Songs From a Spellbound City

Something wicked this way comes, Wellington. A crew of cursed creatures, calling themselves The Pāua Ballads, have infested BATS Theatre with Songs From a Spellbound City. Their improv show, in which they embody the most nightmarish non-humans, is an affair most devilishly, deliriously, dreadfully disturbing.

Before the lights go down and the actors haunt the stage, which is framed by a Harry Potter-esque Acromantula web and the chilling headstone of some poor departed soul, director and performer Austin Harrison asks us but one question before leaving us be to enjoy the show: “What is something you talk about in the nighttime?”

“Dinner,” an audience member says. “Dessert!”

“Rambling nonsense,” says someone from the crowd.

“Fears,” beams another.

“Undressing,” quips one more.

And so it goes until the stage is set. Now the evening of improv can begin. The lights (Chloe Marshall) dim before illuminating two zombies at a bus stop discussing local elections – more brains, anyone? Formatted by Brenna Dixon from Naarm/Melbourne as a series of vignettes, Songs From a Spellbound City sees Harrison, Malcolm Morrison, Matt Hutton, Bethany Miller, Jem Palmer, and New Zealand’s most famous zombie Ian Harcourt test their acting, singing, and comedy chops while sorcerers of sound, masters of melody Beans Wright (violin) and Lia Kelly (keyboard) expertly accompany their follies and fancies with an ever-changing score made up on the spot.

Next up, four goblins face their fears jumping headlong into the bucket fountain as Harcourt very cleverly avoids uttering any profanity in his rhyme. The quartet are followed by all manner of beasties singing about their feelings over 50 minutes. A tooth fairy champions workers’ rights in a rousing chant about desserts. A man is deep fried at McDonald’s to ensure two ghouls are satisfied customers. Two wizards fall in love. Four skeletons exit the closet and uncover new secrets. A were-greyhound and were-chihuahua see the world from new perspectives. A vampire at the laundromat overcomes his bout of modesty.

Wonderfully Wellington and wickedly whimsical, scream the house down at Songs From a Spellbound City.