaud, won the hearts of the audience before she played a note, with a beautiful, billowing, desert-hot red-pink-orange gown. Using tenor and soprano saxophones, Michaud produced an astonishing range of colour: throaty, drone-like, screeching, quiet, full, and rich. The work evoked a still, hot, empty desert – a desert of mirages, dust devils, and danger – and men trudging through this unmerciful environment. 

It was a night for horrific stories. The concert began with Salome: Dance of the Seven Veils by Richard Strauss. Such exotic and seductive music produced by the string section and by the harp, flute, and clarinet! And such drama and import provided by brass and percussion sections! This was a very satisfying performance of a powerful work.

Pre-tour, Graham Gouldman – original band member/leader, vocalist, bassist, and guitarist – said that 10cc’s “main strength is the songs. Hit after hit after hit. It’s relentless. We show no mercy”. This was proven to a full Wellington Opera House. Joining Gouldman were Rick Fenn (lead guitar, bass, vocals), Paul Burgess (drums, percussion, keyboards), Keith Hayman (keyboards, vocals, guitar, bass), and Iain Hornal (vocals, keyboards, guitar, bass, mandolin, percussion) – five very talented multi-instrumentalists and singers. 

The pre-concert intro Son Of Man got me suitably hyped-up. The Second Sitting For The Last Supper was an energetic start on a stage bathed in a swarth of gorgeous hues of red and blue lighting. Hornal had some distracting minor technical issues initially, but neither his nor the band’s performance suffered, and the sound was impressive overall.

After Good Morning Judge, Fenn said “Wellington is a very special place for me, my dad was born here” to loud applause.

The Dean And I was followed by Old Wild Men, featuring a beautiful guitar interplay/duel between Fenn and Hornal. The Wall Street Shuffle came before Floating in Heaven, written last year by Brian May (Queen) and Gouldman. Fenn’s delicate but searing slide guitar did the song justice.

The popular The Things We Do For Love preceded the recent Hornal and Gouldman composition Say The Word. Then it was the pre-recorded intros for I’m Mandy Fly Me and the crowd favourite I’m Not In Love, featuring sublime four-part harmonies. Dreadlock Holiday, with the crowd singing enthusiastically, finished the set.

The first encore was an a cappella doo-wop version of 10cc’s first hit single Donna, with the band in a circle and featuring Hornal’s stunning falsetto voice, finished with an off-key note by non-singer Burgess to everyone’s amusement! Rubber Bullets had some of the audience out of their seats and dancing up a storm to end the evening.

Support act Hello Sailor, in “stripped-back unplugged mode”, were in fine form covering all their hits. Featuring original members Harry Lyon and Rick Ball, with Paul Woolright and Jimmy Taylor, this was a well-oiled machine. 

From the moment that Bertie Wooster (Tom Foy) sits in his armchair for the first time, we know there is going to be a lot of laughter to come. Presented by Wellington Repertory Theatre and performed by the talented Foy, Ethan Lawn as Jeeves, and Nick Edwards as the butler Seppings, we are immersed into this zany world of hijinks, newts, and silver cow creamers.

The play is acutely aware of itself. It knows it is a play within a play. The fourth wall is broken with ease, making the audience feel as if we are directly involved in the crazy 48 hours of Wooster’s life that’s being retold.  

I was hesitant when the show was introduced as being ‘a play about nothing’. However, I can say that this is one of its greatest strengths. For two hours, I got the opportunity to relax, laugh, and have fun without any deep thought about morally ambiguous philosophies or human existentialism. It is simply light-hearted and every part of it is entertaining. Even the scene changes are hilarious. However, I wonder whether some of the set changes would be better off with accompanying music. Every set piece is utilised well and changes in a whirlwind, much to Wooster’s constant surprise. Director Tim Macdonald’s dynamic set is one of the highlights of the show.

Due to such skilful actors, each character is very distinct. The actors fully commit to their often absurd roles. Even when multi-roling in the same scene, we can easily differentiate between characters, a skill not every actor can pull off. The cast was able to execute this effortlessly, with impeccable comedic timing at every turn.

All this considered, what more could you ask for on a cold Wellington evening than to have a good laugh about complete nonsense? If you haven’t booked tickets yet, by Jeeves, make sure you don’t miss this hysterical show!

I’m going to be honest with you all – though that is becoming a trend in these reviews – my favourite part of The Thief Collector is the title sequence animation by art director Scott Grossman and animator Michael Lloyd. That’s not to say the rest of the movie wasn’t enjoyable, but their work is just brilliant in that it’s reminiscent of the iconic James Bond visuals. Anyway, I digress.

The Thief Collector is director Allison Otto’s debut documentary feature. It’s a classic art-heist movie… or so I thought. On a base level, the story recounts how Willem de Kooning’s Woman-Ochre was discovered on the wall of Rita and Jerry Alter’s home in Cliff, New Mexico, 30 years after it disappeared from the University of Arizona’s art gallery on the day after Thanksgiving in 1985. This mystery was an enigma for decades until estate agents Buck Burns and Dave Van Aucker’s chance discovery. In the time that Woman-Ochre sat in a chintzy gold frame behind the Alters’ bedroom door, it appreciated from $400,000 to $160 million. I won’t spoil how they allegedly stole the artwork.

The Thief Collector is brilliantly edited by Nick Andert, featuring home videos, photographs, interviews, and dramatisations starring Sarah Minnich and Glenn Howerton (It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia) as Rita and Jerry. Interviews include baffled family members and friends, de Kooning biographer Mark Stevens, agents from the FBI’s art-theft task force, and more.

The story gets especially interesting once it moves on from the de Kooning theft. Suddenly the Alters are calculating and experienced adrenaline junkies with endless secrets. The film takes a turn from treating the theft as an isolated event to a lifetime of ill deeds, analysing Jerry’s book of short stories The Cup and the Lip not as fiction, but a sort of clandestine confessional. Let me tell you: there are some pretty extreme ones in there.

I don’t want to ruin anything, because you can see The Thief Collector as part of Doc Edge Film Festival on the 17^th of June at The Roxy Cinema. All I’m going to say is you may want to have a peek down your septic tank.  

Inspired by one of her favourite authors (Philip Ridley), director Ella Becroft wanted to make a show that she would love to watch now and still have her 14-year-old self held in suspense. Becroft can consider it a job not just well done, but perfected. Dakota of the White Flats is a high-action adventure, crafted with comedy and tension.

Red Leap Theatre is a devised theatre company whose work celebrates and uplifts women while making special room for those most marginalised. In this instance, the overlooked potential is that of two loud, unapologetic young girls.

In a run-down housing complex, we meet sharp and fearless Dakota Pink (Batanai Mashingaidze) and her best friend ‘Treacle’ (Ariaana Osborne). The pair soon discover a secret that spurs them down the murky canal on a daring rescue attempt.

Innovative stage design by John Verryt perfectly represents the urban decay that Dakota and friends call home. Two mobile scaffolds whirl around the stage to create the backdrop, covered in Venetian blind panels that are frequently raised and lowered to comic effect, while providing insight into the white flats’ colourful residents.

The lighting design by Rachel Marlow is a marvel. Clever use of different mediums – torches, spotlights, neon and shadow-work, and of course, illuminated eels and a bejewelled sea turtle, obviously – constantly builds momentum while keeping the audience in awe.

Once in a while, a show like this comes along and drives home how important live theatre and the arts are for young minds. This inventive production is a masterclass in imagination and ingenuity across the board – acting, sound, lighting, staging, music, and choreography – and the standard to which it delivers inspires. But this inspiration isn’t wasted on the young, so don't be fooled into thinking this is a show for kids. There are suitable nuances to this story only truly appreciated with the privilege of age. Becroft has fulfilled her brief: I would have adored seeing this as a young actor and I loved it now.

Laser Kiwi is the world’s best and only surreal sketch circus trio. Zane and Degge Jarvie and Imogen Stone have a very particular set of skills, skills they have acquired over a very long career of dazzling audiences, first in their hometown of Wellington, then across the motu, and now around the world. Some of the skills you’ll know (juggling, balancing acts, aerial arts) and some you won’t (chopping airborne cucumbers, metamorphosing into olives).

Upon arrival, audiences are given 3D glasses and a run-sheet featuring such act titles as Casual Chat, End of Casual Chat, I am an Olive, Imagine an Ant, and Skrrrrrt Pow Pow. Zane assures the full house that the programme won’t help us make any sense of the show, so those who came for dedicated nonsense need not fear.

He’s quite right. Even with it in front of me, I can’t match half of what I saw to what’s listed – especially $548. What I can see and what is a unique and delightful component of the show is Laser Kiwi’s own ratings of the segments. The silly, 10-second Foot First, in which a grinning Zane reveals he’s wearing crocodile socks underneath a pair of crocs, gets the first 10 of the night. ▯▯▯▯▯▯ Rap, which sees Stone showcase colossal strength, grace, and acrobatic agility in a breathtaking aerial rope routine, scores an eight.

Laser Kiwi turns botches into comedy gold, like the crackling mics (which become a highlight of the show thanks to the stroppy sass of sound technician Dean Holdaway) and a gravity-defying stunt involving catching an olive in a martini glass. It misses over and over, yet we’re wildly invested and celebrate the eventual win as if it’s our own. They push boundaries of what should be physically possible as well as what is ‘appropriate’, taking big swings that hit the olive out of the park every time… bar one. I do wonder, had that contentious joke landed, would the payoff be worth the consequences of it sinking?

My friend and I had a glorious time with the indescribable, inimitable Laser Kiwi. We chuckled and chortled, squealed and snorted, and ate up olive it.  

In a flash of spotlight, Johanna Cosgrove stalks onto the BATS stage in a slinky black satin dress, black veil, and thigh-high patent leather platform boots for an hour of unrelentingly bold sketch stand-up about her life and social observations.

Asking first “Have we f****d?”, this is not a show for the faint-hearted or easily offended and comes with an R16 rating. The F bombs and sexual references are plentiful in the following hour, as is the wickedly dark humour as Cosgrove takes us through a number of topics concerning her as she enters her third decade.

Starting with a bit of politics and how messed up Auckland is (did you know P has been detected in the central city air?), she moves swiftly into a hilarious send up of hens’ parties on Waiheke. Her love life and experiences of “overtherapised men” with no gumption comes next, along with unsuccessful sexting, a baby CEO, and why she wants a gay son. The false sense of oppression felt by those with white privilege and her allergies to “gluten, dairy, eggs, constructive criticism” come next.

We also hear about her experiences backpacking in the south of France, her views on cancel culture, Christians, and Gen Z, brawls with her sister, her parents’ cancer journeys, and her desire to play one of the leads in Daughters of Heaven. All of this is delivered with confidence, clarity, and a biting sense of humour that pulls no punches. That’s perhaps not to everyone’s taste and Cosgrove’s improvised reactions to the two people who left the auditorium partway through get some of the biggest laughs of the night.

Cosgrove’s three years at drama school shine through as she energetically demonstrates a hipster playing hacky sack in Cuba Street and a strip-club routine to Mumford & Sons’ Little Lion Man.

With its spicily candid wit and mesmerising solo execution, Hi, Delusion! cements Cosgrove as a comedy and performance force of nature. Strap in for the ride!