Celebrating 20 years of the Circa pantomime, this year’s offering was always going to be special. It’s fitting, then, that this edition of the panto has a Dr Who-inspired, time-travelling twist with Anita Minute (Jthan Morgan) dressed in a sparkly third-Doctor-themed tailcoat and necktie (costume design by Sheila Horton) and a Portal-Oo in place of the TARDIS. It’s great to see Jackson Burling back in a full role, rather than playing swing, as Justin Time, Anita’s companion. There’s even a nerdalicious nod to Jurassic Park in Natasha McAllister’s velociraptor minion and the occasional callback to previous pantos, including Lyndee-Jane Rutherford’s Goosey with her nasal “Hoooooonk!” for those of us old enough to remember Mother Goose 11 years ago.

Writers Gavin Rutherford and Simon Leary have created another wonderfully entertaining, homegrown adaptation of a classic fairytale with all the Wellington-themed and political jokes we’ve come to expect. The digs at David Seymour, Winston Peters, and Shane Jones elicited laughs from the largely adult opening-night audience and Bronwyn Turei tearing in half a sheet of paper and performing a haka with Morgan received the biggest roar of applause for acknowledging current political events.

The cast of experienced performers work beautifully and energetically together and lean into the gender-fluid and inclusive nature of the panto. No one does a villain like Bronwyn Turei as evil fairy Dusk, and Simon Leary and Kathleen Burns are charming as Dawn and Day, fairy dads to the delightful Aurora Australis (Rachel McSweeney) and her stunning singing voice.

As ever, Michael Nicholas Williams comes up trumps with his musical arrangements of pop hits by stars ranging from The Beach Boys to Cher and Ed Sheeran and even sneaks in a homage to the Dr Who theme.

Ian Harman’s set design, including a stunning painted cobblestone floor, and Marcus McShane’s lighting create a lush and vibrant stage for yet another fabulous, funny, and flirty pantomime. Oh, no they didn’t! Oh, yes they did!

The huge, urgent string opening was the surge of adrenaline and excitement Icarus might have felt when he took flight on the wings his father made for him. Lera Auerbach’s Icarus flew through the orchestral gamut, exploring melody, dissonance, rhythm, movement, tone, and some superb instrumental arrangements. The flute might often represent flight but Auerbach somehow did the same with just the brass and reed woodwind.

Alexander Gavrylyuk brought his virtuosic piano talent to the work of another virtuoso and proved himself more than equal to the task. With 24 variations to play with, conductor Vasily Petrenko held the orchestra perfectly in its complex supporting role. Sergei Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini must cover every key the piano has. Gavrylyuk’s touch is equally wide ranging. In a slower, perhaps even mournful variation, he conveyed an incredible weight of emotion through the piano keys with enormous sensitivity. In the showpiece cadenzas and livelier movements, he proved he could combine great technical skill with that same sensitivity to give each variation on the theme its own distinct character and style.

Béla Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra lived up to its somewhat confusing title as the orchestra stepped into the limelight for its own solo performances. In five movements Bartók gave every section of the orchestra their 15 seconds of fame. The strings had us captured from their slowly building start, Petrenko drew an impressively delicate and transparent sound from the brass section, the clarinet solo was prominent, the piccolo had lots of perfectly executed exposure, and my favourite, the violas, did a superb job of their solo passage. The final movement built to fever pitch before its sudden but joyous end. Earlier in the evening Petrenko had told us this was “funky, and fun to play” and the NZSO always seem to add an extra something when they’re clearly having fun.

Simultaneously an ode to Italy and a denunciation, Caro Diario (1993) is a far cry from the mainstream media who idealise the European lifestyle. If that’s the world you’re dreaming of watch this first, because this is how it truly feels, what it actually looks like, and how it really is.

Caro Diario, which is both written and directed by Italy’s contemporary auteur filmmaker Nanni Moretti (who also stars in the film), is autobiographical in style with a touch of magical realism. It’s an open diary that doesn’t follow the narrative form we are accustomed to. Rather, it ambles through moments and emotions, thoughts and events, capturing the essence of a time, place, or feeling instead of prioritising story. That said, it’s not without structure.

Segmented into three chapters, On My Vespa pays homage to Moretti’s beloved Roma, but the back alleys and suburbs that are deserted and desolate during the summer holiday of Ferragosto – an occurrence ingrained in the culture and intrinsic to the country. The centrepiece Islands is a Ulyssean journey to the Aeolian Islands to find inspiration for his next film, but without success, Moretti tells us as we sit in the cinema watching his antics. The final chapter Doctors is a slice of life with actual footage of medical notes, appointments, and treatments – the disdain for Italian bureaucracy is palpable.

Caro Diario is intimate, in part due to Moretti’s narration, which feels like he’s talking to a friend, paired with Mirco Garrone’s slow editing that allows Giuseppe Lanci’s poetic cinematography to wash over us. Marta Maffucci’s authentic and unpretentious production design completes the trifecta, creating a world that you are firmly a part of. In what is reminiscent of a Roman epic or a classic saga, Caro Diario is rooted in philosophical musings, but it doesn’t forgo lightness, charm, and humour. Much like in life itself, moments simply happen, good and bad waltz arm in arm, and the little things are the most special.

Screening as part of the Italian Film Festival, Caro Diario may not depict the Italy you’re dreaming of, but it distils the visceral, infuriating, poetic, and magical place it really is.

After almost 40 years since he formed Crowded House with bassist Nick Seymour and drummer Paul Hester, Neil Finn’s voice sounds almost unchanged. What has changed, however, is that his two sons Liam (guitar) and Elroy (drums) play alongside him – and it’s obvious that this means a lot to him.

It may just be because this was the first of 16 concerts in Australasia, but the band was clearly excited to play to their home crowd again. Neil and Nick are the sole constant members, but Mitchell Froom (keyboards) actually produced the first three Crowded House albums – the first in 1986! This is a band with longevity.

They came on to the stage in the dark with lanterns, leading into the raging When You Come, a surprise starter. The follow-up World Where You Live had the audience rocking. Teenage Summer was the first song from the new album Gravity Stairs – the new songs mixing seamlessly with the classics. For Oh Hi, Neil got the audience to sing on the chorus and though the verse was almost too high for him, he had strong backing-vocal support from Liam, Nick, and Elroy. To the Island, featuring lead guitar by Liam and Mitchell’s ethereal keyboards, received special applause.

Four Seasons in One Day had the phone-waving crowd singing along, followed by It’s Only Natural, which got some up dancing. The light show was stunning – especially when highlighting the stage props, which looked like giant pipe cleaners!

Neil then switched to piano for a selection of songs, including the languid Night Song – which segued cleverly into Message to My Girl. Private Universe, driven by percussionist Paul Taylor, rose to a crescendo. Elroy then switched to acoustic guitar, with Taylor on drums, for Thirsty.

This was one of the most interactive concerts I have seen. The audience needed no coaxing to join in singing the choruses on the classics: Four Seasons in One Day, the first encore Weather With You, and the finale Better Be Home Soon. This iconic New Zealand band, playing vital new music and much-loved classics, showed their adoring audience the meaning of being entertained. Legends.

Marc Taddei’s choice of George Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess to illustrate the part jazz has in the history of music was inspired. The music combines classical, jazz, gospel, spiritual, and blues idioms and is full of energy, colour, and sheer beauty. This performance was a 1956 arrangement of the opera by Russell Garcia for full orchestra, a choir, and three solo vocalists, including one who narrates offstage action.

The orchestra was on fire throughout, the large brass section having a particularly good time with the jazz idioms. Soprano Deborah Wai Kapohe, playing all the female characters including Bess, was outstanding, her voice flexible, with an excellent range, and both sweet and strong. Bass Eddie Muliaumaseali’i, as both Porgy and Crown, his villainous rival for Bess, was equally impressive. He had an imposing presence and his wonderfully integrated voice was rich, smooth, and dramatic. Tenor Siliga Sani Muliaumaseali’i (Eddie’s brother in real life) provided the narration and sang the role of drug-dealer Sportin’ Life with convincing menace. The audience was treated to characterful performances of arias such as Summertime, I Got Plenty O’ Nuttin’, It Ain’t Necessarily So, and Bess, You Is My Woman Now. The choir complements the soloists in creating the drama and pathos of the opera. An outstanding group of Pasifika singers from the award-winning, Wellington-based Signature Choir provided this component of the performance very sympathetically. Jacqueline Coats’ staging of the opera was minimal, clever, and amusing.

Porgy and Bess was preceded by the annual appearance of Arohanui Strings, a group of Wellington and Hutt Valley youngsters grasping the opportunity to learn and make music. This always heartwarming event featured A Kalahari Eclogue, an attractive composition by Keith Moss, supplemented by simpler pieces that even smaller children participated in. “Adorable”, said Taddei, and they were.

In sum, with Taddei’s imaginative programming and natural ebullience, Orchestra Wellington triumphed again.

Entering through a tempest to get to Circa Theatre, I was unaware of the storm of laughter that The Tempestuous would bring. Inspired by the Bard himself, William Shakespeare, this musical solo show sees Princess Rosa navigating a cyclone of menopausal witches, full-of-themselves courtiers, and much ado about baking tarts.

Penny Ashton multi-roles this captivating story like no other. She commands the audience with great vigour and humour, making us burst into fits of laughter frequently. Each character that Ashton embodies is incredibly distinct – no mean feat considering she plays at least 10 roles as one incredibly talented actor with impressive vocals to boot (musical direction and compositions by Robbie Ellis). Let’s not forget that unparalleled one-person swordfight.

The Tempestuous is a satire, often critiquing the role of men, which I must say is rather deserved. Not just a laugh fest, the show also draws from current affairs and is very politically relevant.

Ashton’s multi-rolling extends not only onstage but also behind the scenes, as she is also the show’s writer, sound designer, producer, publicist, and more. The Tempestuous is well written using ‘ye olde English’ and features many a rhyming couplet. The stage is filled with many surprises, often causing the audience to chuckle when props are revealed (our prop artist is none other than… you guessed it, Ashton).

Ashton wears a stunning corset dress (costume design by Elizabeth Whiting and corset design by Katie McGettigan) that is so detailed, it almost stops the show in its elegant tracks.

Ashton’s gift for audience interaction is a highlight – especially the improvised moments, such as addressing a latecomer and the one who left their glasses. My only criticism is that I wish there had been more audience interaction overall.

The Tempestuous made me cackle like the coven of witches within it. If you want to laugh until your corset splits, then gallivant to Circa Theatre at thy earliest convenience – or be damned!

Welcome to 1990s Illyria! It’s a party resort on a Greek island in the sun, glowing in whitewash and shocking-pink bougainvillea (set designer Amy Whiterod). In his vibrant nightclub, Orsino (Ren Mahuika) bemoans his lovesickness for a grieving Olivia (Lydia Verschaffelt), while Viola (Ivana Palezevic) and her twin brother Sebastian (Blake Boston) separately wash up after a shipwreck. Elsewhere, an unholy alliance of Sir Toby Belch (Allan Burne), Sir Andrew Aguecheek (Sean Farrell), Maria (Catherine McMechan), and Fabia (Margot Allais) set a trap for uptight steward Malvolio (Mike McJorrow). It’s Shakespeare’s greatest comedy, it’s twins, it’s the 90s… you need naught else for the best night of entertainment in Wellington right now.

The vision of directors Joy Hellyer and Paul Kay is steeped throughout this delicious production. Emma Bell and Mike Slater’s lush and colourful lighting design enhances Whiterod’s Mediterranean set beautifully. The wardrobe (Katie Knight and Meredith Dooley, assisted by Amy Vines) is perfectly period with a transformed Malvolio’s bright-yellow Ali G outfit, complete with bling, a stunning and laugh-out-loud highlight.

Kay’s sound design is a continuous playlist of 90s bangers, cunningly woven into the narrative and even replacing the odd line of dialogue. If you feel so inclined, you can boogie with the cast during the interval and join in the final Macarena. Warning: you will find yourself on your feet at the end as it’s impossible not to be swept up in the infectious joy of this version of a Shakespeare classic.

The cast is superb all round, working slickly and harmoniously together to tell a somewhat ridiculous but always entertaining story. It’s hard to pick standouts from such a good lineup but Burne’s Sir Toby and McJorrow’s Malvolio are favourites, both embracing the comedy and tragedy in their characters. Charlie Potter as Feste must also be commended for her wonderful singing and unfettered demand for cash.

The Bard himself would be bopping like the Backstreet Boys in this stunningly sunny Stagecraft production.

I’m a big fan of 7 Days, New Zealand’s longest-running comedy game show on TV Three. Having just marked its 16^th season, the programme originally aired at the decidedly un-family-friendly time slot of 10pm before being brought forward to 9:30pm and then earlier still. In 7 Days Live, the comedians get to cut loose like the good ol’ days. No filters, no censors: just Kiwi comedy at its rudest and finest.

The format is simple. The dynamic, fast-paced first half sees host Jeremy Corbett, team captains Paul Ego and Dai Henwood, and comedians Hayley Sproull, Josh Thomson, Justine Smith, and Ben Hurley each perform a 10-minute solo stand-up set before sitting down for a live version of 7 Days in act two.

After Corbett gets the ball rolling by recounting the hypothetical arguments he has with his wife about how they’d spend the Lotto money they’ll never win (relatable), Ego comes on to tell us about a kindly nurse possibly born out of the procreation of a walnut and a prune. At this point, a random yells “That’s Kelly’s mum!” and Ego handles it like a champ, starting a running joke about the illicit substances in the heckler’s system that the rest of the comedians riff on throughout the night. Henwood earns one or two ovations but many more laughs with a heartfelt set that straddles everything from slow roasting a pizza to thinking he’s been mistaken for a six-foot-something rugby player.

Other highlights of act one include Thomson’s jarring encounter with the Eye of Sauron in a lift, Hurley’s jibe to an audience member that “no one cares about the rebrand” of Countdown, Smith’s assertion that she “too, was surprised” about being punched by airport security, and Sproull’s impression of a chuffed Mr. Bean with a set of knockers.

The sound mixing in the second half is not as great and I lose a lot of lines when the chatter overlaps, but overall, I have a wicked time living out my dreams of catching an episode of my favourite Kiwi panel show live. While the cast love to rip each other to shreds, their camaraderie here is obvious, the chemistry between them sizzling harder and hotter than a saussie straight off the Bunnings grill.

The Outrun is a difficult watch, but that’s not to say it shouldn’t be seen. Painful, searing, infuriating, and at times nauseating, this story of addiction and mental illness is hopeful and beautiful all the same.

Based on Amy Liptrot’s 2017 memoir and directed by Nora Fingscheidt, The Outrun stars Saoirse Ronan as Rona, a girl who finds herself in the wake of destruction as she shakily treads the path towards sobriety. After hitting rock bottom in London, Rona finds herself back home on the Orkney Islands, a landscape as desolate, stark, and tumultuous as her own soul. Here, she comes face to face with her demons and contends with her religious mother Annie (Saskia Reeves) and her bipolar father (Stephen Dillane), so deeper she retreats to the more remote island of Papay.

The fragmented story is stitched together by brilliant editing work from Stephan Bechinger, who uses crashing cuts to break from recovery to relapse as shots of nature bleed into EDM-fuelled rampages. Cleverly, Fingscheidt uses hair dye to delineate time as well. Ronan’s performance is nuanced and at odds with itself, both deliberate and shaky, fierce and afraid, delicate and a force of nature.

Despite the quick editing and Yunus Roy Imer’s striking cinematography, the lack of driving narrative makes the story slow and tedious in the middle. Only Ronan’s acting and natural screen presence carries us through. We fear the worst as events merely happen, often flatly, the truth laid bare. Nothing is sacred or damned, it just is.  

Juxtaposing scientific explanations for natural phenomena with folklore, Rona draws a parallel to memory. In this story, both memory and folklore act as impressions of reality. During her journey, natural chaos replaces her inner turmoil, trauma, and need to create chaos of her own. As she seeks control, she is ever fighting the impulse to destroy. She finds comfort in nature – the ebb and flow of the tide, the harshness of its elements – as she wades in the glacial north Atlantic and raging through winter storms. In this poetic tale, Rona becomes a conductor for the natural world around her, learning to make sense of her memories, her reality.