Shows

With Noël Coward’s works entering the public domain this year, Stagecraft’s production of Private Lives is the first in Wellington to bring new life to the playwright’s classic comedic style. Despite originally being performed in 1930, the play’s subversive portrayal of gender roles is ripe and juicy for a modern audience. Though he was closeted during his lifetime, Coward’s queerness adds a biting wit to his work.

After a messy divorce, two ex-lovers (played by Dan Harward Jones and Lydia Verschaffelt) have married new spouses (Laura Gardner and Tom Kereama) and are happily honeymooning when they discover that their hotel rooms are right next to each other. Passions reignite and they flee from their new marriages together – only to be reminded of the reasons why they got divorced.

Coward’s characteristically fast-paced, witty dialogue is realised confidently by every member of the cast, which is rounded out by Margot Allais as Louise. Dialogue is clear even with the speed of the banter, the cast’s accents are consistent, and there is skillful variety in the pacing of the lines. The effect is a delightful show that keeps the audience laughing. It is clear that the actors understand the humour in their lines, and their comedic timing and delivery make the most of the hilarious script.

Set design by Tanya Piejus is also fantastic, beginning with the cast pulled forward in front of a curtain for a believable hotel balcony. The set then opens up to a stylish box set for a Parisian apartment, complete with charming painted streets visible through the back windows. Both spaces are used well by the cast, whose movement feels natural and motivated. Costume design (Meredith Dooley) and hair styles and make up (workshopped by Aimée Sullivan) all add great believability and personality to the characters and the era of the play.

Janet Noble’s direction has made an exceptional interpretation of the script as a time capsule of a classic comedy filtered through a modern lens. Stagecraft’s Private Lives is a very enjoyable production with plenty of risqué humour that still has plenty to say about modern gender roles.

In a scarily possible near future, a new government has favoured tax cuts for the middle classes over investing in the public health system, resulting in the Last Year of Life Bill. This sees people with terminal illnesses denied all but palliative care once they’ve been ‘classified’ as too far gone to be worth treating, so freeing up beds and medication for younger, more worthy patients.

One of the classifieds is Irina (Perry Piercy), a Ukranian refugee who escaped before the ongoing war. Her two children, Yulia (Mel Dodge) and Daniel (Tāmata Porter), have very different attitudes to their mother’s plight. Yulia is a nurse who daily sees the effect of an ageing population on a struggling health system and believes the new law is saving lives, while Daniel procures and administers black-market cancer drugs to try to buy his mum more time. Also in the mix is Adam (Jack Buchanan), one of Irina’s former piano students whose own health issue has arrested his career as a maestro.

Starting with an attempted suicide and seemingly about a heavily doom-laden subject, Hope is surprisingly uplifting. That’s largely because it’s funny and this vein of humour as each character wrestles with the ethics of the appalling situation they find themselves in is what stops Jenny Pattrick’s finely balanced script being a buzzkill.

The cast is excellent, each clearly articulating their character and interacting with believable emotions and chemistry. They are supported by a lusciously coloured set (Ian Harman) that leans strongly into the mosaic motif that threads through the dialogue and anchors the hope within it. Marcus McShane’s lighting adds to the visual feast, with subtle practicals and shades that clearly pinpoint the time of day. The accompanying piano-based soundtrack (composer Briar Prastiti, sound engineer and designer Chris Ward) weaves beautifully around the action.

A call to action in a disintegrating world, Hope celebrates the deeper things that bring us together and make us live, love, and laugh.

Sailing from the Welsh Dragon Bar to two/fifty-seven with a fresh new crew of scallywag actors is the updated The Man Whose Mother Was A Pirate – The Musical. Inspired by Margaret Mahy’s beloved children’s book and made with the consent and approval of her estate, this production features new songs with music and lyrics by Nino Raphael and even more audience engagement, including dancing in the playing area.

Each actor plays within the theatre-in-the-round so well, both vocally (musical direction by Hayden Taylor) and physically. Finlay Morris as Sam the Man stuns with his vocal prowess and smooth movement. Jo Hodgson (The Pirate Mother) fully embodies what it means to be both a mother and a pirate, delivering beautiful vocals. Aimée Sullivan keeps the audience in stitches with her many roles as The Rugged Pirate, while Stuart Coats’ expanded portrayal of Mr Fat delights with its depth and humour. Mike McKeon as the Rosy Pirate Captain is a superb narrator and commands the audience with his stage presence. Isobel Lee shines as Jenny, a new addition to the crew of characters, stealing every scene she is in. Every performer adds their own unique energy, and I almost choked with laughter at several moments.

The new songs add so much to the show’s charm, combining sea shanty vibes with Raphael’s distinctive style. The technical elements, like the simple yet effective lighting (Scott Maxim), enhance the setting without distracting from the action. The addition of retractable cutlasses and other props (Becka Tiongson) elevates the theatrical experience.

This version of The Man Whose Mother Was A Pirate – The Musical retains the magic of its Welsh Dragon Bar original, but blows it out of the water with its energy, humour, and creativity. It feels sharper, bigger, better, and is even more of a standout. It’s a fantastic story for all generations about setting sail from the ordinary to explore uncharted waters. I have no doubt that with the creative team behind it, future productions will raise the (rum) bar even higher. For now, I would fight off crews of pirates to watch it again.

A new, locally written adaptation of Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations, this musical is a massive feat and obviously a labour of love. It features original music composed by Katie Morton, an 11-person strong orchestra (musical direction by Saar Cohen-Ronen), and over 20 committed performers.

Gryphon Theatre has been rotated so that the audience sits lengthways down the auditorium, allowing for a wide stage space. The band is visible behind the action on one side, while the other has been built up for a raised acting area. This orientation creates some challenges, as the acting space becomes thin, limiting the depth for the blocking of action and making it difficult to hear the dialogue over the lively large band when the performers are in one corner of the stage.

Dickens’ Great Expectations has a complex, drawn-out plot, which poses another challenge in adapting it to the stage. The show is close to three hours long, with much of the dialogue and lyrics leaning more into exposition than character development. Many technical elements are employed to tell the story, including sound effects (sound design by director Tanya Piejus), projections (AV design by Emma Maguire), smoke, and even a puppet. As the lighting (design by Jamie Byas and Brian Byas) uses colour creatively to set location and mood, the projections – which are tricky to see – feel superfluous to me. Wardrobe design by Wendy Howard assisted by Hayley Knight excellently captures the characters and time period. I would love to see more focus on the emotion in the acting and blocking over the use of technology, which I feel would help to lift the story (and music) off the page.

While an adaptation of this scale faces many challenges, when the full ensemble sings in harmony there is a fantastic sound and vibrancy. I hope to see future productions of Pip and commend Wellington Repertory Theatre for going all out on this ambitious project, dedicated to the memory of John Golder and his wife Alison.

The MILK canon is rightly capitalised because it is very loud (like a canon, wow) and chaotic. “It’s like Wipeout but inside!”, creator Sean Burnett Dugdale-Martin yells in a press release, proving my point. MILK is long-form improv meets water balloons, whereby a group of players – in this case Salomé Grace Neely, Anna Barker, Sarah Penny, Adriana Dana Vasinca, and Ezra Prattley – create a story out of suggestions from the audience, who pelt them with projectiles whenever they want something onstage to change.

This could be as simple as a performer going from happy to sad, stoked about a hegg (hairy egg, of course) to grossed out by it, or it could be as dire and consequential as a death in the MILK family. This happens when a seemingly ordinary, secretly legendairy water balloon explodes, revealing its creamy contents and changing the course of the show forever.

In The MILKYVERSE, which MC Dugdale-Martin introduces in a fittingly hilarious and hectic manner (in fact, they even forget to tell us what to do with the water balloons) (all good, it’s pretty self-explanatory), our protagonist (Dana Vasinca) has moved out of Mum/Grandma’s (Grace Neely) home into a flat with an exceedingly hairy roommate (Prattley) whose mum (Barker) has a hernia, according to a doctor moonlighting as Chappell Roan (Penny). Tasked with clearing the hair out of the flat lest the Milkyverse combust, the protagonist travels to a different dimension where people (especially whoever Barker is playing at the time) can open doors with their minds! Only doors in their line of vision though! Still, impressive!

Special shoutout to design lead and technician Anne Larcom for a brilliant insertion of Enya’s Only Time in The MILKYVERSE, the third out of six milky seasons that I’ve seen. I love these fun and funny, silly and soggy shows and lean into each one harder than the last. In fact, as a fresher for 2022’s MILKOWEEN!, I threw no balloons! For my second encounter, Milly Monka’s MILK Factory (2023), I threw one! And for The MILKYVERSE, I threw 2(%)! Get it, like two-percent milk!

I will now officially sign off and leave the puns to the experts: Ruff as Gutz, who have churned out yet another udderly fantastic show. Whey to go! 

Celebrating 20 years of the Circa pantomime, this year’s offering was always going to be special. It’s fitting, then, that this edition of the panto has a Dr Who-inspired, time-travelling twist with Anita Minute (Jthan Morgan) dressed in a sparkly third-Doctor-themed tailcoat and necktie (costume design by Sheila Horton) and a Portal-Oo in place of the TARDIS. It’s great to see Jackson Burling back in a full role, rather than playing swing, as Justin Time, Anita’s companion. There’s even a nerdalicious nod to Jurassic Park in Natasha McAllister’s velociraptor minion and the occasional callback to previous pantos, including Lyndee-Jane Rutherford’s Goosey with her nasal “Hoooooonk!” for those of us old enough to remember Mother Goose 11 years ago.

Writers Gavin Rutherford and Simon Leary have created another wonderfully entertaining, homegrown adaptation of a classic fairytale with all the Wellington-themed and political jokes we’ve come to expect. The digs at David Seymour, Winston Peters, and Shane Jones elicited laughs from the largely adult opening-night audience and Bronwyn Turei tearing in half a sheet of paper and performing a haka with Morgan received the biggest roar of applause for acknowledging current political events.

The cast of experienced performers work beautifully and energetically together and lean into the gender-fluid and inclusive nature of the panto. No one does a villain like Bronwyn Turei as evil fairy Dusk, and Simon Leary and Kathleen Burns are charming as Dawn and Day, fairy dads to the delightful Aurora Australis (Rachel McSweeney) and her stunning singing voice.

As ever, Michael Nicholas Williams comes up trumps with his musical arrangements of pop hits by stars ranging from The Beach Boys to Cher and Ed Sheeran and even sneaks in a homage to the Dr Who theme.

Ian Harman’s set design, including a stunning painted cobblestone floor, and Marcus McShane’s lighting create a lush and vibrant stage for yet another fabulous, funny, and flirty pantomime. Oh, no they didn’t! Oh, yes they did!

Entering through a tempest to get to Circa Theatre, I was unaware of the storm of laughter that The Tempestuous would bring. Inspired by the Bard himself, William Shakespeare, this musical solo show sees Princess Rosa navigating a cyclone of menopausal witches, full-of-themselves courtiers, and much ado about baking tarts.

Penny Ashton multi-roles this captivating story like no other. She commands the audience with great vigour and humour, making us burst into fits of laughter frequently. Each character that Ashton embodies is incredibly distinct – no mean feat considering she plays at least 10 roles as one incredibly talented actor with impressive vocals to boot (musical direction and compositions by Robbie Ellis). Let’s not forget that unparalleled one-person swordfight.

The Tempestuous is a satire, often critiquing the role of men, which I must say is rather deserved. Not just a laugh fest, the show also draws from current affairs and is very politically relevant.

Ashton’s multi-rolling extends not only onstage but also behind the scenes, as she is also the show’s writer, sound designer, producer, publicist, and more. The Tempestuous is well written using ‘ye olde English’ and features many a rhyming couplet. The stage is filled with many surprises, often causing the audience to chuckle when props are revealed (our prop artist is none other than… you guessed it, Ashton).

Ashton wears a stunning corset dress (costume design by Elizabeth Whiting and corset design by Katie McGettigan) that is so detailed, it almost stops the show in its elegant tracks.

Ashton’s gift for audience interaction is a highlight – especially the improvised moments, such as addressing a latecomer and the one who left their glasses. My only criticism is that I wish there had been more audience interaction overall.

The Tempestuous made me cackle like the coven of witches within it. If you want to laugh until your corset splits, then gallivant to Circa Theatre at thy earliest convenience – or be damned!

Welcome to 1990s Illyria! It’s a party resort on a Greek island in the sun, glowing in whitewash and shocking-pink bougainvillea (set designer Amy Whiterod). In his vibrant nightclub, Orsino (Ren Mahuika) bemoans his lovesickness for a grieving Olivia (Lydia Verschaffelt), while Viola (Ivana Palezevic) and her twin brother Sebastian (Blake Boston) separately wash up after a shipwreck. Elsewhere, an unholy alliance of Sir Toby Belch (Allan Burne), Sir Andrew Aguecheek (Sean Farrell), Maria (Catherine McMechan), and Fabia (Margot Allais) set a trap for uptight steward Malvolio (Mike McJorrow). It’s Shakespeare’s greatest comedy, it’s twins, it’s the 90s… you need naught else for the best night of entertainment in Wellington right now.

The vision of directors Joy Hellyer and Paul Kay is steeped throughout this delicious production. Emma Bell and Mike Slater’s lush and colourful lighting design enhances Whiterod’s Mediterranean set beautifully. The wardrobe (Katie Knight and Meredith Dooley, assisted by Amy Vines) is perfectly period with a transformed Malvolio’s bright-yellow Ali G outfit, complete with bling, a stunning and laugh-out-loud highlight.

Kay’s sound design is a continuous playlist of 90s bangers, cunningly woven into the narrative and even replacing the odd line of dialogue. If you feel so inclined, you can boogie with the cast during the interval and join in the final Macarena. Warning: you will find yourself on your feet at the end as it’s impossible not to be swept up in the infectious joy of this version of a Shakespeare classic.

The cast is superb all round, working slickly and harmoniously together to tell a somewhat ridiculous but always entertaining story. It’s hard to pick standouts from such a good lineup but Burne’s Sir Toby and McJorrow’s Malvolio are favourites, both embracing the comedy and tragedy in their characters. Charlie Potter as Feste must also be commended for her wonderful singing and unfettered demand for cash.

The Bard himself would be bopping like the Backstreet Boys in this stunningly sunny Stagecraft production.

I’m a big fan of 7 Days, New Zealand’s longest-running comedy game show on TV Three. Having just marked its 16^th season, the programme originally aired at the decidedly un-family-friendly time slot of 10pm before being brought forward to 9:30pm and then earlier still. In 7 Days Live, the comedians get to cut loose like the good ol’ days. No filters, no censors: just Kiwi comedy at its rudest and finest.

The format is simple. The dynamic, fast-paced first half sees host Jeremy Corbett, team captains Paul Ego and Dai Henwood, and comedians Hayley Sproull, Josh Thomson, Justine Smith, and Ben Hurley each perform a 10-minute solo stand-up set before sitting down for a live version of 7 Days in act two.

After Corbett gets the ball rolling by recounting the hypothetical arguments he has with his wife about how they’d spend the Lotto money they’ll never win (relatable), Ego comes on to tell us about a kindly nurse possibly born out of the procreation of a walnut and a prune. At this point, a random yells “That’s Kelly’s mum!” and Ego handles it like a champ, starting a running joke about the illicit substances in the heckler’s system that the rest of the comedians riff on throughout the night. Henwood earns one or two ovations but many more laughs with a heartfelt set that straddles everything from slow roasting a pizza to thinking he’s been mistaken for a six-foot-something rugby player.

Other highlights of act one include Thomson’s jarring encounter with the Eye of Sauron in a lift, Hurley’s jibe to an audience member that “no one cares about the rebrand” of Countdown, Smith’s assertion that she “too, was surprised” about being punched by airport security, and Sproull’s impression of a chuffed Mr. Bean with a set of knockers.

The sound mixing in the second half is not as great and I lose a lot of lines when the chatter overlaps, but overall, I have a wicked time living out my dreams of catching an episode of my favourite Kiwi panel show live. While the cast love to rip each other to shreds, their camaraderie here is obvious, the chemistry between them sizzling harder and hotter than a saussie straight off the Bunnings grill.

Oscar Kightley’s seminal 1997 play has been given a contemporary refresh in the wake of the New Zealand Government’s 2021 Apology to the Pacific Peoples who came to Aotearoa in the 1970s wanting to make a better life and remained as overstayers. They faced discrimination, persecution, and unjust brutality from police, government, and media, culminating in the infamous dawn raids of the play’s title. Unceremoniously deported back to their island homes, many people’s lives were upended and families were torn apart.

A staple of school drama assessments for the past two decades, it’s a pleasure to see Dawn Raids on a big stage. Despite the grandiosity of The Opera House, this Pacific Underground and Auckland Theatre Company production maintains a cosy feel through straightforward theatrical devices – innovative lighting (Jo Kilgour), flying gauze screens (set design by Marc McEntyre, G.O.M Arts Collective), a spot-on wardrobe (Tony De Goldi, G.O.M Arts Collective), and an ever-present live band (musical director Posenai Mavaega, Lijah Mavaega, Josephine Mavaega, co-director Tanya Muagututi’a, Andrew Sione, Seto Faulo, and Isitolo Alesana) – to tell one family’s story.

The cast is uniformly excellent with Michael Falesiu’s astounding singing voice bridging many of the scenes. He plays Sione, a nightclub crooner with the Noble Hawaiian Sabretooth Tigers who is too afraid to admit to his Samoan heritage in public. It’s his fiancée Fuarosa (Sina Esera) his family are hiding, never able to go out for fear of being grabbed from the streets.

Lauie Tofa gives a performance highlight as Mose, Sione’s father. While the plot focuses on the dawn raids, a running undercurrent is toxic masculinity in Samoan culture and Tofa embodies that hilariously, then frighteningly as he switches from daft dad to domestic dominance and, finally, betrayal.

Of course, coming from the pen of Oscar Kightley, Dawn Raids is very funny and it’s this humour, contrasted with the seriousness of the historical context, that is the play’s great success. It strikes a perfect balance; the dread inherent in the sweeping police torches and baying German shepherds is all the more terrifying in the wake of laughter.

This is a rare opportunity to enjoy a top-notch production of a New Zealand classic. Catch it while you can.

On as part of the 2024 Wellington Jazz Festival, ORO MĀIA is a night of poetry, music, and performance that showcases te reo Māori translations of the work of African American writer and activist Dr Maya Angelou. Maarire Brunning-Kouka leads a seven-piece band, who are joined on stage by the formidable Maisey Rika, Miriama McDowell, Mere Boynton, Erena Koopu, and Tuakoi Ōhia. These five make their entrance from the back of the theatre in a chorus of unnerving laughter, and make their way slowly to the stage, in full command of the space. It’s a fitting opening to a night that revels in the power, joy, and unflinching beauty of Angelou’s poetry.

The translations have been taken from He kupu nā te māia: He kohinga ruri nā Maya Angelou, a new book from publishers Kotahi Rau Pukapuka that contains a selection of Angelou’s poems, translated into te reo Māori by 34 wāhine from across Aotearoa. The translators are all graduates from Te Panekiretanga o Te Reo (The Institute of Excellence in Māori Language).

As the performers share the poems, at times through dramatised spoken word, at times singing alone or in chorus, they embody all the shifting moods of Angelou’s writing, moving deftly between the wit, defiance, sexiness, and wisdom. They are supported by apt original music from Maarire Brunning-Kouka. The music and styling fittingly speak to the legacy of American jazz and soul traditions but are also undeniably Māori and contemporary.

It’s always a joy to return to Angelou’s writing, and it feels like an immense privilege to do so with a creative team and ensemble of performers who so profoundly understand her voice. Like the poetry at its centre, ORO MĀIA is powerful, joyful, and life affirming.

Walking through the doors of Circa Two having never met the famous Cythia Fortitude or Gertrude Rallentando before, I had no idea what to expect from Cynthia & Gertie Ride Again!. Little did I know, I was in for a rollicking good time.

The story follows Cynthia (Helen Moulder) as she prepares for her new opera The Marvellous Sandflies of Aotearoa. The show honours the late Rose Beauchamp, who played the other half of the dynamic duo. Even though Gertie isn’t physically there, her presence is felt throughout.

As Cythia rides into the theatre, it’s clear this is going to be a fun time. Her dotty, eccentric charm does not disappoint. With her wit and many failed attempts to navigate the modern world, she has the audience in stitches from start to finish.

The show is a real-life theatrical opera lesson with a comedic twist. Cynthia humorously educates us and even ropes us into becoming part of the performance, teaching us proper vocal technique and the correct pronunciation of ‘recitative’.

Audience participation is instrumental in this production. As members of the Island Bay Opera Guild, we take on memorable characters such as northern locals, ‘backing packers’, and even eunuch priests. The interaction is hysterical, and Moulder’s way with the audience makes the whole spectacle all the more entertaining.

I must also commend the lighting design. Deb McGuire and Gabriella Eaton’s work aligns perfectly with Cynthia’s very specific ideas and consistently sets the right mood, evoking the perfect emotions in every circumstance.

I never thought I’d find myself enjoying a performance about the plight of sandflies, but here we are. By the end, I’m surprisingly sympathetic to the often-swatted insect.

This is the most I’ve laughed all year. So, whizz down to Circa Theatre while you can and jump aboard the wild ride. You might just leave with newfound respect for Austrosimulium ungulatum. The Island Bay Opera Guild is waiting for you…