Shows

When Booty Calls is a gay action-adventure slapstick rom-com about pirates. How’s that for an opening line? This mile-a-minute production sees Liz (Nina Hogg) and Jen (Phoebe Caldeiro) stranded on a desert island, where they stumble upon the Captain’s (Troy Etherington) booby-trapped treasure. Liz decides to drink some of his prized grog and the two quickly become the subject of his wrath – not to mention his ludicrous, murderous vengeance plots. Cap’s lonely right-hook-man Peggy (Ella Wells) is to assist in the – err, execution of these plans, but turns her coat at the prospect of friendship.

I had high hopes for When Booty Calls: The Rebooty and was stoked to be spending my Friday night watching pirates do stunts and fall in love. I don’t say stunts lightly as the play calls for a fight choreographer (Hogg) and stunt mats, with weapons ranging from swords to fists to silks. The choreography is complex, daring, and well designed, but the execution (I swear I’ll stop with that pun soon) feels under-rehearsed. Because of this, my friend and I agreed that watching the fight scenes and their hiccups was the wrong kind of nerve-wracking, where instead of enjoying the cleverness you’re worried something might actually go pear-shaped.

This Rebooty was originally devised by Hogg, Caldeiro, Etherington, and Tom Atchieson (who previously co-directed), and now has Wells in the credits mix. It has enjoyed sold-out (and sadly cancelled) seasons but I feel it still needs development. Some jokes and plotlines could be left on the cutting room floor. For example, Liz and Jen have a nasty fight and while I understand the need for conflict, it makes me quite dislike both characters – particularly Jen for the mean things she bellows at Liz.

That’s not to say I didn’t have a (cannon) blast. There are lots of great things going on here, like Etherington’s energetic performance, Hogg’s golden comedic timing and audience asides, Caldeiro’s atmospheric compositions, and Scott Maxim’s impressive set and lighting design. If the script could come up to match the high production values, I think we’d have a winner here.

Inspired by the real life and triumphs of world champion axeman and World War I veteran Ned Shewry, Timberrr…! imagines his ‘what might have been’ story when, as a confirmed bachelor, he is in middle age and meets his fictional long-lost son Billy. Ned is a hard-as-nails, take-no-prisoners, outdoors man, while Billy is sensitive, compassionate, and soft.

This central conceit drives the unbroken 85 minutes of narrative (make sure you grab a glass of wine and visit the bathroom before it starts because there’s no interval) as Ned trains up Billy to take on his long-time wood-chopping rival’s brother as the next junior champion. Surrounding them is a colourful bevvy of Taranaki locals with varying interest in the outcome.

I have a soft spot for plays like this with a small cast playing multiple roles on a sparse set with no props, clever tech support, and one set of clothes. It allows the cast and crew to have fun and demonstrate their full range of talents, and allows audience members to engage their brains and use their intelligence to fill in the blanks.

Stephen Papps makes the tough Ned likeable enough to care about, as well as doubling several minor characters. His innuendo-laden, sex-starved femme fatale Eunice is a highlight. As the singing and dancing Billy, Tyler Kokiri is superb. He also creates wonderful human portraits with the bumbling Constable Keith and the growling Whata, among others. Picking up several other supporting characters in Ned and Billy’s rural Taranaki lives is Serena Cotton, who plays both men’s love interests, Herb the wood-chopping commentator, and more with class and verve.

All three actors maintain high energy and pace, switching effortlessly between characters, and the story rollicks along to its naturally satisfying conclusion with a sweet twist along the way. It’s also very funny. If you’re worn out by COVID and everything else going on in the world, get down to Circa for irrepressibly Kiwi comic relief.

When you are confronted by three naked forms and an existential Ed Harris-sounding voiceover, you could be in for either emotional catharsis or an eye-rolling debacle. House of Sand’s UNDOING treads a fine line between both. 

Billed more toward performance art, UNDOING fuses movement, spoken word, and physical theatre into an absurdist work that is meant to be interpreted subjectively by the audience. Sometimes contemporary work claims that it’s ‘totally subjective’ but often there’s an underlying message and as an audience member you’re ‘too uncultured’ to see it. But House of Sand feels genuine in the sentiment that you should read into and connect with what you want. Occasionally it’s nice not to think too hard when you go to the theatre.   

Led by director, choreographer, and producer Eliza Sanders, UNDOING is carried by a cohort of young dancers whose bodies contort and convulse in equally grotesque and gorgeous ways. Not every performer is technically perfect, but it suits the raw intention of the show. It feels like the epitome of a slow burn, with the dancers repeating synchronised sequences and writhing on the ground. It would be remiss not to mention one of the focal points being the isolation of a dancer who is tasked with taking the duration of the show to cross from one end of the stage to the other. Every now and then I would find myself focusing on this lone dancer, just to determine how much longer the show had to go on.

In between moments of cringingly ‘self-aware’ monologues and inexplicable grunting, there were instances of well-thought-out choreography and resonance. Towards the end, the performers engage in more energetic bouts of movement coming to a crescendo as the isolated dancer finally meets the other side of the stage.

UNDOING feels like a brain dump of ideas and feelings, possibly reflective of surviving the various lockdowns or pushing through a creative block. It certainly won’t tick the boxes for everyone but there is something to be said for House of Sand’s confident approach to creativity and performance.          

Jane Keller’s great-aunt Alice doesn’t like to name drop but she was a close personal friend of Ira Gershwin’s. In fact, Alice lived in the apartment below Ira and was often privy to the ceiling-shaking soirées he would throw after the last Broadway performance of the week – the Sunday matinée. The likes of Noël Coward, Irving Berlin, and Cole Porter would also attend these lavish parties, forming the soundtrack for Sundays at Ira’s.  

Keller intersperses spoken excerpts of Alice’s diary with performances of iconic ditties from the 1930s, which I’m ashamed to admit I don’t recognise half of. I’m not the target demographic for this show but I can appreciate the joyous vibrato ringing in my ears as many of my fellow audience members sing along.

I can also appreciate the exceptional piano playing of Michael Nicholas Williams, the lovely, sparkly outfits and set adorned with art deco statement pieces (Meredith Dooley and Keller), and Keller’s strong vocal performance.

Name dropping is a running theme and joke throughout Sundays at Ira’s but I’d love to hear more about the people with these big names. Thanks to Keller’s humorous rendition of Vodka it quickly becomes my standout number, but I don’t learn much about the people who wrote it, including George Gershwin who is mentioned countless times. I understand these people are famous but I struggle to connect with them or indeed with Alice herself, so little do I know of her or her story. More of a human element woven throughout the story would help make the music more accessible to younger generations like myself.

Keller is one of my favourite actors and has huge, effortless stage presence. I’d love to see a little more choreography or movement in the songs, plus more direct eye contact. Keller often adopts a distant, faraway look when she starts to sing, and while her eyes capture the light beautifully, I crave more intimacy and connection.

COVID thwarted the first attempt to stage the premiere season of Boys, Wake Up! as part of the Fringe Festival. Luckily, Brick Haus Productions has been able to find a new slot at BATS Theatre for its brave exploration of toxic masculinity.

Four hormone-ravaged teenage boys (Renata Mahuika, Caleb Pedro, Isaac Andrews, and Jackson Burling) leave a house party in the wops on the verge of starting a fight and make the terrible decision to drive home despite being well over the limit. Unsurprisingly, they spin off the road and roll down a steep bank. They then spend a cold, wet night in the bush with no cell phone coverage, waiting for uncertain rescue while they nurse increasingly serious injuries.

Initially full of adrenaline and bravado, they gradually reveal the vulnerabilities of young males on the verge of manhood with their frustrating mix of dumb childishness and genuine concern for the welfare of their friends, along with the ability to call each other out for their despicable attitudes towards the girls in their lives. Most of us have known boys like these at some point in our lives and while these characters and their behaviours are not particularly likeable, the skill of the four actors is such that the inevitable tragic ending is heart-breaking.

Burling should be congratulated for a script that feels fresh, real, and natural despite traversing familiar themes. His performance on stage is also nuanced and affecting, even though he speaks much less often than the others. Mahuika, Pedro, and Andrews are equally strong with a maturity and fearlessness to their performances that belies their age.

Charleigh Griffiths’ lighting and sound design provide superb support for the action on stage with an unintrusive soundtrack of native birds, passing cars, and a munching goat, and dips to chilly blue that effectively show the passing of hours in the dark.

This polished, timely, and moving production deserves full houses.

With the New Zealand premiere of The Spitfire Grill, Wellington Repertory Theatre has successfully brought to the stage a boutique 1970s-set American musical and made it relevant for a COVID-impacted 2022 Kiwi audience.

Percy (Sara Douglas) is freed from jail and heads to the small town of Gilead, Wisconsin (nothing to do with The Handmaid’s Tale) on little more than the promise of beautiful autumn leaves. There she meets the local Sheriff (Alex Robertson) and falls into a job at the only eating place in town, the Spitfire Grill, run by the spiky Hannah (Gillian Boyes), and strikes up a friendship with Hannah’s daughter-in-law Shelby (Natalie Gay). Frequenting the grill daily are Shelby’s misogynistic husband Caleb (Leon Beaton) and town gossip Effy (Amy Bradshaw). Lurking in the shadows is a mysterious visitor (Carl Johnstone) whose identity is the culmination of a steady peeling back of the secrets and tragedies of this small community that has become isolated and abandoned through economic depression.

As the three leading women, Douglas, Gay, and Boyes are strong, engaging, and polished. Their harmonies are spot on and one of the highlights of this intimate but weighty production. Ultimately, this is a story of women taking responsibility for their own empowerment and these three deliver that mission convincingly. Beaton’s excellent and expressive voice gives dimension to the otherwise unlikeable Caleb and Bradshaw’s snarky comments and facial expressions bring lightness to the heavy themes. Robertson’s Sherriff is sweet and appealing.

Balancing the sound from the band with the singers is always a challenge at the Gryphon, but Thomas Perry’s design gets it right. Angela Wei’s lighting design is excellent and Oliver Webber’s operation timed perfectly to highlight each scene in the small space and support the lyrics. The drab and frumpy clothing (Wendy Howard) fits the era and themes appropriately, and Jen Goddard’s unfussy direction works well.

This slick production of a gem of a musical is well worth a watch.

In the words of Charlotte Brontë herself, Mel Dodge’s Miss Brontë is “condensed, powerful energy”. With over 80 percent of the script from Charlotte Brontë’s own letters and novels, and the remaining 20 percent gleaned from extensive research, Miss Brontë feels as though it comes straight from the author’s own heart.

Dodge’s performance is second to none. Raw, pure, and utterly “based in truth”, Charlotte Brontë comes to life onstage in every iteration of her being; “not man, not woman, but author”. Cloaked in Letty Macphedran’s beautiful period piece costume, Brontë appears to us “a free independent human being [who] will write because [she] must” . Her childhood memories, her great loves, her heart-wrenching loneliness and grief, but most of all her unmitigated brilliance all take up residence in Dodge’s own soul onstage before us.

Matching Dodge’s performance is Marisa Cuzzolaro’s design and creation. Stage right is a writing desk, centre a dining table, and stage left a side table and armchair, all locations for Charlotte’s hours of writing. In each of these locations piles of books and papers take up residence, the stage a physical representation of Charlotte’s world and mind. The year is denoted upon the cover of each book Brontë picks up as she tells her story, and as the story and Brontë herself evolve, the stage becomes littered with page upon page of the Brontë sisters’ poetry and prose. Papers overflowing with words fly through the air just as thoughts would have flown through Brontë’s own mind, life, and heart.

Fiercely independent and steadfast in her ideals, Charlotte Brontë’s truths are laid bare in Miss Brontë as we see into a soul only glimpsed through the pages of her novels. “Imagination lifts my head when I am sinking”, the author pens, though her imagination, her stories “based in truth” depict women as intense, thoughtful, learned, complex, and human as herself and her sisters. Miss Brontë recognises the author’s soul, and for this it is unequivocally Brontë herself.

Some days are good, and some days are not so good, but each day is valid and each day is followed by a fresh new one. Smilestuff encompasses all the ups and downs and in-betweens of life, giving space and acceptance to the bad days while inspiring us to find joy in even the smallest moments.

Smilestuff is a movement-based solo performance. Daniel Nodder’s performance looks light as feathers, easy, and free, but every movement is incredibly intentional and impactful. Nodder seamlessly involves the audience throughout the work, making them integral parts of the story, engaging them directly as well as through balloons and other items.

Throughout Smilestuff, both Ben Kelly’s musical accompaniment and Campbell Wright’s lighting design are as integral as the performer himself. Spotlights are used as an interactive companion to Nodder’s character: the spotlight becomes a keyboard on the floor that Nodder (and Kelly) plays, or a mirror in which Nodder discovers various facial expressions and emotions, a friend that dances alongside Nodder, and even the spark of life inside himself.

Smilestuff is infused with childlike wonder and innocence. From the moment Nodder discovers the use of his limbs, each movement is tender and pure. Nodder learns the basics before going through the motions of everyday life, each moment saturated with the simple joy of being alive. However, with living comes other complexities; Nodder quickly learns that as time wears on, each moment will not necessarily be as joyful as it was in the beginning. Finding himself in a slump, unable to come to terms with the burdens of life, musician Ben Kelly re-awakens Nodder’s joy and through a moment of quasi-puppetry Nodder lip syncs to Kelly’s beautiful rendition of Nat King Cole’s Smile.

Smilestuff celebrates the joy in everyday life and in mundanity, imploring us to cherish every moment. In the same breath, it recognises that joy cannot be constant. In this challenging time, everyone should go see Smilestuff.

This year’s Fringe Festival boasts no less than 20 online events, thanks to the influence of COVID-19, which gives festivalgoers an exceptional opportunity to experience local and overseas work in the comfort and safety of their own homes.

I have to admit to being lured as much by the pun in the title of An Ice Thing to Say as I was to the promise of a blend of ice installation, original music, and physical theatre exploring the human being of the Anthropocene and our impact on nature. It draws inspiration from Erich Fromm’s seminal book on the need for socioeconomic revolution To Have or to Be? and invites the audience into a multi-sensory experience of our inner and outer icy landscapes. It attempts to challenge the idea that humans are at the centre of the universe and why that view of ourselves has caused the current climate crisis.

Having started life as a stage show, An Ice Thing to Say has been translated successfully into a short film. With effective videography, editing, and lighting from Theo Prodromidis, the visual interest has been expanded from the theatre, dance, and musical elements. The central installation of four large blocks of ice and the often-discordant music (Gregory Emfietzis) create fertile ground for visual, auditory, and textural experiences of an element of nature with which the performers interact in various ways from the sensual to the violent.

Without the explanation of the premise of the production, it risks being a little esoteric. However, sections in which the principal dancer, Stella Evangelia, wears a penguin-like mask and crams fruit into her mouth speak clearly of polar melting and rabid consumerism. Her sensuous caressing of the ice blocks equally speaks of the need for kindness towards the natural environment. Spoken interludes reflect the disorder of the modern mind and the human inability to be still, listen, and let instinct reign. As a meditation on Man’s inhumanity to nature, it is absorbing, challenging, and thought-provoking.

Ryan McGhee and his warm-up guy Michael Macaulay were waiting outside the Cavern Club when I arrived. They warmly introduced themselves, didn’t freak out when I told them I was reviewing their show, and we had a lovely chat about COVID and how lucky they were to be able to perform. Both were friendly and down to earth, the best examples of what the Fringe Festival is about.

Their charming openness and willingness to connect continued in an hour of quality stand-up comedy that traversed continents, climates, and cultures. Macaulay, originally from Teeside and now Paraparaumu, opened the show with a dig at Jimmy Carr’s racism and a claim that he doesn’t feel English despite a Geordie accent untouched by decades overseas. Before introducing McGhee, he drew belly laughs from pubic hair, dating before the age of mobile apps, oral sex with a Bee Gee, and his dad’s cremation.

The most successful stand-up comedy often comes from people who are willing to display vulnerability about their own life experiences and laugh at themselves. This McGhee happily does as he talks about being a ‘born and fled’ Glaswegian who is fiercely patriotic about all things Scottish but would never want to live there again.

Starting with his staunch Catholic upbringing, through coming out as gay, to moving to Australia and being half of one of the first same-sex couples to be legally married – and divorced – there, he brings us on his colourful journey to New Zealand and genesis as the Scottish Kiwi.

In his All Blacks shirt and kilt, McGhee pokes gentle fun at, among other things, New Zealanders’ passion for winning at sport, anti-vaxxers and their inability to deal with ‘three wee pricks’, why bungee jumping is the Kiwi equivalent of haggis, and his drunken purchase of a scarily huge sex toy called Dennis the Destroyer. All of this is peppered with hilariously smutty gay jokes and a disarming ability to tell a great story, making a great hour’s entertainment.

As I write this review it feels like the world is on fire. Certainly, Parliament grounds are literally on fire. But thinking back to the Fringe show I went to last night provides a wonderful escape, as did seeing Shift Your Paradigm. I truly forgot about all my troubles and cares – and our global ones too – for one hour thanks to this hilarious, twisty-turny, emotional rollercoaster of a production.

Eric (David Bowers-Mason) is the senior CEO of Do Be Us, a company that is not at all dubious and totally not a pyramid scheme. Under the all-seeing eye of the High Chair Man (Kevin Orlando), Eric has excelled in selling heaps of chairs (read: enlisting others to do it for him) and is now headed for a promotion. With the help of his junior-CEO-in-training Zoe (Isabella Murray), he just has to offload the last 25 of the latest collection before the ink on his new vague contract is dry.

Bowers-Mason is a gifted actor who rides the highs and lows of a desperate man with ease and panache. Murray acts as an anchor and counterpoint for Bowers-Mason’s performance so it doesn’t reach hysterical heights. And then we have Orlando, who reminds me instantly of The IT Crowd’s Matt Berry and might be just as funny. Appearing only onscreen but with excellent comic timing is Adam Herbert as the Fax Man, while Sara Douglas plays Eric’s sister Jessica with sensitivity that beautifully balances the action.

Shift Your Paradigm has high production values, with projection design (projector by Emii Wilson, graphics and filming by Mitchell Botting) greatly enhancing the experience – especially thanks to clever FaceTimes projected onto the screen. Coupled with cohesive, dramatic sound (Wilson) and lighting (Herbert), the show reaches multiple climactic points that put me in mind of watching a thriller on the big screen. Thrilling!

A huge bravo to all involved in the witty and raucous Shift Your Paradigm. Thanks for taking me out of my life for a hot minute!

The Garden of Eden: beautiful, serene, bountiful, and perfect. Until the humans arrived. How could God’s ‘most perfect’ creation be so imperfect? Well according to two tigers Big Stripes (Lewis Thompson) and Sharp Claws (Leonid Wilson), the ‘hewmans’ aren’t perfect at all. In their mind all beasts, no matter the legs or fur, are all created equal; but Adam (Lee Stanton-Barnett) and Eve (Brooke McCloy) seem to disagree.

Written, directed, and performed by ‘You be good. I love you’, Tigers Can’t Change Their Stripes is a touching tale (or tail) about both the differences and similarities between human and beast, what defines a beast, and ultimately what defines a human. Providing a new take on the biblical story of Adam and Eve, Tigers Can’t Change Their Stripes follows the rise, climax, and fall of Eden from paradise to what we inhabit now: Earth.

Specifically touching about the show is how similar the tigers and the humans behave. Though clearly different species, the tigers celebrate their differences to other animals but do not see themselves as superior. Adam and Eve however see themselves as special from their incipience. As Big Stripes wisely proposes: “Humans have a particular quality different from tigers; they want to be like God”. Eve and Adam both eat the apple in this rendition, but they do it to become special to God, to get closer to God.

Post-apple, the world changes: different species can no longer communicate, fear and hunger pervade the world, and life becomes all about survival. Humans and beasts seem to drift further apart, no longer living in harmony. Big Stripes ponders how despite our differences we share so many similarities and we all want the same things: a full belly and a place to live. Maybe our shared desires are what make us fight.

The tigers can’t understand why the humans feel such a strong need to be special. Perhaps only us humans can answer that.