Inspired by the resilience of the orchid flower, Orchids explores the many facets of femininity. Seven performers – Marianne Schultz, Katie Burton, Rose Philpott, Jahra Wasasala, Joanne Hobern, Tori Manley-Tapu, and Ivy Foster, Foster-Sproull’s daughter – dance beauty and light, darkness and rage.

It takes me a long time to shut off my narrative brain while watching Orchids. Once I accept a story is not going to emerge, I relax and allow myself to be lulled, and at times startled, into a trance.

Each vignette has its own intention. Shifts in mood and tone are frequent and dramatic, and yet the dance is seamless, blurring elegantly into a series of arresting images emblazoned in my mind’s eye. In the dark I see 10 fists clenched into a ponytail, wild hair pulled taught at every angle, feet buoyant on palms.

Bodies merge, touch, and heave as one but are strikingly individual. Orchids is written in such a way as to give each dancer time to both shine and sync. It’s about woman and women – alone and together. It’s as complex and conflicting as the female psyche, as intricate as the human condition itself, and as joyful to dissect.

The dancers never miss a beat. Considering Foster-Sproull’s relentless, remarkable choreography and that Eden Mulholland’s augmenting sound design rarely features lyrics for cues, this seems like an impossible feat to a mere mortal like me. Though equally matched in proficiency, I find myself drawn to Wasasala for her angular precision and nine-year-old Foster for her raw talent and angelic stage presence.

Jennifer Lal uses light and space to play with Andrew Foster’s set design, featuring a floating sheet of material that moves and breathes as if by magic. All elements of the design, from sound to Rose Philpott and Tori Manley-Tapu’s pastel-hued silk costumes, are breathtaking but never distracting.

Most people I spoke to after Orchids responded with noises rather than words, a fantastic testament to its instant and lasting impact.

Atamira Dance Company are an Auckland based dance company whose foundations are built on creating and presenting unique Māori dance theatre experiences. Their latest work, Onepū, is an homage to the six atua wāhine (female deities) who control and release the winds of the world. The all-female work is choreographed by cross-discipline artist Louise Potiki Bryant and performed by Jessica Johns, Imogen Tapara, Rosie Tapsell, Ariana Tikao, Presley Ziogas, and Bryant herself.

Onepū is set in an otherworldly plain which is enhanced by Bryant's innovative video design and an ethereal music composition by Paddy Free and Ariana Tikao. The work is steeped in ritual symbolism, with each dancer representing different powers of the wind, and a circle of black sand signifying the bank in which the atua wāhine stand to impart their forces across the world.

Onepū is a slow burn with unadorned choreographic sequences, executed passionately by the dancers. Johns, Tapara, Tapsell, and Ziogas perform dynamic solos as their respective deities under the watch of the matriarchal figures portrayed by Bryant and Tikao. It is largely the audio-visual component that bolsters the show, which is somewhat disappointing for a dance work. The dappled video projection effectively caresses the dancers' bodies as they shift and contract across the stage, and the haunting soundscape enriches the mythology and fluid movements of the atua wāhine.

The costumes, neutral coloured dresses swathed in strips of fabric, are designed by Rona Ngahuia Osborne and create beautiful, hypnotic silhouettes as the dancers leap and twirl fervently. The lighting is shadowy and dark, which works with the dreamlike ambiance but does make it challenging for audiences to really catch every moment on stage.

The work concludes with each wāhine picking up the sand and letting it fall through her fingers like the sands of time; a poignant moment that seems grounded on a powerful connection to the earth and to the spirit. Onepū is culturally and artistically rich, but it fails to affect choreographic awe.

This was a stunning performance of a highly diverse programme, with great musicality from all performers and Uruguayan guest conductor Carlos Kalmar.

Mātauranga (Rerenga) was commissioned from Michael Norris for the NZSO's Landfall series, marking the first meetings between Māori and Pākehā when the Endeavour reached Aotearoa in 1769. Later this year the Government commemoration, Tuia – Encounters 250, reaches back further, to the earliest encounters between Māori and the land itself. The music evoked the mystery and danger of those early encounters and exploration by Māori and Pākehā alike. Clever use of taonga pūoro, live electronics, and sustained strings blended the different sounds and cultures into one to great effect.

In contrast, Mozart's Piano Concerto No.12 in A major, K.414 was very pretty and beautifully played by Steven Osborne and a much-reduced orchestra. Its markedly different tone, style, and melodious character served to accentuate the variety in this programme.

A striking arrangement on stage signalled another change of direction: strings only, separated by the double basses into two equal groups, facing each other, as required by the composer to represent a traditional tango orchestra. The stage was set for the tension and drama of stringed combat followed by peace and gentle, musical flow in the two movements of Osvaldo Golijov's Last Round.

Famous for being thought of as a war symphony (written in 1916), Carl Nielsen's Symphony No.4, Op.29 The Inextinguishable was described by the composer as a celebration of the will to live. Although the sounds of conflict throughout the music ultimately settle and resolve into glorious (and very loud) melody, we first hear machine guns and the screaming whistle of bombs, before not one but two artillery battles as twin sets of timpani fight it out.

Impeccable playing (particularly the strings) under the direction of the skilful and sensitive Kalmar, and the sheer variety of the programme, made a very memorable performance.

MANIAC on the Dancefloor is a dance party about depression. Many of my friends noted that description is somewhat oxymoronic, and I might have agreed with them before seeing the show. Now, I think a dance party is the perfect medium to express the highs and lows of bipolar disorder. As playwright Natasha Lay says, “it’s a good analogy for mania itself.”

The work is based on Lay’s lived experience, and features takatāpui performance artist Daedae Tekoronga-Waka as main character Anna. LGBTQIA+ representation in MANIAC on the Dancefloor is effortless. In both the script and the staging, the gender and sexuality of the characters is irrelevant to the story. While I think works that investigate and actively defy discrimination are vital, I love it when minority characters are approached in a mainstream way. I believe works like this help pave the way for true equality, and I’ll always champion them.

The focus here is on mental illness, and MANIAC on the Dancefloor is the most accessible exploration of depression I’ve ever seen. More than that, it’s fun. The killer dance moves (Marianne Infante) and we-might-as-well-be-at-a-rave lighting design (Spencer Earwaker) up the entertainment ante and plant many a grin on our faces. We giggle and groove to no end while rooting for the characters, who are so likeable because they are written and performed with genuine, heartfelt conviction.

Tekoronga-Waka gives a sensitive yet vibrant portrayal of Anna. As Anna’s friends Phil and Adam, Phillip Good melts our hearts, while director Adam Rohe is a magnet for laughs.

The passion of MANIAC on the Dancefloor’s creators, crew, and joyful cast is abundantly clear, shining through every minute of the show. One more banging dance number at the very end would send me away on a high, but I respect the poignant, lovely ending as it stands. This beautifully balanced production leaves me with plenty to think and smile about.

David Ladderman and Lizzie Tollemache encountered ghost stories galore on their honeymoon in Central Otago. As they learned more and more local legends in every town they visited, strange and stranger occurrences started paranormally plaguing them. Inspired and a little spooked, the couple set about creating The Dunstan Creek Haunting.

In this Circa One show, Ladderman and Tollemache relay the tales that peppered (and salt circled) their travels. Particular emphasis is placed on the legend of Rose, the prim and proper proprietor of the Vulcan Hotel in Saint Bathans. Rose met an untimely death and is said to haunt room one of the hotel today.

The Dunstan Creek Haunting is delightfully metatheatrical, its performers gliding between direct address, playful banter, and “serious acting” (thanks for warning us David). As with every Rollicking Entertainment show I’ve seen, Ladderman and Tollemache strike up a quick and easy relationship with their audience. Individually, they both posses a warm and rich stage presence. Put them together and it’s dynamite.

What I most appreciate about the show is, when things take a turn for the dark, we’re told we can leave if we’re uncomfortable. It puts me at ease knowing anyone who might object to a supernatural ritual for any reason doesn’t have to witness one. On this evening, we all stay, and I can tell you with complete conviction I’m holding my breath the whole time. The energy is contagious as terrified giggles and giddy screams resonate through the pitch-black theatre.

Special credit must be given here to Molloy for his eerie sound and lighting design, full of surprises I can’t spoil. Chrissy Larsen’s props add an extra layer of authenticity to Richard van den Berg’s sepia-hued set imbued with the whispers of bygone days.

The Dunstan Creek Haunting is a perfectly bite-sized thriller, with the suspense building to boiling point in 70 minutes. It’s a hugely entertaining mid-winter screamfest not for the faint-hearted – bring someone/something to squeeze or be damned!

This concert featured the finest young singers and instrumentalists from around New Zealand, marking the National Youth Orchestra’s 60th and the New Zealand Youth Choir’s 40th anniversaries.

The concert began with two New Zealand pieces, one for choir and orchestra, one for choir alone. Both the other works were seldom performed compositions, one by Sibelius for orchestra alone, the other by Elgar for choir and orchestra. The adventurous programming and the outstanding talents of the young people made for an engaging concert.

Glen Downie, the NYO’s young composer-in-residence, composed light speckled droplet for the occasion. It was a delicate piece as its title suggests, but certainly not colourless. Of particular note were the shimmering strings and the unaccompanied wordless voices of the choir. It was a lovely beginning to the concert.

The unaccompanied choir, conducted by director David Squire, performed a choral arrangement by Robert Wiremu of Waerenga-a-Hika, originally composed by Tuirina Wehi for guitar and kapa haka group to tell the story of the siege of Waerenga-a-Hika pa in 1865. In the choral version, the work utilises both kapa haka and European choral traditions. The performance was superb – dramatic, moving, and immaculate.

Sibelius’ The Oceanides for orchestra followed, depicting the expansive ocean and the nymphs that in Greek mythology were its guardians. While the strings struggled to depict the undulations of a peaceful ocean, the orchestra captured well the drama of a storm at sea.

The major work of the concert, Elgar’s The Music Makers for choir, orchestra, and solo mezzo soprano, is a heartfelt composition suggesting that each new generation of musicians and artists should be the “dreamers of dreams” to “renew our world.” Both choir and orchestra revelled in this work, easily negotiating the changes of mood, dynamics, and pace. Australian Catherine Carby contributed a rich but elegantly restrained solo voice.

A smaller than usual audience was perhaps because of the out of the ordinary scheduling on a Thursday evening. While it may have seemed odd to some of us in the audience, neither performers nor conductor were at all put off their stride.

A superbly played and highly evocative piece for strings opened this diverse programme. Christopher Blake's Angel at Ahipara easily brought to mind the scene in Robin Morrison's photograph of the statue at the cemetery in the Far North. Each of the seven movements, including The Angel brings joy, The Angel holds vigil at the grave, simply and beautifully brought their titles to life.

Collected strings gave way to the solo violin of Carolin Widmann in an extraordinary performance of Stravinsky's Violin Concerto in D major. A variety of techniques and musical styles give the lie to the uncertainty and trepidation that troubled Stravinsky while composing the concerto. His self doubt potentially releasing him from the constraints of the time, Stravinsky was able to stretch the bounds of what was thought possible. Widmann immersed herself in the work, and was joined in that space by the orchestra and the physically restrained conducting of American Fawzi Haimor. The musicality of Widmann's performance was so strong and so insightful, the orchestra's applause outlasted that of the audience.

The diversity of the programme – Blake's restrained Angel, succeeded by Stravinsky's strong Neoclassical Concerto, and the final piece of the evening, Tchaikovsky's Symphony No.1 in G minor, Winter Daydreams – tested the versatility of conductor and orchestra but, as we have come to expect, all the performers came through strongly. Haimor's earlier restraint was replaced with a joyous enthusiasm for Winter Daydreams and the orchestra responded with exuberance of their own. Like Stravinsky, Tchaikovsky was striving to produce something different. The smaller audience loved it.

After absorbing a typically fatal dose of cosmic energy, Jean Grey (Sophie Turner) transforms into the murderous titular outlaw Phoenix: a mutant consumed by rage and impulse. It’s up to her X-Men family to bring her home or bring her down.

If this all sounds familiar, it’s probably because this story has been told before, as the 2006 critical dud X-Men 3: The Last Stand. The only difference is this time around, alien imposter Vuk (Jessica Chastain) wants to exploit the mutant’s new power as a weapon.

This final outing for the X-Men under 20th Century Fox is directed by long-time franchise producer and writer Simon Kinberg. His attempts to put a satisfying bow on nearly 20 years of continuity (a term used very lightly here) fall just short of the mark, however.

At the risk of having nothing to strive for throughout, Dark Phoenix stretches its premise as far as superhumanly possible. The story remains faithful to some of the series’ mainstay character arcs, but Dark Phoenix is undoubtedly guilty of stealing the spotlight from Jean to address the failings of one Professor Charles Xavier (James McAvoy). True to form, the film reveals he spent years repressing an immensely powerful orphan’s trauma instead of working through it – to disastrous and bloody results. Good one, Professor.

After mounting their first mission into space during the first act, the climactic battle is mundanely terrestrial, taking place on a train. Speaking of mundane, Vuk’s villainous peers, the D’bari, have been hiding on earth for who knows how long – or why. They ultimately serve as fodder tasked with standing awkwardly still and occasionally charging the X-Men in waves of two or three.

Go see this movie if you’re a diehard X-Men fan, prefer character-driven superhero stories, and don’t care about who holds a series’ franchise rights. Otherwise, hold out for the same story to get a third pass when the X-Men are inevitably revamped, recast, and rebooted, in line with the one true Marvel Cinematic Universe somewhere down the line.

A joint Taki Rua and T.O.A production, Cellfish is inspired by the real-life Shakespeare Behind Bars rehabilitation programme. It follows Shane (aka Shades, played by Jason Te Kare), Irish, Foof, and their fellow prisoners as they engage in Shakespearean drama classes taught by Miss Lucy (Carrie Green).

Cellfish is filled with startling twists and turns – just when you think a love story is blooming, boom. It’s a crime spree. When you believe a character has found redemption, no. They’re incarcerated for life. Audience expectation is turned on its head as characters surprise, plots thicken, and conventions are overhauled. While the action moves forward, time doesn’t. Flashbacks and flashforwards, dream sequences, rehearsal scenes, and Shakespearean soliloquies are interwoven into the fabric of the script. We never lose our place thanks to the skill of the actors, the seamless direction, and Jane Hakaraia’s symbolic and striking lighting design, which works in perfect harmony with Thomas Press’ sound design.

Just as the playwrights play, so to do the remarkable actors. Green and Te Kare portray an impressive range of characters with lightning speed and clear, hyperbolic physicality. While the old man, the ‘gangsta’, the strong silent type, and other characters are written with such depth and nuance that they don’t fall into the stereotype category, they sure are funny.

I laugh as much as I’m moved by the story and the respect that’s been poured into telling it. This extends past what I see before me to what I’ve seen before Cellfish: trigger warnings via email and in the programme that prepare me for the journey. This is an excellent example of theatre that pushes boundaries to say something important while validating and supporting anyone who might find it difficult to hear. Taki Rua and T.O.A Productions should be commended for this, and for bringing us such a fierce and unflinching examination of intergenerational violence. Cellfish is a powerful, poignant work that leaves a lasting impression.