Solarise is an original musical from Wellingtonian Ruby Kemp that explores the impact of impending apocalypse on relationships, passion projects, and power structures. This musical feels like the love child of Don’t Look Up and Rent, both projects that contend with existential threats, and asks us to consider the fragility of human connections and the resilience of hope amid looming catastrophe.

The musicality and vocal styles, overseen by musical director Michael Stebbings and assistant musical director Stephen Clothier, and the selective use of movement and dance from choreographer Celia Macdonald, are in service of the storytelling and support narrative clarity. There are some off-key phrases, but the ensemble pieces are strong, especially the rock number We’re Gonna Riot. The offstage five-piece band are excellent.

Several actors are double cast or alternate between ensemble and character roles. Wardrobe (Emily K Brown) is used consistently to identify characters, allowing for quick transitions. The set, designed by Anne-Lisa Noordover, and props by Deb Maguire, are aesthetically consistent and ground the production in a gritty, believably untidy world. However, the cardboard radio feels out of place amid the other realistic set pieces. The use of a multi-set, with the workshop and home sets permanently in view and the central unlocalised acting area or plateau in the middle, is a smart choice that facilitates the frequent scene changes.

Lighting (Ruby Kemp) and sound design (Victoria Norgrove) are used unobtrusively and effectively support the narrative, with some lovely projections from Scott Maxim. Nonetheless, I feel these effects could be pushed further, especially since the characters frequently refer to auroras, and sequences featuring rocket launches and rioting could benefit from enhanced visual and auditory elements. Projections also help locate the action in time, an essential feature given that the narrative makes many time jumps back and forth within a five-year period.

The Wellington Footlights Society’s Solarise is an ambitious and heartfelt production. Ruby Kemp must be commended for conceiving of and creating a work of this scale.

Any musical that promises “adult themes/coarse language” on its programme cover is off to a great start and The Toxic Avenger: The Musical – with book by Joe DiPietro, music by David Bryan, and lyrics by both – delivers in green-tainted shovelfuls. Based on Lloyd Kaufman’s comedy splatter films, this is a devilishly funny, filthy, and fantastical deep dive into superhero comic tropes.

Our protagonist is nerdy Melvin Ferd III (Corey Moir) who, with the assistance of his love interest, the blind librarian Sarah (Millie Fuller), uncovers the dodgy dealings of the randy Mayor (Kirsty Huszka) of Tromaville, New Jersey. An unceremonious dunking in a vat of industrial waste by the town bullies (Carys Tidy and Richie Rewa) transforms him into Toxie, a “mutant with superhuman strength” who can rip people’s heads off without blinking his eviscerated eye. Will he save Tromaville? Will the Mayor discover his kryptonite? Will he get the girl? Will he ever fit that dangling eyeball back inside its socket?

The cast is fantastic, delivering every song and role with high energy and gusto. They clearly love the show and passion oozes out of every performance. Huszka doubles as Toxie’s gutsy mum. The song Bitch/Slut/Liar/Whore, in which she rapidly alternates between Ma Ferd and the Mayor, is a stunning highlight in an exceptional show. Tidy and Rewa as the Dudette and Dude pull off a mind-boggling collection of characters with absolute commitment and versatility. Moir is electric, expertly balancing the soft heart of Melvin with the outsized strength of Toxie. Fuller is charming and hilarious as Sarah. Her song My Big French Boyfriend is another standout.

A huge shoutout to transformation specialists Polly Crone and Stephen Edwards for the spectacular change of Melvin into Toxie. Rewa’s set and scenic design also deserve special mention for their clever versatility and comic-book vibe, excellently supported by Tom Smith’s lighting.

With a top-notch band and musical direction by Sue Windsor smoothly integrated with Sandy Brewer’s smart direction and Melanie Heaphy’s fun choreography, this is a superbly slick production.

The title says it all: From the Depths Sound the Great Sea Gongs: Part 1 – The Invocation of the Sea. A classic in the Aotearoa repertoire, Gareth Farr’s sparkling and vibrant work built from the gentlest ripple on the water, through the sounds of pan-Pacific drums and bells, to a breathtaking invocation, a call from the sea itself.

Next came the world premiere of Guillaume Connesson’s Danses Concertantes, Concerto No. 2 for Flute and Orchestra. Seven dances, alternately fast and slow, showcased the remarkable talent of Emily Beynon. We were flung straight into a frenetic and, for Beynon, fiercely complex first movement, followed by an abruptly gentle and melodic second movement. If Beynon’s technical mastery of her instrument was on fire in the fast movements, it was her exquisite clean and clear tone and sensitive expression that shone in the very beautiful slow dances. The sixth movement was something really special. The balance between orchestra and flute was immaculate through different states, feelings, and sounds, using the flute’s lower register to great emotional effect. Beynon’s performance was a masterclass in the range of sound and sentiment this virtuoso can draw from her instrument.

Modest Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition started life as a suite for solo piano. Almost 50 years later, Maurice Ravel orchestrated the suite and created the rich and luxurious piece we love so well today. The music depicts the patron walking (promenading) through the exhibition hall, looking at 10 pictures. Under Gemma New’s direction, the orchestra produced a highly colourful sound, rich in variety, tone, mood, and texture. The orchestration and interpretation, with the connecting promenade theme, created a wholeness to the experience, easily visualised even without knowing the detail of each picture. The finale was colossal, music and paintings surrounding the audience in a mass of sound and vision and intensity. This is an exhibition you would want to experience.

Last year, I was lucky enough to catch the official premiere of Trick of the Light Theatre’s Suitcase Show, which the ‘notorious tinkerers’ built through a series of showings in site-specific venues (like a bar and a photography darkroom, where the vibes would’ve been on point) before putting the pieces together for the New Zealand Fringe Festival debut. Back then, I saw it twice in a row, with opening night technical glitches (that did little to mar the magic) already ironed out by show number two.

Suitcase Show is currently travelling the length and the breadth of the country on a nine-date national tour. The Hannah Playhouse stop (number seven on the tour and my third viewing) is polished to black-mirror perfection. Whilst this boxset of dark tales continues to tighten, sharpen, and evolve, its eerie essence remains unchanged: as spine-tingling and as evocative as ever.

At an airport with a connection to make, a solo traveller (Ralph McCubbin Howell) is flagged and pulled aside by a rigid and robotic customs officer (Hannah Smith) who doesn’t like surprises. During screening, he unpacks and unfolds the story of each suitcase like origami.

From a little matchbox girl to a burly bear, an outcast autocrat to a prophetic shadow, an ambitious astronaut to a Red Right Hand hankering for the business lounge, McCubbin Howell brings characters to life in ways audiences would never expect – as evidenced by the sharp intakes of breath and shudders of delight rippling through the theatre.

With each suitcase containing its own little universe, the design team – sound and composition by Tane Upjohn-Beatson; additional composition by Robyn Bryant; videography by Dean Hewison; figurines by Jon Coddington; and craft and prop design by Smith and McCubbin Howell alongside Rebekah de Roo, Romina Meneses, and Emory Otto; with production and technical design collaboration from Brad Gledhill and Rachel Marlow of Filament Eleven 11 – should be rebranded as world-builders.

Trick of the Light’s Suitcase Show is a one-hour masterclass in storytelling and stagecraft.

An opulent, saturated world oozes out from the screen as Grand Tour flickers to life. The footage may be mostly black and white, but somehow each scene is vivid and bursting with sultry, seductive temptation. Earning director Miguel Gomes the prize for best director at Festival de Cannes, this romantic, extravagant, and comic epic makes a pitstop in cinemas across Aotearoa in March.

In 1917, British civil servant Edward (Gonçalo Waddington) loiters on the docks in Rangoon awaiting his fiancée Molly Singleton (Crista Alfaiate). It’s been seven years since they’ve been engaged and as time passes, Edward gets increasingly panicked about the prospect of marriage. Impulsively, he hops aboard the steamer heading to Singapore. As he luxuriates in the bar of the Raffles Hotel, he receives a telegram from Molly reporting that she is inbound. Thus begins the couples’ grand tour as Edward flees across Asia pursued by his betrothed, zigzagging through Thailand, the Philippines, Vietnam, Japan, and China, but also through time and space.

Unlike Edward and Molly, the marriage between cinematography (Guo Liang, Sayombhu Mukdeeprom, and Rui Poças) and editing (Telmo Churro and Pedro Filipe Marques) is a match made in heaven. Grand Tour features a docu-realist approach as the black and white narrative scenes are juxtaposed against modern-day documentary clips from each location Edward visits. The voiceover is in the language of whatever destination is currently in focus, narrating the action over the present-day clips rather than showing it. This interesting technique draws attention to the passage of time and its relationship with place as the story progresses. Meanwhile, the second half, in which Molly’s story becomes the focus, is almost entirely narrative-based. A headstrong, formidable woman focused on her future with her fiancé, she contrasts the melancholy Edward who is always chasing past delights.

Grand Tour does not end as we would like it to. With a spoonful of self-awareness at its conclusion, it instead makes a poignant comment on time. As Edward fixates on the past and Molly on the future, their dreams come to nothing, their present moment wasting away into oblivion.

Tormented by writer’s block, Will Shakespeare (Christopher Horne) attempts to write his next play. However, when he meets his muse, Viola De Lesseps (Yasmine Alani), it draws the attention of many, making the staging of his production of Romeo and Juliet increasingly difficult. 

Adapted from Marc Norman and Tom Stoppard’s 1998 film of the same name, Lee Hall’s Shakespeare in Love is an easy-to-watch play about pursuing your dreams, no matter what obstacles society puts in your way. Viola, for instance, defies convention (and the law) to become an actor in an industry of men. Hashtag women in male fields! While Hall’s script is often hilarious, it occasionally pokes fun of women too, which surprises me given that the story feels inherently feminist.  

When it comes to Wellington Repertory Theatre’s lively production of Shakespeare in Love, the impressive live band (led by musical director Kathryn Ennis) provides a lovely soundtrack that helps root the play in Elizabethan England. The wardrobe (led by Anne de Geus) is spectacular. From wimples to the bedazzled Queen Elizabeth I dress (worn by Catherine McMechan), the costumes are a show in and of themselves.

I feel that the blocking doesn’t always suit the theatre-in-the-round seating arrangement, which often results in the action being obstructed by the bodies of performers – especially when so many people are on stage. There are many moments I can’t see because of where I am seated and how the actors are positioned. Despite this, there are plenty of standout performers, just some of which include Horne, who plays a hilariously lovesick Will, and the equally comedic Rio Futschek Ryan, who shines as Henslowe. Alani graces the stage with elegance as the determined and strong Viola, and I admire all her quick changes. Finnian Nacey also brings much laughter as Sam and Juliet. One cannot forget Equinox as Spot the Dog, who is a total scene stealer.

Presented in a strikingly cinematic way and memorable for its ensemble feel, this Wellington Repertory Theatre production is bound to make you laugh. Head upstage to Gryphon Theatre and I’m sure you’ll also fall in love with Shakespeare in Love.

Colin McColl, after 18 years with Auckland Theatre Company, has returned to Wellington to direct Noël Coward’s Blithe Spirit. The farce centres on a séance gone wrong at the home of Charles Condomine (Phil Peleton), a sceptical novelist who has invited the famed medium Madame Arcati (Ginette McDonald) into his home in order to gather material for his next book. But Madame Arcarti’s otherworldly powers prove all too real, and Charles and his new husband Rudi (Simon Leary) find themselves sharing their home with the ghost of Charles’ dead wife Elvira (Laura Hill).

This production makes an effort to modernise the 1941 play, with some choices hitting the mark. The gender swapping and re-queering of the story are effective approaches. The script has been cleverly, lightly tweaked to make both Charles and his dead wife Elvira bisexual. The changes align with the risqué and socially insightful voice of Coward and help a modern audience to feel his radical edge.

On the other hand, a confusing combination of garments and set pieces makes it unclear which period we are in, and the set (John Parker) doesn’t feel luxurious enough for a modern household with the fulltime domestic staff who feature in the action. While these may have been conscious decisions, the incongruity became a distraction for us. Some of the costumes (Nic Smillie) are very fun, but Rudi’s costumes each feel like they belong to a different person, rather than reinforcing characterisation.

We are treated to a standout performance from Hera Dunleavy, who is double cast as Edith and Mrs Bradman. I failed to realise these two characters were being played by the same actor until we read the programme at interval, a testimony to her transformative physicality. As Mrs Bradman she is hysterical, with a subtle understanding of the inner life and absurdities of the character. Together with Peter Hambleton as her husband she portrays a long-married couple, with perfectly timed deliveries that make the most of Coward’s astutely observed one-liners.

Timeless Beauty is a foray into Baroque, presenting the works of the period’s luminaries George Frideric Handel and Georg Philipp Telemann alongside their lesser-known forerunner Matthew Locke. Featuring a reduced orchestra of 26 musicians, the evening opens with the Overture and Sinfonia from Handel’s Occasional Oratorio. The NZSO deliver the technical mastery and precision that befits Handel, and as usual make it sound easy.

We then move further back in time. Locke’s The Tempest Suite accompanied a revival production only 60 years after Shakespeare’s The Tempest premiered. Before delving into the storm, Vesa-Matti Leppänen (director and violin) places the work in its historic context, describing innovations in string instruments during this period. It is a lovely touch when he draws attention to the profound age of one of the violins on stage, which was made around 1690, just over a decade after Locke’s death. The little instrument is held aloft, prompting the audience to break into delighted murmurs.

The inclusion of the Locke in the programme is an inspired choice, adding interest and giving us fresh perspective on the otherwise overly familiar Handel and Telemann. The Tempest Suite is new to most of us, including Leppänen, who confesses to never having played Locke’s work before. We feel included in the orchestra’s exploration, which melds sounds from what we categorise as the early Modern period with emerging Baroque modes. The Tempest Suite is evocative, dramatic, and pacey. The orchestra seems less assured in this music than with the more familiar works, but this feels like fellowship with Locke, who was innovating with new, unfamiliar instruments and compositional possibilities.

When we move back into the familiar territory of Telemann, it is with recalibrated ears. His Concerto for 3 Trumpets and Timpani in D Major sounds edgy. A warm, almost sultry oboe leads us through the piece, most prominently in the middle section. All principals shine in this performance, and by the concluding Vivace we are fully enraptured.

Borderline Arts Ensemble, the multi-disciplinary group co-directed by Lucy Marinkovich and Lucien Johnson, are known for their virtuoso dance productions. They return with a meditation on nocturnal themes that pairs the serene piano compositions of Johnson with the movement work of dancers Marinkovich and Michael Parmenter.

Martyn Roberts’ lighting design is a crucial element of the production. The show is set against the black void of a profoundly dark stage, and lighting is used to construct positive spaces within that. Gauzy fabrics suspended from the ceiling become enormous vessels filled with illuminated smoke or water. Puppetry brings us birds and moons floating in black, empty air, while mirrors and shadow-work play with our depth perception.

 As our dances explore these spaces, movement seems to be a secondary concern to imagery. There is minimal connection between the two dancers, or between the dancers and the audience. It feels more like visiting a series of art installations or watching a film than participating in a live performance. That said, this feeling of abstraction is part of the strange beauty of The Night Has A Thousand Eyes.

Indeed, much of the show explores imagery from early film. Parmenter dons an overcoat and watches the moon under streetlights before commencing a contemplative, slow tap dance worthy of the most stoic of film noir leading men. In a vignette reminiscent of Loïe Fuller’s serpentine dance from the 1890s (which became a staple of black and white cinema), Marinkovich appears in a billowing tent of silk that hangs floor-length from her throat and whirls the fabric around into forms that evoke peonies, sea creatures, and birds. This early cinema aesthetic is supported by the minimalist and cool-toned lighting favoured by Roberts.

A quietly masterful show, The Night Has A Thousand Eyes is a balm and curiosity. Many from the audience linger in the foyer afterwards, marvelling softly, before moving off into the dark.