Tessa Redman is already onstage dancing energetically to pop music when the BATS audience files in. The pink light (Elekis Poblete Teirney), small bed of potted flowers, and hanging window frame (design by Trantham Gordon) behind which she gyrates are reminiscent of the Amsterdam Red Light District, an appropriate place to start this “solo exploration into female performativity, lust, and uncontrollable desire”.

The aptly described “dance theatre explosion” starts with stylised, kapa haka-like movements, no music, and a declaration from Redman that “I like dancing”. She then states she doesn’t care for the title of the show but hasn’t renamed it because she doesn’t know what it’s about. Clearly, this is the lie, as for the next 60 minutes she performs an energetic, expansive, partly spoken, mostly danced narrative about growing up, meeting an exciting new partner and having sex with them, heartbreak, and learning to love being alone.

Her only companion on this journey is the suspended white window frame that variously becomes a seat, a swing, a confidante, and her first-time lover in a highly entertaining sequence of boring, bad sex performed to Madonna’s Crazy For You.

Redman’s unequivocal talent as a contemporary dancer shines strongest in a manic segment filled with writhing anger and lust, red light, and haunting music (sound design by LANCE). She’s not afraid to get naked on stage, expose her inner desires, and confide her experiences.

The lighting, music, and set design admirably support Redman’s story and choreography, allowing her to be intimate or to break out across the whole, wide stage of the Dome as it suits her need. A gorgeous pink dress and lustier red slip and bikini provide enough costuming to mirror the stages of her sexual and emotional development.

I’m Not Going To Lie To You is brave and sensual, funny and moving, showing us with raw drama what it is to be a young woman navigating the world.

Charlotte Day Wilson, a name we’ve heard murmurings of via standout guest appearances with BADBADNOTGOOD and Daniel Caesar, comes into her own with her debut LP ALPHA. Across the board, her songs are written and composed with conviction accompanied by delicate instrumentation and Wilson’s sorrowful voice, which sounds more confident than ever.

Charlotte Day Wilson is a contemporary R&B singer-songwriter, pianist, and saxophonist hailing from Toronto, Canada. She slowly made her presence known throughout the 2010s, popping up on other well-received records by up-and-coming Canadians (often as a performer and writer) and releasing a string of her own EPs.

Right from the album’s introductory track, Strangers, something sounds and feels different. Wilson has always had a soft, soulful inflection that she channels through her uniquely low range, and while that continues here, her voice connects in a way it hasn’t before. Yet, this newfound vocal power never outshines her established songwriting ability. Wilson has a talent for laying her words bare on the page, short and sweet. No song, verse, or hook on ALPHA outstays its welcome, but each one makes its point clearly and concisely.

Breaking out of the constraints of an EP, Wilson finds time to explore new ground. There’s a consistent style to her musicianship, but songs detour through fields of gospel, folk, and jazz from time to time, particularly when she lets a sax seep through such as on Changes. Unsurprisingly, the most soulful joint is I Can Only Whisper, which sees her reteam with old pals BADBADNOTGOOD. Her subject matter remains personal, but less brooding. In fact, Keep Moving might be Wilson’s first pop bop.

As a gifted songwriter and multi-instrumentalist, I’m sure Wilson could whip up a fresh batch of Stax-inspired soul tunes in no time, but with ALPHA, she refuses to let herself off that easy. Instead she strives for precision, in every word, note, sound, or structure, from the first splodge of ink on the page to the pristine final mix. Put simply, ALPHA is an auditory treat front to back.

As is promised with any of his releases, Kanye West’s 10th studio album is full of surprises, although few land with the grace and finesse of his earlier efforts. Donda’s 27-song, near-two-hour tracklist is bloated to say the least, but fans willing to stick it out will walk away with gems that will hold a coveted spot in their playlists for years to come.

Kanye West kicked off his musical career producing cuts for industry legends like Jay-Z, Nas, Talib Kweli, and Twista before segueing into a solo career, beginning with The College Dropout in 2004. In the 18 years since, West has released a string of the most critically acclaimed and commercially successful hip-hop albums of the 21st century, taking home 22 Grammy Awards in the process.

West has always been noted, and often praised, for his ability to switch sounds from project to project; after releasing the lush string-covered Late Registration (2005) he followed with the synth-heavy Graduation (2007), and then with his melodic opus 808s & Heartbreak (2008). With Jesus is King (2019), West debuted his Christian-rap persona, which he continues on Donda with more satisfying results.

Named after West’s gone-too-soon mother, Donda is a sprawling album inspired by gospel, trap, drill, and electronic music. At 27 tracks, what it lacks most is editing, an area West used to thrive in. Where his albums used to feel tight and excruciatingly thought-out, Donda simply feels like a collection of every song West had on his MacBook at the time of release. Some sound as though they were worked on for a thousand hours, others five minutes.

He and his many guests (Jay-Z, Travis Scott, Baby Keem, Westside Gunn, and more) mostly stick to the topic of God, which becomes tiresome fast. While he does offer an introspective perspective on tracks like Jail, many of West’s verses are cliché-ridden and he is often outshined by feature artists. However, tracks like the undeniably rich Moon featuring Kid Cudi, the album’s certified banger Off the Grid, and the Lauryn Hill-led Believe What I Say offer glimpses of the genius West possesses.

Live Through This is a double bill of two solo shows: The Best Show in Town is at Your Place Every Night, written and performed by Jonny Potts, and Change Your Own Life, written and performed by Jean Sergent. The two tragicomedies address love, life, and loss in very different ways.

In The Best Show in Town is at Your Place Every Night, Potts takes the audience on a tour of Wellington’s video shops, from the big players like Amalgamated and United Video to cult icons such as (the still-standing) AroVideo. By ‘takes us on a tour’, I don’t mean Potts waxes lyrical, although he does plenty of that. It is as if we’re on a bus, riding through the suburbs with a suited-up guide whose passion borders on delirium at times. Potts’ references are incendiary, kindled by genius, elusive, alluding always to something lurking beneath. A lover, a mistake, a death.

Lucas Neal’s clever, prop-heavy set here doubles as the video stores of yore and a person’s house (where the best show in town is on every night, of course). Brynne Tasker-Poland’s lighting helps establish drama, setting, and pace – especially when our bus chugs up the one-way hills of our damp city.

Change Your Own Life is Sergent’s true story of losing her best friend and brother nine months apart. As she responds to this insurmountable grief and we learn more about her life, tarot cards are slowly revealed on the back wall. It feels part-confessional, part-seminar, and part-magic, especially thanks to interludes lit in vivid purple and green by Tasker-Poland. Rapid shifts in Sergent’s performance – from gentle to explosive – at first throw me off guard. I come to realise these dramatic contrasts and conflicts must echo her experience. Grief is not linear, pretty, sitting in a shoebox. It’s loud and messy. The lid is open and we cling to those precious shoes, our breath stolen by the unfairness of it all. Thanks to Sergent for this brave, bold, and beautiful work.

As a 90-minute one-act play, this rarely performed work by American great Tennessee Williams is unusual. His work is always intense and lyrical and this piece is especially so. Its language is visceral and violent and yet devastatingly beautiful.

Society doyenne Violet has invited to her home a young doctor hoping to benefit from her philanthropy to discuss performing a lobotomy on Catherine, Violet’s young niece. Catherine was the only witness to the death of Violet’s son Sebastian and shutting her away in a mental hospital run by nuns hasn’t been enough to stop her babbling about what happened suddenly last summer in Spain when he met his end.

It’s tempting to resort to histrionics when performing Williams, but the excellent cast, under the careful direction of Emily K. Brown, exercise restraint in their performances which are all the more powerful because of it. As Catherine, Margot van de Water is astounding. We are left in no doubt as to the trauma caused by what she has witnessed and when she reveals the gruesome truth about Sebastian’s death, it is truly shocking.

Stephanie Gartrell clearly enjoys inhabiting the daiquiri-swilling shrew that is Violet and as the earnest Dr Cukrowicz, Slaine McKenzie excels. Helen Mackenzie and Finn Nacey provide energetic and petulant support as grasping relatives. Simran Rughani and Maria Buchanan make the most of their smaller roles as housemaid and nun.

The simple garden set with its lush pot plants and creeping ivy provides an appropriately sub-tropical background to the narrative. Whoever painted the floor deserves a special mention for their beautifully rendered flagstones.

The lighting (Riley Gibson) is exceptionally well designed and responsive to the action on stage and the wardrobe (Mandy Watkins and Cara Ngajar) is lush and period appropriate.

Everything about this production is polished and professional, which is even more impressive when you consider that the country went into COVID lockdown a week from its original opening in August. Full marks, Wellington Repertory Theatre.

When performer Jeremy Hunt announced that Ted Talks Crimes is a work in progress, my jaw dropped open. I’ve never seen a more developed development season! On as part of the TAHI Festival of Solo Performance, this brilliant one-man show needs little improvement, but because Hunt asked, and seeing as I’m in the business of feedback…

Ted (Hunt) is a New York crim who collects money on behalf of his mafia boss, The Don. Ted’s chosen debt-extraction method is the talk of the town. He’s a formidable tickler. After tickling the life out of one too many down-and-out marks, he begins to re-evaluate his life decisions. What kind of legacy will he leave behind? Is tickling for money a good use of his time? And why is his cut so small… Wait, I mean, is he a good man?

So begins this mile-a-minute tale of soul-searching, vengeance, and deadly bananas.

Utilising different accents to great effect (occasionally slipping out of Ted’s Italian Brooklyn lilt but mostly keeping it up), Hunt embodies multiple characters with ease, flair, and commanding physicality. His sense of comic timing perfectly serves the script (Hunt and Ricky Dey), especially when it comes to the deliciously obscure anecdotes and references woven throughout. Ted Talks Crimes is rife with my favourite kind of absurdism, where the unusual and usual squelch into a potion of crab jelly that occasionally smacks you in the face, killing you instantly, but mostly smiles down at you from its innocuous jar on the shelf. I swear this reference is relevant.

Bekky Boyce’s lighting design effortlessly distinguishes the setting as we hop between a market, an office, a bar, and more. There’s just the right amount of set furnishings and props – many of which rouse a wicked laugh – but I’d love to see a louder and more dramatic sound design (director Ben Ashby) that hypes up the drama and plays into the emotional moments, like when Ted’s life is changed by a kindly gorilla.

The theme of this uplifting TAHI Festival production is exactly what you’d expect from the title – family. More precisely, “lifting the lid on the complexity of family relationships from disastrous to delicious”.

This aim is achieved through four actors (Emma Katene, Daniel Gagau, Ngahiriwa Rauhina, and Melissa Sutherland) performing 13 short extracts from 11 solo works by New Zealand writers. With the help of assorted chairs, a few bits of wardrobe, and a couple of props, they deliver warm, empathetic, poignant, and often laugh-out-loud vignettes of what it means to have whānau.

The playwrights whose work is showcased here are Vela Manusaute, Felix Desmarais, Rob Mokaraka, Jamie McCaskill, Toa Fraser, John Broughton, Emily Duncan, Tom Scott, Melissa Sutherland (doing admirable double duty as playwright and actor), and Nicola Pauling. Each has their own rich way of shining light on the trials of being human through the lens of family.

The lovingly created characters we meet over the hour of the production range from a miracle baby produced from the remaining half of a fallopian tube after several ectopic pregnancies and miscarriages, to an 11-year-old girl with a superhero Samoan mum, a literal and metaphorical Karen and her daughter, a young man revelling in his half-Māori/half-Pākehā ancestry, a family with projectile-vomiting children heading to the beach, and an angry mum whose kids have been removed by CYFS.

Co-directors Kerryn Palmer and Sally Richards have chosen their extracts carefully and well. In addition to being woven together by theme, the pieces flow seamlessly from one to the next with appropriate music, well-applied projection onto the back wall of the theatre, sensitive lighting, and some cool dance moves from the actors who occasionally interact.

The mark of a successful theatre production is that you’re left wanting more. I could have happily watched this group of talented actors telling their uniquely Kiwi stories with genuine pathos and humour well into the night.

While a fitting farewell to Daniel Craig’s James Bond, much of No Time to Die feels like a wash, rinse, repeat exercise. A committed and likeable ensemble cast and vicious action sequences keep it from growing stale, but on a scale of Craig’s Bond films, it winds up somewhere in the middle: not great, not bad, just okay.

A direct sequel to 2015’s Spectre, No Time to Die is the 25^th entry in the James Bond franchise and the fifth to star Craig as the illusive MI6 agent. Bond has settled down with Madeleine Swann (Léa Seydoux) and ditched the secret agent life, until his old friend, CIA agent Felix Leiter (Jeffrey Wright), shows up with a new mission: to rescue a kidnapped scientist and prevent the mysterious Lyutsifer Safin (Rami Malek) from unleashing a deadly nanoscopic weapon on the world. Meanwhile, Bond must play nice with Nomi (Lashana Lynch), the new 007. 

Unlike the previous actors who have taken up the mantle, Craig’s Bond films are interconnected. It would seem the stage has been set for a grand finale, but instead, No Time to Die feels like a check list, a movie attempting to wrap up 15 years of story arcs and present an entertaining one-off adventure. Even with its 164-minute runtime, it’s too much to contain.

Given the wealth of characters crammed into this tale, it’s no surprise that some fall flat while others soar. Craig delivers a performance on par with his others, though he doesn’t quite tap into the raw energy and emotional gravitas found in Casino Royale and Skyfall. Of the new additions, Ana de Armas shines brightest as Paloma, a fresh-faced CIA agent with a whole lot of ambition and very little training, though I wish her screentime extended past a single sequence. Sadly, Malek’s Safin feels like every Bond villain mashed into one, and while Nomi’s presence creates an interesting dilemma for Bond, she isn’t given the space to develop as an individual.

No Time to Die feels plot-heavy where it should have felt emotionally driven. As the cherry on top of Craig’s run, it plays well. On its own, it doesn’t stand toe to toe with the best of the series.

Clearly drawing heavily on cult sci-fi TV shows like Star Trek and Babylon 5, Peregrine V starts with a smart projected introduction to the improvised tale of a rag-tag spaceship crew that we are about to see created.

The all-knowing computer then randomly assigns six actors (Gabrielle Raz-Liebman, Jerome Cousins, Malcolm Morrison, Brendon Bennetts, Emma Maguire, and Liz Butler) their characters. They are of varying species with an expected collection of roles on the ship ranging from the shapeshifting captain and human engineer to the mutant therapist and AI entertainer. Also along for the ride are an avian diplomat and an amphibian mercenary. The actors gamefully embrace these characters, give them names, and set the audience and themselves off on a journey of discovery.

An added element of character is the beautifully animated talking computer (operated by director Jonathan Briden) that always sits on the wall behind the actors and offers droll commentary, jokes, and interaction with the characters, even condemning one of them to death with a coldness reminiscent of HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey.

The story that unfolds is more existential than the typical storylines of the TV series this show pays homage to. Some characters are not who they appear to be, causing significant angst among the crew, much of which neatly unfolds in the therapist’s office. My favourite line of the night is “I smell emotions!” yelled by the therapist just before he bounds on stage to analyse another tortured crewmate.

Costuming plays a significant part and each actor selects an appropriate outfit, which some alter to good effect during the course of the narrative to reflect their story arcs. Sound effects (Briden again) and lighting (Bethany Miller) are also used well to give context to what the actors are doing and mark the end of short scenes.

All involved with this NZ Improv Festival show obviously enjoy the sci-fi genre and its tropes and create an irrepressibly fun hour of nerdy entertainment.

All power to BATS for pushing ahead with the NZ Improv Festival under COVID Alert Level 2 and making it work. Suitably spooky music from the keyboard of Matt Carroll greeted the masked-up audience as they entered the Random Stage and found their physically distanced seats for this one-off supernatural story.

Those familiar with The X-Files would have immediately recognised the premise of this show with intrepid Agents Smoulder and Gully of the Federal Bureau of Improvisation investigating the unusual disappearance of an unnamed woman who has been drawn into a desert canyon near Cactustown, Arizona by mysterious voices from the past.

Even though some of them are too young to have seen the original TV show, the ensemble cast of Aaron Douglas, Christine Brooks, Ben Jardine, Liz Butler, Trubie Dylan-Smith, Laura Irish, and Daniel Allan cleverly weave a tale worthy of the X-Files scriptwriters using the scant offering of a generic outdoor location from an audience member.

Utilising their enviable physical theatre and characterisation skills, we’re soon introduced to hapless white-trash couple Clarice and Chuck and their parents, the local sheriff and his wannabe deputy Cletis, an 86-year-old librarian, and The Town Psychic. Collectively, they help the agents solve the mystery of the Lost Girls who disappeared on a Hanging Rock-style picnic in 1903 and have now somehow been transformed into a drooling monster from an unearthly, triangle-based realm, accessed through Cactus No. 3, that just wants a family. They even manage to exploit the underlying sexual tension between Mulder and Scully that so titillated X-Files audiences in the 1990s.

The cast are supported by appropriate lighting changes and blackouts that occasionally cut them off or leave them hanging to hilarious effect and Carroll’s background music that neatly highlights the tense finale. Some basic costuming and four red blocks provide just enough setting.

The great joy of improv is that you never see the same show twice and as a one-off festival performance, The I-Files delivered in spades.

Whether you’re a seasoned veteran of the Dungeons & Dragons lore or a newbie looking to find your way in the mystical realms of world building, the Dungeons & Comedians troupe, all the way from Christchurch, is possibly one of the funnest ways to approach the famous fantasy role-playing game. Taking a game already inherently rooted in improv and interactive storymaking, Dungeons & Improvisers brings another layer of fantastical performance and personality to Dungeons & Dragons… and improv!

In this NZ Improv Fest show, DM (Dungeon Master Brendon Bennetts) guides three characters chosen at random through a world of fantasy and adventure, comedic mishaps, and (un)lucky dice rolls. As the DM creates a scene, they employ the help of their ‘imps’: six cast members who contort and transform their bodies to form both inanimate objects and living characters for the three protagonists to interact with on their journey. The audience too is called upon to create obstacles, perils, and plot points, bringing the show to life. Tonight, an old wizard in a red coat named Nimbus the Blue (Wiremu Tuhiwai), a sparky rogue called Bella Doone (Amelia Cartwright), and a comical fighter introduced as Gregnog (Tara Swadi) find themselves facing the amphibious frog prince, usurper of the town of Spawn.

The characters are accompanied by Matt Carroll on the keyboard, who expertly and seamlessly provides atmosphere, anticipation, and aesthetic to every scene. Meanwhile Zoe Higgins masterfully lights the show with a myriad of hues and shades depending on the scenario... or flashes of red for dangerous combat scenes! Both the lighting and the tailored soundscape add a sense of heightened reality to the already very real world unfolding on stage.

Perhaps the best part of the show is the pure, unadulterated imagination on display. Already improvisational in nature, the performance qualities of Dungeons & Dragons truly lend themselves seamlessly to an improv stage show. It’s easy to see why Dungeons & Comedians have sold out shows for the last four years!

A celebration of womanhood, Sista, Stanap Strong! explores ni-Vanuatu women’s struggle against sexism and misogyny in conjunction with Oceanian colonialism, slavery, racism, and independence.

Sista, Stanap Strong! is important for its reclamation of language, recounting, remembering, and rising above the horrors of colonialism and slavery. Stories and poems such as The bitterness of sugar cane by Losana Natuman recount the incipience of colonialism and blackbirding, whereas Dirty white by Jane Kanas portrays the lasting effect of 19th century colonialism in the 70s and 80s. Kanas’ story directly outlines the role language plays in colonisation, placing English in direct opposition to Bislama and native languages. Though not a direct act of physical violence, cultural, emotional, and psychological damage persist through modern day.

This anthology spans multiple generations of Vanuatu women’s perspectives, with writings ranging from teenagers to octogenarians. Despite the variation in age and experiences however, the perspective remains relatively unchanged. These women are nurturing and strong, trailblazers and keepers of tradition, culture, and history, and yet almost all of them encounter and are defiant in the face of sexism and misogyny. Whether it be domestic violence as in Is this real love by Roselyn Qwenako Tor or men’s insistence upon female inferiority in Mildred Sope’s recollection of the independence movement. “I was targeted and victimised cruelly... the priority was the boys... no more should my girls feel unequal, their rights and voices drowned by some people”, Telstar Jimmy’s voice proclaims in Their lives matter more. Every piece of writing in this anthology is about perseverance and endurance in the face of oppression.

Aside from its focus on universal feminism and female oppression, Sista, Stanap Stong! also presents the intersectional struggle of Vanuatu women in particular. Most of these voices have not been heard until now; they are empowering, they are strong, they are female, and they call for not only Vanuatu women but women everywhere to endure, overcome, and Stanap Strong!

The title of Vincent O’Sullivan’s latest poetry collection signals a virtual handshake to readers. They probably know each other, so the greeting is in order.

I get the impression that O’Sullivan is philosophically at ease – both with himself and with the world. If he has axes to grind, I’m not hearing them. Instead, we get 80 poems ranging widely in subject matter, and readers may surprise themselves by the number of references they recognise. We get mentions of the Treaty and Te Rauparaha, Toto the dog, Hitchcock’s birds, the Garden of Eden, and pin the tail on the donkey. And that’s not to omit Marie Antoinette’s head and the dignity of Chinese women meticulously preparing to die.

There are poetic treats for linguists, who will nod sympathetically at In defence of the adjectival, those who have committed autobiography may wince at The spook at life writing, and everyone will enjoy Fieldwork with its final line, “No one has ever sprained an ankle in a rabbit hole on a map”.

Things are extra OK with me when O’Sullivan ventures upon a few narrative poems long enough to hold some bold social commentary. The story of Born Again Brightly, being the name I chose describes a millionaire in a doctor’s waiting room, a doctor who operates on “the smaller lesions of wealth, on investment melanoma, on impacted properties, ingrown shares, devalued tumour”. How surgically incisive!

Things aren’t OK with everyone. Epistemology, Standard Five takes a wry look at life’s unfairness: some of us get brains and beauty and others defects and disabilities. “God wants you to be”, insists Sister Gabriel. Our poet is not convinced. The resignation of the final two lines gains extra effect because they rhyme: “Being clangs its door. No second queue. Get a load of this, Being says, ‘Make do, make do’.”

Life’s been more than fair to O’Sullivan: those who get gifted with talent are the luckiest. But, as this collection demonstrates, he does a lot more than “make do”.

If you haven’t heard of Arthur Taylor you’re either young or have been living under a rock. Mind you, he did have 10 aliases, essential kit when you’re a career criminal. 

Arthur tells his life story which is a revolving door in and out of prisons throughout New Zealand. He blames his downward spiral on the Epuni Boys’ Home, where he was sent for wagging at age 11. After that, he spent 38 years in total in jail. He has a lovely, supportive family by all accounts and a big brain (if he does say so himself). 

His language is blunt and of course there is a lot of swearing, so beware if you don’t like foul language. A description of Arthur from a fellow crim: “he’s lower than a sewer, a dirtbag, lard-arse, motor-mouth, mother-...”

Arthur spent a lot of his time on the inside fighting for prisoners’ rights and he studied the law in order to represent himself in court multiple times. One incident he complained about was a detective repeatedly hitting him over the head with a telephone book. He does play the victim a bit which sticks in my craw. After all, he committed a lot of crimes, some serious. He is proud of the fact that during his crimes he never physically hurt anyone but does acknowledge his victims might have suffered PTSD. Really Arthur – you think?

I find his life continuously boring, running from cops then fighting the latest charge from jail. He seemed to revel in annoying people. However, his work on improving conditions for his “brothers and sisters in jail” is admirable. I found his stories about famous inmates, including Graeme Burton and Liam Reid, so interesting that I Googled those criminals to revisit their ghastly crimes.

Arthur Taylor is out (at the time of this review) living the quiet life, and still fighting the good fight for other prisoners. Prison Break is an interesting read on a life that thankfully I’ve never had to participate in. Yet.

Co-author of Unleash Your Superpowers, Rosemary Killip acknowledges those in her professional life who have allowed her to grow, learn, and challenge herself. Every interaction was an opportunity to step up, to shine, or to shrink. In a sense, this sums up the heart of Unleash Your Superpowers.

Exploring the stories of a group of diverse women, authors Killip and Jen Tyson delve into the strategies each of these professional women have navigated, to literally unleash their own unique superpowers. Everyone has them they say, and the more I read, the more I agree. What makes their stories relatable is that I could imagine sitting with each one of them. These are women I work with, we all work with, and I could see elements of their stories that mirrored my own.

A question I found most interesting was, ‘Who are you at work?’ Killip and Tyson challenge you to consider your ‘personal brand’. Do you recognise this person? What are you known for? Does it align with your non-work self? Spotting and navigating opportunities to ‘rebrand’ yourself all contribute to making positive changes. If how you are seen at work is not who you are elsewhere, you can make positive changes to realign yourself. You owe it to yourself to have a fulfilling, happy career. If you don’t invest in your own personal growth, it’s not likely anyone else will either.

This means having an awareness of your surroundings, your body language, how you communicate, and how you respond to others.

Look for an organisation or project that aligns with your interests – discover why you do what you do. If the going gets tough: “Never let a barrier be a barrier, stop if you fall over, pick yourself up and keep going. Sometimes learning hurts,” says Jo Miller, chief executive of Hutt City Council.

Unleash Your Superpowers is a superb book, incredibly easy to read, and filled with some really inspiring takeaways from some pretty insightful women.

Two things strike me about the cover of 21 Hacks to Rock your Midlife. A title like that clearly signals that this is a book for women. Men don’t need to “Release the Past, Dare to Dream and Create [their] Legacy”, do they?

And then there’s the word “hacks”. I’m not going to pretend I didn’t have to check Wikipedia for the new and improved meaning of a word that’s got a history of negative connotations. For the uninitiated, a hack can now mean “any trick, shortcut, skill, or novelty method that increases productivity and efficiency, in all walks of life”. Hmmm.

“Midlife isn’t an age. It’s an experience”, midlife success coach Cat Coluccio assures us. And we get to find how that plays out in seven sections. Awakening and Releasing sound too New Age for me, so I start with Creating Space and its theme of decluttering.

That’s something I could sound as earnest about as Coluccio. “Clutter is not just the stuff on your floor – it’s anything that stands between you and the life you want to be living.” Now that’s a grand statement. If the reader makes it through a series of confronting questions about the state of their desk, wardrobe, or benchtop, they are rewarded with a list of step-by-step actions to take.

Decluttering is hard work – whether we’re talking physical, digital, or mental. Coluccio makes no bones about it, which makes this section alone worth the price of the book.

Ditch the Perfectionism! is also a useful section. It contains well-aimed advice at a philosophy that sounds admirable but is actually a disguise for something less so. Such are the delusions of midlife.

Being 70+, I approached Coluccio’s midlife hacks with scepticism. Would her suggestions come too late to save me from my lifelong accumulation of letters, photos, and diaries?

A hack is supposed to be a shortcut, but there are no shortcuts here. Not Coluccio’s problem – she’s written the book – it’s up to us to take the action.

While its subtitle may read Entrepreneurs Who Broke Big Soda’s Stranglehold on the USA and New Zealand, the book centres around just one protagonist: Kiwi businessman Glenn Elliott. He is the founder of King of Kiwi, a company that created a line of drinks made with all-natural Kiwifruit pulp.  Described as a ‘daily health hit in a bottle’, Elliott’s goal was to give the consumer a healthy alternative to the sugary offerings that are more well known, such as Coke or Pepsi.

Better For You documents Elliott’s journey as he takes his products (Kiwi-Shot and Kiwi Revivor) and dips his toes into the sometimes-choppy waters of the American drinks market. We get to see his highs and lows as he experiences what it is like doing business in a foreign country. Along the way author Lisa A. Lewis details his progress, offering a shoulder to cry on and a sounding board when things go wrong.

It’s an exhilarating adventure, made even more exciting because of how high the stakes potentially are. Every setback could have easily stopped him in his tracks, ending the entire endeavour.

Elliott makes the perfect David to America’s Goliath, and I found myself cheering him on throughout his adventure. Lewis herself becomes something of Elliott’s sidekick, and I could tell that they had great chemistry and worked well together.

My only gripe is with the photos that Lewis includes halfway through the story. None of them have the usual descriptors at the bottom that let people know what’s happening. As a journalist (sometimes photographer) this is a big no-no as it risks confusing the reader.

Apart from this one little foible, the book is fantastic and I couldn’t put it down until I got to the final chapter. It’s clear, it’s fun, and it’s an easy read. I would recommend Better For You for anyone thinking about starting up their own business who wants to know what they might be in for.

As the front cover of his latest biography says, this is not a political memoir. Instead, it’s a reflection on who Simon Bridges is as a person, about his life as a father, husband, and politician. His new book National Identity covers a wide range of topics, delving into the minutiae of what makes him tick and why he is the way he is.

For those that don’t know who I am talking about, let me give you the abridged version. Simon Bridges was born in 1976 in Auckland and started out as a lawyer before deciding to turn to politics. He eventually became head of the National Party in 2018 before losing the leadership two years later.

National Identity is essentially a warts and all look at his views on things like the ‘haves and have nots’, the role of social media in politics, the growing class system developing in our society, and more.   

One of my favourite parts of the book is when he’s describing his nationality and how he views his bi-racial ethnicity (Ngāti Maniapoto iwi and English descent), calling himself a Māori, English Kiwi. Even though he loves the UK, in his own words, his ‘Vogel’s is buttered here’ (in New Zealand).

While there’s no way to judge a person based on one title, his writing gives me a ‘good bloke’ kind of vibe. The language is simple and down-to-earth. It’s not dumbed down at all but easy enough to read that anyone can just pick it up and go.

While you might peg a former National leader as wholly conservative, Bridges’ views seem to be more progressive than I first thought. In fact, in my opinion, it would be a huge mistake to give National Identity a miss based on political leanings alone. While it won’t convert you to the other side of the political spectrum if you’re not there already, it may surprise you and at least provide an insight into how political leaders think.

Rosy Fenwicke is a full-time author who wrote the Euphemia Sage Chronicles, Death Actually, and the fast-paced Cold Wallet. This novel taught me things about Bitcoin I didn’t know or think I needed to. It was interesting to learn more, as it may be the currency of the future. There are hot wallets too in this thriller about a young woman’s life that’s thrown into chaos when she inherits a cryptocurrency company. Fun fact about Bitcoin from the book: “The electricity to run the programmes costs a fortune. Did you know computers and the energy needed to run them contributes more to CO2 emissions than all the air travel in the world?” Wow. 

The story is told by the central character Jess, and Henry, her nemesis. Jess is a doctor and Henry is her husband’s business partner who is jealous of her and the hold she has over her husband Andrew. They share chapters to tell the tale of greed and trying to out-fox each other. I loved this sentence: “He was suffering from an advanced case of destitution.” No wallet for him then.

Set in Auckland, it’s easy to imagine the Viaduct apartment and glamorous lifestyle they enjoy. The Fiji honeymoon sounded even more exotic as I read this book in lockdown. It was also a coincidence while I was reading it that some cryptocurrency folk violated lockdown in Auckland!

There are anti-heroes, erotica, baddies, death, and a great pace and rhythm that kept me wondering, what next? Who should Jess trust – the police, her lawyer, the Uber driver who mysteriously turns up whenever required? There were instances of gruesome violence and bad things happening to people, including amputations (just a warning).

I did not expect Cold Wallet to end the way it did, which was great. It was full of twists and I needed to know what was going to happen, which kept me on edge. And there are unanswered questions too, so a good tale told.

Walking into BATS Theatre for my first NZ Improv Festival outing, I’m thrilled to be greeted by a staff member with a bright orange sticker. I’m told I can wear it if I want to participate in the show, which I think is a brilliant innovation. Some people are put off improv simply because they don’t want to be singled out. As a Leo, I of course take the sticker and stick it straight on my forehead.

Agatha Christine (Christine Brooks) welcomes us to the Random Stage and sets the scene for Murder on a Boat, where a cast of 10+ scramble to solve the whodunnit aboard the SS Maria Williams. As this is improv, who plays who and who murders who is decided in real-time over one hour of spontaneity and rapid-fire thinking.

Although there are instances of players talking over each other and misinterpreting offers, I thoroughly enjoy Murder on a Boat from start to end. Tightening it up a tad would simply help the great premise and enthusiast cast shine even brighter.

Standout members include Matt Powell, whose detective Sebastian Le Crabbe perhaps isn’t as ready to hand over the reins as he first thought; Marea Colombo, whose charisma as the overworked Beverly nearly steals the show; and Tara Swadi, whose Duchess Fox is killed off far too early. This doesn’t count as a spoiler because it’ll be a different murder victim next time!

Moments of brilliance have me cackling into my mask. One such is a passionate encounter between star-crossed lovers Beverly and the Captain (Daniel Allan), whose impromptu shanty To Sea, ably accompanied by Matt Hutton on keys, is another favourite scene of mine. When there’s a danger of boring ol’ misogyny creeping in, Laura Irish flips the narrative as the ship’s singer Maxine.

As Murder on a Boat comes to a close, I look at my friend and declare it to be “really, really, really good”. I’d love to see it again.