With the highly talented people involved, I had high hopes for this production and it didn’t disappoint. Once Upon a Time in Homowood is a hilarious and deliciously realised celebration of the LGBTQIA+ community.

As the show’s publicity blurb states, “cinema and theatre are vital for queer people to see themselves represented both in explicitly queer texts, as well as queer-coded works”. Hear, hear. To that end, Once Upon a Time in Homowood creates a fan fic of what would have happened if Jack from Titanic was a soft butch. How about if Sunset Boulevard’s Norma Desmond transitioned and Hollywood ditched her? What if Mark Zuckerberg and Eduardo Saverin kissed in The Social Network?

These three ‘original scripts’ by Cassandra Tse, Jamie Cain, and Matthew Loveranes are delightfully irreverent of Hollywood tropes and place their new, playfully queer plots front and centre. The characters and scenes we know and love are joyfully parodied by an energetic seven-strong (with the emphasis on strong) cast of Ruby Carter, Rachel McLean, Zachary Klein, Mike Bryant, Lincoln Swinerd, writers Tse, Cain, and Loveranes, and stage manager Julia Bon-McDonald in a delightful cameo. Under Cain’s highly creative and fast-moving direction, they all have standout moments, as well as forming a seamless ensemble. Klein’s tight-lipped Cal Hockley in Titanic, Bryant’s manipulative Max in Sunset Boulevard, and Tse’s idiot Winklevoss twin in The Social Network are just a few of the many highlights.

Lucas Neal’s brilliant set consists of HOMO writ large like the Hollywood sign across the full width of the Dome stage with each letter containing fantastically clever pop-out sections that create specific acting spaces. All sound is provided by the cast. Special mention to Tse for providing the beautifully sung soundtrack of classic Hollywood themes. Jacob Banks’ hardworking lighting design under Ruby Kemp’s skilled operation ties the whole performance neatly together.

Come to Once Upon a Time in Homowood and have a gay old time this New Zealand Fringe Festival!

Independent Auckland-based theatre company The Rebel Alliance has adapted its award-winning stage production into an illustrated radio play. The Valentina follows eight-year-old Ellen as she travels through space alongside notable figures who have ventured beyond Earth, such as Neil Armstrong, Yuri Gagarin, and Laika the Dog.

This show has a great New Zealand flair, hitting the mark perfectly with a humour that most Kiwis will be well familiar with. This is not only thanks to director Anders Falstie-Jensen’s incredible script, but also to the vocal performances by Talia Pua, Ross McCormack, Bronwyn Turei, Wesley Dowdell, and Kevin Keys. The actors’ voices are crisp and clear, bringing the vibrant characters to life.

John Verryt’s illustrations add a whole new colourful dimension to the story, providing a visual way to ground us in the narrative. I am mesmerised by the illustrations of space. The vivid sound design by Sean Lynch further stirs my imagination. The visual and aural elements work in tandem to create an experience so immersive, I feel like I am also a crewmember aboard The Valentina. The new format therefore supports the crux of the piece: that we should feed our imaginations and dreams.

There is a perfect blur of science fiction and reality at play here. The Valentina is both educational and entertaining. Fact and fiction are clearly delineated, but this doesn’t stop me wishing all elements were true… I would only dream of visiting Vitanonan X!

Easily accessible and universally appealing, The Valentina can be appreciated by adults and children alike. It is a feel-good piece, daring us to let our minds run wild and reach to the furthest depths of space. Be sure to watch this illustrated radio play before it blasts off to galaxies unknown. Fly like a toroa and get tickets to the online event this New Zealand Fringe Festival.

I haven’t read the book, but I can say with certainty that those who have will very likely not be pleased with this liberal adaptation of Emily Brontë’s groundbreaking novel Wuthering Heights. Smut-centric BookTok, however, will go absolutely feral.

A tale of lust and longing, madness and macabre, “Wuthering Heights” captures the storm of passion that ricochets between the somewhat-of-status Catherine Earnshaw (Margot Robbie) and servant-of-sorts Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi). From brooding glances to unspoken yearning, roiling anger to frenzied passion, bottomless despair to utter depravity, this film is truly a romance of epic proportions played fervently and intensely by its leads.

For an idea of what might await the viewer, one must only look at the poster: the clinch pose familiar from bodice-ripper books signals explicit passion and historical spectacle. Director, writer, and producer Emerald Fennell’s adaptation is designed to be as shocking to today’s audiences as Brontë’s would have been in the 1800s; it aims to disturb, disgust, and arouse.

Suzie Davies’ production design dances equally between two worlds: one decadent and hedonistic, the other stark and severe. It’s rich in symbolism and verging on surrealist, with not-so-subtle visual cues reflecting the inner turmoil of the characters. It’s certainly not afraid to depart from historical accuracy. Composer Anthony Willis crafts a soundtrack equally anachronistic, but no less fitting. Filmed on the desolate and melancholic moors the tale is famous for, Linus Sandgren’s cinematography is a visual feast that hungrily devours Catherine and Heathcliff’s insatiable appetites.

However, by leaning into the carnality and romantic aspects of the story, Fennell’s adaptation compromises what makes Brontë’s so great. The novel is not a romance, perversion is not sought, what Catherine and Heathcliff share is not the kind of love one yearns for. Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights” – despite being much more explicit in a sense – will never reach the depravity of the original. Nor will it ever achieve the depth that made Brontë’s tale groundbreaking.

Have you ever come out of a theatre and thought: “I have no idea what that was, but I liked it”? Chances are that’s what you’ll be thinking when you leave D’Things N Such.

Four actors (Caleb Teaupa, Albert Latailakepa, Brett Taefu, and director Seiyan Thompson-Tonga) perform a seamless series of absurdist sketches that draw on pop culture nostalgia. They segue from boy band dance grooves, angry coffee shop interactions, and kids playing tag to movie and TV parodies, Russian tax mafia, incompetent gods, a tap-dancing Hulk, and even a ridiculous riff on The Glass Menagerie playing next door in Circa One. Accompanying these Tik Tok-style slices of comedic craziness are the musical stylings of Ete Reupena on keys (apart from when he’s briefly murdered, cremated, and his urn handed off to a front-row audience member). All of this is jubilantly performed with physical theatre, interpretive dance, group hugs, unexpected emotional punches, and high energy from the group known collectively as The Gentle Boys, each of whom brings bags of personality to their many and various roles.

On-point technical operator Hāmi Hawkins has his work cut out keeping up with the electric pace on stage to employ Isadora Lao’s colourful lighting design that works brilliantly with the actors’ antics. The colourful costume design (Helena and Otoota Cocker-Valu) delightfully and effectively amplifies the fun, and you can even buy a bucket hat made from the same materials as the actors’ jackets after the show. A shoutout also to Axel Iva for the minimalist but flexible set and prop design. Who knew that a giant box of matches could become so many other things?

D’Things N Such bills itself as “Wellington’s freshest, wildest and most unhinged theatrical experience since someone slapped corned beef and Nutella on toast” and they’re not wrong. This “disaster on purpose” is highly entertaining even if you have no idea what’s going on most of the time. Turn on, tune in, and enjoy!

Set after the death of playwright William Shakespeare, The Book of Will is a mostly faithful retelling of how those nearest and dearest to him compiled and published his work to keep their cherished companion’s ideas and memory alive. With thoughtful direction by Janet Noble, The Book of Will reminds us that legacies are intertwined and highlights the profound impact that people have on us.

Whilst the loss of loved ones leaves many holes for the characters, there seems to be a bit of an empty space when it comes to the ensemble’s sound design. In performance, they do contribute to some ambience, particularly at the beginning of scenes, although a much more sustained soundscape could help evoke even more mood and tension within scenes.

The performances of the Bard’s work throughout the play are captivating. I appreciate viewing his life’s work through a different lens. It was not necessarily Will’s own work in the end, but through the hard labour of those who loved him, we are still able to find wisdom in his words today. The show walks the tightrope between comedic and cathartic incredibly well. This is due in large part to the engaging cast.

Paul Kay as the overprotective but caring John Heminges, Ian Mortensen as the heart-strong Henry Condell, and Allan Burne as Richard Burbage (and other characters) are certainly highlights. Sylvia McKenna is excellent as Alice Heminges, and I would argue the crux of the story. Towards the end of the show, Meredith Dooley has a touching performance as Anne Hathaway Shakespeare. Like the compilation of Shakespeare’s work, the entire cast works together to provide us with a show as thought-provoking as the man this show precedes.

Before this review slips from your memory like what would have become of Shakespeare’s plays, I’d recommend heading to Gryphon Theatre at once to experience Stagecraft Theatre’s poignant production of The Book of Will yourself.

If you want to be stressed for two hours and 29 minutes then step right up for Marty Supreme, director Josh Safdie’s new film starring Timothée Chalamet that feels like watching the final moments of a heated sports match the whole time.

An American sports dramedy, Marty Supreme smashes onto the screen in a rapid, topspin shot that lands viewers right into the thick of it. Marty Mauser (Chalamet) is on the up and up, or so he says. He’s America’s current ping pong star, or at least he will be when he wins the British table tennis open in a few days’ time. Wily, scrappy, angry, delusional, cocky, arrogant, and with a dream that no one respects but he doggedly believes in, Marty goes to Hell and back again in the pursuit of greatness – never mind the chaos he leaves in his wake to get there.

With camera movements that travel at warp speed and music sequences that change faster than a ping pong ball swaps courts, Marty Supreme is designed to keep you on the edge of your seat and gasping for breath. Cinematographer Darius Khondji employs a handheld style and tilted angles to keep viewers unsettled while the distinct grain and rich filter – paired with a meticulously crafted period aesthetic by designer Jack Fisk – unmistakably roots the story in the 1950s. Meanwhile, editors Ronald Bronstein and Safdie keep the tension high with the quickest cuts in the west. Composer Daniel Lopatin (aka Oneohtrix Point Never) crafts a score that captures both the feeling of the time and the seesawing story with a soundtrack comprising original music and 50s hits. Sound is constant; with never a moment of silence and continuously changing music, viewers have no time to catch their breath. Always building in momentum, the score captures Marty’s mental unravelling as imminent chaos closes in and his life becomes increasingly frenetic.

As someone who isn’t the biggest Chalamet fan, I must give him credit where it is due. With mile-a-minute dialogue and a complex, high-strung character, he makes every action seem intentional yet unpredictable. Gwyneth Paltrow and Odessa A’zion also deserve praise in their supporting roles. As for Bronstein and Safdie’s script – game, set, match.

Below The Worms is an absurdist magic realism tale from a young theatre company that won the Parkin Development Award at last year’s Fringe Festival.

It follows the story of two families who live in homes that sit within the same house. A boy, Sonny (Te Ata Tu Patelesio), lives in one half with his dad and ailing grandfather (also played by Patelesio). A girl, Mags (Sugar Rea-Bruce), moves into the other half with her mum (Rea-Bruce again, who also doubles as the witch). They soon become friends. The children’s world is full of unexplained magic that slips into the everyday, such as the garden of singing worms and the witch who lives next door with her bloodthirsty hound. Despite the terrors and delights outside, the homes live in harmony until a kept secret between the families is revealed and the world is no longer what the children once thought.

The two lead actors manage multiple roles with aplomb, expertly tweaking their physicality and voices to suit their varying characters. They often interact using physical theatre techniques and dash up and down the traverse stage, climb a versatile piano, and relax into quieter moments with practised ease.

The supporting group of four actors (Nadia Officer, Eve Naicker, Cypha Clark, and Kimiora Honeycombe) are a delightfully versatile choir and ensemble. Dressed in a base of soft browns, they are the garden worms who sing catchy songs. They’re also the witch’s growling dog, casually cocking a leg when their arrogant mood suits. In addition, they operate beautiful white paper puppets of the insects and birds that flutter through the garden (designer Grace O’Brien).

With a clever set made from clothes strung on washing lines, effective lighting, and an excellent accompaniment of live music from music director Sarah Lawrence on piano, violin, and guitar, Below the Worms is a deeply charming and whimsical story about childish innocence and what happens to it when the strange and unsettling adult world intrudes.

First up in Circa Theatre’s 50^th anniversary programme, this production of Tennessee Williams’ autobiographical memory play is a brave contemporary adaptation. It retains the feel of 1930s St. Louis and revels in Williams’ lush language, while pushing the themes into a current context and drawing the most from the play’s dark humour.

Amanda Wingfield (Hera Dunleavy) is a faded southern belle who chose the wrong one of her many ‘Gentleman Callers’ to marry. He abandoned her and their children and is never seen but often mentioned as his actions have thrust the family into penury, despite Amanda’s desire for her children to have the same comforts she once enjoyed. The story is told through the eyes of her son Tom (Simon Leary) who struggles with a dead-end job to feed his family while scribbling poetry, escaping into movies and booze, and dreaming of adventure. Her other child, Laura (Ashley Harnett), is withdrawn and fragile. In this interpretation, she is likely on the autism spectrum with anxiety and self-enforced social isolation arising from mental and emotional challenges rather than the purely physical one scripted. The arranged Gentleman Caller is Tom’s workmate (Jackson Burling) who Amanda hopes will woo her daughter.

The cast is excellent, all enjoying the beautiful writing and Williams’ careful character creation while giving their personas fresh life. Newcomer Harnett is especially engaging. She has far fewer lines than the other actors and her ability to express the complexities of Laura’s character through action and expression is a joy to watch. An unscripted and joyous moment in the second half that cleverly covers Amanda’s tricky costume change is a sublime moment of directorial creativity (Colin McColl) and acting brilliance.

Tony Rabbit’s stark white set reinvents the cramped Wingfield apartment and works well with his subtle lighting design. John Gibson’s sound design weaves in Annea Lockwood’s stunning music drawn from natural infra and ultrasound to underscore the emotional weight of the play.

Don’t miss this sensitive reworking of a gorgeous classic.

If you were to hire an actor to play someone in your life, who would you ask them to play? A friend you fell out with? A grandparent you never got to meet? Someone you can’t say what you want to? What moment would you want to recreate or make real if you had the chance?

Rental Family plays with this concept by diving headfirst into the world of Japanese professional stand-in services. A service utterly foreign in our Western world, the industry has been around since the 1990s in Japan. As the 2025 dramedy explains, it’s an enterprise that sells emotions. In a culture where there are strict codes, their services provide alternatives.

“We play roles in clients’ lives. Parents, siblings, boyfriends, girlfriends, best friends,” Rental Family business owner Shinji Tada (Takehiro Hira) says. “And help them connect to what’s missing.”

In director Hikari’s film, Phillip Vanderploeg (Brendan Fraser) lands himself a job quite by accident as the “token white guy” at Tada’s business. The struggling actor who has only booked small roles since his claim to fame as a superhero fighting gingivitis in a toothpaste commercial will now play very real roles in people’s lives. A husband at a wedding, a friend to a famous ageing actor (played exceptionally by Akira Emoto), and a father to young Mia (Shannon Gorman). What Phillip doesn’t realise is that as he forms genuine bonds with these people, the lines between performance and reality will begin to blur.

Fraser delivers an exceptionally sparkling performance, filling each scene with tender yet concentrated emotion. Each movement is intentional yet utterly natural. Mari Yamamoto too is magnetic as Phillip’s coworker Aiko and Gorman offers sensitivity and intent beyond her years.

With postcard-worthy cinematography from Takuro Ishizaka and production design by Norihiro Isoda and Masako Takayama that beautifully balances the sterility of public spaces and the rich personality of private ones, Rental Family is exquisitely crafted. Where it shines most, however, is in Hikari and Stephen Blahut’s screenplay, which offers such thoughtfully woven dialogue that it feels like you’re watching a poem unfold in real time that quietly whittles away at the moral complexities of the service to reveal the beauty of human connection.