Don’t be put off by the esoteric title of this remarkable collection. ‘Cycle’ is the operative word: each essay describes fascinating ways in which the present can be read in the past. We’re talking fossils here, dear reader. The distribution of ammonite fossils, for example, helps scientists to map previous iterations of our world, asserts audiovisual archivist and author Una Cruickshank.

‘Previous iterations’ have wide-ranging implications. I found one of the most riveting in the essay titled Waste. Sperm whales are under the microscope here – metaphorically speaking. Their voracious appetites involve ingesting octopus and squid amongst other delicacies. Trouble is the giant squid’s body includes indigestible parts like beak and eye lens. And what happens to those? If you’re amongst the fashionable rich whose perfume preference is Chanel, don’t read on! Waste indeed.

We are beholden to whales for many things: Cruickshank lists 20. Next time you ingest vitamins, use a tennis racket or a fishing rod, wear a corset, or open a parasol, spare a thought for the creature responsible for its beginnings.

A Little Spark May Yet Remain has as its opening sentence: “There were countless ways to die before your time in 18^th century London”, surely a reader enticement. Frequent drownings gave rise to an exploration of various ways to revive or resuscitate – one of the most notable being that of the thwarted suicide of Mary Wollstonecraft, who went on to write A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. A little spark in that case became a big one.

Later, electricity in the form of shocks and even electric eels to revive the dead captured the imagination as well as the pockets of the wealthy. As a sideline, we are informed that “London pornographers began offering electric eel erotica”. Well, there’s nothing like sex to revive the spirit!

Cruickshank says she wrote the book to ward off “existential dread”. She may not have succeeded in such a lofty aim but her meticulously researched and idiosyncratic findings will surely offer a welcome respite.  

It doesn’t matter how long you have been away or where you have been, returning home is one of those emotions you feel more deeply than you can easily describe. Douglas Lilburn’s Aotearoa Overture has fleeting influences of his composition teacher, Ralph Vaughan Williams, but there is something distinctive in the tone which evokes the Aotearoa Lilburn was returning to. The violins led the drama, crisp with the jagged theme introducing the building sound of the orchestra. We are a laconic lot – sometimes it’s better to let our great musical interpreters tell the world how we feel about coming home.

Béla Bartók, and violinist Amalia Hall, wrenched at the heartstrings in Bartók’s Violin Concerto No. 2. Bartók incorporated folk music and classical traditions into his compositions and the concerto features great harmonic variety and demanding work for the soloist. Hall took it all in her stride and the cadenza was an excellent showcase for her skill, musicality, and energy. The orchestra, under the expert baton of Gábor Káli, swelled and flowed and burst through the violin to great effect.

Antonín Dvořák’s Symphony No. 7 in D Minor is dramatic, majestic, and intense. Káli led the orchestra brilliantly, finding every opportunity to bring melodies to the fore, guiding perfect execution of complex rhythms, changes in mood, dynamics, tempo, and tone. He managed an exceptional equilibrium, so the solos, pairs, and sections of the orchestra were perfectly clear and balanced and not in competition with each other. Some of this is down to Dvorák’s great composition but a conductor’s interpretation is what shapes the performance and the way the players follow the lead is what makes the experience on the night. By the end Káli had given his all and, utterly exhausted, supported himself on the podium for the final, deliberate, quickening, foot-stamping, big embrace of a homecoming in the closing bars.

Dial M for Murder, a play made famous by Alfred Hitchcock’s 1954 film adaptation, is a classic thriller that masterfully builds suspense and drama.

Chris O’Grady plays Tony Wendice, a former tennis champion who plans the murder of his wealthy wife Sheila (Sylvia McKenna). Sheila’s ex-lover Max (Ava Voci) is a vivacious American murder mystery writer, recently returned to London. Voci and McKenna are earnest and affectionate together, providing a counterpoint to the sinister undercurrents of the story.

O’Grady’s performance captures Tony’s duplicity, giving us his genial façade without ever quite letting us forget that there is a cold, calculating character beneath. He is especially brilliant when manipulating the quietly imperious Inspector Hubbard (Susannah Donovan), feigning distress and outrage in supposed defence of his wife.

Kevin Hastings gives an astutely observed performance as the fatally unscrupulous Captain Lesgate, an old schoolmate of Tony’s whose past makes him vulnerable to coercion. Hastings shares one pivotal scene with O’Grady that establishes the central conceit of the story, and his convincingly shifty Captain Lesgate grounds the action that follows. Hastings precisely renders the Captain’s rising unease as he realises the dreadful situation he’s in, and both actors make the most of the brilliantly crafted writing.

Devon Heaphy’s lighting design supports the shifting moods of this one-room drama, especially when lights are switched off in the flat and the glowing fireplace casts strange shadows. The action of the first act is perfectly paced, with pauses and quiet moments held just long enough to agonising effect. When Sheila is left alone in the flat for a quiet evening, pasting pictures in a scrapbook before turning off the lights and going to bed, the audience is intensely still, hardly daring to breathe as we anticipate what might happen next.

This Wellington Repertory Theatre production celebrates a classic play and captures the essence of a thriller. This is an evening of theatre that feels like curling up with a murder mystery by the fire, perfect for a winter night away from Wellington's dark and windy streets.

Sameena Zehra’s Homicidal Pacifist – Dust Off Your Guillotines is a one-hour, rage-filled, self-professed ‘unhinged rant’ premiering as part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. A charismatic and engaging performer, Zehra is at her strongest and most breathtaking when she intersperses her own stories and experiences through the show, which explores New Zealand and world politics, racism, humanity, and war, primarily the Gaza war.  

What starts as assured stand-up morphs into what feels more like a TED Talk than a comedy show. I mean this with no disrespect, and believe Homicidal Pacifist – Dust Off Your Guillotines has the potential to open up the conversation on what comedy can and should do. When it comes to the big stuff – and there is no bigger stuff than war, than senseless slaughter – I think comedy’s power lies in its ability to break down our barriers with laughter. In a past interview, comedian Pax Assadi put it to me that when someone’s mouth falls open to laugh, that’s when you can slip your message in. It’s like once those hard exterior walls come down, the interior softens. This show is anything but a softening. Let’s call it a reckoning!

From the ‘mmm’s murmuring through the gallery, it seems most of the audience are receptive to Zehra’s message and onboard with the political takes at play. While every person on this Earth can stand to learn and grow, if we already agree and no Wellingtonian here is likely to change their mind, does that make us the target audience or the opposite?

I do note that our laughter, at first exuberant, bubbles over into a subdued simmer by the second half – as if we know how we feel but not what to do about it or how to react. We’ve been softened by the gags, the brilliant personal anecdotes, the hilarious audience asides, the silly little songs (shout out to Spider-Man’s hand parkour) of the well-crafted first half. But as the second half builds in intensity to boiling point, it feels like there’s nowhere left to go. It’s a lot to take in, to experience, individually and collectively. Despite the show ending with a brief call to action and a moment of respite in the shape of a great joke (the gay thread is *chef’s kiss), I’m left with a sort of hopelessness. That, of course, may well be the point.

Having studied political science at university, Guy Williams has made his name as a comedian with a strong political bent. So, it was no surprise that his set for the NZ International Comedy Festival, If you mildly criticise me I’ll say it’s cancel culture and turn to the alt right, focused heavily on white privilege – including his own – and the hypocrisy of those with right-wing views.

Beginning with a story about his own ‘undiagnosed ADHD’ excuse getting him off a speeding ticket, Williams leaned into the confidence of the mediocre white man. Leading on from this, the ACT Party’s disingenuous cover-up of Tim Jago’s charges of indecently assaulting two teenage boys in the 1990s quickly came under the spotlight before Williams contrasted this with the way his ex-partner Green MP Golriz Ghahraman was treated by the media and politicians following her relatively mild crime of shoplifting.

The dire state of New Zealand journalism, the suicidal grimness of Quest hotels, his mum’s anti-trans and weirdly racist views on immigrants (she’s Canadian), and his dad’s emotional reticence all get Williams’ scathing comedy treatment. The latter topic becomes a running thread throughout the show as Williams plays recorded video calls with his dad. The denouement from Williams’ ongoing project to cajole his dad into saying “I love you” is the emotional goal kick of the show.

Williams was unwittingly aided on this journey by a backrow, ‘dropnuts’ heckler he quickly dubbed Shane, who made his presence felt early on and became a naïve foil for Williams’ humour. Williams dealt to Shane’s interjections with funny reposts until he started bagging the Green Party’s social policies, at which point Williams switched into a highly erudite and non-comedic explanation of neoliberal versus progressive policy. Shane’s pathetic whine about how the current government was treating him then got the biggest reaction of the night from both Williams and the audience and almost made me believe he was a plant. If you’re going to heckle a political comedian, especially if you’re a self-confessed millionaire National-voting car salesman from Stokes Valley among a majority left-leaning audience, at least be good at it!

Self-described spicy boy Barnie Duncan is back in the capital for the NZ International Comedy Festival with his unique brand of surreal humour blended with a driving emotional undercurrent, this time of guilt. The incident in question happened during an improvised show in 2017 when Duncan kissed an unsuspecting female audience member on the lips in the name of comedy. She seemed OK with it at the time, but over the course of Ooky Pooky, Duncan’s discomfort with the patriarchal power dynamic he created becomes clear. Employing his mum’s favourite phrase for “male-adjacent grubbiness”, Duncan exhibits his own ooky pookiness in delightfully weird and wacky ways. As in his last show Bunny, he is accompanied by his sidekick, an LED screen that adds occasional commentary of its own.

Duncan’s personal grossness seems to have been his destiny, at least according to a droning British astrologer who recorded his life’s course according to the stars on a cassette tape in 1980 when Duncan was just a toddler. The astrologer’s name was Michael Jackson, itself a deep vein of ooky pookiness that Duncan has no hesitation in exploiting. The Gaza genocide – ‘FREE PALESTINE’ beams the LED screen – Russell Brand (on over-decorated hand towel), and David Seymour (what you get when a human breeds with a pencil) also come under the ooky spotlight. Less humorous is the creepy Indian guru that Barnaby James Ganesh Duncan met as a child when he and his mum spent 18 months in an ashram.

It isn’t all about the grubbiness, though. Duncan’s charming obsession with animals reemerges in the form of a moth hooking up with a butterfly at an office party, an impression of a stingray who can only see out of the back of its head, and an extended sequence about ecstatic dust mites. Add in an old marionette of Goofy, teabags, and a snow machine and you have what his promotional flyer accurately describes as “the blending of the physical with the cerebral in profoundly stupid ways”.

In the state of delusion that comes from watching a show that starts at 9:45pm, we are presented with one of the most unhinged pieces of comedy I may ever witness. The comedy duo Ginge & Minge (Nina Hogg and Megan Connolly) open the doors to the House of Ick. Comprising a wide range of skits with outrageous yet relatable characters, this 50-minute sketch show is a rollicking good ride exploring all those things that give us ‘the ick’.

Hogg and Connolly play off each other’s energy excellently and are masters of physical comedy. They embody their zany characters with no holds barred. Not only are they great comedians, but they also show off many other talents – such as in their number featuring an interpretive tap dance to a poem simplified for the modern mind. Both are also strong vocalists.

Just when you think things have already reached the maximum level of mad, Hogg and Connolly push things even further. Not only does it get wilder, but it also gets messier. I have never seen such a messy show, and I do not envy whoever has to clean whatever ‘ick’ is left behind by this hilarious pair. This is a sensory experience – we see, smell, and hear many things that make us want to vomit (in the best way possible).

The set (designed by the duo themselves) also impresses. It provides a great backdrop for quick changes and houses the plethora of props used in the show for one comedic purpose or another. I’m still trying to process how these two manage to include so much comedy in such a short time.

As you exit the theatre a different person, House of Ick certainly leaves an impression. I mean that literally – the stamp they give the audience at the end of the show will stay on my hand for days. The ink is incredibly strong. See for yourself just what this crazy show can do for you.

Booth the Clown and Jak Darling’s Delightfool is an absurdist queer cabaret exploit, featuring stand-up, mime, musical comedy, magic, and flightless birds. Jak Darling is gorgeous, embodying the feminine in a series of elegant mid-century gowns and a Freddie Mercury-esque moustache. They bring sultry vulnerability, masterful storytelling, and piss gags. Booth presents as more of a crass uncle type, and their astonishing physical control and comedic precision allow them to make a meal out of simple jokes.

There is plenty of raunchy, shock-value comedy. But the more dreamlike and bizarre acts are what I find most effective. Booth’s sailor vs seagulls mime features a sublime and surprisingly beautiful underwater sequence, during which the character comes close to drowning. Booth utilises the audience’s growing concern for maximum comedic payoff. Later, in an act of supreme silliness, Booth and Jak wrap themselves in sheets and transform into a pair of white emus lip-syncing Delibes’ Flower Duet.

There are subtle undercurrents of grimmer themes; the story is set against the backdrop of an impending storm. Radio newscasts repeatedly warn that the situation is deteriorating, a motif that resonates with climate catastrophe and rising queerphobic hostility. This sits nicely in an Isherwoodian understanding of cabaret as a queer artform, and bastion of genderplay and joy. Eventually the storm builds to a cacophony of wind and noise (composer Kodi Rasmussen) that threatens to destroy the theatre and imperil the final act.

But Booth and Jak manage to pitch a tent, creating an opportunity for shadow play as their figures are backlit against the tent fabric. Through the darkest hours of the storm, the audience spy on their vulnerable soul searching before they emerge to announce that the storm has passed, and the magic tricks can proceed as planned.

Delightfool is delightfully silly, well crafted, and brilliantly executed. Booth and Jak are darlings, and well deserving of their 2025 NZ International Comedy Festival Billy T Award nomination.

Lily Catastrophe, the multitalented comedian and cabaret aficionado, has gifted us with an encore season of her mesmerising one-woman show Bottom Surgery. From sultry stripteases to dramatic readings of diary entries, Lily uses every tool in her bedazzled box to keep the audience hooked as she shares the intimate, ridiculous, and poignant story of her medical transition and pursuit of bottom surgery in Aotearoa.

Lily’s outstanding crowd work has us eating out of her hand from the intro. Although mostly a solo show, Calum Redpath supports as stage manager, exuberant MC voiceover, and occasional reluctant side character. The show is a masterful blend of irreverence and earnestness, balancing humour with serious emotional punches. Lily navigates these contrasts through a series of cabaret numbers interspersed with skits, creating a dynamic piece with oodles of momentum. She doesn’t shy away from the more complex parts of her experiences – the times she felt doubt or the risks associated with the surgery – but she places this in a broader context and helps us to understand why trans healthcare is essential healthcare.

Lily’s use of props is fantastically funny and effective. The fundamentals of the surgical procedures are explained through the peeling and mushing of a banana, while the removal of gauze from a neo-vagina is demonstrated with endless red feather boas being drawn out of a heart-shaped box.

There are perfectly observed character acts too, such as when Lily takes on the persona of a rejection letter from the Ministry of Health. She nails the performatively caring and patronising tone, eliciting laughter and outraged gasps from the audience.

Towards the end of the performance, Lily makes an impassioned statement about the rising hostility towards trans folks, grounding the night’s absurdities with a sense of urgency and significance. Then she brings us home with a rousing singalong to Chapell Roan’s queer joy anthem Pink Pony Club.

Bottom Surgery is a testament to Lily Catastrophe’s talent, wit, and resilience. Her ability to blend humour, emotion, and social commentary makes for a powerful and unforgettable show.

From being appointed Queen’s Counsel in 1994 to being the first New Zealander elected to the International Court of Justice in 2006, I think it is safe to say that Kenneth Keith’s work as a barrister and judge has hit all the highs it possibly could. It is fitting then that he would write Without Fear or Favour: A Life in Law, a book that delves deep into the intricacies of law.

In this memoir, we learn about international law and how it can apply to the laws we have at home, plus how it affects Te Tiriti o Waitangi in New Zealand. The breadth of Keith’s knowledge truly astounds as he digs into issues such as human and information rights, piracy, and much more. He has great passion and respect for the law, and it is clear to see why: without proper safeguards to protect us, everything would be thrown into chaos and the somewhat peaceful life that we have all grown accustomed to would literally go up in smoke.

My favourite part of the book was learning how international and national law interacted with each other and sometimes overlapped. I appreciated the real-world examples Keith gave, which made me realise how immensely complicated it all is, and how much hard work a barrister has to go through to get the job done. 

My only negative is that if you do not know much about law or are uninterested in the nitty gritty of it all, you may not be able to follow everything in this book. But if you keep at it like me – a reader with no legal background – I think you’ll be able to overcome these obstacles and enjoy what is on offer here. My recommendation is that if you have an interest in law, give Without Fear or Favour: A Life in Law a go because there can be no greater teacher than Kenneth Keith.

A Māori builder named Reg, played by Regan Taylor, arrives to a house in Wadestown after being contracted to build a gate to keep the owners’ dog from getting onto the road. After some difficulty in communicating with Karen, one of the homeowners, Reg builds the fence while exploring his past, alcoholism, and identity.

Set design, also by Regan Taylor, is used creatively throughout the performance. Against a charming backdrop of panels engraved with pōhutukawa shapes are piles of loose wood and a mound of sand in a corner. We watch as the set is changed and constructed over the course of the play. As the gate is built, Taylor uses the pieces of the set inventively to depict a variety of objects and scenes, such as a moving car or a prison-like fence he becomes stuck behind. A particularly delightful moment occurs when Taylor transforms into a convincing moa with nothing but a sheet wrapped around him, arm extended for the neck and beak.

Reg’s narration takes the audience on a wide-ranging journey through space and time. An imagined conversation with a therapist, played in voiceover by Mycah Keall, confronts Reg’s alcoholism and flashes back to a time in his childhood when he felt unloved and unwanted. Together with Kane Parsons’ sound design, Janis Cheng’s lighting design is used effectively to make these scenes pop, often segmenting the stage with colours and focused lights, making the background fall away as we are taken with Reg on his internal journey.

Throughout Re-Engineered, Reg’s exploration of heavy topics becomes personal and vulnerable as he directly challenges the audience to confront their biases. With the short runtime of the performance, the big ideas that are offered can feel abandoned too quickly as Reg moves on to the next topic. The effect is that the plot of the show becomes choppy, and it is difficult for us to find a thread tying the story together. Reg has a lot to share with us, and I hope that he continues to win audiences over while challenging them to think.

Internationally lauded silent comedy virtuoso Tape Face, a.k.a. Christchurch’s Sam Wills, returns to Aotearoa for the NZ International Comedy Festival from a 10-year residency in Las Vegas with his iconic stage show. Launched at the NZ Comedy Fest in 2005, he has since toured the world and stormed Britain’s and America's Got Talent. This 20^th-anniversary extravaganza brings his most-loved sketches and some new inventions from his Vegas set to Wellington.

All top-rated comedians need a warm-up act and that comes in the form of quirky Phyllis, who gets the all-ages audience revved up for the highly participative show that’s to come. No one in the stalls is immune from being beckoned onto the stage to take part in Tape Face’s vaudevillian sketches. They do so with varying degrees of success, but most are rewarded with our host’s two-handed ‘didn’t they do well?’ gesture at the end of their participation. Wills’ ability to go with the flow and gently admonish participants who get too smart allows these segments to succeed and, even if they fail, they’re still funny. He even picks up on the sass of one young participant and replicates it at the end of the show to great comic effect.

In between the audience-driven sketches, Tape Face showcases his own classic comedy that leans heavily into the silent stars of yesteryear and his background in clowning and mime. This includes the two sketches he performed in auditions for America’s Got Talent that the judges described as “genius”.

Throughout the show, an ominous countdown towards an unknown, red-drenched disaster keeps us in thrall. In case the folk in the circle and gallery feel left out, we all take part in the final sketch that fortunately involves nothing more devastating than hundreds of red ballons.

In an era of angst and politics-driven comedy and too much punching down in the name of laughter, it’s refreshing to see a return to a simpler age of performance-based humour that charms and delights while it amuses.

Masaaki Suzuki is a renowned authority on Bach’s works and on Friday he demonstrated how to apply his expertise to other classical titans. Suzuki achieved this in such a way that his Bach was as beautiful as we would expect and the Mozart and Beethoven were comfortingly familiar and refreshingly new all at once.

The stage was set, literally, for a Baroque performance. Throughout the evening, Suzuki used his impressive command of dynamics, tempo, and tone to bring forward individual parts so clearly it was almost as if they were under an actual spotlight for a few moments before melting back into the lustrous sound of the whole. Each movement of Bach’s Orchestral Suite No. 3 was made distinctively different by interpretation and performance, but a lightness and fluidity flowed throughout.

The same lightness continued into Mozart’s Symphony No. 25. The delicacy of the first and second movements, almost exposing every instrumentalist, felt as intimate as a Viennese salon in Mozart’s day although it was a full house of several thousand. The final movement had a bolder sound. Even as the speed and intensity increased, Suzuki’s amazing control over the dynamics compelled us forward without ever being heavy footed.

The hero of the hour was Beethoven’s Symphony No. 3 in E-flat Major, Eroica. Suzuki introduced us to a new interpretation of Beethoven that sounded as dramatic and original as it might have seemed to its first audiences while retaining the lightness and fluidity we were introduced to in the Bach. The second movement in particular had an intensity unique to the character of the movement, with harmonic drama and serious emphasis on tone. The third and fourth movements emphasised the unusual. The complex rhythm and unexpected dynamics combined the modernity of Beethoven with the Baroque mode and left us knowing we had heard something old and well celebrated now also new and remarkable.

Established local and international comedy star Johanna Cosgrove brings her new show Sweetie home to Wellington for the NZ International Comedy Festival. While the material is fresh, the premise of intensely personal, no-holds-barred storytelling about life and love will be familiar to her fans, many of whom were in the audience.

Resplendent in a shocking red crop top, short skirt, and her trademark knee-high vinyl boots, Cosgrove takes us on a journey through her early straight relationships before revealing that on a recent trip to Melbourne she fell hard for a woman.

Along the way, we’re introduced to her tattoos, including a badly drawn candle inked by a very high Mexican witch and the one arced over her solar plexus for which this show is named. We also hear about her obsessions with Denmark’s ancient Bog Woman and her post-graduation stint teaching English to 13-year-olds in Poland who she helped to perform Macbeth with witches dressed like the Ku Klux Klan. She even slides in a highly topical political swipe at ACT Party MP Brooke van Velden and an anti-colonialism sex joke.

Her family come under the microscope in a creepy-funny story about a themed Christmas dinner where every course is dedicated to a dead member of the family. Her dad’s PTSD on accidentally discovering her giant strap-on dildo also basks under the spotlight, as does her discovery via Ancestry.com that her great-great-grandmother was Indigenous Australian.

Like all good comedy storytelling, the narrative turns full circle at the end when we’re treated to a replay of the seduction of her first high-school crush. I won’t spoil the surprise but be assured it got the biggest whoops and hollers of the night as Cosgrove displayed two of her other enviable talents.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Johanna Cosgrove is a comedic force of nature. With Sweetie, she cements herself as someone capable of seeing her own life’s weirdness and using it to delight.

Stagecraft’s rendition of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time has taken an inclusive approach to this modern classic, boasting contributions from neurodivergent cast and crew members that clearly enhance the production. Adapted from the novel by Mark Haddon, the story follows Christopher, an autistic 15-year-old who sets out to solve the murder of his neighbour’s dog. While the London production was notorious for its overwhelming lighting and sound effects that alienated audiences with sensory sensitivities, directors Joy Hellyer and Paul Kay have crafted a version that is equally captivating without compromising accessibility.

Simi Ready’s portrayal of Christopher is exceptional: authentic, hilarious, and deeply engaging. They win us over from the outset and keep us invested in the intrigues and emotional upheavals of the narrative. Mary Coffey is brilliant as Christopher’s teacher Siobhan, delivering her lines with impeccable timing, underpinned by a perfect blend of humour and emotional depth. Praise is also due to Mike McJorrow and Amy Whiterod, who give nuanced performances as Christopher’s flawed yet loving parents.

These characters are surrounded by a wonderful ensemble cast, who bring us bit parts, cleverly illustrate Christopher’s relationships with the objects around him, and add emphasis during intense sensory and emotional scenes by emoting as extensions of Christopher.

The production elements support the performances perfectly; ingenious geometric set pieces are repeatedly reconfigured to create diverse environments, complemented by Kimberli Jones’ projected illustrations that visualise Christopher’s thought processes. The minimalist set design and projections allow details in costume (Helen McKenzie) and props (Jo Douglas) to have intense impact – for example, the extraordinary body of Wellington the dog by master model maker Allan Burne. Janet Noble’s fight choreography is grounded and effective, contributing to the authenticity of the scenes.

This production of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is clever, intense, hilarious, and heartfelt. Many thanks to the Stagecraft team for sharing your version of this story with us.

On the night of May the 19^th, 2010, five paintings were stolen from the Musée d’Art Moderne de Paris. The loot included a Braque, a Picasso, a Léger, a Modigliani, and a Matisse valued at more than 100 million euros. While the paintings, to this day, have never been recovered, The French Job tells a frenetic and fictional tale of what may have happened to these famous works.

Opening to grimy streets on a dank, dark evening, it’s certainly not the Paris of our dreams that Jo (Steve Tientcheu) cooly makes his way through after looting an apartment block of valuables. Meanwhile, Eric (Sofiane Zermani), a smooth-talking con artist, promises a Léger he doesn’t own to a rich fellow that he then tasks Jo with finding. The following day, Eric’s chance meeting with the perpetually anxious watch expert Yonathan Cobb (Melvil Poupaud) seems like providence as he convinces the hapless tinkerer to sell his client’s timepieces for profit rather than repairing them. The trio’s lives however are flipped upside down when Jo robs the Paris Museum of Modern Art. With the heist highly publicised, the madness begins as Jo, Eric, and Cobb must decide what to do with the paintings.

Directed by Dominique Baumard, The French Job took home the L’Alpe d’Huez International Comedy Film Festival 2025 Special Jury Prize for good reason. Not only is the script, adapted by Baumard and Benjamin Charbit from Olivier Bouchara’s original idea, clever and captivating with plenty of room for physical comedy, but the entire production is as slick and tight as a high-profile heist. Sitting on the edge of my seat, I revelled in the Ocean’s 11-esque character introductions, squealing with delight as the story took a sharp turn towards Italian Job antics. Perfectly punctuated by Lionel Limiñana and David Menke’s playful score, Julien Poupard’s cinematography is equal parts thoughtful and intrusive, artistic and functional, exploring character, place, and atmosphere with deft sleight of hand.

Steal into your local cinema for The French Job and let it whisk you away.

The New Zealand Government’s change to the give way rule in 2012 is not the most obvious premise for a musical, but it works. Through witty lyrics, gentle mockery of bureaucracy, and less-gentle criticism of people who are enraged against change, Give Way – The Musical is a highly entertaining couple of hours.

As a new work, it feels somewhat unfinished. The score is purely piano, albeit expertly executed by Hayden Taylor. More orchestration would elevate the mood of each song and clearly differentiate them. More ensemble numbers with harmonies would be good too. When the cast do get to harmonise, it sounds amazing. What lifts the production to being worthy of the Circa One stage is the quality of the casting and the technical aspects.

As protagonist Sophie, Lily Tyler Moore is a strong performer, anchoring the story with her excellent vocals. Jackson Burling as her love interest is delightful. He, like the rest of the cast, deftly plays multiple roles. Carrie Green is engaging as policy wonk Tanya and the moments where she shines vocally are highlights. Bronwyn Turei is equally engaging and her activist Nic and Sophie’s dad are standouts. Alex Greig excels in creating a sympathetic but entertaining portrait of Randall, the unhinged policy advisor who originally changed the give way rule.

Tony de Goldi’s excellent set design is reminiscent of a roundabout on which the actors move a wheeled table and a few office chairs to create the scenes. Vertical panels around the outside remind me of the mats I used to play on with toy cars as a child. Goldi’s accompanying wardrobe design is also spot on, with the walk shorts and socks combo instantly recognisable as the public service uniform of the 1970s. Excellent lighting design by Will Smith adds visual interest and the falling rain effect early in the first half is a wonderful surprise.

Only Wellington creatives could successfully make a musical about policy change!

Guest artist Christopher Cross opened the evening and it was immediately clear that he had a strong fan base in attendance. He was well supported by a talented backing band, featuring Andy Suzuki on wind instruments and three backup female singers. He performed his best-known hits, including Sailing, Arthur’s Theme (Best That You Can Do), Think of Laura, and All Right, culminating in his stunning guitar solo on the smash hit Ride Like the Wind.  

Formed in California in the late 1970s, Toto’s music combines elements of pop, rock, soul, funk, hard rock, rhythm and blues, jazz, and blues. Leader and guitarist Steve Lukather may be the only original member, but this current touring lineup consists of top musicians whose individual musical CVs are too vast to mention. Five of the seven band members shared lead and backing vocals throughout the performance.

The intro music set anticipation levels high for the first song Child’s Anthem. The band was already at full throttle, but it was hits Rosanna and 99 that had the fully engaged crowd singing along. The latter featured the slick bass guitar of John Pierce. Warren Ham on saxophone added a beautiful jazz dimension throughout. For I Will Remember, lead vocalist Joseph Williams got the crowd to sing along with him a cappella to check the venue acoustics! Pamela featured the silky keyboard skills of Greg Phillinganes, whose beautiful solo then led into I Won’t Hold You Back. The funky Georgy Porgy was followed by a solo spot by keyboardist Dennis Atlas – who was brought into the band mid-tour and “had to learn the whole show in two days without any rehearsing”. Lukather’s gorgeous ballad I’ll Be Over You highlighted the striking lighting show and Don’t Chain My Heart showcased his guitar virtuosity. Drummer Shannon Forrest’s blistering solo spot was a highlight. I’ll Supply the Love got the whole crowd up.

Toto’s biggest hits Hold the Line and Africa ended the two-hour-long show on a euphoric high. Rock royalty at its best!

Your favourite Mancunian soap opera gets the comedic parody treatment over five cliff-hanging episodes in Coro, thanks to local improv maestros Nina Hogg and Austin Harrison. Whether you’re a three-times-a-week Coronation Street devotee or an inexperienced newbie to Manchester’s best-known cobbled street, you’re bound to laugh your knitted socks off in this 50-minute show.

Be prepared to be part of the action too. The whole audience is encouraged to join in with the theme tune at the start of each episode, accompanied by Hogg and Harrison on kazoo, squeaky recorder, or barely grade one clarinet. The front couple of rows of audience are also co-opted to be wardrobe minders, tossing ties, woolly jumpers, cardis, leopard-print jackets, flat caps, and bald heads to the two actors as needed.

Playing several characters each, often two at the same time (or even three in one hilarious scene from Hogg), both actors are a non-stop whirl of energy, embodying each famous identity beautifully. Despite concerns expressed pre-show, their Manchester accents are on point and their vocal delivery varied and expressive.

Several plots roll through the five episodes and are neatly tied together by the end, starting with a fatal train crash and ending with the birth of a baby – also tossed from the audience in a moment of comic genius – to teen parents. All your favourite soap tropes are here, including confusion over a non-existent extra-marital affair, mixed-up medical prescriptions, inter-generational strife, and superannuitant dating apps.

The sort of show that could be performed anywhere, Coro needs only simple lighting changes between scenes and a few props to facilitate its superlative performers and clever writing. Hogg and Harrison are taking the show to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival later this year and I’m sure it’ll go down like a two-storey terraced house on fire.

Britain’s longest-running TV soap is ripe for parody and Coro manages to strike the balance between entertainment and upholding the relatable, working-class core that has made the show so successful. Best of luck in Edinburgh, team!

It’s hard not to be impressed by Kirsty Baker’s Sight Lines: Women and Art in Aotearoa. With its lofty heftiness and fabric cover, it’s a work of art even before the first page’s turn.

What Baker has compiled is a stunning account of the extraordinary creative genius of women across Aotearoa: those who have come before and those who continue to create in contemporary times. 

Not limited to one genre, Baker offers an almost panoramic view of an art history constructed by women that – though not exhaustive by the author’s own admission – spans mediums and decades, from curators and photographers to sculptors, poets, and writers to name just a few.  

What’s interesting is how Baker has brought the artists’ collective and individual voices to the fore, their words as fluid and engaging as the art they have created. Through images and essays, their storytelling is reflective and impactful. The book covers the influences, history, and connections to time, place, and space that have informed the artists’ work. Political, cultural, societal, and gendered contexts wind, thread, and integrate like branches through both the narrative and the art, sometimes subtle, sometimes profound. 

I found artist Yuki Kihara’s work Quarantine Islands interesting. Much of it focuses on challenging societal norms and concepts. Through a series of lenticular photographs made during the global pandemic, Kihara speaks to the themes of isolation, contagion, and quarantine. It’s like the present meets the past. “The series of work follows a long history of human confinement across the land and ocean that she pictures”, Baker writes.

This collective and collaborative account from Baker and contributing writers is nuanced, interesting, and bold, told through the eyes of women. I thoroughly enjoyed this striking collection and I’m sure it will resonate with many art enthusiasts.