The joy of improv theatre is that the unexpected can offer a great experience. It isn’t surprising that the experienced Best on Tap troupe deliver on that promise, but it is perhaps surprising that the story unfolding on stage reflected a drama built on well-realised characters and relationships, rather than mere comedic slapstick.

The performance is a gentle enquiry as to the nature of friendship and the different forms it takes. The audience is asked for only two prompts at the beginning of the show, and the story unfolds from there. The scaffolding might be minimal, but this was enough for this skilled troupe to create a coherent narrative.

The show’s title and theme Find Your Tribe lends itself well to an emotional journey and a reflective tone. I felt the performance began somewhat tentatively, but it didn’t take long for each of the five actors to develop distinct characters and relationships.

Wiremu Tuhiwai seemed to revel in creating outlandish cues for his fellow actors to follow (I couldn’t help feeling they were used to it). It resulted in drama punctuated with enough humour to provide contrast to its more reflective moments. Kate Whitaker added strongly to this emotional dynamic; we were taken from reflection to humour to sadness, and everywhere in between.

Improv theatre is inherently collaborative, and the performances and cues provided by Mary Little, Geoff Simmons, and Barry Miskimmin were all integral in adding further emotional depth to the show. By the end, the audience was fully invested in all the characters on stage.

Matt Hutton’s improvised live soundscape added further emotional context, responding deftly to the action on stage. My favourite sound moment was the beeping of hospital equipment somehow wrung from his Yamaha keyboard.

Quick-wittedness is a hallmark of improv theatre, and there was plenty of that on display from Best on Tap. Find your way to this show or their next for something beautifully unexpected.

I love books about writing and movies about cinema; they cut open the belly of the art form and expose its spleen and inner machinations. El ser querido (The Beloved) from Spanish director Rodrigo Sorogoyen does exactly this: a film set on a film set in 1930s Spanish-ruled Western Sahara, that is in fact being shot in Fuerteventura – another imperial outpost. This level of alienation plays out in other ways throughout, highlighting the power of cinema to deceive.

Javier Bardem plays Esteban Martínez, a controversial Spanish film director and celebrated Oscar and Cannes Palme d’Or winner who invites his estranged daughter Emilia Vera (Victoria Luengo) – whom he hasn’t seen for 13 years – to lunch and offers her a leading role in his upcoming film. The lunch is tense, setting the scene for what is to follow. Emilia accepts the role, but not without serious consideration of the trauma caused by her father’s drunken and often violent behaviour when she was a young girl – which Esteban flatly contests as fictions conjured up by her mother to pit her against him.

El ser querido might’ve been one of the best examples I’ve seen of actors having to act as though they aren’t acting. We see Emilia trying to keep it together when the camera is rolling. We witness Esteban’s controlling, anger-fuelled, and toxic manner on set, which is chillingly offset with sporadic bouts of charm that help maintain his mythic status among the crew.

While exploring a dysfunctional father-daughter relationship, it also lays bare the harsh and unglamorous realities of a film set, the power imbalances built into the industry, and the filmic devices that propel a story: narrative, scene composition, cinematography, sound. Scenes mirror or are pitted against each other (e.g. a tyrannical film director makes a film critiquing the Spanish Empire, built on the foundations of patriarchy). Fictive layers put reality on shaky grounds. The film switches between black and white, analogue, and colour, shifting mood and making the audience think about what function each camera serves. The sound at times is removed to strip a scene bare and home in on gesture and set. The same scene is performed over and over again. The sun scorches. The wind burns. The director always has the final say.

There were moments when the film lacked energy and I was hoping it would wrap up quickly. Whether this too was intentional, I wouldn’t be surprised.  

The driving rain of Wellington's dark streets is an appropriately dramatic prelude to tonight's concert. The previous evening, conductor Pietari Inkinen led the NZSO in an intense Wagner programme. I arrived expecting a gentler concert, only to find myself swept into an unexpected second epic.

With concertmaster Vesa-Matti Leppänen taking the role of soloist tonight, associate concertmaster Donald Armstrong stepped into the leadership of the first violins. Armstrong was the NZSO concertmaster throughout much of my childhood in Wellington, and it was a pleasure to see him leading the orchestra once again.

Sibelius' Pohjola's Daughter opens with the irresistible pull of a great tale, themes unfolding against a dramatic landscape of sound. Drawing on characters and stories from the Kalevala, a compilation of epic poetry from Finnish, Karelian, and Ingrian folklore, the music combines rich atmosphere with a sense of narrative momentum.

Following this with Lindberg's Violin Concerto No. 2 is an effective move. The more immediately accessible Sibelius provides a point of entry into a work whose contemporary language is often more dissonant and demanding, yet the two share enough musical whakapapa that clear lines of continuity emerge.

As violin soloist, Leppänen's playing is agile, vibrant, and entirely at home in the work's shifting terrain. His close relationship with the NZSO enables him to blend seamlessly into the orchestral texture before springing clear of it again. The passages shared between Leppänen and Armstrong are astonishing, their intricately intertwined lines evidence of the deep collegial understanding between these two outstanding musicians. Cellists Andrew Joyce and Ken Ichinose are similarly impressive.

The evening closes with Sibelius’ Lemminkäinen Suite, which draws on the same mythological source material as Pohjola's Daughter. The work also traces an indirect path back to Wagner, growing out of an operatic project that Sibelius conceived under Wagner's influence before ultimately charting his own course. Those musical and historical threads help to enrich the final leg of our journey, and send us back into Wellington's wet winter night feeling we have travelled further than we expected.

Always a welcome presence in Wellington, conductor Pietari Inkinen returns alongside tenor Simon O'Neill for an evening of Wagner excerpts, presented in association with the Wellington Wagner Society. While many audience members will know Wagner chiefly through the thunderous music of his Ring Cycle operas such as the iconic Ride of the Valkyries, this programme offers a chance to explore other corners of the composer's output through excerpts from two lesser-known operas, Tannhäuser and Parsifal.

One of the challenges of an excerpts programme is that it can feel disjointed, especially in a programme such as this that heavily features overtures and preludes from acts right across the seven hours of source material. Themes are introduced, tensions are established, and then we are whisked elsewhere before their full dramatic or emotional consequences have time to unfold. Fortunately, this is more than compensated for by the quality of musicianship on display.

Inkinen’s direction appears calm and focused. I’m always impressed by his ability to build a supportive relationship with an orchestra he does not routinely conduct, creating an environment in which musicians seem comfortable taking risks and responding to one another.

Tenor Simon O'Neill is so technically assured that his voice almost ceases to register as vocal production at all, feeling instead like spontaneous, emotionally motivated speech. Every phrase emerges naturally and cleanly, supported by an extraordinary mastery of the material. Particularly impressive is the subtle character work he brings to the excerpts. As he enters, he listens intently to the orchestra, creating the sense of a character absorbed in reflection before finding the impulse to speak. It is a generous choice, drawing attention to the music even as he establishes his own presence. He also creates a clear distinction between the impassioned Tannhäuser of the first half and the more reflective Parsifal of the second.

While the excerpts format inevitably leaves me wanting more, O'Neill's interpretive intelligence and Inkinen's assured leadership of an exceptional NZSO make a satisfying meal of these selections. More importantly, they send me away curious to seek out the complete operas for myself.

For the Love of Matthew is one mother’s story about her son Matthew. Maria Di Leva says she wants it to give hope to other parents out there who may be raising a child with special needs. In her memoir, Di Leva recounts Matthew’s story, from his early childhood right through to the 30-year-old man he is today.

What strikes me most is Di Leva’s heartfelt and deeply personal reflections of her journey as Matthew’s mother, as his friend, advocate, and lifelong champion. She gives an honest and unwavering account of Matthew’s life, from the life-changing diagnosis he received as a young child of severe autism with ADHD, to the independent, flourishing son she and his wider family know him as today.

In For the Love of Matthew, a strong and insightful Di Leva explores Matthew’s potential every step of the way, whether navigating the school years, a time on medication, or different plans and strategies – like supporting him to catch the bus on his own, which consistently and importantly grew Matthew’s independence and widened his opportunities.

It is very apparent throughout the book that Matthew is part of a tight-knit family and peer group. It is especially rewarding to read about how he has experienced the world his own way. He was selected for the 2023 Special Olympics World Summer Games in Berlin, where he proudly brought home a silver and bronze medal. He’s found a passion for hip-hop and a stable routine of keeping busy with work at New World and flatting independently.

Often, it is the people who stand behind you – who believe in you, fight for you, and push open doors that would otherwise remain shut – that make the intangible tangible. Matthew has achieved his own goals and independence, with the support of a loving family and a mother’s unwavering love.

By all accounts, the journey has not been easy. But Matthew’s mother hopes that this book “demonstrates that with faith and love, the impossible is possible.”

For anyone expecting a mature exploration of polyamory and non-conforming relationships, this film isn’t for you. For those wanting to laugh out loud, physically cringe, and immerse yourself in a tense, fast-paced comedy-drama testing what happens when a rocky marriage brushes up against the hot, atypical love between two eccentrics still in the throes of their honeymoon phase, then please go see The Invite.

Directed by Olivia Wilde, a decidedly unhappy married couple Angela (Wilde) and Joe (Seth Rogan) invite their upstairs neighbours Piña (Penélope Cruz) and Hawk (Edward Norton) to a dinner party. Destined from the start to be doomed, the evening doesn’t unfurl; it spirals, explodes, collapses, and drags itself exhausted to bed.  

Angela and Joe embody all the tropes of a marriage on thin ice (nit-picking, passive aggressiveness, complacency, blame) while Piña and Hawk flaunt their passion with loud banging and growling through the ceiling every night and lots of heavy petting on the sofa after dessert.

Cruz, as usual, is an onscreen magnetic force. Norton pulls off his moderately sleazy character effortlessly. Wilde is so tightly wound and anxious it makes you hold your breath. Rogan truly comes into his own in his spectacular performance of the down-and-out music teacher who was once in a rock ‘n’ roll band, undercutting the evening’s proliferating absurdities with incredulous one-liners that let a breeze into the claustrophobic atmosphere.

A four-piece chamber comedy, the simple premise makes for a film filled with dialogue, taking place in the intimacy of a few rooms in Joe and Angela’s recently renovated apartment. Nothing tells you that the audience is gripped more than hooting and hollering from somewhere out back of the theatre. The sharp command of tension had the audience at the film’s mercy, cleverly building and releasing in all the right moments. Pair this with the fact that everyone who has ever been in a relationship is most likely witnessing aspects of their own foibles on the big screen, and I imagine viewers come away feeling very seen – or rather – exposed.

I didn’t love the ending; it tied too neat a bow around the evening. At the same time, endings are hard and it’s difficult to know where to finish…

From New Zealand author Tim Corballis comes this new novel NOVA, which explores issues we do not normally see in science fiction.

Set on a self-contained spaceship named Nova that is hurtling away from Earth and on its way to a new home on the star Telos, the novel explores the lives of the ship's inhabitants and the AI running everything, System. Nova is a generational ship, and the entire trip to their new home will take 60,000 years. This means that several generations will be born and die before they ever reach Telos. In NOVA, it’s been 300 years since the ship left Earth, and its inhabitants have completely lost touch with their original home’s roots.

Unlike other science fiction novels that see AI systems running amok or taking over the world, NOVA’s AI wants to understand the humans around it and struggles to do so at times.

A lot of novels treat supercomputers or AI as just machines, but System feels genuinely alive and, if I did not know any better, just as flesh-and-blood as the other characters. In fact, System became my favourite character. Its conversations with Kalla, a human with her own problems, make up the bulk of the story as they talk about topics and themes ranging from consciousness to the human condition.

While the other human characters are interesting and well written, it was Corballis’ rendering of System that made me think as no other science fiction novel has before.

Be warned: this is not Star Trek or Star Wars. NOVA will make you think about things you do not normally associate with science fiction, and that may put younger readers off. I believe it’s a novel for the more mature reader out there. I may have been in the Star Wars camp when I picked it up, but I stuck with NOVA and found it a fantastic read. 

On entering the Dome in BATS Theatre, I immediately notice dozens of typed paper sheets hanging from the ceiling. They remind me of memories scattered throughout the mind. This first impression proves to be right, as the performance I am about to witness is, in short, a meditation on remembrance. It is my first time watching a solo performance and I’m not sure my attention will hold over 90 minutes with one actor alone. But how wrong I was.

Becoming an Anecdote is writer and director Mitchell Botting’s attempt to tell the tragic story of the death of his lost love. The second-person play is a recollection of Mitchell’s own memories spanning decades, navigating the complex relationship between himself (performed by Stevie Hancox-Monk) and “you”. Through time jumps between 2006, 2015, and 2024, Mitchell revisits selected moments before, during, and after “your” death, allowing the viewer to witness a defining period of his life. Next to these personal flashbacks, the performance also lets the viewer question the reliability of the narrator by showing how memories are shaped by humans and distorted by time.

This play manages to be as entertaining as it is heartbreaking. The reenactment of past conversations is supported by quotes projected on the wall, lighting effects, music, and interactive recorded voices. Hancox-Monk perfectly portrays the conflicting emotions connected to an impossible situation, captivating the awestruck audience until the end.

I leave full of questions and lingering thoughts, and I think that is exactly how I am meant to feel. All in all, this “fabricated memoir” is a brilliant interplay of heartfelt script and outstanding acting, showcasing the complexities of love, grief, and guilt. It is a beautiful homage to a long-lost love and also a reminder of the rippling effects of death on the ones left behind. This was a truly moving experience that I will not forget any time soon. If you have the chance to see it, don’t hesitate!

Being greeted by Shrewsbury-loving pensioners with a speedometer projected in the background (projection design by Nina Hogg) really sets the tone of Geriatric Drift. What follows is a story about four retirees on a journey to Northern Poland to obtain $20 socks, a rare and coveted item, for one of their great-great-great granddaughters.

Geriatric Drift is a parody of the global smash-hit franchise Fast & Furious, which, after 12 films, doesn’t seem to stop giving. What sets this show apart from these racer films is that this crew has lived long enough to be up to their 80^th sequel.

The show is completely improvised, with the cast asking for audience prompts to shape the story early on. All six performers – Hogg as The Rock, Dylan Hutton as Dominic Torretto, Tara McEntee as Letti, Jed Davies as Vince, Isaac Thomas as Paul Walker and others, and Austin Harrison as an additional character called Dmitri – have mastered the craft of improvisation. This results in a performance so cohesive, it feels like you genuinely are watching (yet another) Fast & Furious sequel.

Adding to the illusion that these characters are well beyond their ruby anniversary, ageing stage makeup (largely by Hogg) and costumes (individually sourced) truly transform the young cast into old-timers crossing the ocean to find socks.

Whilst these geriatrics are far from their rest home, they certainly know how to take the spotlight. The lighting design (Hogg) helps keep the focus on the characters, further immersing us in the comedy and highlighting the wild narrative. The design allows us to use our imagination to figure out all the crazy settings we’ve been transported to.

Geriatric Drift features hilarious improvisation that is sure to get you off your rocking chair. Watch out: things can get too fast, 2 Old, 2 Furious with quips that will make your false teeth fall out and a story that gets more chaotic and unhinged as it goes along. Here’s hoping these senior citizens hobble back to BATS ASAP.

Dave Armstrong aptly describes his new comedy as a “love letter to readers, writers, and librarians” and has used a real story about his sister-in-law’s elderly neighbour as the launchpad for his narrative.

Local Library begins with conservative Boomer Paul Homewood (Peter Hambleton) having his book-borrowing rights suspended for hiding magazines to avoid paying the modest rental fee by stern senior librarian and social justice warrior Helen Nielsen (Jude Gibson). Initially poles apart in temperament, politics, and approach to life, over the course of Paul’s regular visits to the library, their battle of wills gradually thaws to an entente cordiale. They are united by literature and loneliness, discovering they have more in common than they would ever have thought.

Hambleton and Gibson are a charming pairing with great chemistry. Hambleton’s old-man shuffle and wonky tie (costume design by Sheila Horton) are a visual delight, while his butchering of “terrio Mowri”, stubborn northern English accent, and ridiculously anti-woke posturing are deliciously cringe-inducing. Gibson’s staunch librarian of 40 years’ standing, struggling not to be ousted from the best thing in her life, is believably vulnerable beneath her tough shell. They spark off each other beautifully and carry the 90-minute duologue with the panache of the seasoned pros they are. Conrad Newport’s delicate direction never gets in their way.

William Smith (lighting, set) and Azarael Ballard (sound) of Tungsten Projects Ltd have taken great care with the technical design. Their realistic setting has a suitably institutional feel with its community notices, stand of graphic novels, and neatly Dewey Decimalled books. The lights in the rows of shelves and above the issues desk creatively change the mood during scene transitions, accompanied by lively and suitably chosen music that bookends each chapter. The barking of Paul’s ever-changing company of dogs even comes from the right place behind the library entrance; attention to detail that will delight theatre nerds.

Witty and current with a deeper vein of meaning below the laughs, Local Library is bibliophilic bliss for anyone who loves a heartwarming story.

Mar Musa opens with the pastel colours of dawn sweeping across a vast desert landscape. Built into the side of a rugged, treeless mountain, the ancient monastery Deir Mar Musa al-Habashi looks more like a citadel, camouflaged save for the architectural straight lines that give it away.

The monastery’s history is deeply tied to the economic, political, and social fate of Syria, beginning in the 4^th century. Mar Musa, directed by Shahab Kermani, follows the monks and nuns living in the monastery through intimate, observational storytelling as they navigate post-war devastation in Syria. The monastery’s key tenets are to practice and promote interfaith dialogue between Christians and Muslims, provide radical hospitality to all faiths, and close the distance between the two religious groups to move towards a more peaceful and mutual life.

We see the community sharing meals together with visitors of both faiths, smiling and laughing as they discuss profound theological questions and the horrors of war. Their faith is resolute, and love and understanding is at the heart of the gatherings. This is despite the grave personal losses and trauma experienced by everyone. Including the abduction of community founder Father Paolo Dall’Oglio by ISIL and the destruction of the 1,500 year old Mar Elian monastery in a nearby town.

The cinematography is spectacular, cutting between landscape, daily life, and interviews. Inside the monastery we get an intimate portrait of prayer and contemplation against the backdrop of Byzantine iconography, lit up by votive candles and columns of light coming through small openings near the ceiling.

The community visit nearby towns completely ravaged by war. The footage of street after street lined with rubble was some of the most shocking scenes of destruction I’ve ever seen – made all the more profound in the strength of the people that have chosen to remain.

The documentary is slow and meditative with a hypnotic score that won Best International Sound award at the Doc Edge Festival. I could’ve happily just watched the weather change on the desert below and listened to the monks, nuns, and visitors as they chatted over shared meals. Their lives are centred around healing the deep fractures within the country. The message of unity was poignant, and as the credits rolled, I could only wonder what the future holds for the place.

The title of this first collection by Haro Lee is provocative – redolent as it is of short stays, hurriedness, and possibly secrecy. When these are backgrounded by the activity of watching television, we get poems that sing, shout, celebrate, and rebel: all the elements of troubled tempestuous youth. Haro Lee may be troubled, but her experiences also cause her to confront herself with astonishing honesty. And it’s this that makes her work so compelling.

The section Daytime Television starts us off. How to Refill a Disposable BIC Lighter has the writer and a friend holed up with cocaine and companionship. “For five short days / we’re adrift on something so / magical. It’s a girls’ world / in this filthy apartment.” Laughter, grief, and confession abound, and the writer is left with the eponymous lighter as a precious souvenir.

We progress to Primetime Television. If I wasn’t primed already, From These Gutters, My Mother would shock me with its graphic images. We read of a “Botticelli belly” and “This mistake she makes / with the father, the one / who enters growing girls / without clumsy” and what the baby after arriving is subjected to.

I really enjoyed Needing Religion at Nineteen. Our writer admits to her dissatisfaction at being born in the Year of the Rat – that is until she sees an exhibition of Banksy’s rat series and what he has to say about it. “OK, I’ll take that for why I’m here then”, she declares. Self-doubt and longing for assurances – not least of an afterlife – predominate. Once again, frankness is paramount and appealing. “So when it’s my time to go / I can say that I tried.”

Graveyard Slot is a lengthy narrative recounting Lee’s life in a small neighbourhood in Seoul, capital of South Korea and home to her beloved grandmother. Detailed, graphic, and touchingly nostalgic – if ever there was material for a TV documentary, this is it!

With my dates all mixed up I arrived at The Roxy cinema precisely one week early for a Doc Edge Festival documentary. Thankfully, The Lives of My Father was about to start, which made arriving 168 hours early completely worth it.

Directed by Magnus Skatvold, The Lives of My Father tells a story of espionage, lies, propaganda, and the uncovering of a father’s extraordinary double life. Didrik Hallstrøm was always told his ever-absent father Bjørn was a journalist who visited war-torn lands to get on-the-ground news. After recovering video tapes boxed up in the attic, he discovers that his father worked for the CIA, having been recruited by the agency after generating successful anti-Russian slogans when he worked in advertising.

The extraordinary footage reveals the escapades of a truly singular man whose life could come straight out of a Cold War spy novel. We see Bjørn firing AK-47s in the Kuwaiti desert and infiltrating cocaine laboratories in Colombia. We see him in the jungle in Cambodia and caught in crossfires on the frontline of the Bosnian war.

Instead of glamourising Bjørn’s escapades like a Hollywood blockbuster would, The Lives of My Father turns the lens toward the shadowy side of a double life. Bjørn is unwell and nearing the end of his life. For the first time, Didrik confronts his father about his past through a series of interviews. Bjørn is larger than life, charismatic, obstinate, and good-humoured, chain smoking his way through the interviews, only ever stopping briefly to puff on his inhaler.

Accounts from Bjørn’s ex-wife, friends, and colleagues reveal the effects of his work: a son who grew up without a father, a wife who raised her children alone, and colleagues who had no idea that the journalism was a cover for something much more dangerous and covert.

Over the course of the documentary the lines blur between propaganda, journalism, and espionage. We are confronted by the global meddling of the CIA, the lengths a man is willing to go to complete his missions, and the reality of living life as a spy.  

A truly thought-provoking and captivating documentary, there are no heroes and no villains. Instead, there are complicated people reckoning with their pasts in the hopes to move on.

Tom Basden’s adaptation of Accidental Death of an Anarchist brings Dario Fo and Franca Rame’s 1970 political farce into a contemporary setting, retaining its sharp satire of institutional incompetence while updating many of its references. Directed by Joy Hellyer and Paul Kay, KAT Theatre’s production embraces the play’s chaotic energy, finding plenty of laughs while leaving room to push its farcical style even further.

James Kiesel is at the heart of the production as the Maniac, effortlessly transforming between personas as he manipulates those around him. From greeting audience members before the show wearing a white wig and pearls and claiming to be KAT president Margaret Robertson, to later shifting character to become a judge and a forensic expert, Kiesel demonstrates impressive physical agility, confidently commanding the stage with energetic movement. His performance captures the trickster spirit of the role, although there are moments where greater delight in deceiving his victims and more direct engagement with the audience could heighten the sense of gleeful anarchy.

The cast work well together, particularly in the scenes where the increasingly bewildered police officers (Kevin Hastings, Sadie McLoughlin, Chris O’Grady, and Gino Moretto) compound the confusion through their own ineptitude. These sequences are well blocked, ensuring the action remains clear despite the escalating chaos. At times punchlines can arrive a little too quickly, and some visual gags and physical comedy could be given more space to land; however, the production does well to find humour without becoming a pantomime. The cast’s commitment to the absurdity and deadpan delivery of punchlines make for a hilarious production, with use of varied accents adding another layer of comedy.

Basden’s adaptation loses some of the political focus and narrative purpose of the original, with the Maniac’s actions feeling like mischief for its own sake rather than a determined attempt to expose corruption. Nevertheless, the play’s themes remain surprisingly relevant. Its satire of policing, bureaucracy, and institutional failure resonate beyond its British setting.

KAT Theatre delivers an entertaining production, ultimately leaving audiences pondering its central question: who is truly the maniac? The man exposing the absurdity of the system, or those who unquestioningly accept it?

Breton Dukes’ breakthrough novel, Party Boy, delves into the harrowing effects of toxic masculinity and its inclination for self-destruction. Rather than offering a sympathetic antihero or a straightforward villain, Dukes presents a man trapped between a bleak present and an even bleaker past.

On the verge of turning 50, Marco faces his midlife crisis with the emotional maturity of a volatile teenager. Bitter, sexually frustrated, and clinging to the faded glory of his youth and masculinity, he turns to alcohol and pharmaceuticals to numb his mounting inadequacies. As his high-school years resurface to haunt him, Marco must decide whether to take responsibility for his prior actions as a school bully, or to drown them in substances.

Amid the turmoil of his youth, his adult life has been put on the back burner. Unable to uphold the responsibilities of a part-time job and fumbling as the stay-at-home dad, Marco’s desperation to be seen as the stoic male stands in constant conflict with the realities of his shortcomings. In the place of reason, addiction becomes his “burning ray of confidence” – one that slowly sets fire to his world.

This downward spiral becomes the perfect vehicle for exploring the pressures of traditional masculinity and the damage it inflicts. Throughout the novel, Dukes examines the extent to which men internalise rigid gender expectations and the consequences of treating vulnerabilities as weaknesses.

We see this further emphasised through the pulsing, intrusive nature of Marco’s insecurities and thoughts. Combining short, staccato lines with a polished, stream-of-consciousness style, Dukes jerks the reader deep into the psyche of a man who is balancing everything and nothing.

Its frantic rhythm mirrors the raw desire to fix the irreparable; to watch, hopelessly, as your ego goes cold in your hands. As unsettling as it is compelling, Party Boy is the type of book that lingers. Not because it comforts, but because it refuses to look away.

InBetween Nowhere and Everything was advertised as a story about cowboys in space, and as I enter BATS Theatre, I am more than ready to leave this rainy evening behind and escape into the cosmos. My first impression of the set (Jamie Sayers) is that of a makeshift spaceship: a simple table, a bed, and a cowboy poster attached to the wall. A mysterious girl (Míren Welsh Ahipene Duffin) enters in a ghost-like fashion, moving nostalgically through the room before playing a song on an old tape recorder (sound design by Tim Johnston). This is the last moment of peace the audience experiences for quite some time.

The stillness is shattered as three figures burst onto the stage in a dramatic escape: a lover (Alex Quinn), a killer (Zoe Harris), and a nobody (Simon Ulm) seek refuge in the ship as they flee from combat. Coming from different planets, they are now stuck with one another in a small spaceship, seemingly lost in the middle of nowhere. For the next hour, the audience is able to intimately experience the transformation each of them undergoes in the face of impending death.

Sharing the same cramped room, food rations, and even a makeshift litterbox, it comes as no surprise that the unlikely comrades slowly start to reveal their darkest secrets. Time is only measured by their dwindling rations. From guitar songs that evoke cowboys gathered around a bonfire, to a romantic dance of longing and some spontaneous poetry, the play evolves on many different levels, always keeping it interesting. Supported by the ghost woman, who haunts them into reliving their memories, three broken people embark on a last effort to fix themselves before it is too late.

For much of the play, there seems to be a lot of screaming, and some of the dialogue is difficult to follow due to thick accents and loud background sounds. Yet by the end, one thing is eerily clear:  the characters share far more than they ever imagined.

Modern Whore is a hybrid film based on a memoir of the same name by Andrea Werhun. It blends documentary with fiction, featuring reenactments, testimonials, animations, and archival footage in a fast-paced and spirited reimagining of Werhun’s life as a sex worker. She teamed up with director Nicole Bazuin for the documentary, where she explores agency, labour, intimacy, and identity, telling stories about the behaviours of clients, the owners of her escort agency, and the unique growing pains of learning on the job.

The documentary is subversive. It takes the typically bleak genre of sex work films, grabs the microphone, and displays the real life of a sex worker straight from the horse’s mouth. The film includes conversations between Werhun and fellow sex workers, who discuss their experiences of sex work through the lens of race, gender diversity, and neurodivergence – though only ever in short cameos. It also includes conversations between Werhun and her mother, and with her long-term partner – both of whom are incredibly supporting of her.

It’s upbeat, it’s colourful. It deals with the darker side of sex work without making it the whole side. While it empowers and gives agency to sex workers who often don’t get to tell their own stories, I couldn’t help but feel some moments are self-indulgent. It makes sweeping statements about sex work based on Werhun’s very specific experience, while at the same time barely reaching below the surface. The over-dramatisation is often jarring and slapstick, and while it covers a lot of themes, it sometimes reads like the diary of a teenager. Then again, without her unreserved confidence, a film with total agency like this one would never get made.

All that being said, I appreciate that Modern Whore is radical and important. Sex workers are often portrayed only as victim or villain, and here is a film featuring a three-dimensional and uncategorisable woman who is both empowered and embodied. In Canada sex work is not legal, making it a critical film about labour rights. Here in Aotearoa, it will challenge the biases of some of its more prudish and discriminatory audiences. Ultimately, I was engaged throughout and I would encourage people to head along and check it out. It will be screening as part of the Doc Edge Film Festival at the Roxy Cinema on Saturday the 25^th of July. 

Released last month, the Fragile World album has been described as “capturing The Veils in an urgent and instinctive mode”, and is their eighth studio album in 22 years. The Veils is less of a traditional band and more leader and songwriter Finn Andrews (vocals, keys, guitar, bass) enlisting an assortment of top New Zealand musicians on rotation. This 10-date New Zealand tour has the full band for the first six shows and finishes with Andrew’s four solo performances.

For such a talented songwriter, in concert Andrews was a man of so few words, he didn’t even introduce the band members by name! Changing instruments fluidly but efficiently, almost with each song, Tom Healy (guitar, bass, backing vocals), Dan Raishbrook (guitar, pedal steel guitar, bass), Dave Khan (violin, guitar, keys, percussion, backing vocals), and Joe McCallum (drums, percussion) took versatility to a whole new level.

The first song Aurora from the new album, featuring Andrews’ plaintive vocals and gorgeous piano, set anticipation levels high amongst the devoted audience. The start of Are You Awake Tonight?, also from the new album and featuring Andrews’ powerful vocals, had shades of Springsteen’s Thunder Road. On Swimming with the Crocodiles, featuring McCallum’s solid drum groove, Andrews switched to electric guitar. Khan’s eerie violin intro on Not Yet led into an almost hypnotic guitar-driven funk rhythm. The piano intro for The Dream Of Life was poignant, and Andrews described My Foolish Heart as his attempt at a country song! No Limit of Stars, featuring Khan’s gorgeous violin, had the crowd entranced and the hairs standing up on the back of my neck. Stunning. The set finished with crowd favourites Low Lays the Devil and Jesus For The Jugular, but we didn’t want the show to end.

To rapturous applause, Andrews came back on stage and, prior to The Tide That Left and Never Came Back, said he lived in Wellington, a city he loves, for a little while last year and had a lovely time... “Maranui Cafe – very nice!” Kahn then joined him on violin for the climactic last track Axolotl. Their Wellington fans love The Veils too – hopefully they’ll be back here soon.

Conductor Dane Lam, visiting from Hawaii, welcomed the audience and summed up the 2026 New Zealand Symphony Orchestra (NZSO) National Youth Orchestra (NYO) as “the jewel in the artistic crown of New Zealand” and “the future of music making”. Of course, he was right.

This was a programme conceived around big themes of the sea and voyaging. In Pray for the wanderer by the 2026 NYO composer-in-residence Jack Bewley, a bold, confident timpani and trumpet opening was followed by assured and beautifully sustained cello and violin from the section leads. With lots of contrast, repeating themes, and complex rhythms, this was not an easy piece, but the orchestra handled it expertly, bringing to the fore Lam’s vision for music making in New Zealand.

Benjamin Britten’s Four Sea Interludes opened with violins and flutes, superbly balanced by the musicians. The quality of the tone in the strings was exceptional all evening. A strong brass section and timpani built impressive final phases as the cold North Sea storm finally blew itself out.

From Britten’s North Sea we travelled to the Pacific Ocean. Michael-Thomas Foumai’s Kealaikahiki Suite celebrates the 1976 voyage of the double-hulled wa’a Hōkūle’a from Hawaii to Tahiti that revived ancient, non-instrument navigation. The huge ending of the piece reflects the enormous energy the voyage injected into a cultural revitalisation across the Pacific.

Familiar and well loved, Claude Debussy’s La Mer gave the orchestra opportunity to show their mettle. Maturity, confidence, skill, and musicianship were all on display. The strings and woodwind captured the bright sound of light on water. Crisp, alert ensemble playing gave life to the energy and playfulness of the waves. Brass and percussion drove us to an exciting conclusion.

Although many in the audience were family, whānau, and friends, the musicians absolutely earned their enthusiastic response and confirmed the 2026 NZSO National Youth Orchestra is part of the future of music making in Aotearoa.

Premiered in 1925, Noël Coward’s classic comedy Hay Fever is an apt choice to help celebrate the centenary of Wellington Repertory Theatre, the city’s oldest community-based troupe. Coward’s wit and talent for exposing human flaws are timeless and this is an entertaining way to warm up a dark winter’s night.

The eccentric Bliss family are “artificial to the point of lunacy”. Matriarch and retired actress Judith (Ruth Corkill) and her novelist husband David (Paul Stone) waft about their country house while their offspring Sorel (Keira Hikuroa) and Simon (Alex Davey) bicker in the way that only rich people with too much time on their hands can. Into this bohemian disorder come Judith’s adoring young fan Sandy (Solomon Archer), Simon’s vampish friend Myra (Nethmi Karunanayake), young diplomat Richard (Jimmy Sutcliffe), and shy flapper Jackie (Pippa McAnergney), each invited by one of the family members without consulting the others. The weekend from Hell ensues.

Corkill is wonderfully melodramatic, using Judith’s age, beauty, and gift for the absurd to torment family and guests alike. Each word is beautifully enunciated and her delivery of the immortal line, “That. Is. Not. An. Adverb.” is sublime. Stone is delightfully ditsy and Karunanayake is a welcome return to the stage. A somewhat underused Sutcliffe also provides excellent support. Ninth cast member Sara Schroder as housekeeper Clara is blessed with a role that allows her to disdain all that is happening around her. Director Susannah Donovan’s choice to use her to fill the gap between the second and third acts when everyone else is frantically changing costume is inspired.

The necessarily minimalist set (Donovan and Vince Jennings) – it’s shared next week with a production for children – somewhat lacks the lushness expected of the mansion setting. Drapes at the long set of bare windows would have easily added a sense of wealth.

You can’t beat Coward for a fun night out, so get along and support Wellington’s longest-standing community theatre as it celebrates its 100^th birthday.