Shows

Music Portrait of a Humble Disabled Samoan paints a vivid picture of its lead creative and performer Fonotī Pati Umaga. Bold and brilliant brushstrokes layer live music, storytelling, dance, and visual design upon the blank canvas of Tāwhiri Warehouse, set up as a theatre-in-the-round with Umaga at its heart. Around him, five performers (Mere Boynton, Paris Tuimaseve-Fox, Lavinia Lovo, Albert Latailakepa, Faithleen Tou) and four musicians (Meka Nehemia, Hayden Nickel, Andy Mauafua, Isitolo Alesana) circle, each dedicated to helping him share his story. Above him hangs a large screen, a white drum lampshade across which celestial lights dance (Jane Hakaraia) and projections play (AV content by Delainy Jamahl, Ella Dove, Josiah Wood). The faces of the people who have shaped his life swim overhead like stars in the sky.

The story starts in the 70s, spiralling galactically through Umaga’s adolescence to the fall that left him tetraplegic at 46 and the battle with depression and addiction that followed. Through music, faith, and force of will, Umaga emerged victorious. Today, he is a respected leader and advocate for the Pacific and disability communities.

Under the direction of Maiava Nathaniel Lees, Music Portrait of a Humble Disabled Samoan is a masterclass in balance. Achingly painful moments – such as the cast’s seated, writhing dance (choreographer Neil Ieremia) to drum and bass music – cause sharp inhalations across the audience. A collective breath is held. Then, perfectly timed humour is injected into the dialogue (Oscar Kightley). Umaga laughs – tender, gentle, such strength in his vulnerability. We release, soften. In these instants of ease, our lungs deflate. They are buoyed once more by uplifting, stunning harmonies (musical director Matuaitoga Posenai Mavaega) or the joyous interaction of instruments as we watch Umaga rediscover bass – a scene that will stick with me forever and that I did not want to end.

As we experience the highs and lows of Umaga’s journey, it feels as if we, too, are cared for by everyone onstage and behind it. Music Portrait Collective (creative producer Sasha Gibb) possesses a meteoric passion for Umaga and his story. It beams through in every second of this production, as bright as the star map that lights his way.

Gloria – A Triple Bill brings together six dancers each from New Zealand and Australia in a triptych of contemporary dance works for the Aotearoa New Zealand Festival of the Arts.

The first work, Lament, is a world premiere choreographed by The New Zealand Dance Company artistic director Moss Te Ururangi Patterson with a startling original musical score by Shayne P Carter. It reflects on memory, resilience, resistance, and the enduring spirit of Aotearoa through the performers from The New Zealand Dance Company. In loose, comfortable-looking outfits (Chantelle Gerard) and with fluid and dynamic choreography, they are mesmerising to watch as they bring whakapapa into visceral being under elegant golden light (Mark Haslam).

Part two, A Moving Portrait, is an equally engrossing meditation on aging and vulnerability choreographed by Co3 Contemporary Dance Australia founding artistic director Raewyn Hill. Moving to the haunting beauty of Arvo Pärt’s Tabula Rasa Ludus II. Silentium, the Co3 dancers are deliberate, slow, and intimate in their gestures and interactions, flowing over and around one another in diaphanous white costumes (Akira Isogawa) that emphasise the collective nature of the piece. With moments of tenderness and grace, then gentle resistance and even violence, it’s another visually absorbing piece. Haslam again provides beautiful illumination, with the whole work being performed in the confined space of the soft light from an elongated doorway.

The final piece, GLORIA by renowned New Zealand choreographer Douglas Wright, is a joint performance by both companies. It’s accompanied by a contingent from the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra conducted by Dr Joseph Nolan, and a 16-strong Voices New Zealand choir led by chorusmaster Michael Stewart, who masterfully perform Antonio Vivaldi’s Gloria in D Major RV 589. This dance work speaks to the stages of life through a series of short pieces featuring recognisable moments from playful childhood with a human skipping rope, to two young men locked in a wrestling match, sensual procreation, and more until, finally, death. More expansive than the two previous works and with a looser synergy between classical music and modern choreography, this work was less intensely engaging than the first two, but no less successful as a glorious example of contemporary dance.

Khalid Abdalla’s astonishing solo work Nowhere melds the personal and playful into the roar of unbearable injustices across global and historic scales. Rooted in his involvement in the 2011 Egyptian revolution and the counter revolution that followed, Abdalla weaves parallel narratives of his patrilineal history, global colonial dynamics, and the friendship he formed with a fellow artist lost to pancreatic cancer.

A core value of the work is the reclamation of play and creativity, both as personal necessity and a force for resistance. Abdalla embodies this sense of possibility. His physicality is impeccable across naturalistic acting, stylised movement sequences, technical tricks, and gorgeous, bashfully vulnerable dance sequences (choreographer Omar Rajeh).

The production features the most cohesive integration of projections (video designer Sarah Readman), live filming, and shadow work (lighting designer Jackie Shemesh) that I have seen. Importantly, these techniques resonate in a story invested in documentation, filmmaking, visual art, and resistance through online content. This means the form does more than support the material, it enacts it, creating a highly functional and coherent storytelling world.

Surrealism threads through the piece, evoking the unbearable stagnation of political hopelessness, and creating strange-wondrous avenues of escape. Abdalla looms over landscapes, is crushed in his Cairo flat, and dwarfed by crashing waves. He is subjected to his viciously critical inner monologue on loudspeaker (sound designer Panos Chountoulidis) and plays his father and grandfather conversing with each other about political imprisonment alongside English subtitles.

Pacing is expertly managed, with lightness and quiet breaking up the intensity. At one point we are invited to look under our seats, where we each find an envelope containing a mirror, pencil, and paper. Abdalla encourages us to draw ourselves by looking only into the mirror, letting the hand roam without correction. Donated drawings will join drawings from audiences around the world as part of a wider art project.

Gradually, more didactic passages develop, but these feel earned. Alongside regimes, colonists, and genocides the work insistently holds space for beauty, grief, love, and play at the scale of the individual.

This Aotearoa New Zealand Festival of the Arts sees the return of a powerful chronicle of the spiritual and cultural trauma of leaving home. Hone Kouka was commissioned to write Waiora Te Ūkaipo – The Homeland for the 1996 festival and its revival now is as deeply personal, emotionally affecting, and relevant as it was then. It’s become a landmark piece of Aotearoa New Zealand theatre exploring the impact of colonisation, urban drift, and the tension between past and future that feels prescient in the current political climate of this country.

Set in the summer of 1965, the narrative concerns Hone (Regan Taylor) who has relocated his family from the East Cape to the South Island in search of a better life for them through his job at a sawmill. His wife Sue (Erina Daniels) holds everything together while older daughter Amiria (Rongopai Tickell) creates havoc and Boyboy (Te Mihi Potae) tries his best to please. As they gather near a beach for a birthday hāngi for their withdrawn youngest daughter Rongo (Tioreore Ngatai-Melbourne) with two Pākehā guests (Ben Ashby and Mycah Keall), secrets, heartbreak, and cultural tensions bubble to the surface and burst in ways that will ripple through their lives forever. Watching, responding to, and echoing the emotional ebb and flow of the day’s events are four tīpuna (Anatonio Te Maioha, Awerangi Thompson, Huia Rawiri, and Mathieu Boynton-Rata).

Working on Mark McEntyre’s cleverly sculptured set under Natasha James’ brilliantly responsive lighting design, this cast is electric. Their family dynamics are clearly communicated through sharp characterisations and their rendering of Kouka’s crackling dialogue. They particularly shine during the muscular waiata and haka (composer Hone Hurihanganui) that weave through the story to punctuate the emotional climaxes. Ngatai-Melbourne’s singing voice is sublime, and her thread of the story stitches the whole together until it profoundly squeezes the heart of its audience.

As Kouka stated before writing the play: “Everyone is from somewhere else.” Waiora Te Ūkaipo – The Homeland is for all who have ever felt dispossessed.

Saksham’s Magical Madness is exactly what the title suggests: a 60-minute magic show that is indeed madness. A master of illusion, Saksham Sharma presents us with a multitude of tricks, some of which could confound even the most avid magic enthusiast. From classic sleights of hand with cards to predicting the future through drawings, this show has something that I am sure will pique the interest of all viewers.

Our magician in question is incredibly charismatic and charming, hooking us in from the moment he walks on stage until the moment he leaves. It is satisfying to see how many people he involves to participate in his tricks, including myself. Equally, it is refreshing to see all ages enjoying the show. There is loud cheering and clapping throughout, no doubt a reflection of the joy the audience feels.

Saksham also reminds us that even though machines are rising up around us, they cannot take wonder away from us; we can still choose the joy that magic brings. This is what epitomises the show: pure joy. Magical Madness is engaging and entertaining the entire time, making us want more. At the same time, it is not your ordinary magic show. There are no rabbits coming out of hats, nor are there people sawn in half. Instead, Saksham uses technology to his advantage, utilising even our own cell phones to perform his tricks. The use of lighting and projection (show design by Saksham and producer Taruna) heightens the tension and excitement, which builds and builds right up till the explosive grand finale.

I am in awe of the final act and how it ties the entire show together, from the disappearing key and note to the drawings of the elephant. This New Zealand Fringe Festival show offers a fantastic night out that you won’t want to end. Ensure you get tickets to Saksham’s Magical Madness before it disappears from The Hannah.

Three wardens (Joel Baxendale, Stella Reid, and Hannah Kelly) are in charge of 230 strangers with only half a day’s training and a bag of onions. The lycanthropy outbreak has begun. You have been summoned to the local shelter, along with other members of your community to wait for the all-clear. The containment period is one week and the nights are pitch black. As the threat outside takes shape, the atmosphere inside begins to turn.

Inspired by the classic game of deception, Werewolf is a gripping blend of thriller and comedy that pulls you into an interactive world of suspicion, survival, and nervous laughter as part of the Aotearoa New Zealand Festival of the Arts. Your pandemic information booklet contains a piece of information or behaviour that you can include in the overall narrative if you wish (the tinfoil hats in the back row are a brilliant touch). The organic action stems from game elements and a semi-improvised script, which heroes the audience within a broader plot surrounding the relationships between the three wardens.

The assured cast keep the story moving, deftly responding to the audience’s interjections and reactions, and providing distinct characters to variously love or hate. Eight audience members are called on to fulfil specific roles, with Daniel the timekeeper and his whiteboard becoming a favourite.

A deceptively simple set (Lucas Neal) of supposedly werewolf-proof silver curtains, a plastic tunnel entrance, and some convincingly military-looking equipment trunks is all that’s needed to turn Circa One into Safehouse 656. Neal’s lighting design makes excellent use of comforting orange for the safety of daylight, total blackout for the dread of night, and violent strobing pulses for the resolution.

The star of the technical show is Oliver Devlin’s surround sound design that fills the black nights with gunfire, screams, creepy voices, and a pounding heartbeat that makes the very fabric of the theatre vibrate.

Thrillingly funny and creepily immersive, Werewolf is a tantalising tease to your senses and guaranteed to send shivers down your spine.

Imperfect, reverent, and poignant, Mythosoma invites us to feel, to reach into those wounded parts of us and be open. This theatre and dance piece is beyond interpretation, not because it is too high brow, but because each audience member will have their own extremely personal reaction. I have no doubt that this is its uniting factor; that trauma affects us all differently.

This piece does not try to be perfect, but rather to illustrate the visceral feelings that occur after heavy-hitting moments that words fail to describe. Humour is used tactfully and tastefully, planted in the right moments to preserve emotional momentum. Under Kelly Nash’s direction, the production settles but also stirs in unexpected ways. 

I am in awe of how Nancy Wijohn, Jada Narkle, Georgie Goater, and Caleb Heke move; the way they twist, turn, and navigate the memories their bodies hold. Every movement enthralls. We are called to lean in as observers, not to interpret what is placed before us. Likewise, Moana Ete’s narration and vocals provide a sense of grounding, of realisation and revelations. All five of these performers work as one, yet they tell their own stories. 

With production management and design collaboration from Rob Larsen, we are presented with a scenographic delight. Each lighting state draws us closer to the performers as well as our own feelings. The soundscapes are raw. The combination of lighting and sound results in an evocative experience for our eyes and ears. 

I was moved to tears by this piece. Be warned that it may take you on a powerful and possibly painful emotional journey, but the feelings that linger after and the healing you might undergo will make it entirely worth it. Mythosoma brings to life how we feel in our bodies during and after moments of impact, a task that Body Island – Motu Tinana achieves with flying colours where very few have been able to. Kia toa, Mythosoma.

What a sparkly, sassy, spectacular way to open the 2026 Aotearoa New Zealand Festival of the Arts! Since 2008, Australia-based Briefs Factory have redefined cabaret with their own brand of queer subversion. With The Works, they thrust open their archives with a dazzling, daring, and delicious celebration of flesh, flash, and flourish.

For a gold coin, you can buy raffle tickets at the start of the show with the promise of a fabulous prize to be won. As suspected, that prize turns out to contain more than a little cheek – and I don’t mean the ones on your face. If naked tush makes you blush, this show ain’t for you! If it makes you whoop and holler for the beauty and sensuality of the human form, then this show definitely is for you. From feathery stripping drag numbers to burlesque trapeze over a bathtub, this is a glorious and gasp-inducing display of circus, comedy, crooning, and choreography. Sit in the front couple of rows and you’re literally immersed.

Kitty Bang Bang lights up the room with her whiskey-fuelled fire-eating routine; her flaming nipples need to be seen to be believed. The Evil Hate Monkey jumps through fiery hoops, bounces en pointe in a sparkly yellow tutu, and does obscene things with bananas that give eye-popping credibility to the full-frontal male nudity warning in the pre-show email. NASTIA’s hand balancing, Captain Kidd and Benjamin Butterfly’s aerial antics, and Serenity’s heel-wearing tumbling astound as much as Hollywood Star’s vocals and progressively revealed body inspire. And, Fez Faanana, exactly where do all those red flowers come from?

Joining these top-notch performers from Australia, London, and New York are local ballroom troupe, House of Marama. Their powerful gothic routine is a stunning introduction to this US Black and Latin-inspired Rainbow Pacific subculture for those unfamiliar with the local scene.

All the above is accompanied by a thumping dance soundtrack, intricate costumes, and bold haze-enhanced lighting.

Don your best briefs and get on down to the factory for the full works!

The Night Ali Died is a gripping story beautifully told. Pre-show, we see a single central chair, with two distinct piles of clothing in each upstage corner. This simple staging creates opportunity for the sole actor, Christopher Sainton-Clark, to shine.

And shine he does.

Each character in this criminal drama recounts the events before and after the death of mild-mannered chemist Alistair (‘Ali’). As they unpick the events of that fateful night, each offers their own back story and perspective. From drug lords to detectives, motivations gradually come into focus.

For Alistair in particular, this is a simple and honest account that invites reflection on who matters in our lives – and the role we might play in theirs. Chances are, our actions or character make each of us a hero to someone. In this story, Ali’s actions define him as a hero to the daughter he will never know. Yet the invitation to reflect never feels like lecturing; it remains, first and foremost, a compelling story.

Sainton-Clark uses mime to accentuate key elements; from the recoil of a gun to the grip of a knife, we are left in no doubt as to what has occurred. His multiple characters are sharply differentiated through mannerisms, movement, and speech.

The technical precision of this production is almost cinematographic in nature. It’s as if we’re watching carefully constructed scenes from a movie, but performed live in one slick, classy ‘take’. Lighting cues, including the use of brief blackouts, heighten the drama, while sound and music reinforce the mood (collaborative design by Sainton-Clark, director Rosanna Mallinson, and technical lead Daisy den Engelse). A minor quibble is the placement of sidestage curtains allowing an open view of backstage. I say minor because once the performance gets underway, I never take my eyes off the action on stage.

Wellingtonians have experienced something special with this limited two-night run of The Night Ali Died. There’s still hope for audiences in Christchurch, Oamaru, Nelson, and Dunedin over the next few weeks.

Decadunce is a frenetic, energetic, multi-layered romp that offers a merciless skewering of consumerism and excess.

Briscoes, Harvey Norman, and Uber are featured, with the focus of the satire less about the companies themselves and more about their target customer demographics. Lorenzo’s persona as a Harvey Norman salesman notes that all of their couches look like they were designed in 2001, while Uber’s younger generation customers have no money to their name, but still prefer the service to using their legs. And as for the Briscoes lady… I will never hear “You’ll never buy better” in quite the same way ever again.

As consumers, regardless of age, stage, or demographic, we are all roundly and hilariously lampooned.

Lorenzo offers a masterclass in audience engagement, with direct eye contact and energy that is irresistible. His stage performance is well supported by a striking set that offers superb functionality through its simplicity, and a soundtrack of energetic beats that reflect his own performance while keeping the buzz alive amongst the audience.

It is the clever integration of all those technical and creative elements that create the underlying energy for this show. Of course, we might expect that of every performing arts show, but it’s the sheer variety of those elements that make Decadunce something special. Lorenzo uses movement and dance, singing, voice, and caricature, beautifully integrated with sound, light, and stage. His talent is there for all to see, and the satire is generally well focused and targeted.

There are a couple of moments in the script that feel unnecessary. Satirising individual politicians is one thing, but making a personal slur against one within the show detracts from the wider satirical nature of the script. It’s clear that Lorenzo has the talent to create the satire without resorting to insult; maintaining the satire would have offered far more scope for humour.

Regardless of my personal status as an unabashed capitalist, this was a great night out. Energetic, biting, and seriously funny, it left me wanting to see more.

With the highly talented people involved, I had high hopes for this production and it didn’t disappoint. Once Upon a Time in Homowood is a hilarious and deliciously realised celebration of the LGBTQIA+ community.

As the show’s publicity blurb states, “cinema and theatre are vital for queer people to see themselves represented both in explicitly queer texts, as well as queer-coded works”. Hear, hear. To that end, Once Upon a Time in Homowood creates a fan fic of what would have happened if Jack from Titanic was a soft butch. How about if Sunset Boulevard’s Norma Desmond transitioned and Hollywood ditched her? What if Mark Zuckerberg and Eduardo Saverin kissed in The Social Network?

These three ‘original scripts’ by Cassandra Tse, Jamie Cain, and Matthew Loveranes are delightfully irreverent of Hollywood tropes and place their new, playfully queer plots front and centre. The characters and scenes we know and love are joyfully parodied by an energetic seven-strong (with the emphasis on strong) cast of Ruby Carter, Rachel McLean, Zachary Klein, Mike Bryant, Lincoln Swinerd, writers Tse, Cain, and Loveranes, and stage manager Julia Bon-McDonald in a delightful cameo. Under Cain’s highly creative and fast-moving direction, they all have standout moments, as well as forming a seamless ensemble. Klein’s tight-lipped Cal Hockley in Titanic, Bryant’s manipulative Max in Sunset Boulevard, and Tse’s idiot Winklevoss twin in The Social Network are just a few of the many highlights.

Lucas Neal’s brilliant set consists of HOMO writ large like the Hollywood sign across the full width of the Dome stage with each letter containing fantastically clever pop-out sections that create specific acting spaces. All sound is provided by the cast. Special mention to Tse for providing the beautifully sung soundtrack of classic Hollywood themes. Jacob Banks’ hardworking lighting design under Ruby Kemp’s skilled operation ties the whole performance neatly together.

Come to Once Upon a Time in Homowood and have a gay old time this New Zealand Fringe Festival!

Independent Auckland-based theatre company The Rebel Alliance has adapted its award-winning stage production into an illustrated radio play. The Valentina follows eight-year-old Ellen as she travels through space alongside notable figures who have ventured beyond Earth, such as Neil Armstrong, Yuri Gagarin, and Laika the Dog.

This show has a great New Zealand flair, hitting the mark perfectly with a humour that most Kiwis will be well familiar with. This is not only thanks to director Anders Falstie-Jensen’s incredible script, but also to the vocal performances by Talia Pua, Ross McCormack, Bronwyn Turei, Wesley Dowdell, and Kevin Keys. The actors’ voices are crisp and clear, bringing the vibrant characters to life.

John Verryt’s illustrations add a whole new colourful dimension to the story, providing a visual way to ground us in the narrative. I am mesmerised by the illustrations of space. The vivid sound design by Sean Lynch further stirs my imagination. The visual and aural elements work in tandem to create an experience so immersive, I feel like I am also a crewmember aboard The Valentina. The new format therefore supports the crux of the piece: that we should feed our imaginations and dreams.

There is a perfect blur of science fiction and reality at play here. The Valentina is both educational and entertaining. Fact and fiction are clearly delineated, but this doesn’t stop me wishing all elements were true… I would only dream of visiting Vitanonan X!

Easily accessible and universally appealing, The Valentina can be appreciated by adults and children alike. It is a feel-good piece, daring us to let our minds run wild and reach to the furthest depths of space. Be sure to watch this illustrated radio play before it blasts off to galaxies unknown. Fly like a toroa and get tickets to the online event this New Zealand Fringe Festival.