For someone who has never thrown a punch in their entire life, watching The Karate Kid for the first time in the 80s was pure wish fulfilment. And now with Ralph Macchio’s new book Waxing On, we get to see how all the stars aligned to create what many consider to be one of the best movies of 1984.

From his very first audition for the role of Daniel LaRusso, to meeting the late great Pat Morita for the first time, Waxing On goes in depth into what it was like making The Karate Kid trilogy and the impact it had on Macchio’s life and subsequent career.

His down-to-earth personality bleeds onto the page and is reflected in his writing style, which makes him a more relatable storyteller. There are no airs or graces that you might associate with a Hollywood celebrity here, nor are there the kind of outrageous stories about wrecking hotel suites or extramarital affairs that plague other memoirs. Instead, he’s humble about his achievements, honest about his mistakes, and thoroughly entertaining along the way.

Little anecdotes litter the entire book. I interpreted some as teachable moments, while others were fun little titbits that had me gasping for joy as a huge fan. One such story that caught and held my attention was the almost universal concern people had about Pat Morita’s match fitness for the role of Mr Miyagi. Even Macchio admitted to harbouring concerns about Arnold from Happy Days in one of the leading roles. Fortunately, Morita blew them all away with his audition and the rest, as they say, is history. It’s stories like these that make Waxing On such a pleasure to review.

And on that note, I always try to approach my reviews and give feedback in a balanced way, but I really can’t find any downsides to Waxing On. If you have the opportunity to pick this up, don’t hesitate – just do it. It is a must read for 2022.

The Rarkyn’s Familiar is the story of Lyss, a human bonded and inextricably entwined in a blood pact with Skaar, a creature, some say ‘monster’, from the Otherworld. Their unholy union borne from a fight-for-life encounter binds the Rarkyn to Terresmir, and to Lyss as her familiar.

In Nikky Lee’s fantasy novel lives a world where the horrors of creatures from the Otherworld threaten to breach the boundaries of Terresmir. Embroiled in a reluctant bond with a fearsome monster, Lyss experiences a symbiotic melding of powers and energies with Skaar, with the ever-present threat that “control will fall to whoever has the strongest magic”.

Each carries a secret burden as they travel to the Illredan Empire in a desperate quest to find a cure before the inevitable madness of their blood pact becomes all-consuming for Lyss. Otherworld beings, the elite soldiers of The Order, and wayward mancer Archer threaten to derail them along the way.

Skaar will fight for freedom in his bid to escape the clutches of Archer again, the cursed mancer who had once held him captive; driven to cruelty by guilt and despair, and a madness-filled quest to save someone long gone. Lyss will fight to avenge her father’s death.

The Rarkyn’s Familiar will have you questioning who is the monster – is it the one who fights for freedom? Or the one who fights for retribution?

In Skaar and Lyss, Lee has created impressive character arcs, fleshed out and splat out, where horror, fantasy, and magic collide.

Through their shared fight for survival, and as they hone their minds and magic across hugrokar (a telepathic sense) to share their thoughts, feelings, and attack plans with no need for spoken words, a reluctant regard for one another develops.

Though Lee says it took 16 painstaking years for this book to come to fruition, I got to the end of The Rarkyn’s Familiar feeling like the story and adventures of Lyss and Skaar are far from over.

If you want a page-turner, then look no further than No Less The Devil. But be warned: once you get into this book, you’ll be seriously hooked. I read it on the bus home and nearly missed my stop. Then I sat in my car parked by the bus stop and read for another 10 minutes before driving home because I got to such a tense part in the plot that I couldn’t put the book down.

This murder-mystery about catching a deranged serial killer is very different to my usual favourite cosy mysteries. When I first picked it up, I read a chapter and put it down, because this tartan noir novel was a bit too dark and gritty for me. I picked it up again a week later and once I got that it was dark Scottish humour and rolled with it, I loved it.

The characters are intriguing and well developed. Detective Sergeant Lucy McVeigh Lucy is fantastic and likeable even though you find yourself shocked to be rooting for her at times. I hope we see this detective heroine again. The scenes with and descriptions of her unfit lumbering partner DC Duncan Fraser, also known as the Dunk, made me smile. The most memorable scenes though are when DS Lucy meets her match with the calculating students and teachers at a posh but unnerving private school.

The plot is fast paced and not always predictable. At first, I thought I was reading a pretty standard police procedural novel or classic serial killer mystery but then the plot started to take some unexpected turns. The writing is excellent and builds tension effectively. The detailed character descriptions draw you in, even when you know you shouldn’t be liking some of them!

This mystery is different. It’s dark and a bit discombobulating but it’s strangely fun. I recommend it.

Chris Parker is charming, charismatic, and chaotic. Everything in Here For a Good Time is an absolute delight. Parker takes you on a journey through his life and current musings. He’s not afraid to make fun of himself and I hope that like humourist author David Sedaris, Parker can just keep publishing his thoughts and make our days a little brighter. One of my favourite sections is how, in meticulous detail, he describes how to eat different types of biscuits (all worthy of the page and absolutely the correct way to eat them), and introduced me to one of my new favourite things: ‘a lolly to go’.

When a comedian ventures off the stage and onto the page, there’s a thrilling sense of the unknown. Without an audience to bounce off and real-time delivery, how strong is their voice alone? Well, you don’t need to worry about that here. Parker hits it out of the park, down the road, and past the dairy, where he can charm two-day-old free pies from the owner. As someone familiar with his work, it’s easy to picture him performing each chapter with all long gangly limbs flailing about, an ever-cheeky glint in his eye executed with his infectious energy. The joy of Here For a Good Time is that when reading you can’t help but laugh out loud. It’s hard to picture what it would be like to read this book without seeing him perform or checking out his Instagram skits first, but his voice, pacing, and delivery take away the need to have any knowledge of Parker’s prior work. 

The summary reads, “Here For a Good Time allows you to take Chris home for a much-needed pick me up whenever you need”, and never has a book description so aptly described the experience of reading it. Every musing he includes is like discovering a really good meme. Somehow he is able to effortlessly describe the human experience and make you laugh at the same time. I absolutely recommend it.

What amazes me the most is that even over several entries, the In Death murder mystery series still has so much to give. Neither Nora Roberts nor her star character Detective Eve Dallas seem to have run out of steam yet, and in her latest title, Desperation in Death, they both seem to have more energy than ever before. I think that’s partly because of Roberts’ emotionally charged writing style, which sucks me into her world and makes me feel for the characters involved – even the villains made me feel something (albeit in a very negative way).

At the centre of the story is Dallas and her team of police officers, who Roberts manages to inject with some real heart; almost to the point where they seem genuinely alive. While that might come off as hyperbole, the truth is Roberts is just that darn good. Special mention has to go to Dallas and her millionaire boyfriend Roarke, who cement their status as the unofficial power couple of their futuristic New York city.

One negative for me is that this might be one of the more disturbing adventures that Roberts has tackled. While I won’t spoil anything for you here, I will say that some of the subject matter gets quite dark, and it may not be everyone’s cup of tea. There were times when I had to take a break from the story before coming back to it, simply because I found it so unsettling. However, I have to point out that this was more of a ‘me’ problem and you might not have any issue with the story at all.

Even if you are a bit on the sensitive side like me, if you stick with it, I think you will be rewarded with an amazing story that tugs on every emotion until the very end. Here’s hoping that Nora Roberts (aka J. D. Robb) and Eve Dallas return sometime soon in 2023.

Lost Possessions, a novella, is written in the style of a journal – a collection of pages of a notebook in which we learn about the writer, the character, via their self-expression. Author Keri Hulme captures the reader’s curiosity cleverly and instantly with an immediate mystery:
“They have left me.
The door is locked.
The room is entirely bare.”

Where the writer is, or why they have taken him, or indeed who they are, remains entirely a mystery for the rest of the journal. However, we are given hints. As the writer begins using the notepad to track the passage of time and the details of his experience as best he can, we learn that he is Harrod Wittie, a university lecturer. He only recalls a sack over his head and something like a belt around his neck before waking in a featureless room, alone, naked, with a bucket for company.

As days – or perhaps hours – pass and Harrod realises his state of mind depends entirely on whether he is given any food, he becomes a fabulous example of an unreliable narrator. We only see his surroundings through his description of them, and memories of his childhood, his family, his past relationships, swim to the surface while Harrod slowly starves.

A curious repeating theme of ‘rites of passage’ comes to the forefront of his musings. A bizarre obsession with race and skin colour is also impossible to ignore. As Harrod begins to focus on the fact that the people holding him hostage are Black, as far as he can tell, he reminisces about the last relationship he had, with a Black woman named Jaban, drawing tenuous connections between her and his current plight. They discussed differing cultures and their traditions around how and when one becomes a man. Is pain involved? Is there a real test? Just as he seems to be finally closing in on the possibility that he brought this situation upon himself, it ends in utter uncertainty.

A quick read, and a slow digest; Lost Possessions made me think for a long time.

Photographer, publisher, and writer Grant Sheehan has lent his lens and penned a narrative to record his travels and adventures across the world in India, Moscow, and Antarctica to name just a few.

Perhaps my favourite chapter of In Memory of Travel is Café to Café. Here you will find images from his two previous books – Character Cafés of New Zealand and Cafés of the World. Collectively, they are a visual ode to café life in the 80s and 90s, a love of coffee, and some of the wondrous cafés he’s visited and photographed around the globe. Some looked sublime, others kitsch, most colourful, and one extraordinary: Caffé Florian in Venice looks like an exquisite art museum rather than, reportedly, the world’s oldest café. A black and white image of Espressoholic, once a favourite haunt of my youth, reminded me of the power an image has to take you back to a time gone by. In my case, it was a time filled with cappuccinos in an eclectic café in the wee hours of the morning in the heart of Courtenay Place in the 90s. Sheehan explores the power of our memories and in particular the nature of travel memory – how our brains process and recollect events and how this changes over time. For many of us, he says, it is our travels that form our most precious memories.

Whenever I look at an image, I can’t help but wonder of the photographer: were you a spectator or did you involve yourself in the happenstance or the moments you captured; either invited or uninvited? And what of the images you share with the world, are they raw in reality or manufactured through the manipulation of photographic artistry?

In a way, Sheehan answers these questions for me, explaining how he came to be somewhere, where he travelled to, and the stories behind the photographs.

In Memory of Travel invites you in, not only with its beautiful mix of imagery but with its narrative. Sheehan’s pragmatic and introspective take on photography and the circumstances surrounding his work gently projects you into his travels, the faraway places that exist beyond the landscape, and the life and people you are familiar with.

Musicians choose when to retire, as do most of the rest of us. NZSO musicians get to choose their own party music from the season’s programme. Michael Cuncannon (viola) and Yury Gezentsvey (principal first violin) chose the Messiah. In a relaxed but expectant and almost full house, Yury’s family had brought a banner reading “We love Yury”, which brought a smile to his face that remained for the whole show.

Umberto Clerici was conducting George Frideric Handel’s Messiah for the first time but you wouldn’t have known that from his confidence on the podium. The orchestra was reduced in number to a chamber orchestra. Clerici used this to great effect; he exposed the music and brought details to our attention. His use of tempo, volume, accent and attack, rise and fall, and a lyrical tone made the phrases shine. This is a very melodic work and, although it is a perennial Christmas feature, even new listeners would be surprised by how much sounds familiar.

The soloists and the wonderful Tudor Consort choir, supported by the orchestra, gave us many exceptional musical moments throughout the 48 verses. The soloists all started well and got better. Tenor Lila Crichton had a lovely, strong but also tender legato voice which perfectly suited the opening lyrics about seeking comfort and exalting the valleys. Last minute replacement bass-baritone Samson Setu stepped up with his own magnificent opening verse. His voice seemed much more mature than would be expected in someone so young. In his opening aria he sang of shaking the heavens and his technique made his voice shake distinctly and properly, not something you always hear in other performances.

Mezzo-soprano Deborah Humble also impressed with her lovely expressive voice and soprano Emma Pearson likewise excelled in her part. In her final aria, rejoicing as Christ is risen, I was certain she sang with the voice of a true believer.

Robert Schumann was inspired by Goethe’s tragic play Faust, and spent nine years writing Scenes from Goethe’s Faust. The work requires impressive forces: full orchestra, nine vocal soloists, and an adult and a children’s choir. It is an ambitious undertaking and has not been performed in New Zealand until now. Orchestra Wellington is to be commended for presenting it.

Schumann chose seven excerpts from Goethe’s play, leaving the audience to fill in the storyline from their familiarity with the play. Taddei provided surtitles, but they did not help much in elucidating the implied narrative. It paid just to immerse oneself in the music. 

The music was wonderful: dramatic, romantic, lyrical. Part 1 was romantic and tragic operatic fare of the highest order, concerning the consequences of an ill-starred relationship between Faust and a woman, Gretchen. Part 2 was darker and more dramatic, leading to the death of Faust. Part 3 concerns Faust’s transfiguration in heaven.

Playing Gretchen, Emma Pearson has a beautiful voice, being both pure and strong with a lovely upper register. Christian Thurston as Faust was not as convincing a character and had less cut-through against the orchestra. Wade Kernot as Mephistopheles, to whom Faust sells his soul, was impressive both in vocal quality and in characterisation. Of the several minor characters, tenor Jared Holt and soprano Barbara Paterson had strong voices and presence.  I wondered if the singers might have had more impact in conveying their characters if they were placed in front of the orchestra rather than behind it.

Schumann was more inclined to call this work an oratorio than anything else. The gorgeous choral writing, particularly in Part 3, explains why. Both Orpheus Choir and St Mark’s Schola Cantorum performed well, with Orpheus producing both power and a beautiful pianissimo as required. The piping children’s choir was perfect.

Ahh, the Circa pantomime. Giving our favourite fairy tales topsy-turvy topical treatment, these riotous rollercoaster rides have been an annual Christmas tradition for families from Wellington and beyond for nearly two decades.

This year’s pantomime sees writer and director Gavin Rutherford retire as the show’s sassy, saucy Dame after 12 years. Stepping into the kitten heels with grace and gusto is Jthan Morgan as Kahurangi Fairy, a fairy godmother embroiled in an eternal spat with the dastardly Fox (Emma Katene) and her sidekick, Thorndon Key (Tabatha Bertei-Killick). Meanwhile, lonely widower Gepetto (Sepelini Mua’au) finds a hunk of wood, boots out its former resident Willami Wētā (Finley Hughes), and carves a puppet son, Pinocchio (Nī Dekkers-Reihana) – much to the dismay of his cat and wannabe influencer Ms. Claws (Natasha McAllister). And all the while, ‘hee-haws’ echo down the streets of Wellywoodington as donkeys multiply without explanation.

It sounds nuts because it is. But oh boy, I reckon Pinocchio is my favourite pantomime yet. While this show is by no means subtle (in fact it’s still as mad as a whale with a hernia), it does feel more restrained in its approach than past pantos. Rather than colourblind the audience with spectacle, it plays more of a long game, allowing Leary and Rutherford’s references and jokes – not to mention the presumably unscripted adlibs (shoutout to Hughes and Mua’au for the brilliant banter) – to really shine.

The cast is a tight unit, with a recurring gag of talking animals unwittingly enjoying pats (McAllister and Katene) a hilarious highlight. I particularly love the general disdain but secret sentimentality Hughes brings to the role of Willami, Dekkers-Reihana’s defined physicality as a puppet, and Morgan’s inspired interactions with the audience – especially the whispers of “don’t tell anyone”.

Tying it all together are the arrangements of inimitable musical director Michael Nicholas Williams, with bangers and bops bound to appeal to millennials like myself.

Get your lovely friends by your side for a happy conclusion and a measure of magic at Circa Theatre this summer.

If potty-mouthed puppets are your peccadillo, then Avenue Q is for you. Billed as Sesame Street for adults, it’s a musical comedy that tackles racism, homosexuality, homelessness, suicide, and internet porn. It feels contemporary as the issues it traverses haven’t gone away and are arguably more prescient now than they were when the show won a Tony Award in 2004.

The shadow of COVID over Wellington theatre is still a long one and the announcement at the beginning of the performance that the character of real-life former child star Gary Coleman was going to be played by a white guy only added to the comedy.

Wellington Repertory Theatre’s production features an expanded cast of 15 actors and puppeteers, plus an ensemble of five. This allows for some fun choreographed sequences (Melanie Heaphy) that make good use of the extra bodies. The set design (Scott Maxim) of three row houses along the back of the stage offers a variety of spaces for actors and puppets to pop in and out and gives lighting designer Riley Gibson plenty to play with. His backlit drain that gently oozes smoke is a delightful touch.

The cast is a strong one and works seamlessly together, particularly those who operate puppets as a pair. The influence of puppet master Kenny King is in evidence. The puppeteers have clearly learnt his golden rules of keeping their eyes on their puppet and not letting go of them unless they’re dead, which does happen in one hilarious scene.

Vocal performances are mostly strong too. The singers don’t have microphones which occasionally makes it hard to hear them over the backing track, but the balance is generally good. All the singers deserve praise for their enunciation; I could hear every glorious word.

Avenue Q is not for the easily offended or the children in your life, but it’s uproariously funny and this production does an excellent job of bringing it to Wellington.

Having seen Homemade Takeaways performed as a rehearsed reading at Circa Theatre last year, the chance to see a fully fledged production was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. Much of the cast and crew remain with three of the four main actors reprising their roles. This is a good thing as the quality of performance is top-notch and the actors are demonstrably comfortable within their characters and each other.

Ben Wilson’s comedy-drama set in an unspecified South Island town deservedly won Best New Play at Playmarket’s Playwrights B425 2020 and was shortlisted for the 2021 Adam NZ Playwriting Award. It’s an awkward family Christmas as a Dunedin-based drummer (Dryw McArthur) suddenly uproots his job and city to return to the family home where his recently dumped self-help expert of a sister (Kate Johnstone) is quietly self-destructing. Their young stepmother (Tabatha Pini-Hall), a primary school teacher who is trying to write dark children’s fiction, has recently inherited the house and her 31-year-old, skateboarding, Emma Thompson-obsessed man-child bestie (James Cain) is sleeping on the couch. Overlaying each of their individual traumas is a shared patina of grief for a lost father and husband.

On paper, it seems like a doom-laden mix, but this play is funny with Cain’s character often providing comic relief as the tension builds to a metaphorical and literal storm on Christmas Eve. It’s ultimately uplifting as they somehow manage to make each other feel less alone.

The set (Rosie Gilmore) is unusually fulsome for the BATS stage, with a raised central area that is the kitchen cum living room of a rural house surrounded by fluffy toetoe with a bench outside where the characters retreat to smoke, talk, and attempt skateboard tricks. It’s carefully lit (Bekky Boyce) and the sound design (Maxwell Apse) features appropriately cheesy Christmas music and well-placed sound effects.

All up, this is an excellent show with stellar acting of a great script supported by sharp production values.

Year 9 is a tough time for everyone. There’s nothing like feeling like the world is against you and then finding out your town really is. 

Miracle brings you smack bang into the reality of a 14-year-old girl, who thought her biggest worries were figuring out when she could wear a jumper to school, how she could get her crush to notice her, and if her friends really liked her or not. Trying to prove that her family isn’t crazy, that she can take a joke even when fighting back tears as she tries to clear her family name, was a lot more than she bargained for. Miracle desperately fights against the veil of childhood as she is forced to battle with things she’s not quite old enough to fully understand.

There’s nothing that Miracle wants more than to fit in. She would rather cross her heart and hope to die than her dad get a job that draws more attention to her less than picture-perfect family. She tries to craft a plan towards his future employment as far away from her as possible, but doesn’t realise how catastrophic things will become. Meanwhile, the town is plagued by sudden deaths and a thick smoke cloud that tricks the residents into thinking there’s no such thing as clean air…

Miracle is a beautiful, fraught coming-of-age novel based in Australia. Come for the teen angst and the trip down memory lane and stay for the family dynamics and societal displays. The world is instantly relatable and vibrant, yet still captures the mundanity of the everyday. This is a book to savour. It is full of beautiful poetic language that is begging to be read out loud. Take your time to chew over every rich, juicy word that Lane has carefully crafted and enjoy the charm and the messiness of the relatable characters. Take your heart on the journey to the end of Miracle’s childhood.

For a lot of people, democracy is the simple process of voting for politicians who you think will have your best interests at heart and will look after you in the short and long term. Unsurprisingly there’s more to it than that, and for those wishing to learn the nitty-gritty of how it works in New Zealand, we have the latest book from Geoffrey Palmer and Gwen Palmer Steeds titled Democracy in Aotearoa New Zealand: A Survival Guide.

Going back to the beginnings of the first Māori wars and the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi, it explains how the English style of democracy first implanted itself in our country and how it grew and adapted to serve two very different cultures.

For me one of the best aspects of the book is the inclusion of interviews that the authors carried out. These include ones with Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern, former opposition leader Judith Collins, and ambassador to Ireland in waiting Trevor Mallard. They give us a rare peak into the mindset of the people that have helped to literally shape our lives in New Zealand. Ardern’s interview in particular stood out for me, as it gave me a better idea of how she thinks and her problem-solving process.

Another plus is the easy-to-read format of the book; I understood everything and never felt like anything went over my head.

One problem is the fact that politics is not for everyone and for some the subject will simply be a turnoff, which is shame because I think we should all have an understanding of the way our country is governed. I would still wholly recommend this book to those people, as it gave even a layperson like myself a better understanding of democracy, and how important it is to remain a part of the democratic process. As it says on the back cover, it’s a survival guide to democracy in Aotearoa.

Much like the words challenging and unprecedented are burned into our collective consciousness when we think of the last couple of years, so too is the word mindfulness and the act and art of being mindful when we think of wellness and wellbeing.

But what does being mindful actually involve? In Mind Free, Mark Stephens looks at the limiting patterns, actions, and behaviours that are holding you back and how, through the techniques of mindful meditation and self-hypnosis that he’s developed over the years, you can overcome these.

Stephens talks of mindful meditation, where if you become one with the task you have at hand or your present moment, then even the simple act of preparing a cup of tea can become a mindful experience. I tried this with a similarly mundane activity: shopping at the supermarket, marvelling over avocados, noticing all my fellow shoppers and the sights and sounds around me.

But so many times my mind wandered from the present to the past; my mind a hybrid landscape where everything but the present was competing for thought time – it was hard to stay in the moment. Stephens says it’s about bringing your attention back to the present.

Having a mantra of positive affirmations like ‘I can handle anything’ or ‘I am strong’ or ‘I’ve got this’ is a strategy suggested for overcoming anxiety to consciously change your internal story. When you feel better you start to act differently and feel happier and more content, Stephens says. Meditation mandalas can be found dotted throughout Stephens’ 21 positive states of being, which he has identified as the positive states we all need in our lives – things like appreciation, calm, love, laughter, and optimism.

There are certainly some positive techniques in Mind Free and empowering actions to take using thought regulation and breathing techniques.

But sometimes the art of creating a mind that is free by breathing, meditating, living in the now, self-affirming, thinking positively, and stressing less is as complicated as its promised reward.

Men flicker out like photos burned. Folklore fuses with our everydays. Birds no longer sing in cities. Year’s Best Aotearoa New Zealand Science Fiction & Fantasy Volume IV is a beautifully curated collection of our country’s best science fiction and fantasy short stories. These are stories that you can enjoy on their own, picking up whenever you feel like a little literary snack, or it can be a whole meal that you devour in one sitting.

The volume begins strong with I Will Teach You Magic by Andi C. Buchanan. Buchanan’s story tucks you in with a spell of love woven into the ink. It stretches out of the pages, onto your fingers, and flows into your heart. It’s the perfect beginning to the collection like sitting around a campfire, hearing stories retold that have been passed down by generations.

Plague Year by Anuja Mitra skilfully spins an ever-so-relevant social commentary by playing within the familiarity of a classic folklore. Data Migration by Melanie Harding-Shaw is a beautifully crafted tragic glimpse into a reality that just may fall upon us. A stark reminder that regardless of whatever challenges we face, teachers are forever the glue of civilisation, building hope and light within new generations. Interview with Sole Refugee from the A303 Incident by James Rowland is an incredibly gripping short story that you don’t want to end. The only survivor walks on past all the pain, fuelled by the pressure to meet deadlines at work.

Because this is a collection of stories, there isn’t enough space in this review to address each of them. I absolutely recommend this gem of a book. Standouts in the volume were stories that lingered on the precipice of our realities but held enough distance to gain perspective. Voices are taken, time is stolen, and worlds crumble as we watch frozen as witnesses. The volume holds the magic of many voices that all should be heard.

This Requiem concert was designed to provoke thoughts about the purpose of life and the nature of death. Seikilos by John Psathas was very much the former. An energetic and energising piece of music this was definitely in the vein of the living. Percussion, brass, strings, woodwind were all led with great clarity through the chaos by Gemma New who made a welcome return the podium for this performance.

Richard Strauss’ Death and Transfiguration took us to the opposite pole with a commentary on the experience of death and following death – the transfiguration. The strings stood out here although, as usual, it was impossible to call out any one section of the orchestra as doing a better job than another.

The performance of Mozart’s Requiem in D Minor, K.626 by the NZSO, a quartet of singers and arguably the best choir in the country, Voices New Zealand, brought together both themes of the programme and left us in no doubt we had been given an opportunity to contemplate life as well as death.

It is easy to forget singers, unlike instrumentalists, have limited opportunity to warm up their voices before they have to deliver a perfect combination of style, strength, tone, and of course, pitch. The four soloists: soprano Anna Leese, alto Rhonda Browne, tenor Amitai Pati and baritone Robert Tucker, were out of balance with each other to begin with but by the Lacrimosa, their voices were entwined and more evenly matched.

However, Mozart’s Requiem is really all about the chorus. They have the greatest opportunity to shine and this performance was dazzling. Brilliantly clear diction, remarkable changes in tone, delicate, close harmonies that sent shivers up and down the spine, and New’s tightly coiled and powerful energy combined for an outstanding performance. Is it wrong to be uplifted and made to feel alive by a requiem mass? This one carried me home.

After Granny (Elle Wootton) dies, Child (part-puppet, part-Stevie Hancox-Monk) starts to see monsters in the throes of their grief. Specifically, the Griegol, a spooky smoke demon Granny used to tell stories about. Child has a key from Granny, but doesn’t know what it opens. Dad (Paul Waggott) is understandably distrait as he struggles to navigate his own sense of loss and plan a funeral at the same time, so Cat (puppet design by Jon Coddington) pounces in to help, providing clues by sleeping near the locks in the house. Good kitty!  

The Griegol is a play without words that intersperses puppetry and projections, silhouettes and shadows to explore the ever-shifting shape of grief. A black hole of loss and fear, incomprehensible in its magnitude, gives way to acceptance and understanding; dark becomes light as beauty starts to billow from the smoke.

Excuse the excessive alliteration, but innovative, inventive, and integrated really are the best words to describe this production design. Cast members magic up a lot of the action under a camera that transmits a live feed onto a large screen set centre stage (set design by Sylvie McCreanor and Rose Kirkup, technical design by Brad Gledhill). Illustrations (Hannah Smith) and stop-motion animation (Ralph McCubbin Howell) play out in sync with incredible music composed by Tane Upjohn-Beatson and performed live with virtuosity by Tristan Carter, who cuts a deliciously macabre figure thanks to Marcus McShane’s lighting design. Actors flicker in and out of scenes, behind and in front of the screen. They are seamless, speaking 1000 words without uttering one. 

The Griegol is meticulous and specific in its approach while still hitting a universal message home. It’s a big subject, grief, and it can be overwhelming. But while The Griegol is poignant, even powerful, it’s accessible for all ages and languages. I feel seen, and safe to feel my feelings – even if that means crying three times!

Thank you, Trick of the Light, for such a beautiful, evocative, and meaningful work.

A downstairs space at Te Auaha that I didn’t even know was there has become the intimate venue for Long Cloud Youth Theatre’s latest self-devised work. With its 16-year history of providing a development hothouse for the next generation of writing and performing talent, the company has created a raw and authentic piece based on each performer’s real-world experience of a rite of passage in their own lives, centred around the Head Boy’s end-of-school party.

The white-box space fronted by glass is cleverly employed as a traverse stage with some of the action happening behind the glass or in the next room above the opposite side of the stage. Excellent use is made of light and shadow by set and lighting designers Grace Newton and Hollie Cohen. Initially covered by a fabric screen, the action behind the glass is humorously revealed to not always be what it seems later in the performance. As the party ebbs and flows, we smoothly transition between what’s going on inside and outside the house.

Starting with an angst-ridden discussion about cannabis giving you orange wee, this is an often-funny rollercoaster ride of teenage dramas about breakups and makeups, breakdowns, grief, toxic masculinity, self-consciousness, first dates, inebriation, crushes, and relationships old and new. It’s the exquisite pain of growing up to which we can all relate in some way, presented mostly literally and sometimes more figuratively with movement and dance (choreographed by Nadiyah Akbar).

The stage floor is interestingly covered in patches of carpet and other soft textures with loose white sheets laid on top. I fear that these sheets will be tripping hazards but the cast all having bare feet seems to mitigate the risk and, by the end of the performance, the carnage of tangled cotton neatly reflects the emotional chaos we have witnessed on stage.

Long Cloud Youth Theatre always comes up with something uniquely their own and Rites of Passage is no exception.

I have mixed feelings about David Farrier’s new documentary Mister Organ. On the one hand, it followed a reasonably interesting and twisted true story about a shady individual who I wanted to know more about, while on the other, my interest in the film peaked at about the halfway point as it lacked those defining moments all incredible documentaries are known for.

New Zealand journalist and filmmaker David Farrier (Tickled, Dark Tourist) is drawn into a game of cat and mouse with a mysterious individual who is clamping cars outside an antique store in Ponsonby, Auckland. Delving deeper, Farrier unearths a trail of court cases, inflated claims of royal bloodlines, ruined lives, and at least one stolen boat in this true story of psychological warfare.

One thing that’s for certain is that Farrier has found the ultimate sinister weirdo to ‘star’ in Mister Organ. That man’s name is Michael Organ. During the film, Farrier says, “You pay a soul tax for every minute you spend with him”, and believe me when I say this description is precisely on point. Farrier spent years listening to Organ’s puzzling ramblings while making his documentary and by the end, I felt as if I had done the same. As a director, he utilises long sequences from their one-sided interviews to help the audience fully understand just how whacko this guy is. He also did a great job finding victims and persuading them to share their experiences with Organ, providing a well-rounded view of Organ’s twisted past.

But the big question I asked myself while watching was: is this a story worth telling? There is no doubt that Michael Organ is probably one of the most dangerously annoying men in New Zealand, but if we made a documentary about every crazy person in the world, we would be here for a while! Farrier mentions in Mister Organ he is “trapped” with Organ because he must make a film about him. With no real climax or major developments after he starts filming, this isn’t really true. Rather, the documentary is more about Farrier and his own strange journey with Organ. Is that worth two hours of your time? Only you can decide…