It is a pleasure to be back in Wellington Cathedral for a concert that honours place and tradition while keeping creative energy and possibilities open. For this 40^th anniversary programme, The Tudor Consort perform in the round, reshaping themselves into new configurations for each work. These shifts create subtle changes of colour and perspective, keeping ears and eyes alert across a programme of 10 works.

The repertoire spans an enormous historical range, from 16^th century polyphony to contemporary choral writing, and the programming deftly weaves the choir’s own history through that arc. Several works are long‑standing fixtures in Tudor Consort’s repertoire, giving the evening a sense of accumulated knowledge and craft rather than mere retrospection. There is also a satisfying variation of density: works ranging from eight parts through to 40, and a thoughtful balance between music that leans into consonant radiance and music willing to sit in tension or ambiguity.

An especially pleasing programming choice is the inclusion of paired works by the same composers, allowing contrasts to emerge organically. The two settings of The Silver Swan, Orlando Gibbons’ poised melancholy alongside Jaakko Mäntyjärvi’s modern reimagining, sharpen the listener’s awareness of how Mäntyjärvi’s contemporary practice is informed by historic works.

This is the ideal mindset in which to approach Mäntyjärvi’s Tentatio, given its New Zealand premiere in a staging by Jacqueline Coats. The choir is positioned in four groups behind the audience, enveloping us in sound. The work conjures extraordinary atmosphere: moments of stark isolation, sudden antagonism, and passages of calm resistance as Christ faces temptation in the wilderness. A recurring solo female voice near the altar is serene, grounded, and untouched by hostility, while the male voices representing the Devil circle and menace from different directions. Personally, I felt Satan could have been pushed to be syrupier and more seductive, but the dramatic tension remains compelling throughout.

A final, deeply affecting moment comes when alumni join the present choir for O nata lux and Ave verum corpus. The sound blooms with warmth and shared history, joyful without sentimentality. A fitting affirmation of 40 years of collective music‑making.

Local sensation Laser Kiwi is made up of brothers Degge and Zane Jarvie, and Imogen Stone. The award-winning trio have been performing shows on festival circuits and around the world for more than 10 years, describing themselves as “the world’s only surreal sketch circus”. They combine comedy, acrobatic tricks, magic, circus skills, and physical theatre in a uniquely entertaining blend and are back home in Te Whanganui-a-Tara for the NZ International Comedy Festival.

In Everybody Knows (or should that be Everybody Nose? IYKYK), they arguably have a fourth character – a long LED display high on the back wall of The Hannah – that adds commentary, acts as a lie detector, provides instructions, counts points scored, and generally adds to the on-stage mayhem. The audience are also very much part of the show, and we all quickly become fully invested in making sure Zane never scores a point. More game audience members have the opportunity to become directly involved with the action on and off stage and everyone gets to shout things during Degge’s poor attempts at charades, pull off and throw their noses at the LED display, and wave their arms like an eel. All of which makes absurdly wonderful sense within the context of the show.

All three performers have mad circus skills. Stone mixes tracks DJ-style while in a handstand and does gravity-defying things on ropes, the Jarvie brothers juggle clubs impossibly across the full width of the Hannah stage, Degge balances crazily on a moving bike, and all three play the most bizarrely physical game of ping pong you’re ever likely to see.

With their comedic non-sequiturs, managing to create a ridiculous level of excitement over a small red rubber man, and doing it all in delightfully coloured leisure wear, this is a trio whose brand of infectious and wonderfully weird humour you don’t want to miss. It’s hard not to love the endearingly whacky Laser Kiwi and everything they do. Whistles and wings, everyone.

What kinds of skeletons in your partner’s closet are you able to cope with? Where is your line? Has the world’s capacity to forgive shrunk in the age of outrage? Who is exempt? How do we judge intent? Are the kids alright?

The Drama, directed by Kristoffer Borgli, follows couple Emma (Zendaya) and Charlie (Robert Pattinson) in the week leading up to their wedding as their relationship is tested by an unexpected conversation about their pasts. A film that makes you feel desperately uncomfortable and laugh out loud in unexpected moments, it takes you on a ride through an unravelling crisis that is twice cooked in the pressure of the looming wedding.

Pattinson does a wonderful job playing the charming and bookish Charlie, whose somewhat clean past makes him appear meek rather than saintly. Watching Charlie fumble with his words is incredibly painful. We see him grapple with his newfound knowledge, oscillating between fear and outrage, forgiveness and various forms of escapism, making him both moderately pathetic but also entirely human. Zendaya is captivating as always, putting a light touch on a complex character whose past is being scrutinised from the moral high horse of the present.

At first glance, the relatively simple plot might appear shallow, but I believe it asks the audience deeply personal questions, with as many answers as there are people in the room. The film could only ever be polarising – it’s in the title. The Drama plays out because people pass judgments on other people, and everyone in the audience might have a different idea about which character is the voice of reason.

All this might sound abstracted because I don’t want to give away the twist, and even without an in-depth analysis, the film is fun. It sent laughter and groans through the audience multiple times, and the onstage chemistry between Zendaya and Pattinson is infectious. But still, for me The Drama is about the individual’s moral compass in a world full of outrage (and it is fair enough to be outraged). If I had to put in my two cents though, I’d call on the strong human impulse to forgive.

Margaret Austin’s first solo show Please Adjust Your G-String was an engaging collection of stories, poetry, and musical moments from her time working at the Moulin Rouge and later in London as a journalist. Much to the horror of her strait-laced Palmerston North family, she defied 1970s convention, split from her husband, refused to have babies, and headed off on her own path. Have You Seen My G-String? acts as a prequel, filling in the first of her European shenanigans before she landed at the world’s most famous cabaret.

Sashaying onto the stage in a sparkly, short lilac dress and matching scarf is a younger version of Austin with a dark 1960s hairdo. Her recollections begin with her days at Te Herenga Waka – Victoria University of Wellington as a student of English and philosophy and member of the Pooh Bear Club, claiming the old ‘Taj Mahal’ as an independent state. “You mustn’t do that”, she was frequently told, but that mantra was firmly cast out in Austin’s world.

We follow her to the summer of 1975 and Amsterdam, encountering women in red-lit windows for the first time. She starts writing poetry and we hear one of her early creations, sadly the only one in this show. Soon, she meets a dishwashing dancer who introduces her to a sex theatre where she auditions and successfully becomes a stripper. “I’m learning heaps!”, she delightfully declares as she regales us with tales of what happens on the stage of the Caress club.

After more great work stories, encounters with African men, and tidbits about her early days as a celebrity interviewer, the tone takes a sombre turn as Austin’s vulnerability comes to the fore. She courageously recounts her poignant three-year journey with depression and her unexpected rescue from it by a homeless man called Wayne.

As ever, Austin is a skilled and entertaining raconteur and it’s a privilege and pleasure to learn more about her adventures in life and love.

This evening pairs two large-scale choral works with unusually compelling origin stories; Mozart’s Requiem, commissioned anonymously and left unfinished at his death, alongside Christopher Tin’s To Shiver the Sky, a work brought to life through the largest Kickstarter campaign ever mounted to support a composer.

Mozart’s iconic and distinctive Requiem opens the concert. The opening movement is particularly strong, Orpheus Choir balancing the painful and uncertain yet soothing quality of this sacred mass for the dead. As always, the Lacrimosa is a highlight, its tenderness and intensity making for deeply affecting listening. The solo quartet, Emma Pearson (soprano), Charlotte Secker (alto), Ridge Ponini (tenor), and Robert Tucker (bass), work exceptionally well together, prioritising blend and ensemble over individual display.

Tin’s To Shiver the Sky shifts the sound world entirely. The work traces humanity’s enduring obsession with flight, charting our journey from imagined wings and myth to scientific discovery and space travel through a selection of historical texts. Drawing heavily on the language of film and video game scores, the work is unapologetically expansive and frequently sentimental. Yet its emotional directness proves surprisingly powerful. The voices of great figures such as Leonardo da Vinci in Sogno di Volare, and Copernicus in Astronomy, become suddenly and disarmingly accessible through Tin’s settings of their personal writings. Ponini is especially moving as the golden toned voice of Daedalus, father of Icarus, delivering a beautiful and dreadfully tragic lament that somehow evokes the beauty of open sea and sky.

Tin’s writing makes inventive use of the choir, deploying it in radically different roles across the work. The early-music-inflected Become Death, setting Sanskrit verses associated with Oppenheimer, is exhilarating and fills us with dread, its austere sound world brought to life by superb solo singing from within the choir. It is not all evenly successful; the final movement, based on John F. Kennedy’s iconic “We Choose to go to the Moon” speech, and featuring unapologetic Americana and a children’s choir, feels less authentic and undercuts the impact of what precedes it.

Even so, this is an ambitious, emotionally charged programme, performed with commitment and care, linked by two very different stories about how communities bring music into being.

At the Q&A screening of The Weed Eaters, directed by Callum Devlin, someone put their hand up and said, “Thanks, that was hilarious, beautiful, disgusting.”

The Weed Eaters is a Kiwi horror-comedy that already feels like an instant classic. Four friends go rural for New Year’s Eve and smoke a bunch of weed that gives them the munchies so bad they end up eating people.

A DIY project between some incredibly talented mates, the cast and crew consisted mostly of the same seven people: Alice May Connolly plays Jules and was the on-set caterer, co-writer, and producer, Samuel Austin plays Campbell and was cinematographer and gaffer – the overlaps go on and you might as well scrap the titles and call them a band. A band that created an exceptional film that rides the line between horrific and hilarious better than I think I’ve ever seen.

The script sits in the perfect register of four Kiwi drongos who are seriously stoned and maybe a little bit bored. The acting from Connolly, Annabel Kean (Charlie), Finnius Teppett (Brian), and Austin was outstanding – their ability to make the eating of a human body somehow erotic, grotesque, and funny is a mix I’m not sure I want to know the recipe for.

Like any good horror, each time it got dark outside you heard a groan from the audience. At one point I thought the film was so far down the horror end of the spectrum it couldn’t possibly bring the audience back to safety. Then there was another cracker, flippant remark and we were suddenly back in that happy place.

I doff my hat to the rhythm of the film. Devlin says that “comedy is all about… the pacing”, which Austin put down to their combined musical experience and history of creating music videos. In terms of the music, the soundtrack was impeccable, celebrating local indie artists and featuring a jazz score written and performed by Callum Passells, who somehow overlaid the scenes where human flesh is consumed with music that made the act appear surprisingly chic.

The film does what a lot try to do (not always succeeding): stretch the audience’s response across such a wide range of emotions that all you can do is squirm and laugh. And squirm and laugh we did.

If you ask me, hardly anything beats a good improv show, especially when it is also a whodunnit. Now imagine that, as a viewer, you get to not only watch the story but also influence its course. This is what happens at Wellington’s premier improv murder mystery show, Farce Onion, in which the audience is invited to shape the plot, choosing the location, the murder weapon, and even the victim. This Wednesday's performance features a cast of six improv geniuses – Dylan Hutton, Mo Munn, Austin Harrison, Nina Hogg, Tara McEntee, and Millie Osborne – ready to win the crowd.

The night starts as ominously as every good mystery should: the stage is dark and a single spotlight reveals a mysterious silhouette sitting in the center of the room, his face hidden by a newspaper that bears the headline Murder. This figure turns out to be the story’s detective (Hutton), who takes notes and desperately tries to solve a crime as it unfolds in real time. Throughout the night, a comically absurd story takes shape, featuring various characters who are as entertaining as they are suspicious. From a French artist dreaming about being an accountant (Harrison) to a dog-killing museum curator (Munn) and a grandmother-stepmother passionate about vaginal self-portraits and unfired ceramics (Hogg), the more bizarre the characters get, the funnier.

The cast is supported by two live musicians (Beans Wright and Isaac Thomas) who brilliantly adapt to the changing plot and underline each scene’s atmosphere. To change the course of the story, we are encouraged to participate by clapping or speaking. To my taste, there could be even greater audience involvement. However, the show is hilariously funny as it is, proven by the fact that the entire theatre is laughing out loud the whole way through.

Farce Onion truly is improv at its finest. I want to come back again and again. Keep an eye out for PopRox to experience their next performance yourself or take part in one of their improv workshops.

‘Twas the night of a cyclone, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. A rat, on the other hand…   

It’s already a coincidence that WITCH Music Theatre opened the Aotearoa premiere of Ride the Cyclone on the eve of Cyclone Vaianu. Consider the fact that the musical is narrated by a mechanical fortune-telling automaton called The Amazing Karnak (an astonishing puppet by Kira Rose Kemp, expressively voiced and operated by Jthan Morgan with mellifluous mechanical effects from sound designer Oliver Devlin), and it’s truly spooky. Keep hold of the fortune handed to you on arrival, because once you compare yours with others after the show, you’ll discover yet another coincidence. This one by clever design.

Clever design permeates this eerie production, where six students of the St. Cassian Chamber Choir – Ocean (Lane Corby), Mischa (Jackson Burling), Noel (Logan Tahiwi), Jane (Maya Handa Naff), Constance (Jade Merematira), and Ricky (Henry Ashby) – board a doomed roller coaster and wake up in Limbo. Facing the fluttering veil to the other side, they must each sing a song that proves why they should get a second chance at life.

It’s easy to see why Ride the Cyclone has gone viral. What a unique premise for a musical. And because each character is so different, we’re treated to a roller coaster (sorry) of genres and artforms – opera, cabaret, pop, you name it. It’s difficult to pinpoint my favourite track in a show where every second is a highlight, but Burling’s autotuned rap This Song is Awesome and Ashby’s (incredibly surprising) Space Age Bachelor Man might take the Sugar Cloud cake (props to Merematira for that bouncy number). Handa Naff’s soprano trills come from Heaven in The Ballad of Jane Doe, Corby’s What the World Needs has me dancing (and giggling) in my seat, and Tahiwi’s Noel’s Lament (raunchily lit by Alex ‘Fish’ Fisher) elicits whoops, hollers, and stamps across the audience that I noisily join with glee.

I’m endlessly spellbound by the talent spilling out of WITCH Music Theatre’s cauldron. From a cast I could catch on Broadway to Emily McDermott’s polished choreography (made more dizzying by Dorothe Olsen’s colourful costumes on Scott Maxim’s spectacular set); to the world-class direction from Ben Tucker-Emerson, head of production Joshua Tucker-Emerson, and Hayden Taylor, musical director, pianist, and conductor; to every single magical detail adorning the stage, Ride the Cyclone is gobsmacking.

Cushions sprawl cosily on the floor in front of the stage, where we are welcomed by Roger Sanders (writer, composer, musician, puppeteer, and performer) in a jaunty black beret. He tells me these are the best seats in the house. I park myself a few rows back, but plenty of the audience take up Sanders’ offer. A young family sits cross-legged on the rugs up front, eating apple slices from a plastic Tupperware. Another clutch of kids have brought puppets from home. Already the space feels intimate, a little like being in your favourite grandparents’ living room. The only elements on stage are a table, a projector screen, and a series of cardboard boxes. 

Originally directed by Daniel Allan, The Boy With Wings begins when Professor Beatrice ‘Birdie’ Bartholomew (Bridget Sanders, writer, performer, and creative director) emerges to make an enthused presentation about the migratory journey of the kuaka/bar-tailed godwit. Birdie is charming and goofy, an absentminded professor who soon has all the kids giggling. That is, until Sanders opens the box, and the whole room falls quiet. 

Each box unfolds into a miniature set, built to scale for Jack, the star of the puppet show. In the Sanders’ hands, Jack travels across far mountains, shimmering velvet seas, and vast cardboard cities to try and save his failing orchard. Shifting back and forth between Jack’s journey and the kuaka’s migration poetically interweaves the two tales. But the magic lies somewhere in the exquisite hand-painted detail of the sets, the way the hidden world emerges as if from nothing, the way the texture of fabric, light, music, and performance bring the sets and figures to life. I hear more than one “wow” from the audience when the kuaka first takes flight. 

Simply, the Sanders team at Birdlife Productions are brilliant storytellers. Their ability to hold the audience’s attention while they shift between scenes, disciplines, tones, storylines, and characters is astonishing. An absolute must-see next time they’re in Wellington!