Newlands College student Josh Neilson has been learning the drums for the past year with his teacher and friend Senuka Sudusinghe, front of house host and tea mixologist at the t-Lounge by Dilmah. Josh was diagnosed with autism as a baby and has an ultimate goal of drumming in a band one day. In Reach Beyond Your Horizons, he performed to an audience to help him on the way to that dream. Patrons also enjoyed a Dilmah tea and Meyer cheese pairing, a three-course meal, and speeches aimed at celebrating neurodiversity in our community, with 20 percent of the proceeds from the event going to Autism NZ.

Playing songs like We Will Rock You by Queen and Billie Jean by Michael Jackson, Josh’s passion, enthusiasm, and joyful spirit shone through. My concert favourites were the Drum Dialog between Josh and Senuka, where their connection and friendship resonated louder than the boom from the bass drum, and the fusion drum recital East Meets West, a fitting finale that saw Josh playing along to Sri Lankan drumming. 

The food was exceptional. The entrée was a beautiful mushroom cappuccino with a lentil bite (think a shot of cream of mushroom soup with a kick). Next we had a Ceylon spiced chicken taco, boasting perfectly balanced flavours tied together with a spicy chilli mayo. A vegetarian option of jackfruit was available too. Amma’s deliciously decadent chocolate cake followed with a choice of matcha, chai, or earl grey gelato – a special tea-infused treat. Of course the tea was a standout, with the lychee, rose, and almond with lemon nitro tea the most refreshing welcoming drink I think I’ve ever had.  

I was honoured to be invited to Reach Beyond Your Horizons, where the love Josh’s friends and family felt for him filled the room like steam from a hot cuppa on a cold night. It felt special to be part of a moment so important in a young man’s life, and what an upstanding man Josh clearly is.

“I wanted life to be useful
like a piece of furniture that accurately
describes itself. I had this thought, you see,
and I wanted to write it down.”

Writing a short book review can become a procedural exercise if you let it. First, introducing the author – their name, accomplishments, previous works. Then, reducing the work to its qualities that interest you most, pasting some quotes in there to say, “see what I mean?”

Bill Manhire poses a significant threat to this order of things. Impossible to summarise in 350 words, Wow is not merely an infantile exclamation, but an appropriate reaction to the words that follow.

“They fell in love between the end of footie season
and the start of shearing. Sheep gazed, bewildered.
The paddocks stretched up into the hills,
mostly scrub and a few old stands of bush.
‘Now listen here,’ he said, and that was it really.”

Among other things, these poems are about the native bird, God, and the peculiar acts that define a regular existence. Manhire’s love for repetition and rhyme persists, and his treatment of the ordinary in Wow lends itself to the surreal. The pull of Manhire’s verse is forceful, as is the ensuing feeling that you too might be living in one of his poems. Bill Manhire is to New Zealand poetry what John Prine is to Chicago folk music.

“I like the cloud at the top of Shingle Road,
the way it makes my feelings settle.
Sheep can still find grass there,
grazing among a thousand stones.
Each stone was once the shadow of a bird.”

See what I mean?

Brazil was a country that cropped up for me when I first started digging deeper into blues music. Part of my research was about slavery after coming across an article that mentioned, in part, that Brazil had imported some four million slaves – or 40 percent of all slaves from Africa compared to America’s 600,000. What struck me, apart from the sheer numbers, was that Brazil has never developed a comparable blues music style. This can also be said of other slave territories in the Caribbean such as Cuba or Haiti.

Quite different from the Lonely Planet books about countries, which tend to look for the positives, this series, which has Japan and Greece in its catalogues, covers the scope of the subject with hard-hitting journalism within the pages.

Of interest to all is the despotic tyrant Jair Bolsonaro, who rules the country with much of the same intolerance that former President Trump displayed. Racist, misogynist, anti-gay, anti-environmentalists, the list goes on. Perhaps his most offensive remark was made to a female MP whom he described as being 'too ugly to rape'.  

The Passenger series’ stance is about exploding myths. An example is the rise of the feminist rap movement funkeiras, the objectivity of which seems to be body slamming anybody shaming overweight women. Their videos are shamelessly sexually provocative. It’s a long way from the Ipanema beach sound of samba and bossa nova.

This is not pretty reading, yet it is essential to understanding deforestation, gang wars, prison, drugs, armed conflict, and the killing or removal of Indigenous tribes. Even the building of the so-called fabled city of Brasilia is an example of city planning gone wrong. I checked out Brasilia on YouTube and was amazed by the brutalist architecture, monstrous concrete piazzas, and lack of trees. The promise of work in Brasilia caused a migration of the poor, leading to more slums.

The Passenger: Brazil should be read by every politician and anyone who cares about the planet.

The Disinvent Movement is a captivating novel following a disillusioned Kiwi woman anxiously navigating her way through life. Susanna Gendall explores a woman’s struggle with identity following the end of a violent relationship, the one thing she says she shares with her mother. This unique debut is segmented into 81 short stories, most only a couple of paragraphs long.

Each story follows the protagonist as she questions identity, societal norms, and expectations. It made perfect sense that the protagonist would start to question herself and her surroundings after surviving such a life-altering ordeal. Gendall writes: “Each morning I knew I was closer to leaving. This was not so much about walking out the door as it was about dismantling a whole system of belief.” Later she writes: “How had we all just gone along with this whole thing anyway? Why were we trying so hard to play by the rules?”

The book is riddled with deliberate, short sentences, crafted perfectly for my attention span. These stunted sentences made for easy reading and more importantly offered opportunities for the reader to pause and reflect on the writer’s meanings and intentions.

Initially, I was surprised when the protagonist painted the cars on her street as a form of climate activism. As I read on, I realised this was a fitting action from a woman grappling with how to execute her beliefs in a purposeful way. Life or relationships are not linear, and as we evolve, we naturally disconnect from certain people. Gendall describes this transience concisely when she writes: “Once I was out, I wanted to get in, and once I was in, I wanted out.”

The Dinsinvent Movement emphasises that life is not always a series of choices and we often face problems that call for strength and determination. Although I didn’t necessarily relate to all of the protagonist’s struggles, I am sure there will be women out there who will be comforted and inspired by her stories.

In a marked contrast to the clarity and purpose of Carnival, Firebird, on two weeks later, was a confused experience. Thursday night’s programme was a jarring mix of styles and orchestration.

The opening piece was hard to enjoy. Juliet Palmer’s Buzzard was intended to support the bird theme, but I could not bring to mind anything relevant to the idea. The rhythms and intonation challenged the orchestra too, who looked and sounded tense and tested.

Welcoming applause for pianist Diedre Irons showed the house included many who had come to hear her play Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 23 in A Major, K. 488. It was an odd choice to follow Buzzard and the abrupt change of style took a while to settle in my ear, but the orchestra relaxed and Irons gave us the highly capable and competent performance we know we can rely on from her. The second movement, Adagio, opened beautifully on piano and then swelled, receded, and flowed between the piano and orchestra through to a neatly played final movement, rewarded with long applause from the audience.

I have a new love for Stravinsky. After Petrushka in Carnival and this performance of Firebird I am left wondering why I haven’t felt this love before now. The answer must surely be the combination of Hamish McKeich’s direction and the individual and collective performances of the NZSO. Firebird was another dazzling combination of tone, depth, emotion, and imagery. The music shimmered and swirled, was bright and light, dark and menacing, contrasting chromatic notes with particular scales and harmonies, cleverly directed changes in volume and pace evoking dreamlike states and passages of high energy and urgency, culminating in a spectacularly energetic finale. It is near impossible to find a standout from so many excellent performances, but I loved the viola passages above all, and they are still ringing in my ears. Accolades for everyone, including Stravinsky.

Those looking for a ground-breaking adventure won’t find it in Nobody. What they will get is an absurd, unapologetically violent action romp led by the ever-watchable Bob Odenkirk. Though it teases an emotional arc that quickly goes walkabout, the adrenaline surging through the film’s final act leaves me smiling in the name of sheer excitement.

Hutch Mansell (Odenkirk) defines the word ordinary: he’s married with two kids, works nine to five at a steel company, and otherwise largely keeps to himself. Following a home invasion where little is stolen (besides his daughter’s precious kitty cat bracelet), a long-dormant side of Hutch is awoken – the side that was once an assassin for intelligence agencies.

It was proudly splashed across the promo material for the film that Nobody comes from the same mind as the John Wick series (writer Derek Kolstad). This forces us to compare the two, a tough mountain for any action flick to climb, and sadly, Nobody doesn’t quite reach the summit. However, this doesn’t mean it has nothing going for it. First and foremost, it has Bob Odenkirk.

Odenkirk is a ludicrously likeable guy on screen. Even in his famous turn as greasy attorney Saul Goodman (Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul), we love to root for him. Director Ilya Naishuller sets the actor a challenge in going this savage, and he carries it off effortlessly while never losing his relatability.

The hand-to-hand combat is shown in its full force. There’s no hiding behind rapid editing or the careful placement of the back of a stunt double’s head. We follow every punch and understand how one leads to the next.

Nobody is not for everyone, though there are some out there who will be all about it. The brutality on display, and the noirish way it is captured, will make this movie a standout for many. The family drama that is incorporated only goes surface deep, and the squeamish among us may spend much of the runtime facing the back of the theatre. Decide which camp you’re part of and enter at your own risk.

It’s a blustery Thursday night in Wellington, and San Fran is packed to the brim with punters hoping for the kind of belly laughs that can make the outside world disappear. That’s exactly what we get thanks to the Wellington Comedy Club. These regular stand-up shows always attract impressive line-ups of top local and national comedians, and tonight is no exception, with Funny Girls actor Chris Parker emceeing alongside headliner Sera Devcich. Supporting them is Shannon Basso Gaule, Ryan McGhee, and Lesa Macleod-Whiting.

Parker bursts onto the stage with an alarming energy that makes me like him immediately. A self-professed extrovert, his comedy is fast and frenzied but clearly constructed with care. He’s animated and personable, punctuating clever jokes with wild gesticulations (I can still see him screaming for Janet in the back room in my mind’s eye) and serving as the perfect host for the evening.

Next we have Basso Gaule, who is equally proud and embarrassed of the fashion choice he made in purchasing, then wearing, quite green trackpants. He makes a few great jokes about “fully furnished” flats in Wellington, then disenchants by being so ‘meh’ about his fiancée it’s borderline mean. Maybe they’ve broken up and I missed it?

McGhee is a softly spoken Scotsman with a twinkle in his eye. Cool, calm, and collected, he handles an infuriating heckler graciously and delivers my line of the night about coming out with choreography.

Macleod-Whiting shares meaningful stories of sexism and motherhood, galloping about the stage to act out ridiculous situations (like speed racing a car full of catcallers) with effortless effervescence. I would have named her Best Newcomer at the 2020 Wellington Comedy Awards too!

Sassy, sharp, and hilariously stroppy, Devcich creates a captive audience every second she’s onstage. From tampons in corpses to spoons covered in you-know-what, this is unapologetically rude comedy. Her easy, understated delivery means punchlines creep up on the crowd, causing collective cackling (and shrieking!) and bringing the house down.

A truly charming rendition of Louis de Bernières’ novel, Captain Corelli’s Mandolin is well worth a watch. The show hits the mark and skillfully paints the story of star-crossed lovers Antonio Corelli (Jonny Marshall) and Pelagia (Ava Wiszniewska) amid a war-stricken community, ravaged but not destroyed.

The entire cast is extremely talented, navigating Greek, Italian, and German accents and language with great professionalism. Emotions are raw and heavy, especially for Wiszniewska and Richard Corney (playing Mandras), who navigate the tragedy of war as well as first love with expert balance. Georgia Davenport (the goat) and Gilbert Levack (Psipsina the pine marten) brilliantly add a second layer of humanity, suspending disbelief of their real human form and becoming their animal counterparts. Alister Williams (Iannis), however, steals the show. As father, doctor, and romantic, Williams’ performance shows true experience, authenticity, tenderness, and genuine love for his daughter, his community, and his beloved Cephalonia.

The show has a complex timeline and geography, spanning over 50 years and multiple countries. Theo Wijnsma’s minimal set masterfully brings Captain Corelli’s Mandolin to life, each location distinct yet ultimately connected. The backdrop consists of three staired levels which span the length of the stage, moulding mountains, battles, cliff faces, bramble patches, town squares, and barracks. These stairs are also mobile, enabling an extremely convincing earthquake effect. Downstage left sits Iannis and Pelagia’s front stoop and kitchen table, ever-present throughout the story, making the world of Cephalonia titular and stable despite the constant changes around it.

Captain Corelli’s Mandolin is a beautiful and complex novel, and no small feat to bring to the stage. Wellington Repertory Theatre’s rendition expertly captures the story’s essence, sincerely portraying many forms of love and relationships against the backdrop of war and tragedy. In a world with so much human cruelty and horror, Captain Corelli’s Mandolin shows that beside, or perhaps behind it, will always flourish human love.

Carnival was an apt title for this programme. Opening a busy weekend of festivals – CubaDupa, the culmination of Wellington Pride, and the NZSO’s 2021 Podium Series – there was an enthusiastic almost full house for this lively and bold performance, full of energy, colour, and glorious sound. It was also a great send-off for second violin Dean Major, retiring after 46 years.

Ravel originally wrote La Valse as ballet music. From deep in the lower registers the music grows in volume, complexity, and pace. Skilful musicianship created a sense of someone wading through deep water, emerging on the shore to dance, ultimately, with abandon. Hardly a Viennese waltz but definitely in the carnival theme.

Stephen De Pledge took his seat for Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G Major. Written in about 1930, Ravel traverses Basque folk music and jazz (a definite echo of Gershwin’s 1924 Rhapsody in Blue) in three classically proportioned movements. De Pledge was enjoying himself at the keyboard, ably supported and very well matched by the orchestra. The third movement felt especially playful and enchanting and his encore of Couperin’s La Basque was executed perfectly.

The carnival atmosphere stepped up a notch with Anna Clyne’s Masquerade. Commissioned for the Last Night of the Proms in 2013, this deliberately exuberant piece was a perfect choice for this programme. Starting with a big bang, then strings sounding like electronica, next bringing to mind the desert scene in Lawrence of Arabia, followed by heavy bass brass, syncopated rhythms, and so much going on, it was hard to keep up before the big brass finale.

The sonic dance party continued with Stravinsky’s Petrushka. Ballet music has to tell the story for the dancers to bring to life. Under McKeich’s animated direction, the orchestra did a stunning job of bringing the distinctly modern and disjointed but essential parts together as a hugely engrossing and enjoyable whole.

Raya and the Last Dragon is a satisfying Disney romp with a fun cast of characters, but it suffers from a severe lack of originality. While kids will rightfully be engulfed by its tangible world and delightfully strange characters, older Disney fans will sense déjà vu.

Long ago, humans and dragons lived together harmoniously in the land of Kumandra. When monsters attacked, the dragons sacrificed themselves to save humanity. Centuries later, Raya (Kelly Marie Tran), a warrior princess charged with protecting the last remaining fragment of dragon life, looks to unite her people by returning the creatures to existence, a quest that truly begins when she finds Sisu (Awkwafina), the last remaining dragon.

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: the animation is stunning. While Raya and the Last Dragon doesn’t take risks with its aesthetic in the way some recent films have – notably, last year’s Soul – the atmosphere of Kumandra is firmly set. From the dusty desserts of Tail to the neon-lit nightlife of Talon and the snow-drenched forests of Spine, each land looks at once distinct from, and uniform with, the world we are being guided through.

While the main crux of the story is fun, it takes too long for the wheels to start turning. By the time we catch up with Raya in the present day, we have blazed past two stories that would probably make for a gripping watch in their own right. Raya is a standard badass warrior, complete with an emotional shortcoming: an inability to trust people. Sadly, all the other characters we are introduced too are more captivating than our lead, particularly Sisu. Yes, she’s no Genie (Aladdin), but Awkwafina is well cast and my eyes open a little wider every time this colourful dragon flies into frame.

The film’s best moments come when we can forget the plot for a second and simply enjoy watching Sisu muck around. She is a surprising character in a film that otherwise lacks surprises, and a great addition to the Disney canon.

Cucumbers! Melons! Grapes! Bring your shades and get your weird on because this deliciously fruity show is so brilliant, it’s dazzling.

From chefs to clowns and looping violinists, IDIOM 002 features a variety of artists at the very top of their game. The acts aren’t all connected but the mood is carefully curated by our hosts, the only but indeed best surreal sketch circus trio in the world, Laser Kiwi. Plus, several cucumbers find their way onto the stage more than once. I don’t know why, but I like it.

The high-energy variety show begins with a rousing medley of artists giving us a small taste of what’s to come. Comedian Sowmya Hiremath then takes the stage, navigating ghost buses (and ghost husbands for that matter) with a relatable and refreshing honesty.

Over the course of the evening we meet aerial hoop artist Sophia O’Connor, whose athleticism astounds; Sharn Te Pou, who does flips and splits in roller skates and can even sing, mesmerising all every moment he’s on stage; chef Jack Shewell, who is really good at chopping and flambéing things; world-renowned circus artist Emma Phillips, who juggles whole tables with her feet and has the audience gasping for breath; and clown Fraser Hooper, who rides a tiny bike and wields giant gloves in a boxing routine for the ages.

Laser Kiwi’s programming of physical and stand-up comedy shows their aptitude for balance, echoed in their inclusion of MOTTE (violinist and composer Anita Clark). MOTTE’s otherworldly, experimental music isn’t upbeat like the other acts but it’s my favourite addition to the show.  

Tying it all together are our hosts Zane Jarvie, Degge Jarvie, and Imogen Stone, who delight the crowd with their rhythmic bobbing and unique brand of Pictionary, sometimes at the same time. Brothers Zane and Degge make quick work of chopping six airborne cucumbers while Stone’s impressive and dexterous candle-lighting act is another show highlight.

It might sound cliché but I truly mean it when I say there is never a dull moment in IDIOM 002.

Finlay Langelaan’s riotous Cuffs, Stockings and Two Smokin’ Barrels feels like theatre on adrenaline. Though it passes by quickly, the Tarantino-esque story is captivating, innately suspenseful, and funny throughout, despite some technical letdowns that occasionally force the actors into hammy territory.

Believing that her husband Roger (Esteban Jaramillo) will be spending the night in hospital following cataract surgery, BDSM-savvy Cathy (Anna Barker) takes the opportunity to invite her lover Peter (Caleb Hill) over for an evening of pleasure. Their plans go out the window when a determined thief, Damien (Jett Ranchhod), crashes the party, soon to be followed by a recovering Roger.

Langelaan’s script wastes no time, taking us from zero to 100 the second the stage lights dim and Cathy and Peter burst into the living room with their lips locked. Our entire audience sit up in their seats, and this reaction does not subside for the next hour. Tonally, the dialogue is somewhat inconsistent, bouncing from natural to extreme at a moment’s notice. What is not inconsistent though is the plot, which is tightknit, clear, and effortlessly entertaining.

The jazz score, composed by Ben Kelly and performed by Magic Monké and the Banana Boys, sets the mood with ease. It’s seductive and intense, and paired with sharp lighting cues it helps to further define the simple stage design. The decision not to mic the cast unfortunately leaves many punchlines drowned out by the band. At times it feels like I am at a jazz gig rather than a play, and I am left jealous of the front row who appear to catch hilarious lines that are lost to the rest of us.

Barker deserves praise for her committed performance; sexy, smart, and slightly insane, Cathy is the show’s greatest asset. Sadly, the sound issues lead to some overacting all-round as the cast fights to be heard.

While a little unpolished, Cuffs, Stockings and Two Smokin’ Barrels is still an exhilarating ride from start to finish.

Monday night at the TSB Arena really was a crowded house, where over 4000 fans were treated to something special.

From the opening song Weather with You the hits flowed: Mean to Me, World Where You Live, Whatever You Want – featuring the superlative bass of Nick Seymour, co-founder with Neil Finn.

The hits kept coming as fast as the hilarious banter between all the band. Whispers and Moans and Playing with Fire were both songs featuring the talented support artist Reb Fountain and band on backing vocals, showing great camaraderie between everyone on stage.

Pineapple Head featured gorgeous vocal harmonies, with Neil somehow managing to include a verse of the old Petula Clark hit Downtown in the middle of it!

When You Come featured the ethereal keyboards of Mitchell Froom, and a stunning lead guitar solo by Liam Finn. Private Universe started off with Elroy Finn on guitar before switching back to drums. Four Seasons in One Day had the audience singing loudly – to which Neil commented: “sweet and tender, Wellington!”

He described the sombre Silent House, co-written with the Dixie Chicks, as “saying goodbye slowly to people we love”.

To the Island, the name of the band’s nationwide tour, again featured Aucklander Reb and band – after which Neil introduced percussionist Paul Taylor, who played on several songs throughout the night.

Locked Out had a frenetic ending, culminating in Liam throwing his guitar high into the air and catching it safely – to Neil’s almost sarcastic: “Nice catch Liam!”

At the end of Don’t Dream It’s Over, the audience was asked to sing a chorus almost a cappella. Something So Strong again had the audience singing loudly, and then it was Distant Sun to finish the set.

After what seemed like several minutes of very loud clapping and yelling, the band was back on stage for the first encore Chocolate Cake, featuring Neil on piano, followed by David Bowie’s Heroes. The final song Better Be Home Soon had everyone happily singing along.

Overall a superb night, featuring an exciting new edition of an iconic band led by the extremely talented Neil, together with a beautifully balanced sound and stunning light show.

Jo Ghastly (Dr Joanna Prendergast) is a ‘cool mum’. She’s up with all the teen lingo, ya dig? She even knows how to dab. Jo is holding a seminar to teach her audience to be just as cool as her – not that we have a hope of reaching her level on the coolometer.

This one-woman comedy show has the potential to be excellent. Unfortunately, Jo is just a little too Ghastly, which my friend and I find alienating. I get the schtick – she’s an uncool mum who thinks she’s cool. But at times the character rides the irony past humour to needless nastiness, making it hard for me to invest in the show. Only an uncool person would roast one member of the audience over and over again, that’s the joke, but the fourth time it happens I’m for Bob and against Jo. This also means I’m reluctant to engage for fear of being ridiculed myself. You can feel how uncomfortable some audience members are when called upon, which is a problem in an interactive comedy show like this.

I’m really unsettled by the jokes about blind people, just one example of which is the flippant remark, “have you ever tried to explain a graph to a blind person?” Deliberate or not, is discrimination ever funny? There’s enough good stuff in The Cool Mum to make this content totally unnecessary.

Onto the good stuff, then. Prendergast has a wonderful stage presence and a way with wit, carefully measuring her approach to deliver punchlines to maximum effect. Structurally, The Cool Mum is brilliant, centred on a PowerPoint presentation that features my highlight of the evening: a role reversal video of a teenager and her mum. It’s clear from the appreciative laughter that a lot of people present love the show.

With the addition of a director, an outside eye to gauge audience response and curb some of the more offensive jokes, The Cool Mum would be lit AF.  

Fab Beasts is a clever two-part show, featuring a beautifully crafted mythical world within which to address social issues through playful allegory. Act one details the plight of five elitist unicorn property managers jostling for the privilege of a place on Noah’s ark. Act two follows Detective (Loch) Ness (Katie Boyle) and her struggle to break through the glass ceiling.

The cast and crew make great use of their space by using ‘the magic of theatre’ to their advantage. They do not hide the set transitions, incorporating the set and its quirks into the storyline and often breaking the fourth wall. A large blue sheet is used for rising water levels in act one, making the audience feel as though they too are floundering. Musical interludes make for seamless transitions between stories and allow for the construction of Detective Ness’ imposing costume. David Conroy’s lighting design is instrumental in setting the tones of the show: natural during moments of comedic relief, red and hot in moments of tension. Costume plays a key role in making the imaginary world real. The complexity of the mythical characters’ costumes alongside the transitional and minimalistic set brilliantly work together to underscore the irony of social issues such as the housing crisis, gender inequality, and racial privilege. If the show’s world and characters are imaginary, could our world’s inequalities be a social construct and thus dismantled as well?

The world of Fab Beasts is tangible and authentic, despite or perhaps because of its fantastical protagonists. The actors make their characters believable, relatable, and inherently human. Though flawed and often whimsical, the protagonists navigate a mythical world similar to our own, and blossom into something genuine, sincere, and not unlike ourselves. Alongside its mythical setting, the borderline absurdism of the show underscores the irrationality of many social issues, rendering them farcical and calling into question often illusory problems created in our own (not so) mythical world.

It’s not often I see a piece of theatre where I can relate to a little bit of every character.

INTROSPECTION deals with the topic of mental health, depicting characters who each have a different battle to overcome. While the content warnings for this piece are extensive, I feel that the script treats the topics very delicately, touching on dark themes somewhat vaguely. We watch the characters develop, working towards the end goal of ‘leaving’ the space, or walking through the door into the unknown. The five characters are distinguishable by the colours which represent them, and by what appears to be their personality types and coping mechanisms.

Upon entering the space, I’m immediately intrigued; the set comprises several black boxes with painted abstract faces. At the back of the stage, against a wall of more faces, is a door. The set itself is simple, yet incredibly artistic and fits well with the overall piece.

The use of coloured lights (Bekky Boyce) helps to direct the audiences’ focus onto each character, and is an aesthetically satisfying and effective way to aid transitions. Sound (Boyce) is also a key element in the narrative, for it is what drives the characters toward the door, either pushing them to go through or scaring them away.

The dynamic between the actors on stage is truly comforting to watch; despite the conflict in the story, it is clear that these actors (Htoo Paw Thin, Ngarongonui Mareikura-Ellery, Kerris O’Donoghue, Liv Woodmass, and Kezia Thompson) have been working hard together to depict the complex and beautiful relationships we see in INTROSPECTION.

Unfortunately I often find myself confused about the literal setting, which is never made clear throughout the piece. I bounce between thinking it’s set in an individual’s mind, in a psychiatric ward, in a house which the occupants feel unable to leave; eventually I settle on the conclusion that it’s perhaps an abstract symbolisation of all of those things.

Overall, this was unlike anything I’ve seen before. With the creative staging and lighting, and the beautiful performances, INTROSPECTION is not one to miss.

Suit and Ties is comedian Li’i Alaimoana’s swan song, his final hour following a six-year career in stand-up. He admits this will be a “brutally honest” window into his time in comedy, and while our audience is captivated by his presence and insights, a lack of structure falters what would surely be an airtight set if it had time to sharpen up.

Underground and dimly lit, the Cavern Club is certainly the appropriate setting for this tender performance. Alaimoana opens by discussing how personal tragedies nearly forced him to cancel this show, but his appreciation for an audience eager to hear him out clearly outweighs his heartache. He goes on to impart a behind-the-scenes look at a life in the New Zealand comedy circuit, how his Sāmoa heritage affected it, and ultimately, why he is choosing to leave stand-up behind.

Alaimoana is a natural-born storyteller. Our audience hangs on every word, aware that this is about more than jokes, it is about truth. Having said that, this is still comedy. While some jokes leave me in stitches, there are long lulls where I hope a story is leading towards a whopper of a punchline that unfortunately never comes. Although, as he approaches subjects like the true meaning of diversity in the entertainment industry, his family’s varied experiences with racism, and the difficulty of crafting relatable jokes for a majority that does not represent him, I am undeniably hooked. I simply wish I laughed more.

The core of Alaimoana’s set lasts roughly 40 minutes, after which he grabs his guitar and proceeds into crowd work. This fragment of the performance is a light-hearted treat after an intense opening, and possibly the funniest part of the show. It does, however, feel improvised. If Alaimoana was to spend a few more months developing Suit and Ties it would be one for the ages. Still, as the first of his final three shows, he should be immensely proud of the magnetic performance he delivers.

Starring its creator Isabella Murray as Bella, Love and Plastic Roses is a solo show about the pressure people can feel to make romantic and sexual connections with others.

Bella sits down for a date at a table set for two, with cheesy mood lighting and music (both co-designed by Revena Correll Trnka and Murray) setting the scene and creating a soft, pretty aesthetic. She faces the audience while her date is represented by a robotic voiceover and an empty chair with its back to us.

I experience some confusion while watching Love and Plastic Roses, at first believing Bella to be on one date. With the introduction of more Siris and Alexas, so to speak, I start to think we’re witnessing multiple dinners, with each date more mechanical than the last. After Bella mentions never having been out with anyone, I wonder whether we’re watching her rehearse these situations and they’re not real after all. Maybe the circumstances aren’t important and not knowing is the point, but while trying to piece the action together, I find myself missing some beautiful moments onstage.

Some decisions are clear and clever, with metaphors woven throughout that suggest Bella is just going through the motions, that everything is not coming up (plastic) roses. A gradual change of lighting state catches me by surprise and makes me chuckle more than once, while Bella’s soliloquies and asides feature some arresting lines that catch my heart in my chest.

Murray’s performance is heartfelt and captivating. While it’s possible she reaches peak panic mode as Bella a little too early, she puts in the kind of unreserved energy that I can’t look away from.

There are some great ideas brewing in this work, which has a strong backbone and an authentic story at its core. With a little more workshopping and development, Love and Plastic Roses has all the makings of a show you’ll never forget.

A rollercoaster ride from the very beginning, Dr Drama Makes a Show With You flips your expectations and theatrical convention on its head from the moment the lights dim, or in this case brighten, for suddenly you become the star of the show! Dr Drama (James Wenley) playfully breaks the fourth wall, deliberately deconstructing what it means to be a performer versus an audience member, and what role we think the audience, the performer, and performance itself should play.

Dr Drama calls the audience onto the stage to become performers. Conventional performance pieces about Wenley’s personal relationship with and love for theatre, along with his experience isolating alone during lockdown, are interspersed with theatre games, didactic segments, conversation, and of course your very own show. Tim Fraser’s lighting design spotlights traditional performance moments while the audience remains in the dark, but illuminates the whole stage when the audience are to perform. Alongside Wenley’s narrative, Fraser’s use of lighting ingeniously underscores theatrical practice while simultaneously questioning its norms and boundaries.

Wenley’s show is artfully self-aware, broaching relevant topics such as loneliness, a shared struggle in the midst of a pandemic. Wenley brings theatre back to its choral roots, changing the notion of what it means to attend a performance into something much more human, much more collective. Each moment links together with a common thread of hope. Theatre acts as the binding force by which we can not only overcome loneliness, but also connect with others in a world where we are becoming increasingly divided physically, socially, and emotionally.

Dr Drama Makes a Show With You is both clever and effective. Wenley successfully involves his audience and navigates around (at least my) discomfort. The juxtaposition between actor and audience performance is exciting and fresh, but also thoughtful and constructive, inspiring me to consider less traditionally Western modes of performance and its effect in my own small world as well as society at large.

Biopics are my least favourite genre. Their plots tend to read like a list of bullet points that I would lazily skim through on Wikipedia on a dusty Sunday morning, so focused on being educational that they forget to be entertaining. Judas and the Black Messiah, however, not only manages to teach, it inspires and, above all else, oozes entertainment from every frame.

In late-1960s Chicago, Bill O’Neal (Lakeith Stanfield) is arrested after impersonating an FBI agent to hijack a car. Instead of throwing him behind bars, special agent Roy Mitchell (Jesse Plemons) makes him a deal – infiltrate the Illinois chapter of the Black Panther Party and deliver information about its revolutionary chairman, Fred Hampton (Daniel Kaluuya), in exchange for a clean slate.

Right from the electric opening long take capturing Bill’s crime, we learn this will not be a simple sit-down history lesson. We are then thrown into the deep end when he is hired as an informant, firmly setting a tone that rests somewhere between Malcolm X (1992) and The Departed (2006). Director, writer, and producer Shaka King’s words are raw and real, and the actors are committed to delivering them authentically.

For Stanfield, this means sputtering dialogue through an ever-present veil of paranoia. As Bill gets closer to the chairman, even he cannot deny the power of this man and his unifying message, and thus his guilt grows like a stretched rubber band waiting to snap. Kaluuya pays respect to the Black revolutionary he portrays, his performance measured, sincere, and touching.  

The Black Panthers have long been falsely portrayed as terrorists in American media. King balances a gripping story of coercion and betrayal with one about a political revolution, making sure to emphasise Hampton’s efforts to feed the starving children of Chicago and end infighting by forming a multicultural Rainbow Coalition. Judas and the Black Messiah makes a persuasive argument that Hampton’s name should be known worldwide alongside the likes of John Lewis and Martin Luther King Jr.

The film’s potency boils down to a willingness to take creative risks. It’s a type of bravery that I believe will inspire other filmmakers for years to come.