A national jazz orchestra of Aotearoa was the vision of the legendary Rodger Fox and, judging by the inaugural performance of the Aotearoa Jazz Orchestra (AoJO), he would have very much approved. This concert featured music by Duke Ellington, one of the true giants of jazz who, with his long-time collaborator Billy Strayhorn, recorded their interpretation of The Nutcracker Suite in 1960.

Described in the programme as “a masterpiece of swing, wit, and orchestral colour”, where “Tchaikovsky’s melodies and Ellington’s imagination meet in a timeless musical dialogue”, this adaptation by the Aotearoa Jazz Orchestra of Tchaikovsky’s beloved ballet, in eight parts, held the jazz-loving audience in its grip throughout.

The premiere performance of The Fox (a tribute to Rodger Fox) which followed, written by musical director and drummer John Rae, and arranged by concertmaster, saxophonist, and clarinettist Oscar Lavën, was simply sublime. The solo performances of all 17 musicians showcased the tremendous depth of talent within the orchestra, with most solos receiving loud applause by the appreciative audience.

Lavën’s playing, especially on clarinet, was superlative, and a special mention should also be given to Michael Taylor (trumpet section leader), Kaito Walley (trombone section leader), and the superb rhythm section of Rae (drums), Ben Wilcock (piano), and Alistair Isdale (double bass).

Rae’s shoutout to sound engineer James Goldsmith at the end of the concert, whose excellent sound mix had all the musicians balanced not too loud but clear, was well deserved.

The programme starting with the Emerging Artist Feature, the Evie Patterson Quartet, was an ideal way to showcase some local jazz artists of the future. Evie also held the emerging artist seat as one of the six saxophonists in the orchestra.

Originally the Salvation Army Citadel, with its amazing acoustics and stunning architecture, Meow Nui provides the perfect home venue for this new orchestra. Let’s hope this is the first of many similar concerts to follow.

Standing at the crossroads between adolescence and adulthood, nearly too old for social care but not yet self-sufficient, Christy (Danny Power) finds himself kicked out of yet another foster home and moving in with his estranged half-brother Shane (Diarmuid Noyes), compassionate sister-in-law Stacey (Emma Willis), and baby niece Charlie just a few weeks ahead of his 18^th birthday. As a viral video circulates of him beating up another boy, Christy ambles around his childhood neighbourhood on the northside of Cork, meeting family friends and relatives that remember him, tell him stories of the past, welcome him, try and lift his spirits, and attempt to lead him astray. As he begins to settle in and find a place for himself, Shane continues to remind him that his time here is only temporary.

Like its protagonist, Christy sits somewhere in between drama and comedy, realism and poetics, sensitivity and harsh truths. Music video director Brendan Canty’s debut feature film is one of duality, juxtaposition, and liminality, where Alan O’Gorman’s well-balanced story meets cinematographer Colm Hogan’s natural, raw style with a script that places as much weight on a half-cracked smile as an expletive hurled like a hand-grenade. Christy isn’t fluffed up by movie magic; it’s grounded in deep empathy and gritty realism that focuses on authentic storytelling over showmanship.

As Christy sidesteps between getting involved with his rough cousins or a gaggle of rollicking local kids and a family friend’s hairdressing studio, the stars’ acting chops really begin to show and Gorman’s script starts to shine. This teetering between paths, lives, worlds is a constant throughout the Berlin International Film Festival Grand Prix-winning film, but it’s never depicted with judgement, only compassion. Where one cohort leaves a knot in your stomach, they’re not presented as inherently bad. Similarly, the other group, though heartwarming, aren’t perfect either. Just two sides of the same coin.

Whether you’re in it for the bittersweet story or the cheeky Irish heart, Christy is an exquisite and sensitive slice of life – be sure to stick around through the credits for a grin-inducing homage to Canty’s music video days.

Edith Aldridge (Mel Dodge) comes from political royalty: the daughter of a former prime minister, now about to take the stage on her first day as a groundbreaking female prime minister. It’s early. She’s in her hotel room and has 90 minutes before making her inaugural speech to a waiting world. In walks Rosie (Tara Canton), a substitute makeup artist, more often seen working the cosmetics counter at David Jones but who’s been plucked from obscurity because she’s a whizz with a contour brush.

Over the real-time interchange between these two very different personalities, writer Emily Sheehan exposes the cultural norms expected of women, particularly those in leadership, and the increasingly blurred lines between politics and celebrity. There are shades of Jacinda Ardern’s premiership in the persistent social media abuse of Aldridge and careful curating of her look for a magazine. In Rosie, we see a younger generation of women, superficially independent and bravely critical but still vulnerable to the ingrained and unrealistic expectations of men.

Dodge and Canton have great chemistry that Lyndee-Jane Rutherford’s naturalistic direction gives room to breathe. They challenge and ultimately empower each other, and both have secrets that are revealed in the overly personal setting of a makeup session. Props to both actors for convincingly managing an entire makeover while delivering a huge piece of dialogue and its emotional ups and downs with ease and conviction.

Ian Harman’s set design is unusually fulsome for the Circa Two stage and convincingly creates a plushly beige heritage hotel suite augmented by Talya Pilcher’s subtle lighting design. Being a tech nerd, I particularly appreciated Chris Ward’s AV and sound design for the women’s cell phones that cleverly avoided the awkward trap of putting ringtones through a theatre speaker.

Monument is a slick production all round that makes a highly relevant statement about the place and perception of women in today’s world of double standards and identity-driven politics. Through lifting each other up, all women can succeed.

The fact that Pekka Kuusisto made the call to switch the order of the programme should not have been a surprise although it was as well he did. Kuusisto champions music written and performed by women and where possible his programmes are 50-50. Louise Farrenc, a successful symphonic composer and professor in the 19^th century despite gender-biased society and establishment, fell into obscurity in the 20^th century. Ironically, Antonio Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons was also forgotten soon after it was written but has been immensely popular since it was rediscovered in the mid-20^th century.

From the first movement, Farrenc’s Symphony No. 3 has a very pleasing sound to it: a Classical feel with Romantic style. Melodies are shared across the orchestra and interesting rhythmic patterns run through the work. The Scherzo was a particularly good combination of speed and delicacy and effective changes of tone. There was a sense of a confident ‘whole’ of the orchestra and conductor.

Without the programme switch, Farrenc would have been overwhelmed by the weight of the audience’s anticipation and Kuusisto’s innovative, idiosyncratic interpretation of The Four Seasons.

Each season has three movements and by the end of Spring everyone knew this was going to be a unique year. Kuusisto took every opportunity to accentuate familiar features of the music and make them dramatic, whether by volume, balance, speed, technique, tone, or imitation. Towards the end of Spring we even heard bagpipes from the violins. (Proof bagpipes are unmistakable but violins – and anything except bagpipes – are more flexible.)

The Summer Presto was furiously fast and energetic, a perfect showcase for Kuusisto’s virtuoso violin playing. The later seasons were closer to the traditional sound, with refreshing presentation. The Autumn Adagio, just cello and harpsichord, was that beautiful simplicity that leaves you barely breathing. Winter had a realistic harshness, grey and gravelly, pizzicato like ice drops melting – and stunning violin from Kuusisto.

Rossini Stabat Mater: A mother’s love put side by side two interpretations of the 13^th-century Christian hymn that portrays Mary’s suffering during the crucifixion of her son. Each was quite different from the other and both were unlike traditional settings. Victoria Kelly’s Stabat Mater was commissioned by the NZSO as a response to Gioacchino Rossini’s Stabat Mater. Rossini’s piece strongly reflects his career composing operas in the bel canto style of virtuoso singing and elaborate vocal ornamentation.

Although the melodic and dramatic influence was there, it did not overwhelm the seriousness of the text which came through in the performance. Valentina Peleggi’s direction brought out the mood of each verse and the vocalists responded with feeling, especially when their solo voices were on display. Voices New Zealand Chamber Choir were excellent as ever. Led by music director Karen Grylls, their perfect diction, timing, phrasing, and dynamics are extraordinary and the best you will hear in Aotearoa.

The world premiere of Kelly’s Stabat Mater was an experience that lasted in my mind and body long after the performance. The music was profoundly emotional and somehow deeply, urgently visceral and beautiful all at once. In this Stabat Mater, Kelly’s reimagined Mary does not accept her son’s sacrifice, she does not weep nor mourn, but wields a sword and saves him. Kelly’s response to the eternal narrative of the suffering of women and mothers is a primal sense of rage and sadness expressed in an almost gentle, but powerfully nuanced and subtle simplicity.

Kelly wrote her own text and thanks to the vocal skill of Voices New Zealand, her perspective was plain to hear, as was the musical representation of Mary: a white crystal singing bowl, sometimes to the fore, other times absent.

Fittingly, the commission was funded by a consortium of female patrons, and honours for the evening went to a trio of women – composer, conductor, and choir director.

In the light of day, A Big Bold Beautiful Journey feels like a fever dream, but in the moment, in the darkness of the cinema, it feels like a portal to a world where reality is brighter, better, and unbound by the laws of physics.

Written by Seth Reiss (The Menu) and directed by esteemed film analyst and essayist Kogonada, A Big Bold Beautiful Journey begins unassumingly at The Car Rental Agency, where David (Colin Farrell) is renting a 1994 Saturn SL to get to a wedding hundreds of miles away. A rather persistent Phoebe Waller-Bridge and philosophical Kevin Kline strongly suggest he get the GPS. After meeting Sarah (Margot Robbie) at the wedding, then again at a burger joint, and again when her rented 1994 Saturn SL won’t start and his GPS instructs him to pick her up, they embark on a roadtrip through magical doors that lead to defining moments from their pasts.

Propped up by the consummate professionals that are Farrell and Robbie, the film is rich in symbolism, though it’s at times hard to grasp. Katie Byron’s production design is intricate, ethereal, enchanting, the cinematography (Benjamin Loeb) so vivid and alive it feels like you could reach out and grab the door handles yourself. Costume designer Arjun Bhasin’s colour choices definitely indicate something too, but I can’t quite put my finger on what.

I’d like to disclaim that when it came to the very divisive La La Land, I was in the ‘huge fan’ camp. I say this because I foresee A Big Bold Beautiful Journey experiencing a similar reception: either you love it, or you hate it. Why? Because it wades through the messy parts of life without balancing them out with redeeming character arcs or full-circle moments. It is firmly nestled into magical realism insofar that simultaneously nothing and everything happens; it seems to lead up to a big revelation and yet the story hardly progresses outside of pitstops and detours. If, in the paraphrased words of David, you hope to come to some grand conclusion about your life, you won’t like the movie, because, at the end, you’re left with very little except perhaps the feeling that you’ve just experienced something big, bold, and beautiful.

Two compact improvised performances come together as part of the New Zealand Improv Festival for a touching and entertaining hour of contrasting entertainment on the broad theme of friendship.

Created by PROTEA Impro from Tasmania and directed here by Jim Fishwick, Brenna Dixon and Benny Marama take the stage first for The Lighthouse, a charming and gentle tale of two lighthouse keepers who unintentionally find themselves sharing duties for 24 days when they were each looking forward to solitude. After an awkward introduction, they delicately explore each other’s personalities and dreams through deceptively simple questions about pets, kids, and favourite travel destinations. A mouse named Erik (with a K) who nests under the Weetabix becomes a cherished pet that binds them together when Chaffer eventually leaves.

The two performers are endearing and create beautiful existential portraits of two lost souls who find companionship and meaning. Beautifully simple mime and theatre tricks create their tight world, and the overall performance is deeply affecting to the extent it made the person sitting next to me cry.

Upping the energy and taking a more classic improvisational approach, Wiremu Tuhiwai and Brendon Bennetts bounce onto the stage with a Shaun of the Dead-inspired apocalypse story, Friends to the End. The audience-derived childhood-best-friends activity of playing with walkie-talkies, the Spice Girls’ song 2 Become 1, and an origami paper game selection of ‘reptiles evolve’ provided the parameters of the story. From there, they developed a hilarious narrative about BFFs Aaron and George dealing with the end of the world as lizards become sentient, lasso human hosts, and trample Godzilla-like over life as we know it.

Tuhiwai and Bennetts have great chemistry and their ability to create an instant story is whip-smart. The injection of a sub-plot about George sleeping with Aaron’s ex who then becomes the lizard queen is brilliant.

Accompanying both tales are Beans Wright on violin and Criss Grueber on keys, who provide appropriately lyrical and exciting music to support the diverse and equally enjoyable narratives.

Nearly 300 performers take the stage for this epic collaboration between Orpheus Choir Wellington, Auckland Choral, a children’s chorus, the Wellington Brass Band, and outstanding soloists.

The concert opens with Leonard Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms, a lovely piece, full of unexpected turns and lyrical beauty that showcases Bernstein’s flair for blending classical structure with theatrical expressiveness. Bernstein composed Chichester Psalms in 1965, drawing on material originally written for West Side Story and an abandoned musical project titled The Skin of Our Teeth. In his solo passages, countertenor Coco Diaz masterfully draws out the jazzy, rhythmic vitality and melodic phrasing of the work. His performance is mesmerising, and his voice is smooth, pure, and richly coloured. However, the choir seems less confident, with moments of hesitancy and very little dynamic contrast.

No such hesitancy is to be found, however, once we are plunged into the epic tale of fate, revelry, and sensuality that is Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana. The full force of the Wellington Brass Band is on show from the first bars of the opening, and the choirs seem to swell and fill with colour to meet them. It is simply thrilling music.

What follows is a smorgasbord of moods and modes. Baritone James Harrison brings delightful comic flair to his performance, particularly in his drunken characterisation during In Taberna. His theatricality is matched by vocal precision, making his moments both funny and musically satisfying. Soprano Emma Pearson is faultless throughout; consistent, clear, and commanding. The Wellington Brass Band are wondrous, adding punch and texture to the already rich orchestration. Pianists Jian Liu and Diedre Irons, both elite soloists, anchor the performance with virtuosic clarity and stamina, their playing a masterclass in precision and expression. It feels like an extraordinarily rare treat to have two such exceptional pianists on stage at once. The heft and drama of the closing movement is hard to beat; monumental, visceral, and utterly absorbing.

Jackson Burling was told one thing: never become a truck driver. In Over and Out, part of the TAHI: New Zealand Festival of Solo Performance, he digs into the why of not following in his dad’s footsteps through an interview with diehard trucker Murphy, bringing us along for a joyous ride of emotional discovery.

Verbatim theatre has become an increasingly popular form in recent years for bringing authentic voices to the stage. Through Murphy, “a real guy being real”, we understand the hard and often-underappreciated life of New Zealand’s long-distance drivers. The hours are brutal, you’re always away from home and miss time with your kids, you subsist on junk food and V, you have to sleep in the back of your cab… There are many reasons not to choose this career, but it’s clear by the end of this 50-minute performance that those who do choose it love it with a passion that transcends the drudgery.

Burling is a superbly talented and highly engaging writer and performer. Under the expert guidance of director Simon Leary and with a stellar lineup of tech support, his tale goes far beyond the mere replaying of Murphy’s on-the-road interview. He jumps effortlessly between himself and Murphy with nothing more than a trucker’s cap as a prop. He also interacts with a projection screen (design and videography by Rebekah de Roo) and perfectly timed sound effects (Oliver Devlin) to tell his own story of choosing performance over driving. I won’t spoil the surprise of what a very clever lighting effect (Jacob Banks) does to represent his dad. Even Burling’s cell phone is part of the multimedia brilliance.

All of this could have been self-indulgent, but it’s entirely not. At the core of Over and Out is the relationship between Burlings junior and senior and it’s one that is beautifully revealed over the course of a warmly funny and innovatively produced show about taking your own path in life.