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.

On a rainy winter Wednesday, Los Banditos was the perfect blend of cosy and colourful, feisty and flavourful. With warm, moody lighting throughout, the bright pops of colour on the chairs and behind the bar are a thoughtful nod to the restaurant’s Latin roots.

Greeted by our friendly waiter, we opted for a high table with plush seating and a view of the kitchen and bar. Ordering a sharing plate, two mains, and two drinks, we hungrily took in the spicy and sweet aromas wafting by.

First to arrive was the queso fondito sharing plate. Beautifully presented on a big wooden board, our waiter lit the small cast iron pan filled with melted cheese and chorizo on fire, throwing in sweet spices to fan the flames. As we waited for the fire to go out, we delved into the accompanying homemade cantina chips, guacamole, chipotle-dusted fried chicken, and dips. The chicken was seasoned to perfection and the dips were an explosion of flavour. Unfortunately, the fondue quickly congealed into a firm gooey texture we couldn’t easily dip into.

Arriving moments after the sharing platter were our first set of tacos followed by the second about five minutes later. We opted for the chorizo tacos – made with pork meat, roast peach salsa, queso fresco, patatas cerilla, lime, and cilantro – and the papas tacos, with potato, poblano peppers, cauli crema, queso, and hibiscus pickled onion and cilantro. Both were a subtle blend of tangy, sweet, and savoury flavours, a perfect concoction for a cold night. My only note is that I did request the onions on the side as I have an allergy and they were instead sprinkled on top of the dish, even though we were assured our selections didn’t contain onion.

The drinks arrived halfway through the food, but the taste soon drove the tardiness from our minds. My horchata was delectably sweet and cinnamony while my partner’s jungle bird cocktail was a tropical treat. Despite being stuffed, we agreed there is always room for dessert and ordered the lime and mint flan. Presented with edible and colourful garnishes, it was the sweet and sour cherry – or should I say citrus – on top.

György Ligeti’s early life was chaotic and traumatic and his legacy reflects this. His first work was based on Hungarian and Romany folk songs, and he became one of the most important avant-garde composers of the 20^th century. He wrote Concert Românesc five years before fleeing Hungary after the 1956 uprising. Some of the harmonies hint at Ligeti’s later interests in atonal music but also reflect the melody and tonality of the folk songs. In four short movements, there is a lot to listen to. During Mozart: The Great, we could see conductor André de Ridder’s close engagement with the orchestra and his light and nimble style.

Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 21 in C Major was the absolute highlight of the evening. Andrea Lam played brilliantly. Her interpretation and sensitivity to Mozart’s work was impeccable. The concerto is so well known, most of us probably don’t listen closely very often. Part of the pleasure of a live performance is being part of something where everyone shares the same focus. Lam’s command of the music, coupled with de Ridder’s direction, added the special X factor. All the details you might miss listening casually were prominent and dominant when they should be. The magical combinations on the stage brought all the small details perfectly to the fore as well. It made for almost effortless listening. Lam treated us to a beautiful Chopin encore, which proved her talent beyond doubt.

I have history with Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 in G Minor. It was a set piece for my music O-level years ago. We could see how much de Ridder enjoys Mozart and his vocation as a conductor. Once I’d pushed aside the remnants of what I once learned (classical symphonic form, one of only two symphonies Mozart wrote in a minor key), it was a really lovely performance by conductor and orchestra to close an excellent evening of music.

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.

Our first moments within New Zealand’s School for Incorrigible and Delinquent Girls are met with pious austerity. Yet creeping in on the fringes is a rumbling rebelliousness in the form of giggling girlhood. This can be said about We Were Dangerous on the whole. Skirting along the prim and proper edges of Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival’s opening night screening of the SXSW Special Jury Award for Filmmaking winner is delightful subversion and daring disobedience as three girls fight for power over their own bodies.

The year is 1954, and a failed escape plan has landed Nellie (Erana James), Daisy (Manaia Hall), and their cohort on the rugged, isolated former leper colony of Ōtamahua / Quail Island. Their matron (Rima Te Wiata) is devoted to reforming these juvenile rebels into obedient young ladies primed for marriage. Louisa, a wealthy Pākehā girl whose parents sent her away to curtail errant behaviour, joins the motley crew. Fuelled by the natural isolation, the three grow ever closer, taking action into their own hands when they become the subjects of a eugenics experiment. What ensues is a combustible firecracker of a story about class, colonisation, sexuality, race, and standing up for what’s right.

Executive producers Taika Waititi and Piki Films’ irreverent and unmistakable ability to make levity out of dark subjects permeates the film. The heartfelt and genuine tone, however, is entirely the fruit of writer Maddie Dai, director Josephine Stewart-Te Whiu, and producer Morgan Waru’s labours, who together craft a narrative so sincere and honest it’s impossible to not fall in love with it. Cinematographer María Inés Manchego captures the island’s raw, stark, and powerful beauty with an intensity that matches the girls’ fiery spirits.

The choice to assign the film’s narration to the matron provides humour, contrast, and irony, but it also made me yearn for her character’s redemption. I ached for her jealousy to melt into tenderness and lead the girls into battle. I have to agree with Deadline’s Damon Wise: at the end, I found my thoughts with her rather than the girls – they have their whole lives ahead of them he says, she only has her past.

A fierce – albeit short – story of strength in the face of hardship, We Were Dangerous is perfectly summed up in Nellie’s own words: “Ahakoa, he iti he pounamu. Although it is small it is precious.”

Jane Keller and Michael Nicholas Williams have been collaborating for 25 years and produced five shows together of which Leave ‘em Laughing is a celebration. Bedecked in her characteristic sparkles, Keller is a captivating raconteur and singer of lesser-known and often hilarious songs, while Williams tickles the ivories with aplomb alongside her. The intimate and beautifully dressed (Keller and Meredith Dooley) Circa Two stage with lush lighting (Deb McGuire) is the perfect place for this dynamic duo’s scintillating swansong.

Topping and tailing the show is Alto’s Lament, a nod to Keller’s students and torch song for all those musical theatre types with voices that are always consigned to the boring harmonies, ever longing for the melody.

Deftly weaving her own history into the song choices, Keller reminisces about her high-school years with Last One Picked, a funny but angst-ridden remembrance for all those terrible at sport. Bad and sad relationships come under the spotlight with the laugh-inducing 15 Pounds (Away From My Love) and Shattered Illusions, and a heartbreaking Hello, Tom which elicits a sympathetic “Awww” from the audience at the end. The first half closes with a lovely, lovelorn medley of four songs followed by Simple Christmas Wish.

The second half bursts onto the stage with Keller’s trademark knack for the bawdy. The saucy Speaking French, unashamed Getting It, and self-explanatory S&M have us all in stitches and the fun romps on from there.

Keller’s facial expressions are masterful, whether showing us the teenager’s pain at being turned down by a prospective prom date or pouting with the ecstasy of European passion. Her enunciation is impeccable, with every word she sings crystal clear, even when accented in French or Russian. It’s also a joy to hear the snippets of Keller’s own life given narrative verve by K.C. Kelly’s fine dramaturgy.

As the culmination of a quarter-century creative relationship, Leave ‘em Laughing delivers on its promise and is a fitting finish to the one-woman-show career of a musical maven.

Lili Boulanger’s D’un matin de printemps (Of a Spring Morning) was a lovely opening to the evening’s programme. Filled with the usual images of spring, the piece begins with birds singing and new growth bursting forth on trees and flowers. Then, as if the sun rose over the hill and the air warmed rapidly, the mood becomes joyful and lively, signalling the day ahead.

We were pointed east. Just a couple of bars into Maurice Ravel’s song cycle Shéhérazade, Virginie Verrez’s voluptuous mezzo-soprano voice flowed towards us, rich and full and seemingly effortless. The acoustics in the Michael Fowler Centre are excellent but surely, they cannot balance one voice against 60 instrumentalists unless the voice is something special. Verrez used physical and facial expressions to strengthen her illustration of the scenes and atmosphere Ravel described. She was very slightly overwhelmed by the orchestra once or twice, but only for a moment. Guest conductor Stéphane Denève, a storyteller par excellence, guided us through Ravel’s scenes and drew the best from Verrez in a magnificent, high crescendo followed by rich, sumptuous waves of sound from the orchestra.

The storytelling continued with Richard Strauss’ Ein Heldenleben (A Hero’s Life). Six ‘chapters’ tell us about the hero’s life and Strauss uses the power and parts of a large orchestra to great effect. The stage was packed, including a full complement of brass. Nine French horns gave a clue to some of the heroism we would hear. And, as they always do, the NZSO rose to the challenge set before them by Denève. The music told the story but the performance filled out the picture. I could sense euphoria from the musicians on stage at being part of the immense sound they were making, and we could see the satisfaction in Maestro Denève’s stature as we listened to the tale he and his orchestra told.

Gritty and nostalgic, raw and tense, The Bikeriders delves into a slice of American history that has fascinated the world for decades.

Adapted for the screen and directed by Jeff Nichols, The Bikeriders is based on the book of the same name by journalist, activist, and photographer Danny Lyon, who documented and shared the lifestyle of bikers in the American Midwest from 1963 to 1967. Lyon followed the Chicago chapter of the Outlaws Motorcycle Club to capture the life of the American biker gangs, a counterculture movement gaining traction in this period with ramifications that can still be seen today across the world with the likes of the Hells Angels.

Starring Austin Butler as Benny and Jodie Comer as his partner Kathy, the film is made in a pseudo-documentary style with emerging talent Mike Faist as the young journalist. With Tom Hardy as the club’s founder Jimmy at the epicentre of the story, The Bikeriders takes audiences on a journey down the open road, capturing the Vandals’ innocent beginnings through to their eventual criminal transformation. A perfect picture of 1960s Americana, Chad Keith’s exquisite production design is made all the more evocative of the era by Adam Stone’s dusty and faded cinematography.

Though a snapshot of a specific historical movement, The Bikeriders captures an aspect of American culture that can be traced all the way back to the pilgrims. This thread of outcast resilience, of fierce individuality, of carving out one’s place in the world has cropped up time and again throughout the nation’s fraught timeline. From the first immigrants braving the seas to the first gunshot of 1776, from the cowboys to the robber barons, from Manifest Destiny to the Civil Rights Movement, the crux of The Bikeriders is woven through the story of the United States. It’s not unique to these Midwestern motorcycle gangs but something belonging to everyone who has called this land home, inherent in their brave new world and the fabric that makes up the American Dream.

Flawed as she is, since the dawn of her colonial history, America has always represented a dream. A collective ideal, a world full of possibility, a promise that is captured with exquisite sincerity and rawness in The Bikeriders.