“Let’s address the pink elephant in the room,” says Adam Lambert after two songs. “I’m not Freddie Mercury. There’ll only be one Freddie Mercury.” The crowd goes wild.

It’s true, but there’ll only be one Adam Lambert as well. I love that this glam superstar doesn’t try to imitate my hero but instead brings his own phenomenal voice and larger-than-life presence to the mix. And if anyone can belt those ultrasonic notes with such apparent ease, it’s Adam. He bows his head as touching tributes to Freddie cause moments of stillness to envelop the audience like a soft blanket, but every other moment of this concert is joyous and uproarious. We’re here to party with Queen + Adam Lambert, and they bring the fire.

Fans are treated to a set list bursting with all the greatest hits (bar a few notable anthems like No One But You (Only The Good Die Young) and Breakthru) as well as some lesser-known tracks. Not being able to sing along to these ones, our energy wanes a little, but we’re soon back on our feet. Freestyles, breakdowns, and creative interpretations of songs reign supreme, with a quirky baroque-esque rendition of Killer Queen a highlight.

Roger Taylor and Brian May – even at the ripe old age of 111, as Brian quips – are still the best in the world at what they do. Roger’s voice stuns with its grit and gut (especially as he duets with Adam in an unbelievable rendition of Under Pressure) and Brian plays an out-of-this world solo that takes the guitarist to new heights – literally. The giant flaming space rock that carries Brian into the sky is just one example of the colossal production values on show. Disco balls and confetti canons, glittering motorcycles and sequin suits add to the stage spectacular. But the real wow factor here is the astronomical talent of these three showmen extraordinaire.

Stomping and screaming as one, I look around and am struck by a realisation. This is not just a concert but a communal experience.

POPs party leader Doug (Alex Greig) should not be Prime Minister. His second-in-command Kura (Bronwyn Turei) could and should be. The rest of their minor left-wing party is a gormless bunch. There’s millennial Zoe (Danielle Meldrum), who’s so stupid she doesn’t know what a letter is (really?); hipster craft beer brewer Sam (Sepelini Mua’au); conspiracy theorist Leon (Vincent Andrew-Scammell); and bus driver Alisa (total firecracker Hannah Kelly), who borrows double deckers when she’s off duty.

Wanting the “stable, radical change” (or is it “radical, stable change”?) that POPs is promising, New Zealand votes them into power. Unsurprisingly, all hell breaks loose.

Political satire isn’t my cup of tea, but that’s not to say The Surprise Party isn’t good. Armstrong’s penmanship is bold and acidic, while able-handed director Newport makes daring choices that pay off for older audiences. Cast members (many of whom are among my favourite actors) commit to playing hyperbolic caricatures, executing dramatic physical comedy with gusto. The crew is at the top of their game, with Sean Coyle’s set a handsome highlight.

But opening on a mildly racist joke about Filipinos and broken English meant that The Surprise Party and I got off on the wrong foot. The play pokes fun at everyone and everything, as if the goal is to annoy as many demographics as possible. I find waiting for the next dose of ridicule a little tiring.

While the characters each have a satisfying arc, the action is doled out in unequal measures. We spend a lot of time on one night and not much on the years in which the characters undergo their stable, radical change. I’m not politically minded, so that’s the part of The Surprise Party that interests me.

Because I didn’t understand a lot of the jokes, I didn’t fully engage with The Surprise Party until the end. Ultimately, the point made is a powerful one. Politics is filled with well-meaning idiots, and idealism is not always practical.

Created by its performers Barnaby (Barney) Olson, Stevie Hancox-Monk, Andrew Paterson, and Tess Sullivan, as well as its director Jonathan Price, A Traveller’s Guide to Turkish Dogs follows Barney on his big OE. While mending a boat with a bunch of zany travellers in Finike, Turkey, a stray dog follows Barney home. She’s in a bad way; the kindest thing to do, says a blokey mc-blokeity sailor (Sullivan), would be to put her out of her misery. But nobody can do it.

After a series of attempts to remain dogless (including a rejected “death needle” and a visit to a fabled fisherman), Barney reluctantly accepts that, yes, he’s got a dog. He names her Helena. Getting Helena back home to New Zealand proves quite the challenge, but it makes for one hell of a (true!) story.

A Traveller’s Guide to Turkish Dogs is pure stage magic. It’s the reason theatre can still compete with Netflix. A huge part of the magic comes from Lucas Neal’s versatile set, which radiates rustic seaside charm. The action takes place on a half-made boat, and while the use of the different spaces isn’t 100 percent consistent, it’s a clever idea that creates countless striking stage pictures.

And then there’s the puppetry. Helena is sensitively brought to life by Hancox-Monk with a plain cardboard box. Immediately, we accept this quivering, quaking, pouncing mound of cardboard as the beloved Helena, although the illusion is momentarily shattered when the same box is used to represent a different dog.

The production is filled with electric performances. Paterson’s history teacher is fantastic, while Sullivan is a hoot in every role. Olson is the kite master, allowing the cast around him to soar with his grounded stage presence.

Oliver Devlin’s expressive sound design works to accentuate the most powerful moments, especially the ending. I can’t spoil that here, but it was the best moment of my year so far. This devastatingly charming show will be hard to beat.

Wellington is so fortunate that the NZSO has been presenting it with a Christmas performance of Messiah for several years with different conductors and different soloists and choirs. It is amazing how fresh and powerful it sounds each time. I have much enjoyed recent performances with smaller vocal resources and I rather expected to regret the larger Orpheus Choir for the 2019 concert. In fact, though, I did not. Australian conductor Graham Abbott, who has conducted Messiah over 70 times, delivered a wonderful performance, underpinned by a fine sense of the drama of the oratorio. Abbott sustained a driving energy throughout, and a great balance between the orchestra and choir and between the sections of the choir. Aside from a couple of very momentary lapses, this was an excellent Orpheus effort. They were very responsive to the conductor’s interpretation of the work, seemed never to be tempted to revert to the less sprightly pace of other possible interpretations, and produced effective gradations of dynamics. An emphatic Surely he hath borne our griefs was a wonderful example of their meeting Abbott’s demands.

Abbott’s treatment of the work as a drama was also evident in the performances of the soloists: soprano Celeste Lazarenko, mezzo-soprano Anna Pierard, tenor Andrew Goodwin, and bass Hadleigh Adams. Goodwin’s legato phrasing and tone beautifully portrayed pain and grief in Thy Rebuke Has Broken His Heart. Adams turned and faced the trumpets before he triumphantly sang The trumpet shall sound. Pierard delivered a powerful He was despised and Lazarenko’s I know my redeemer liveth was luminous with hope.

Let’s not forget the orchestra in all this vocal splendour. The NZSO resources were quite small – only 26 instruments in the first half, augmented by timpani, trumpets, and bassoon for the dramatic second-half choruses. For the strings the music is relentless. The energy, precision, and beauty of the orchestra never faltered.

Four virtuosos of the gangster genre regroup to deliver a tale of cold-hearted greed in an unconventionally human way. Director Martin Scorsese gives these characters time to meditate, painting a cruel and gloomy portrait of life in the mob.

The film is narrated by an elderly Frank “The Irishman” Sheeran (Robert De Niro). He recounts his life as a hitman for the mafia, working under the wing of Russell Bufalino (Joe Pesci). Ultimately, Sheeran offers his perspective on the disappearance of his friend and famed Teamster, Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino).

The release of any new Scorsese film is an event within itself. Add his first reunion with De Niro and Pesci since Casino (1995), his first time working with Pacino, and the stipulation of the mob, and The Irishman becomes something intrinsically special.

Surprise, surprise, The Irishman is another great film from Scorsese. Really great, actually. Where Goodfellas (1990) and Casino feel like cinematic adrenaline, this film is stoic and pointed, indulging in the mundane, chilling side of the gangster. De Niro, Pesci, and Pacino prove their worth as screen legends, giving younger actors a lesson in minimalism and subtlety. We hang on every word Pesci says; they feel precise where his past performances feel frantic. Hoffa is greedy, self-interested, somewhat delusional, and hilarious, and Pacino hits every beat seamlessly.

Much of the film is fast paced, jumping between time periods and plot details rapidly. Scorsese’s long-time collaborator Thelma Schoonmaker is, for my money, the most skilled editor alive. The Irishman is nearly three and a half hours in length, yet it feels no longer than two. Still, Scorsese knows how to slow things down, and the result is a collection of the most suspenseful scenes you’ll see on screen this year.

I haven’t even touched on the brilliant supporting performances, the de-aging effects (which work, for the most part), the crackling script by Steven Zaillian, or the ending, which sobered me. But it’s all there, and in the end, The Irishman is the treat it should be.

Ko Tō Manawa, Ko Tōku: Puritia. Your heart is my heart: Take Hold, composed by Rob Thorne and orchestrated by Thomas Goss, opened this concert. It featured three traditional Māori instruments, a conch shell, a double flute, and a nose flute played by Rob Thorne, plus electric guitar played by Tristan Dingemans (aka Kahu) and full orchestra. It was a full-on orchestral piece which fortunately left space for the subtle and gentle sounds of the taonga puoro, but managed to almost completely obscure the guitar.

This concert also featured Samuel Barber’s piano concerto, the third of his concerti to be played by Orchestra Wellington in 2019. It was a great vehicle for Michael Houstoun’s virtuosity. It was percussive with great clotted chords and fierce rhythms, strings of fast runs, trills, and glissandi. A more lyrical passage late in the first movement and the more reflective and elegiac beginning of the second movement were a welcome contrast to the rather strident drama of the work as a whole. Not the greatest work with which to appreciate Houstoun’s full capacities, perhaps.

Finally, there was that astounding and wonderful work, Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 8. Originally interpreted as depicting the Stalingrad battle, Shostakovich later implied that the symphony was composed in reaction to the devastation wrought by Stalin on Russian life. The work depicts the emotions of horror, fear, dazed disbelief, and despair in the face of chaos, destruction, and extermination. Thumping drums, screaming piccolo, crashing cymbals, and brass and violins at their upper range evoke the shattering world. Many individual players made brilliant contributions, notably the piccolo, flute, cor anglais, and bass clarinet, but it was the orchestra as a whole and the conductor who made this a very memorable performance. There is never a meaningless note in this composition and that is how it was played.

Orchestra Wellington’s 2019 season was called “EPIC!” and this final offering was certainly that.

7 Days is by far my favourite TV Three show. I love nothing more than curling up on the couch on a Friday night to watch comedians ‘discuss’ the news. With a core team of Jeremy Corbett, Paul Ego, and Dai Henwood, and such regular guests as Justine Smith, Ben Hurley, Josh Thomson, and Jeremy Elwood, the jokes are always fire. But it’s the camaraderie that really makes the show shine. It’s clear these guys are mates, so when they rip each other to pieces, we know it’s all in good fun.

That’s what makes us more inclined to accept the inappropriate jokes too, though seeing 7 Days Live made me realise just how much happens behind the screens. Corbett told me about 50 percent of what they record for each episode makes it onto the telly. Now that I’ve been to the live, uncensored show, I reckon it’s more like 20 percent.

The first half of 7 Days Live sees each comedian deliver a seven-minute stand-up set. Ego does an awesome stick man impression, Hurley waxes lyrical about the removal of his body hair, Thomson reveals the joys of having children, and Elwood tells a joke about how women never go for the nice guys. Funny how it’s only ever the ‘nice guys’ who say this, huh? With her unabashed set about shrill women versus lazy men, Smith is the one who smashes the house down, but each 7 Days comedian is at the top of their game.

In the second half, the audience is treated to the 7 Days we see on TV and then some. Corbett is the perfect host, knowing when to drive the action forward and when to let the good times roll. Henwood is my favourite in this act for his brilliant randomness, though a joke he makes about Down’s syndrome is not cool.

For the most part, 7 Days Live overflows with intelligent, hilarious comedy. There’s no doubt it’s a blimmin’ good time. But with cheap jokes that bring minorities down, methinks the editors can stick around.

Three unpleasant people find themselves locked in a room together. Reverend Stella (Goretti Chadwick), academic Lina (Anapela Polata’ivao), and politician Garth (Mario Faumui) each operate under the guise of benevolence, pretending to serve others while only looking out for number one. In Uma Lava, all three of them pay for it.

The first thing I’d like to say about Uma Lava is that I should have stood up at the end of it. I think my legs had turned to lead from shock, my brain too busy trying to process the depraved hour I’d just witnessed (read: screamed through). I’ve never seen anything more outrageous, crass, or disgusting. At the same time, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more real, raw, or bold. In the programme notes, Victor Rodger says writing Uma Lava was the most fun he’s ever had in his life. After watching it, I could say the same.

Now that the gushing is (nearly) over, let’s get down to the nitty gritty. I can’t spoil the overall premise of the show, but the room it all takes place in is superbly designed (Sean Coyle), with Jennifer Lal’s dramatic lighting scheme raising the stakes. Filth and muck pervade the space – so much so, I swear I could smell one scene. However, that’s partly a credit to Polata’ivao and her fearless embrace of such a nauseating character.

Chadwick is totally transformed from her role in Still Life With Chickens, delivering flawless comedic timing and pretty sweet dance moves. Paul McLaughlin (known simply as T.D) plays evil with glee. Faumui is the anchor, holding it all together as the one we love to hate the most. His character has zero remorse – even at the very end.

The very end, as it were, sees each character realise they are never, ever getting out of that room. Watching the revelation dawn on all three faces reminds me of the incomparable power of the theatre. It’s a moment – and a play – that will stay with me forever.

The NZSO set about performing Mahler’s Symphony No. 2 in C minor, Resurrection, a panoptic musical opus. From the addition of two vocal soloists and the combined efforts of the Voices New Zealand Chamber Choir and the Orpheus Choir, to a panoramic soundscape achieved through off-stage horns and woodwinds, Resurrection was packed with surprises. Conductor Edo de Waart’s effortless control over the 220-odd musicians involved was astounding.

Mahler’s second symphony was a fantastic example of the variety and innovation that can be found in classical music of this period. Debuted in 1895, the relatively modern work encompassed that which came before it but even now feels futuristic in its approach. Menace and triumph, romance and betrayal, there was no end to the stories it had to tell.

Soprano Lauren Snouffer and mezzo-soprano Anna Larsson had one hell of a job. To rise above such a kaleidoscopic sound was no mean feat, but both voices flew with ease. Larsson’s solo was a highlight, with a mellow tone warm enough to melt butter but strong enough to convey the symphony’s darker moments.

Other highlights included a sinister introduction from the cellos (a section that stood out for their solidarity throughout the performance), strong percussion with the most powerful timpani rolls these ears have heard, and a sweet pizzicato segment in the second movement, which the strings nailed.

It all came together in the epic climax, which the orchestra pushed through with total clarity despite their numbers. If anything was lacking in this moment it was the choirs, their sound slightly drowned at the back of the Michael Fowler Centre.

In his final Wellington performance as musical director for the NZSO, de Waart proved himself as a force that will be missed. Under his cool, calm baton, I was almost fooled into believing this was just another performance, rather than an ambitious, striking, and graceful exit.