Shows

Amélie The Musical is based on the award-winning and critically acclaimed 2001 French film Amélie by Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Guillaume Laurant. Its delightful whimsy made it one of the most internationally successful French-language films of all time.

The story centres on the titular character, an introverted waitress in Paris who finds meaning by making life better for strangers and friends while denying herself the same joy. However, she finally takes a leap of faith when she discovers an attraction to a young man on a quest of his own.

While the musical is inevitably more grounded in the reality of theatre, unlike the flights of digital fancy that were possible in the film, it makes a good stab at recreating the quirkiness of the original. Act two is the better half for standout songs, but The Girl with the Glass and Goodbye, Amelie are clear audience favourites in act one.

This WITCH Music Theatre production is staged with a beautiful and cleverly designed two-storey set (production design by Ben Tucker-Emerson) with atmospheric projections (Rebekah de Roo) that the cast flow around with practised ease. The second-half reveal of the sex shop is an unexpected delight and the Photomaton booth a wonder of utility.

Rachel McSweeney is a sweet and highly watchable Amélie and the cast form an excellent ensemble, each creating delightful characters of their own as well as contributing to a cohesive, vocally dynamic, and well-balanced whole. Special mention must go to William Duignan, whose versatility as Fluffy the fish and Elton John is astounding, and Jared Pallesen as the adorable Lucien with an enviable vocal range and passion for figs.

Imaginatively directed by Nick Lerew and Maya Handa Naff, accompanied by a small but mighty band led by music director Hayden Taylor, lit creatively by Alex ‘Fish’ Fisher, carefully dressed by Polly Crone and Dorothe Olsen, and unfussily choregraphed by Leigh Evans, this is another undoubted success from WITCH Music Theatre.

Out the Gate is a powerful theatrical exploration of the cycles of violence and incarceration in Aotearoa, expressed in a performance that flows through scenes, song, and dance fluidly and authentically. Audience members are guided to the performance space by ushers, then to their seats by the cast themselves. This immediately sets the tone for Out the Gate, where care and aroha are palpable from the first moments, signalling that this is a work grounded in connection and collective experience.

Performed in the round, the piece unfolds as a true ensemble effort. The “promise” of what all tamariki deserve – love, a warm home, and good food – is expressed by the cast overlapping and interweaving their delivery of the script, establishing a rhythm of shared storytelling that continues throughout. Costumes (designed by Cara Louise Waretini) are simple but effective, each performer wearing a green accent which unifies them and allows them to seamlessly move between roles and scenes. Physicality extends the story beyond words as the cast move and react to what is happening on stage, an excellent utilisation of physical theatre at its most grounded: expressive and emotionally direct without indulgence.

Lighting design (Janis Chong Yan Cheng) and sound design (Reon Bell) are standout elements, creating a vivid sense of place. A flood of gentle daylight tones and a soundscape blending soft instrumentals and birdsong give way to sharply focused beams of light and precise sound cues, such as the beep of a pedestrian crossing, supporting but never distracting from the performance. Live guitar music by Rameka Tamaki underscores the play, the volume and emotional cadence always perfectly underpinning the story. The cast’s beautiful harmonies during transitional waiata are passionate, authentic, and expertly support the narrative arc of the show.

While some character moments, particularly those of the children, veer toward the overly sweet, these choices later reveal their purpose: a contrast between innocence and the unspoken weight of inherited trauma. The ending focuses on celebrating a teacher figure, which feels slightly misplaced as it diverts from the otherwise cohesive exploration of cycles of violence. However, it makes sense as a narrative purpose for the characters to gather and share their stories. The work’s core message is clearly expressed: violence begets violence, and healing begins in collective recognition.

Out the Gate is a transformative and deeply human work. Its invitation to kōrero and share kai afterward extends the experience from theatre into community. For audiences both familiar and unfamiliar with stories of intergenerational struggle, it offers something vital: hope, compassion, and a reminder of theatre’s power to heal.

Something wicked this way comes, Wellington. A crew of cursed creatures, calling themselves The Pāua Ballads, have infested BATS Theatre with Songs From a Spellbound City. Their improv show, in which they embody the most nightmarish non-humans, is an affair most devilishly, deliriously, dreadfully disturbing.

Before the lights go down and the actors haunt the stage, which is framed by a Harry Potter-esque Acromantula web and the chilling headstone of some poor departed soul, director and performer Austin Harrison asks us but one question before leaving us be to enjoy the show: “What is something you talk about in the nighttime?”

“Dinner,” an audience member says. “Dessert!”

“Rambling nonsense,” says someone from the crowd.

“Fears,” beams another.

“Undressing,” quips one more.

And so it goes until the stage is set. Now the evening of improv can begin. The lights (Chloe Marshall) dim before illuminating two zombies at a bus stop discussing local elections – more brains, anyone? Formatted by Brenna Dixon from Naarm/Melbourne as a series of vignettes, Songs From a Spellbound City sees Harrison, Malcolm Morrison, Matt Hutton, Bethany Miller, Jem Palmer, and New Zealand’s most famous zombie Ian Harcourt test their acting, singing, and comedy chops while sorcerers of sound, masters of melody Beans Wright (violin) and Lia Kelly (keyboard) expertly accompany their follies and fancies with an ever-changing score made up on the spot.

Next up, four goblins face their fears jumping headlong into the bucket fountain as Harcourt very cleverly avoids uttering any profanity in his rhyme. The quartet are followed by all manner of beasties singing about their feelings over 50 minutes. A tooth fairy champions workers’ rights in a rousing chant about desserts. A man is deep fried at McDonald’s to ensure two ghouls are satisfied customers. Two wizards fall in love. Four skeletons exit the closet and uncover new secrets. A were-greyhound and were-chihuahua see the world from new perspectives. A vampire at the laundromat overcomes his bout of modesty.

Wonderfully Wellington and wickedly whimsical, scream the house down at Songs From a Spellbound City.

Based on F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 1925 novel, New Zealand playwright Ken Duncum’s adaptation focuses the classic story into a sharp, fast-moving production that prioritises exploring the drama and relationships between the characters over the glitz and glamour of the Jazz age. Nick Carraway is played by both Joseph Corbett in the present time of the story, and by Kevin Hastings as an older man in the future, serving to narrate the play as he reflects on his experience of moving to New York and being drawn into the world of his wealthy, enigmatic neighbour Jay Gatsby (played by Tom Kereama).

Larger ensemble scenes are a particular joy, with lively and stylish singing and dancing (choreography by Mel Heaphy) intensifying the energy and pace of the show. Every single cast member brings incredible commitment and enthusiasm to the stage. Supported by sharply considered and thoroughly precise costume design by Meredith Dooley, they vividly paint a picture of the era and Gatsby’s dazzling, illusory world. Lighting design by Devon Heaphy is also excellent, splitting the stage to show different places and times and suffusing the space with colour and meaning.

It would be impossible to pick out a single standout performer as each role seems to be perfectly embodied, which speaks to the cast’s understanding of the nuances of the characters. However, my personal favourite performance has to be Ava Wiszniewska as Myrtle Wilson, with a Long Island accent that is just delicious, and a feisty, self-assured spark that is wielded expertly through the character’s story arc.

The pace of the play lets up at the end, as story threads are tied up and the narration echoes the novel’s introspection and poetic language. Wellington Repertory Theatre’s production of The Great Gatsby will entertain audiences familiar with the story and those seeing it for the first time. The mint juleps served at the bar were a particularly nice touch, tying the whole theatregoing experience into an enjoyable evening.

The Griegol combines performance, puppetry (Jon Coddington), projections (illustrations by Hannah Smith, stop-motion by Ralph McCubbin Howell), smoke, and shadow play to tell the story of a Child (Stevie Hancox-Monk) reeling from the loss of their Granny (Elle Wootton). While Dad (Paul Waggott) is both distraught and distracted by the minutiae of death – collecting belongings, organising the funeral, managing the outpouring of cake and flowers – Child starts to see a spooky smoke demon possessing the people around them, including Granny’s Nurse and Gentleman Caller (both played by Ralph McCubbin Howell). Is the demon a manifestation of grief, or very, very real?

This Trick of the Light show is the ultimate confluence of stage magic. Tane Upjohn Beatson’s stirring sound design and compositions are played live by talented violinist Tristan Carter, who is lit by a flickering candle (Rachel Marlow’s lighting design cuts striking shapes and casts crucial shadows). The set and costume design by Sylvie McCreanor and Rose Kirkup slot into the picture like pieces of a puzzle, with a touching tribute paid to the late Kirkup at the end of the show. Brad Gledhill’s technical design ties it all together in the tendrils of a billowing smoke cloud.    

This was my second time seeing The Griegol. I was last in the audience at Te Auaha in 2022 and cried three times. Back then, it won Director, Composer, and Production of the Year at the Wellington Theatre Awards – and quite rightly so. I don’t think I’ve seen a more powerful exploration of grief onstage, and the show has stood proudly as one of the most beautiful in my recent memory. With complete knowledge of what I was in for this time, I was convinced I wasn’t going to cry. Just when I thought I’d escaped the waterworks, the tears fell thick and fast, mirrored on my friend’s face during the exact same moment. Just as moving the second time around, then, and so unique that it’s still novel.

I’ve always struggled to describe Trick of the Light shows. Like The Griegol, they feel beyond words. You know the way a bubble catches the light and glimmers in a rainbow of iridescence? That’s the way they make me feel. A split second in time, a tiny miracle, that I’m lucky to witness.

Edith Aldridge (Mel Dodge) comes from political royalty: the daughter of a former prime minister, now about to take the stage on her first day as a groundbreaking female prime minister. It’s early. She’s in her hotel room and has 90 minutes before making her inaugural speech to a waiting world. In walks Rosie (Tara Canton), a substitute makeup artist, more often seen working the cosmetics counter at David Jones but who’s been plucked from obscurity because she’s a whizz with a contour brush.

Over the real-time interchange between these two very different personalities, writer Emily Sheehan exposes the cultural norms expected of women, particularly those in leadership, and the increasingly blurred lines between politics and celebrity. There are shades of Jacinda Ardern’s premiership in the persistent social media abuse of Aldridge and careful curating of her look for a magazine. In Rosie, we see a younger generation of women, superficially independent and bravely critical but still vulnerable to the ingrained and unrealistic expectations of men.

Dodge and Canton have great chemistry that Lyndee-Jane Rutherford’s naturalistic direction gives room to breathe. They challenge and ultimately empower each other, and both have secrets that are revealed in the overly personal setting of a makeup session. Props to both actors for convincingly managing an entire makeover while delivering a huge piece of dialogue and its emotional ups and downs with ease and conviction.

Ian Harman’s set design is unusually fulsome for the Circa Two stage and convincingly creates a plushly beige heritage hotel suite augmented by Talya Pilcher’s subtle lighting design. Being a tech nerd, I particularly appreciated Chris Ward’s AV and sound design for the women’s cell phones that cleverly avoided the awkward trap of putting ringtones through a theatre speaker.

Monument is a slick production all round that makes a highly relevant statement about the place and perception of women in today’s world of double standards and identity-driven politics. Through lifting each other up, all women can succeed.

Two compact improvised performances come together as part of the New Zealand Improv Festival for a touching and entertaining hour of contrasting entertainment on the broad theme of friendship.

Created by PROTEA Impro from Tasmania and directed here by Jim Fishwick, Brenna Dixon and Benny Marama take the stage first for The Lighthouse, a charming and gentle tale of two lighthouse keepers who unintentionally find themselves sharing duties for 24 days when they were each looking forward to solitude. After an awkward introduction, they delicately explore each other’s personalities and dreams through deceptively simple questions about pets, kids, and favourite travel destinations. A mouse named Erik (with a K) who nests under the Weetabix becomes a cherished pet that binds them together when Chaffer eventually leaves.

The two performers are endearing and create beautiful existential portraits of two lost souls who find companionship and meaning. Beautifully simple mime and theatre tricks create their tight world, and the overall performance is deeply affecting to the extent it made the person sitting next to me cry.

Upping the energy and taking a more classic improvisational approach, Wiremu Tuhiwai and Brendon Bennetts bounce onto the stage with a Shaun of the Dead-inspired apocalypse story, Friends to the End. The audience-derived childhood-best-friends activity of playing with walkie-talkies, the Spice Girls’ song 2 Become 1, and an origami paper game selection of ‘reptiles evolve’ provided the parameters of the story. From there, they developed a hilarious narrative about BFFs Aaron and George dealing with the end of the world as lizards become sentient, lasso human hosts, and trample Godzilla-like over life as we know it.

Tuhiwai and Bennetts have great chemistry and their ability to create an instant story is whip-smart. The injection of a sub-plot about George sleeping with Aaron’s ex who then becomes the lizard queen is brilliant.

Accompanying both tales are Beans Wright on violin and Criss Grueber on keys, who provide appropriately lyrical and exciting music to support the diverse and equally enjoyable narratives.

Jackson Burling was told one thing: never become a truck driver. In Over and Out, part of the TAHI: New Zealand Festival of Solo Performance, he digs into the why of not following in his dad’s footsteps through an interview with diehard trucker Murphy, bringing us along for a joyous ride of emotional discovery.

Verbatim theatre has become an increasingly popular form in recent years for bringing authentic voices to the stage. Through Murphy, “a real guy being real”, we understand the hard and often-underappreciated life of New Zealand’s long-distance drivers. The hours are brutal, you’re always away from home and miss time with your kids, you subsist on junk food and V, you have to sleep in the back of your cab… There are many reasons not to choose this career, but it’s clear by the end of this 50-minute performance that those who do choose it love it with a passion that transcends the drudgery.

Burling is a superbly talented and highly engaging writer and performer. Under the expert guidance of director Simon Leary and with a stellar lineup of tech support, his tale goes far beyond the mere replaying of Murphy’s on-the-road interview. He jumps effortlessly between himself and Murphy with nothing more than a trucker’s cap as a prop. He also interacts with a projection screen (design by Rebekah de Roo and videography by Jacob Bowling) and perfectly timed sound effects (Oliver Devlin) to tell his own story of choosing performance over driving. I won’t spoil the surprise of what a very clever lighting effect (Jacob Banks) does to represent his dad. Even Burling’s cell phone is part of the multimedia brilliance.

All of this could have been self-indulgent, but it’s entirely not. At the core of Over and Out is the relationship between Burlings junior and senior and it’s one that is beautifully revealed over the course of a warmly funny and innovatively produced show about taking your own path in life.

If you love experiencing the pure adrenaline shot a good horror can inject, I highly recommend 2:22 A Ghost Story. Set in a rapidly gentrifying pocket of London, the play follows married couple Sam (Regan Taylor) and Jenny (a wholehearted Pamela Sidhu), who are raising a new baby in an old home that they’re renovating. Jenny believes in ghosts; Sam, a scientist, does not. At a dinner party with their friends Lauren (Serena Cotton) and Ben (Jack Sergent-Shadbolt), wine flows, heads butt, and tensions rise as the clock ticks ever closer to 2:22, when something unspeakable changes everything.  

Cotton’s performance as a psychologist intoxicated by both booze and love is a highlight, and I particularly enjoy the interplay between Sergent-Shadbolt and Taylor, who deliver a contemptuous relationship with quick wit, twinkling eyes, and comic levity – much needed in a script that sets up some heavy themes. While Danny Robins’ writing is eloquent and clever, his dialogue feels more scripted than natural in parts (particularly in the way Jenny speaks), stunting the moments of emotional depth the cast are clearly capable of reaching in their exploration of those themes.

On the horror front, 2:22 A Ghost Story more than delivers. Chris Reddington’s prop design and hyper-detailed set (that staircase is spectacular) work in tandem with costume designer Shiloh Dobie’s special effects to create a couple of show-stopping moments. I can’t get into specifics here for fear of spoilers, but anyone who’s seen the show will know the hot second I’m talking about. And if you haven’t yet – cards on the table, why not? Special mention also to the rain trickling down the glass backdoor, emphasised by Marcus McShane’s striking lighting design and Dan Elliott’s thunderous sound design.

Director Peter Feeney puts all the moving parts of the intricate puzzle together, ensuring each spooky moment is perfectly designed and timed for maximum effect. The result is the audience reaction straight out of every horror creative’s best nightmare: the shriek, followed by the nervous, jittery giggle. I leave feeling exhilarated.  

Instant Theatre is a fully improvised, character-driven performance of real people in real situations. With no scripts, no games, and nothing prepared, three performers (Sarah Ashill, Thomas Bauer, and Tony Yuile) spontaneously create new lives and their stories each night.

With just a prompt from the audience for two emotions – anger and ecstasy – to guide the direction of the narrative, these talented actors created the simple but beautiful story of a couple experiencing the 13-year itch and trying to rekindle the flames of romance on a dream vacation at a tropical resort. The wife, Angie, is keen for adventure and excitement while husband Tom just wants to do what they usually do on holiday – sit by the pool and drink cocktails. Jealousy raises its ugly head when Angie goes for surfing lessons with a hunky instructor, but these classes save the day when Tom finally decides to venture outside his comfort zone and steps into the waves alongside his wife. Angie’s best friend Janice also enters the picture secretly occupying the room next door, while Tom makes friends with the mysterious Charlie over drinks and chess.

Unlike other improv troupes, these actors don’t employ random props or silly hats to tell their tale. Their stories come from the heart with just four stools to provide some physical variations and well-timed blackouts from coach Ben Zolno on the lighting desk to shift the scene. This spareness of staging provides for authenticity, and audible ‘aahs’ from the audience accompanied the most heartfelt moments.

Like all good character-driven stories, I was left wanting more. Why did Angie feel the need to bring her bestie on a supposedly romantic getaway? Who is Charlie exactly and why does he come to this resort every year? Will the brief encounter between these two lead to anything? Of course, with limited time and a spontaneous story, these questions can never be answered, but it’s a testament to the rich layering these improvisers can achieve that I even considered such questions.

With the current government’s ‘tough on crime’ stance, Iron is a timely work for Stagecraft Theatre to have chosen. Rona Munro’s sharply drawn drama about a mother and daughter reconnecting after 15 years apart is given a heavy weight of meaning by being set in a women’s prison, where inmates and guards alike are institutionalised by the straitjacket of punishment.

Fay (Karen Anslow) was locked up for killing her husband. This left her daughter Josie (Ivana Palezevic), a child at the time, deeply traumatised and destined to become a successful but lonely adult. Supervising their visits are two guards (James Bayliss and Helen Mackenzie Hughes) whose personal lives and attitudes have been shaped by the work they do far more than they should be.

The cast of this production are excellent. Anslow draws out Fay’s complexities and passions with skill and energy. Palezevic is awkward and devastatingly emotional as her troubled daughter who just wants to be able to remember. Their relationship is believable as it deepens and evolves with each visit.

Bayliss imbues his guard George with humour and paternalism over his female charges while he scoffs from Josie’s well-meaning fruit baskets. Mackenzie Hughes’ guard Sheila is uncomfortably hardened by the overstepping, love-hate relationship she has with Fay.

The traverse set (Neil Wallace) brings the audience close to the stage and involved in the story as the actors occasionally break the fourth wall to include them. The transformation that moves the action to the prison garden is a lovely moment of creativity. The stark lighting (Jamie Byas) and monochrome wardrobe (Rosie Glover) add to the grimness of the prison setting. I would like to have seen the actors given more dynamic movement to match the quality of their performances, as the static blocking has two characters sitting and talking across a table for long periods of time.

With its topical themes, well-crafted relationships, and engaging performances, Iron will leave you with much to mull over.

In December 2023, the activist group Te Waka Hourua caused a nationwide furore when they abseiled into Te Papa and painted over the three articles of the English Treaty of Waitangi Exhibition to read: “No. Her Majesty the Queen of England the alien. ration the Queen’s veges.” This ‘redaction action’ provoked strong opinions across Aotearoa with some singing their praises and others calling for retribution. While all the artists were charged, only one – Te Wehi Ratana – got jail time. He spent 48 hours in Rimutaka Prison, about which most of this out-there and poignantly funny play is concerned. In the most unlikely of circumstances, Ratana’s hard-core cellmate Brian and 180 nicotine lozenges inspired a movement for change.

Playing Ratana, Brian, and an unnamed actor tasked with bringing this (mostly) true story to life is Ngahiriwa Rauhina. Full of energy, talent, and passion for this overtly self-aware tale, he commands the audience’s attention. Deftly switching between characters, he bounces around the cleverly designed stage (Nicole Marsh) in his orange prison jumpsuit and cool Michael Jackson Toitū Te Tiriti T-shirt (costume design also Nicole Marsh) delivering quick-fire dialogue and frequent direct address without pause.

Supporting Rauhina is the chameleonic voice of Roy Iro as the intimidating but ultimately soft-hearted prisoner Junior, plus a host of other characters. Excellently creative and well-timed projection (designer Jane Hakaraia, operator Marshall Rankin) and an entertaining soundtrack (Connor Magatogia) also provide context and visual comedy for Rauhina to perform with. Ironic props (Nicole Marsh again) of road cones, a tino rangatiratanga flag, and a guitar add to the assumption-defying nature of this production.

ration the Queen’s veges is as audacious a piece of Māori theatre as the original act of frustrated protest that inspired it. As Rauhina declares: “Do the mahi, get the treats” – make the effort to see this show and you’ll be justly rewarded with a unique piece of theatricality about a singularly Aotearoa display of defiance.