From what I have heard from fans of Tom Holt, the highly acclaimed, accomplished, and prolific British novelist, the book The Portable Door is one of the most beloved young adult novels of all time. But what about the film rendition of the same name? The reviews online have been mixed, with people ranging from overjoyed to disappointed and even angry. Supposedly the movie doesn’t follow the book. As for my review?

I’ll start with the good. Christoph Waltz as CEO Humphrey Wells and our very own Sam Neill as right-hand man Dennis Tanner, as always, never fail to amuse and entertain. I have the utmost respect for both of these silver screen powerhouses, and in all honesty, they carried the movie with their talent, gravitas, and natural presence. Without these formidable villains, the film would have been – albeit beautifully designed by Matthew Putland and cinematically engaging thanks to Donald McAlpine – quite frankly a corporate spinoff of Harry Potter… but not as good.

That said, The Portable Door book was written well before J.K. Rowling’s wizarding world came to life, so perhaps it’s the other way round. From the palpable disappointment from Tom Holt fans though, The Portable Door film simply did not meet its full potential.

In the film, J.W. Wells & Co is a company that deals in crafting “coincidences” in the real world. However, the mysterious disappearance of John Wells Senior (also Christoph Waltz) has led to Wells Junior attempting to data mine the world’s collective consciousness to advertising companies. This concept is eerily close to home and quite interesting. The execution just doesn’t deliver. Wells Junior employs lost-soul Paul Carpenter (our lead, Patrick Gibson) to find his missing portable door. Why? Well I’m not sure as it doesn’t seem to have much to do with the threat of data mining the entire world. The story doesn’t connect, causing the audience to disengage and thus the stakes just simply aren’t high enough.

It’s fun for sure, but it’s nothing to write home about. If you’re after a rollicking and predictable fantasy-adventure story, then it will hit the mark. In retrospect I feel I watched two separate films sitting on opposite sides of The Portable Door.

Orchestra Wellington’s season started with a bang with Marc Taddei’s inventive programming drawing an integrating arc over two masterpieces from the 18^th century and two from the 20^th century. CPE Bach, son of the illustrious Johann Sebastian, is seen as the father of symphonic form. His Symphony in E minor demonstrates the greater emotional freedom of expression that emerged through his music. This was seen again in Haydn’s Symphony No. 39 in G minor, Tempesta di Mare.  Stravinsky, though his discordant tonalities broke from convention, harks back to the structural order and rationality of earlier times in his Violin Concerto in D, while Prokofiev puts dramatic effect before all else in his Scythian Suites with an astonishing amount of brass and percussion creating an ear-assaulting volume level. The count of 17 brass instruments and 10 percussionists tells all!

So the audience was treated to a music history lesson as well as four wonderful performances. The energy in CPE Bach came from strongly punctuated rhythms, sudden changes in volume and pace with very marked rallentandos, and changes in texture through the addition of wind instruments and horns to the predominant strings. Tempesta di Mare had even greater contrasts with beautifully produced string pianissimos, dramatic interjections, and suspenseful pauses. The performance of both works was sparkling.

The excellent soloist in the Stravinsky Violin Concerto was Natalia Lomeiko, a winner of the Michael Hill International Violin Competition and current professor of violin at the Royal College of Music. The concerto is unconventional: the soloist hardly ever stops playing, has no dashing bravura solo, and the predominant orchestral components are brass and wind rather than strings. Contrasting rhythms between different players give the work a restless quality. The sheer beauty of the second movement brought an audible murmur of appreciation from the audience. For me, the concerto was the concert’s highlight.

KidzStuff has done it again and they sure bring lots of fun to the school holidays! Jessica Bo Peep is another amazing production full of fun, adventure, and some valuable lessons.

When we arrive, we receive a warm welcome from Adam Koveskali. We get to meet Jessica, played by producer and creative director Amalia Calder. Jessica is a kind, supportive human being who loves all things and sees the good in everything. Her trusty dog, named Goldfish (Clare Kerrison), interacts with the kids before the show and everyone gets to pretend to be dogs. It’s adorable! Clare also plays the roles of the cheeky Pūkeko and Nettie, the fearsome mother of Jessica and Goldfish’s new friend Tom, whom we meet in the show a little bit later.

Tom the Taniwha (Gareth Tiopira-Waaka) is an amazing character and, together with Jessica, interprets the little lessons in the show, which the whole audience can understand. The show is filled with wonderful music and original songs by Amalia and Chrysalynn Calder. The lighting creates every scene change very well and the set is simple, yet so effective. We dance along to the music and the interaction between the cast and the young audience makes the show even more magical.

In between all the fun, we get to learn new things too, like how to spell geography and about the Māori legend of taniwha. We learn about friendship and kindness, taking care of each other, and loving our friends, family, and animals.

After a show, I like to ask my son what part he loved the most. He says the doggo and all the hugs. My personal favourite element is Tom the Taniwha and his gentleness. In a world where cruelty and fear are the norm, he chooses to be good and kind.

I can’t wait to see KidzStuff’s next school holiday show. With smiles, laughter, and even fresh popcorn, Jessica Bo Peep is great fun for the whole family!

How did a young Kiwi boy from a staunch Catholic family who grew up in the no-nonsense 90s become the uber glamorous Anita Wigl’it, star of RuPaul’s Drag Race Down Under? In this one-hour, one-woman tell-all, replete with sexual innuendo, fabulous costumes with more sparkle than you can shake a sequin at, and some really embarrassing photos, you can discover the unvarnished truth.

Anita (aka Nick) takes us on a highly personal journey of equal parts fun and vulnerability with the help of a projector and a backdrop of prettily painted flats that turn out to be the set from the daytime kids’ show in Circa Two. It all starts in 1989 with the birth of a prince who is destined to become a queen. This is by way of a few years in England, dodgy dress ups, rugby-playing high-school bullies, a lesbian girlfriend, discovering drag in Auckland through Priscilla: Queen of the Desert, playing the Last Post for the Navy in Gallipoli, and winning her first drag competition in Vancouver.

These factoids from Nick/Anita’s life are interspersed with hilarious performances of songs, my favourite of which is Shirley Bassey’s Goldfinger (yes, it does get as smutty as you’d think). If you’re a shrinking violet, definitely don’t sit in the front row. But it’s not all laughs; a heart-breaking video confessional about a pernicious sexual assault followed by a stunning jazz trumpet piece brings the opening night audience to much-deserved tears.

With lovely lighting and slickly operated tech by our star’s husband, who was apparently dragged in at the last minute to operate, this is a simple but effective  ̶  and affecting  ̶  production. A disintegrating microphone causes unintended hilarity, which Anita deals with through some impressively quickfire and smart improv.

Even if drag isn’t your bag, this is an intelligent and inspiring story about someone who has overcome a life full of challenges to become a raging success living as their true self. And we can all take lessons from that.

Six young concerto soloists and 16 orchestral instrumentalists had time to shine on the stage at the Michael Fowler Centre.

The opening piece, Moirai by Cameron Monteath, set a high bar. Winner of the 2022 Todd Young Composers Award, Monteath made excellent use of the orchestra. Moirai’s three distinct sections were ethereal, tumultuous, and sustained.

Alina Chen (17) set a cracking pace in the first movement of Nielsen’s Flute Concerto, and led the string section on a fine chase, dancing with the wind section before regathering the orchestra and leaving us with no question as to who was leading.

Ryan Yeh (11!) was brimming with confidence and capability in the first movement of Haydn’s Cello Concerto No. 1 in C Major, managing some extremely tricky fingering and balance.

Christine Jeon (16) brought her own tone to the fourth movement of Elgar’s Cello Concerto in E Minor, showing sensitivity and a strong finish.

Alex Xuyao Bai (12) made a good choice with the first movement of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in B-flat Major, allowing him to display emotion and feeling beyond his years.

Shan Liu (13) took on Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in F Minor. His intensity was matched by the orchestra. This is not a simple piece; he showed impressive expression and technique.

Louis Liu (15) also chose a technically demanding piece in the third movement of Ibert’s Flute Concerto. He took on some very challenging breath control and fingering to produce a remarkable array of sound.

The 16 young instrumentalists joined the orchestra on stage for the fourth movement of Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 4 in F Minor, a bold, noisy, and exuberant piece that tested all the players and most exposed the two young men who performed perfectly on bass drum and cymbals.

Hamish McKeich led from the podium after a stroke last year. His skill and expertise seem strengthened and concentrated in his left arm. It was an outstanding team performance.

Surreal comedy meets ridiculous reality is what we are promised from Sarah Delahunty’s newest work, Interrupting Cow, and we aren’t disappointed.

We meet the cast amidst an endless pandemic of annoyance. Annoyance about everything, from shoelaces and global starvation to Twitter and the housing crisis. Our characters appear to be searching for purpose in an ever-changing and damaged world. One (Sarah Delahunty) looks for purpose by being a stickler for the rules – rules she later realises are defined and enforced only by herself. The other (Catherine Delahunty) pursues purpose by surrendering to the endless scroll, constantly glued to their phone and defending the hidden depths of Twitter that go beyond ‘silly pet posts’.

This surreal piece packs so much into 55 minutes, it’s almost overwhelming. The script feels like a free-flowing train of thought, uncovering feelings and fears of most, if not all, the societal, political, and existential issues of today. And yet, with so much said the characters are stuck still, lost. The experience for me is dizzying, but oddly relatable. You know that feeling? The one that makes you want to push for progress, to make a difference, but you just don’t know how? That feeling is at the heart of this piece, driven along by Delahunty’s meticulous and punchy writing.

Ari Leason’s character, a chocolate cake and ukulele-wielding bard of mysterious origins, punctuates the play throughout with original compositions of varying soul and intensity.

The set design (Sarah Delahunty) is a wasteland of tangled tree limbs, overturned chairs, discarded appliances, and traffic cones. Amongst this eclectic array of forgotten items, the characters question whether “this is the right place”. The setting becomes a metaphor for the characters’ feelings of frustration and isolation of not knowing their place in the world anymore.

Interrupting Cow is unusual and thought provoking. It will leave you thinking of the big and sometimes scary things – but will also remind you that when those thoughts get too big, there’s always cake.

Having seen, heard, and loved the 1970s and 80s versions of Cringeworthy, I had high expectations for this production. Those expectations were met, nay exceeded, as four fabulous fashionistas took to the stage in a silhouetted tableau that screamed the 60s and belted out an energetic rendition of Shout, complete with go-go dancers (Amedee Wilson and Annabella Milburn).

Mandy, Sandy, Candy, and… er, Bob (Andrea Sanders, Jthan Morgan, Rebecca Ansell, and Jared Pallesen) kept a full opening night audience whooping, clapping, and laughing as they flawlessly delivered hit after hit, interspersed with loving, nostalgic details of New Zealand in the 60s. For those of us who didn’t grow up here or are too young to remember, these nuggets of history – ranging from the introduction of TV and contraceptives to the Summer of Love and the musical brain drain to Australia – bring to life a different time when our country was an unsophisticated backwater at the bottom of the world.

Sanders deliberately chose songs with four-part harmonies and a cast with the capability to sing them, and these are the highlights of a strong show. Pallesen and Morgan’s vocal gymnastics make The Four Seasons’ Sherry the clear audience favourite. The choreography is excellent too with all the classic 60s moves and grooves.

The production design in the first half (set design by Scott Maxim, lighting design by Mitch Sigley and Gabriella Eaton) is a visual tribute to Coco Chanel with everything in black and white apart from some subtly coloured light. This is reflected in the slick costuming (Show Off Costume Hire and Andrea Sanders). The second half unashamedly embraces the hippy aesthetic with colourful caftans (hilariously enjoyed by Morgan), swirly patterned bell bottoms, peace signs, and psychedelic lighting.

This is a joyous and highly enjoyable tribute to arguably the best decade of popular music, so turn on, tune in, and groove on down to Circa for a trip down memory lane and a night you’ll never forget.

The prodigal son returns… to Ballylough. As improbable as that sounds, that is the central crux of Redemption of a Rogue, Irish playwright Philip Doherty’s directorial film debut.

Jimmy Cullen (Aaron Monaghan) returns to his hometown after seven years to say goodbye to his dying father (Hugh B. O’Brien), after which he intends to hang himself. The story begins its slow descent when Jimmy and his brother Damien (Kieran Roche) learn that their father’s will stipulates he cannot be buried in the rain. So it proceeds to rain for 40 days and 40 nights, during which Jimmy is stuck in limbo: Catholic symbolism drenching the town, superstition puddling in the corners. Meanwhile, Jimmy meets Masha (Aisling O'Mara), the self-branded town bike and his Mary Magdalene. Together they embark on a quest to save the town’s children – who have refused to eat or talk – and bring about Jimmy’s salvation.

Director Philip’s brother Joseph Doherty’s production design is soggy and miserable… in a good way. Dank and damp permeate the film, while the nightmarish dreamscape of Jimmy’s mind imbues Ballylough. Cinematographer Burschi Wojnar deserves a shoutout (for shooting entirely in the rain), and the film takes on a blues musical vibe thanks to Robbie Perry’s score. The sharp cuts of Allyn Quigley’s editing style along with the acting take Redemption of a Rogue to the next level.

A mix of absurdism, magical realism, and biblical parables sprinkled with a heaped dose of self-deprecating, deadpan, dark comedy, Redemption of a Rogue is Irish to its core. The story both local and universal. In his flashbacks, Jimmy retains his adult form, making you wonder if you are inside his deranged mind. The Virgin Mary (Lorna Quinn) bums a smoke rather than offering salvation. In a moment of clarity, Jimmy scientifically explains the 10 plagues of Egypt, blaming the rain on the plastic factory rather than his uninterred father.

I will always praise magical realism for its ability to critique the plagues of our reality by rendering the rest of the world absurd through a simple shift in perspective. And for this same reason, I commend Redemption of a Rogue.

Exhilarating. Spectacular. Breathtaking. Magnificent. When something is so good you can’t begin to describe it to others, all you have are words that feel inadequate. Luckily, readers curious as to why words aren’t enough can livestream the entire performance on the NZSO website.

The scene was set by the most beautiful waiata sung unaccompanied and with excellence by the Voices New Zealand Chamber Choir, and a children’s choir comprising Wellington Young Voices and the Choristers of Wellington Cathedral of St Paul. Robert Wiremu’s waiata, Tahuri koe ki te maunga teitei, was written to be performed alongside Mahler’s Symphony No. 3 in D Minor. An unlikely pairing but intimately connected in spirit and intent as well as the music. The 80 singers did an impeccable job, so much so that the ‘ear worm’ Wiremu had embedded (a single bar of Brahms, also found in the Mahler) was at home in my ear for several days.

“I see him as a composer for us and our times.” This was a family member’s response to my report of the Mahler and it captures the feeling I had. 130 years have gone by since Mahler wrote this epic symphony but it sounds entirely contemporary and directly relevant to the complex, disturbed, fascinating, and incredible state of our world in 2023.

There were too many amazing individual and sectional performances to pick out the best, but I cannot let the children’s stamina (a long night for young ones) and Sasha Cooke’s beautiful mezzo-soprano voice go unmentioned. The balance between her voice and the orchestra was just about perfect and her diction was immaculate. “O Mensch! Gib Acht!” O man! Take heed!

We did take heed. The house was full. The applause was long and rapturous and almost everyone got to their feet to congratulate and thank Gemma New, the NZSO, Sasha Cooke and all the singers, over and over, for another spectacular concert experience.