Shows

Trees, Bees, and Me definitely tops the list of my favourite shows! I don’t even know where to start in telling you how absolutely captivating, magical, and real this show is.

The excitement in the air is contagious as we enter the theatre. The stage, designed and built by Brendan West and James Searle, resembles the perfect backyard. Three of the most beautiful tūī that you will ever see (Gabby Clark, Ryan Cundy, and Tadhg Mackay) enter with a cheerful song and gorgeous costumes, designed and created by Victoria Gridley. The cast members are so versatile and play multiple different characters throughout the show. They portray each character so well that you can’t help but love even the bad guys.

Mackay also plays Poppa, a loving grandad with a green thumb and a love for the whenua and his whānau. Mimi (Salomé Neely) is a brave young girl who needs some answers. Her brother Trey (Clark) is too funny and has everyone laughing at his quirky personality. Dad (Cundy) is supportive, fun, and very charismatic. Nan (Catriona Tipene) is the perfect nan with her famous ‘bikkies’ and nurturing nature.

Written by Benny Tipene, the songs are playful, meaningful, and bring an extra sprinkle of magic to every scene. Trees, Bees, and Me tugs at your heartstrings and gets you emotionally invested in the relationships of the characters. The audience is rallied up: we belly laugh, boo the bad guys, and cheer for the outcome we’ve all been hoping for.

Of course, my favourite thing to do after a show is to ask Mister Almost Six what part he loved the most. Well, I can’t tell you that this time because I don’t want to ruin it for you… but Binnie creeps deep into your heart!

Produced by Horse With No Name, Trees, Bees, and Me is not a show to miss – trust me!

I grew up watching DVD boxsets of Fawlty Towers with my dad. When I heard a live rendition of the cult-classic BBC Two British sitcom was coming to a Wellington hotel – served up with a three-course meal to boot – I jumped at the chance to review. My plus one? My dad, of course.

We arrive at Oaks Wellington Hotel to be greeted by a (far-too-nice) concierge, so to speak (executive producer Jared Harford), who checks our names at the door. While waiting in the lobby to be let into the restaurant, a roving Basil Faulty (Jed McKinney), Sybil Faulty (Eilannin Harris-Black), and Manuel (Michael Gonsalves) – a cranky and bumbling hotelier, his wife who can kill a man with one blow of her tongue, and a frazzled waiter who doesn’t speak English – begin to bicker under their breath, their whispers hissing through the space like a boiling pot of celery soup. Their characters need to keep their guests in the dark, but as actors, they need their audience to catch every little acidic jab. They nail the balance, and delightfully, the show is late to start. I’m not sure whether this is deliberate, but it’s certainly appropriate.

Our three-course meal starts with soup (which I’ve fondly nicknamed ‘pumpkin surprise’ and ‘perhaps pea’) and cold bread rolls (oddly, there was not too much butter on those trays). Waiters (real ones from Oaks) place our bowls haphazardly on the tables, missing punters left, right, and centre. You can tell they’re having a blast. The main course is a chicken breast with powdery, cakey mash and the dessert is a quite-yummy cheesecake, actually! While we eat, the three actors own the room, riffing with guests and each other in a part-improv, part-scripted interactive dining experience that leaves others I’ve seen for dust.

My favourite moment is when Basil attempts to hang a mounted fish above a vegetarian audience member who has just finished lecturing him on cruelty to animals. He also accuses me of pick pocketing when I try to retrieve something from my jacket out in the lobby, which is gleefully frightening. I sprint back to my seat, whimpering and giggling in the same breath. McKinney is aptly acerbic, though his simmering rage doesn’t boil over until the final scene. When it does, wow – what a show. Harris-Black is a knockout as Sybil and commands our attention with every word – spoken or screeched (sorry, sung). Though, I long to hear Sybil's iconic catchphrase, “Oh I know”. Gonsalves is charming, manic, and gormless all in one as the lovable Manuel.

Put all your money on this horse: Faulty Towers The Dining Experience is deliciously unforgettable.

In Ngā Rorirori, writer, director, and choreographer Hone Kouka has mashed up three of his favourite things: theatre, dance, and farce. The show traces the relationship between the remaining two members of a whānau and their whenua. A brother is on a quest to turn the land into a cash cow while his sister tries to take a considered approach to their joint heritage. He’s a convicted fraudster, she’s a political activist. Throw in a visit from the chief executive of a government department, a hidden boyfriend, and a heartbroken overachiever, and “today is the day”.

Nominally performed by two actors (Mycah Keall and Manuel Solomon) and three dancers (Sefa Tunupopo, Nomuna Amarbat, and Stela Dara), it’s hard to say where the dance ends and the acting begins as each performer has mad skills at both. Keall and Solomon play siblings Manuela and Pillow, each dedicated to their cause and hilariously engaging to watch. The three dancers also bring nuance to their supporting characters. After 90 minutes, I’m exhausted from watching them, such is their energy, with Kouka (assisted by Dara) effectively blending kapa haka and modern dance moves.

Not speaking lines but lip-syncing to a recorded soundtrack allows the performers to emote in the exaggerated manner of farce, as well as carry off the huge physicality that is demanded of them. With music (composed by Maarire Brunning-Kouka, Reon Bell, and Karnan Saba), dialogue by a team of vocal performers, and effects all mixed live by Isaac Kirkwood, the continuous soundtrack is seamless and powerful. The lighting design (Natasha James) is also striking, utilising side and top light.

Mark McEntyre’s set is a seemingly pedestrian but cleverly constructed community hall that allows the performers to flow through and around it. They pop up in unexpected places and make creative use of benches, chairs, and folding tables.

An intense fever dream of movement, sound, light, language, and humour, Ngā Rorirori also has much to say about the nature of culture and our place within it.

Tessa Ensler (Mel Dodge) is a top criminal defence barrister at a top legal firm. Relishing the cut and thrust of the court room as she cross-examines witnesses, often in sexual assault cases, she works and plays hard with her colleagues. One of these colleagues is ‘Damo’, with whom she starts a casual sexual relationship. After a fun evening date, they end up in bed and he sexually assaults her, even though she has clearly said no. She reports the crime and, more than two long years later, finds herself on the other side of the witness box being cross-examined on her recollection of events. There she faces the legal system she wholeheartedly believes in head on, but it’s clearly stacked against her.

Having watched the debut run of Prima Facie last year, I was intrigued to see how it’s changed as a production. Mel Dodge’s solo performance was impressive then, but it’s pitch perfect now. Obviously more comfortable and familiar with Suzie Miller’s script, she and director Lyndee-Jane Rutherford have matured the depths and rhythms of the language and tone of this striking piece of writing. To carry an entire 100-minute show is a feat in itself and Dodge is utterly engaging throughout. I’m glad they’ve held the decision not to include an interval, despite the distracting need for audience members to leave for the bathroom.

This is a thoroughly impressive production all round. Rebekah de Roo’s projection design, with its steadily growing cracks and giant drops of water, is stunning and has been enhanced by Marcus McShane’s intelligent lighting design that subtly reflects the mood on stage. The lighting has been given extra intensity by the addition of floating haze. I was also glad to see the unfussy set has been expanded and loosened so Dodge has more room to move.

Still important, still brilliant, this is a theatrical experience not to be missed.

Stagecraft provides a fresh take on Anton Chekhov’s beloved classic The Seagull, transporting us to a beautiful lakeside, which one might expect to be a source of pure bliss. Far from it. Everyone at this picturesque estate is tragically unhappy and completely in love with the wrong person.

This production is as hilarious as it is heartfelt. Under Josh Hopton-Stewart’s direction, the comedy is well explored and equally matched with vulnerable moments that make us empathise with characters who are, frankly, rather horrible. This is no easy feat.

Each character stands out – whether it’s the awkward, nervous Konstantin (Zachary Klein), the doting Nina (Tess Lavanda), the cantankerous Sorin (Julia Harris), who despite her age has achieved little in life, or the comedic Jacob (Finlay Morris), who seems to be the only truly happy person on stage (probably thanks to his unlimited access to the estate’s collection of fine wine).

The set design (Josh Hopton-Stewart) is breathtaking, like a scene out of a postcard. Paired with Mike Slater’s soothing lighting design, it paints a peaceful picture that contrasts sharply with the characters’ misery. That said, the setting feels more like a beachside retreat than a lakeside estate.

The British accents feel a bit out of place, given that there is no specifically mentioned setting besides the lake. The blend of mentions of horses and carriages with modern-day garb (vibrant costume design by Meredith Dooley, Katie Knight, and cast) adds to the confusion. A bit more clarity on these choices would avoid things getting as muddled up as the characters’ feelings.

Stagecraft’s The Seagull captures the feeling of being surrounded by people but still feeling utterly alone, a sentiment that I think resonates universally. This production breathes new life into the classic, situated right in the middle of paradise. Come watch the show – just like Boris Trigorin (Jimmy Sutcliffe), you’ll never want to leave.

Tangihanga, presented solo by powerhouse performer Kristyl Neho, is a 60-minute comedy-drama centred around Jess, whose beloved father Karanipa dies in a hospice at a ripe old age. His whānau and friends travel from near and far to gather at the marae and mourn his loss. As the tangi progresses, tensions rise, family dynamics unravel, and long-harboured secrets are exposed. All the while, Jess and her whānau grapple with their grief and differences.

Neho embraces around 30 characters, from noble Karanipa himself through bickering and bossy aunties, posturing uncles, and a transgender teen all the way to sweet mokopuna Mikaere, who wonders why Karanipa looks “all grey and weird” as he lies in his coffin. Switching swiftly and effortlessly between these assorted personalities, Neho is magnificent as she uses her body and voice to create their nuances, always clearly expressing who’s who and never tipping into cliché. Gossiping Aunty Margaret in her “dramatic hat” is an instant favourite.

The technical design (Monique Cowern) is a masterwork of minimalism, using light to establish place and mood and never getting in the way of the performance. A box filled with tiny blue spots and covered in a soft drape subtly captures Karanipa’s enduring spirit as his family grieves for him. Matiu Whiting’s soundscape of music, effects, and recorded voice beautifully serves Neho’s performance. Even Neho’s simple, flowing costume (Cheryl Downie) of black with a green, koru-patterned cape is elegant and effective.

The directing team of writer Neho and contributing writer Eunice Smith, together with contributing directors Clan Elyse White and Jo Randerson, have evidently considered every move. The action flows seamlessly around the stage, allowing the audience to imagine each place and activity with only a handful of boxes as props. This choice of staging allows the story and personalities to breathe into the space and inhabit it with richness and life, even in the context of death.

As a collaborative work about whānau and community, Wahanui Productions’ Tangihanga is a graceful celebration of the power of theatre to create and tell a story.

Growing up, was there anything better than a sleepover with your girlfriends? I remember staying up till 10pm (gasp) talking about Pokémon with my childhood best friend, swapping stories about ghosts and crushes in primary school, and eating a bowl of melted white chocolate chips in a pillow fort with one of the cool kids from intermediate. Her dad made us pancakes the next morning and I bragged about it for months. I squeaked and squealed my way through Midnight Confessions, a nostalgic celebration of this time-honoured tradition that relishes in the joys and magic of girlhood.

Devised and directed by its performers – producer Abby Lyons, Alia Marshall (Tūhoe), Mia Oudes (Te Arawa), and Anna Barker – Midnight Confessions is neatly structured to take audiences on a journey through the ages (literally). Sleepovers between groups of gals aged 10, 16, 17, 19, and 20-something are interspersed with open-mic snippets of the secrets they whisper to each other at midnight. Transitions are clearly demarcated thanks to production designer Rebekah de Roo (AV, set, and lighting), whose stage is softly lit and pastel hued, lined with pillows and draped in princess nets. It is here that, with a twinkle in its eye, Midnight Confessions sends gasps and giggles of recognition bouncing round BATS Theatre as it reminds us of everything from playing “Romeo and Juliet doing kissing” to spending our birthday money on the Cookie Monster t-shirts from Jay Jays.

What goes up must come down, right? Not in the vignette Gone Fishing, a killer of an opening scene (after the impeccably choreographed dance number, of course) that traces the unfortunate misplacement of a moon cup. Comedic performances play out to a chorus of bark laughs from the crowd. But Midnight Confessions isn’t afraid to venture into the hairy parts of growing up either. Highlights include the aching Letters to Lucy and Sheet Girl, which ends in a tender kiss as one girl realises the other feels the same.

Charming, funny, and special, Midnight Confessions is woven together with the heartstrings of female friendships.

In a dirty, drought-ridden city where water is a precious commodity, citizens must pay for the privilege of… peeing. Under the all-seeing eye of mega corporation UGC (Urine Good Company), helmed by Caldwell B Cladwell (the brilliant Monēt Faifai-Collins), public urination is outlawed and anyone who breaks the rules is picked up by the police and hauled off to Urinetown, never to be seen again.

As born-leader Bobby Strong (a feverish and fiery Mackenzie Htay) tires of the status quo, the spirit of resistance and rebellion grows – despite the best efforts of toll collector Penelope Pennywise (the vocally gifted Corrie Milne). But any potential uprising against UGC and Cladwell’s cronies – Mr McQueen (Josh Franken, a hilarious highlight), Senator Fipp (a suitably snivelly Christopher Horne), and more – is complicated by Bobby’s blossoming relationship with the doe-eyed Hope Cladwell (an enchanting Maddi Barnes). And Hope is not a favourite amongst the rebels, especially not Hot Blades Harry (a terrifying, riveting Logan Tahiwi) and Little Becky Two Shoes (the snarling Marilyn Mansilla)…

With book and lyrics by Greg Kotis and music and lyrics by Mark Hollmann, Urinetown: The Musical is a delightfully ridiculous, meta musical that regularly breaks the fourth wall – courtesy of narrator Officer Lockstock (Maya Gatling, who crushes a massive role with comedy and panache) and his sidekick Little Sally (Emily Holden, who rightly scores some big laughs) – to poke fun of not only itself, but musicals at large. Underneath the satire and black comedy, it explores poignant themes of poverty, politics, and corruption. Presented by students of the Whitireia and WelTec New Zealand Diploma in Performing Arts – Musical Theatre programme, this production of Urinetown: The Musical combines all moving parts into a visual and aural stage spectacular that you simply must see.

Michael Trigg (lighting) and Scott Maxim (set) have melded minds and magic to create the vibrant backdrop upon which the pitch-perfect cast and ensemble (music director Kate Marshall-Crowe) nail every beat, every flourish of director Leigh Evans’ superb choreography. Talent streams all over the stage and all I have left to say is: golden. 

Fragmented, disjointed, and at odds with itself – strangely, the state of Denmark and the recesses of Hamlet’s mind echo each other. A crumbling, dystopian world held together by technology is the reality in which Hamlet – One Hour. Three Actors. Denmark Will Never Be the Same. unfolds.

Framed by five draped white frames that function as walls, corridors, curtains, doors, and screens upon which SPLITelevision can project videos, the set (designed by Jo Marsh) is malleable, much like Hamlet’s feeble mental state.

The script is distilled down to its essence, adapted and directed by Jo Marsh to take a trauma-informed approach. From this comes a crafted environment in which we lean into mental health issues and interpersonal relationships. Our ill-tempered, tortured, and gently portrayed Hamlet’s (Shaun Swain) sanity, already a hotly contested element in any rendition, is made all the more uncertain through various techniques.

By imposing a state of constant surveillance, Hamlet’s bouts of madness appear much more performative. Hamlet knows that every text he sends, every word he utters is watched, making his plan to feign lunacy all the more believable. However when video call screens double as ghostly apparitions, we begin to doubt what is real and what is his imagination.

From Ophelia to Queen Gertrude, Horatio to King Claudius, every other character is played by Helen Vivienne Fletcher and Hamish Boyle, who flit between roles at the drop of a hat with tremendous skill. Though scarves worn in different styles are brilliantly used to differentiate characters, their colour illustrating family relationships, Hamlet’s lunacy is compounded as everyone around him looks the same. Who can he trust when his world is so corrupt? In this genius technical choice, everyone blurs into one.

By the time we reach the final throws I’m engrossed and enraptured despite knowing the inevitable end, and I come to the conclusion that in a world governed by tech, “there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so”.

The Quarter Quell is an improvised fight to the death based on Suzanne Collins' Hunger Games series. The debut full-length show for two-time Late Night Knife Fight champions, The Mad Flatters (Campbell Wright, Millie Osborne, and Austin Harrison), it’s a fun-filled hour of ad hoc carnage.

Wright plays show host Flicker Caesarman, who slickly introduces the tributes ready to duke it out in a desert arena inside a giant hourglass, an inspired choice of venue by an audience member. We then focus on six specific tributes, three each played by Osborne and Harrison. Responding to the random choices of district specialities from the audience, they create four distinct characters alongside the two stars from district 16, whose alliance and not-quite romance is clearly going to be the main storyline, as per the original.

Harrison’s sugar daddy from district 17 is an audience favourite, particularly after his sexy dance in the tribute showcase earns him the maximum 15 points from the three judges. His camo ninja love interest, Steven, is charmingly engaging, particularly in his final sacrifice to ensure Chloe Evergreen wins the games. Osborne also creates some inspired characters. Sexy, finger-licking sandwich queen Samantha Hayes (no relation) is another audience favourite and her one-person fight between two tributes is a joy to watch. Wright deftly moves the action along, mixing things up occasionally to keep Harrison and Osborne on their toes. His integration of the hourglass turning over and reforming the arena is masterful as an unexpected twist in the games.

Ben Kelly on keys provides appropriate and skilled mood music to enhance the scenes and Malcolm Morrison’s mixing of sound, lights, and AV is excellent. His ability to pick imagery in keeping with the fast-moving action is spectacular and drew an impressed ‘oooh!’ from the audience at one point.

Even if you’re not familiar with The Hunger Games, The Quarter Quell is an imaginative and well-structured improv that can be easily enjoyed, thanks to the combined skills of this talented team.

Wellington Repertory Theatre brings to life Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s beloved The Hound of the Baskervilles, transporting Sherlock Holmes (James Boag) and Dr Watson (Mike McJorrow) from 221B Baker Street straight to the Gryphon Theatre. Jon Jory’s adaptation of this treasured classic takes us to Devonshire, where Holmes and Watson investigate the mysteries that befall the moors surrounding Baskerville Hall and the curious connections of the nearby inhabitants.

Each actor brings forth very distinct characterisations. Boag’s Holmes is as charismatic as he is clever and McJorrow presents a very gentlemanlike Watson. Thomas McGinty provides much-needed comic relief as Henry Baskerville and aces his perky personality perfectly.

I find the set design (Scott Maxim) to be very clever, quite literally bringing the concept of upstage and downstage back to the theatre. The sloped set feels very reminiscent of the rolling hills of Dartmoor. Whilst the design is simple, it is effective, especially in combination with other scenographic elements.

The lighting design (Devon Heaphy) transports us imaginatively to Victorian England and encapsulates each of the many settings well. A particular stand out is the design for the moor at night with eerie blues and greens, some of which appear from under the set.

The sound design (Alan Burden) creates a vibrant soundscape that takes us from the streets of London to the plains of Devon. However, it would have enhanced the ambience if soundscapes occurred throughout each scene and not just at the beginning.

The fusion of these elements creates a stunning theatrical picture, taking the audience right into the action unfolding onstage. Additionally, the wardrobe design (Carol Walter) provides period-accurate costumes reminding us of the temporal setting of the play.

The game’s afoot with this one. Unlike many mysteries, Wellington Repertory Theatre’s The Hound of the Baskervilles leaves you till quite literally the midnight hour to piece together what is happening. Make sure you buy tickets now to this gripping mystery before the Baskerville Hound takes hold of you.

Kutisar is a poor chai-wallah (teaseller) who makes chai down at the bustling Bangalore Central Railway Station. On what starts as an ordinary day, Kutisar’s life is forever changed when seven abandoned young girls show up at his tea stand and offer to sing for their supper, mesmerising all passersby. Unfortunately, this includes The Fakir and his crook men, who control the station and want a slice of the proverbial pie. While Kutisar and the sisters do secure temporary police protection from Officer Pushkin, refusing The Fakir is a slippery soap...

Dispensing incorrect and hilarious platitudes and winning everyone over while he’s at it, Kutisar, or the Guru of Chai, becomes a father figure to the girls in this tale that spans decades and transports the viewer straight to modern-day India, where tradition clashes with Starbuck like a cockfight filmed on an iPhone. Though, ‘transports the viewer’ is an understatement. Watching Jacob Rajan’s consummate, cinematic performance of all 17 characters is so completely captivating, it’s like seeing your new favourite movie on the big screen. Not once do you lose your place as he deftly shifts from a snotty wee girl to a pretentious poet to a mystical (but stupid) moon and back again.

Indian Ink Theatre Company’s Guru of Chai is one of the best shows I’ve ever seen. I leapt to my feet the moment the house lights dawned, shaking my head in disbelief and hollering along with the rest of the stunned, staggered audience. What a privilege to witness such a confluence of theatrical magic. A heart-warming, heart-racing story; a stirring soundtrack (composed by David Ward, performed live onstage by Adam Ogle, an entrancing energy unto himself); a simple yet striking set punctuated by magician’s secrets (John Verryt); a prismatic intersect of light, colour, and sound, brought to life by a world-building actor second to none. All elements that masterful director Justin Lewis has steeped in a cup of sweet, spiced, soul-soothing chai that I savoured (some of) before spilling the rest all over my person, so feverish was my applause.