Wellington’s weather lined itself up perfectly for the opening concert of the NZSO’s 2025 Rumakina Immerse Festival, although the title of Modest Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain could be an understatement for the state of the streets on a cold, wet, windy night in August. The violins, brass, and percussion set up the witches’ sabbath gathering, shrieking and howling most convincingly before eventually resolving into an uneasy peace, led by clarinet and then the flutes. Later, when we left the Michael Fowler Centre the wind and rain had eased off, perhaps just in time for the Cuba Street partygoers heading out to meet the witches turning for home.

Domestic magic was very much the theme for the next item, Paul Dukas’ The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. The opening theme sounded like there were cobwebs in the corners and the apprentice was taking an extended break. The pace picks up as the boy gets to work and when the bassoon and glockenspiel play off each other, you know the magic has been instilled into the broom. Made famous by Disney’s Fantasia, the music is terrifically visual for anyone who knows the film. For anyone without the mental images, the orchestra did a fine job of portraying the mayhem and panic as the broom gets out of control.

A more powerful magician is at work in Igor Stravinsky’s Petrushka, bringing puppets to life. The innovation in Stravinsky’s composition is evident from the start. Early sounds of dissonance are later fully realised as the composer uses two unrelated keys to show the dual natures of a puppet who has been made to live. The flutes and trumpets combined well to lead us into the seduction of the Ballerina. The orchestra responded to the direction of conductor André de Ridder (announced as the new NZSO music director from 2027) with nicely balanced accents and intensity conveying action, colour, and all the drama of Petrushka’s life and death.

Docking half a star for the ending! Look, I’m a sucker for the type of unresolved conclusion that makes most people angrily shake their fist at the sky. Exhibit A: La La Land – perfect movie, no notes. Exhibit B: Inception – it’s the way it had to be. I love when you invest hours of your time and become emotionally attached to characters only to find that, like in life, the ending is not tied up in a pretty little bow like you’d hoped for. But Riviera Revenge? That cut deep, and if you can’t tell, I’m slightly mad about it.

Up until the final three minutes, this film was everything I had hoped for in a French summer rom-com. Scandal, slapstick, scenery, and, most importantly, strong female characters who take no slack from men. We love a stylish, self-assured queen in her seventies. What more could you ask for?

Written and directed by Ivan Calbérac, Riviera Revenge follows the story of Annie (Sabine Azéma) and François Marsault (André Dussollier), a former military general. After being happily married for 50 years, François discovers 40-year-old letters in his attic revealing his wife’s torrid affair with their Niçoise friend Boris Pelleray (Thierry Lhermitte). Resolved to avenge the deed to the dismay of his wife and their three adult children, he goes hunting for the culprit on the Côte-d’Azur.

With no shortage of scenic shots and saturated in the essence of a summer spent along the European Riviera, Philippe Guilbert’s cinematography alone would have won me over in the cold depths of our New Zealand winter. Add perfectly timed editing from Reynald Bertrand, a suitably stylish French wardrobe from costume designer Rebecca Renault, and expertly fashioned sub-plots stitched into the story, and you’ve concocted the perfect recipe for a rom-com à la francaise. Not to mention the kind of finely tuned, subtle acting you get only from veteran performers at the peak of their power.

Light-hearted, cheeky, and suitably silly with just the right amount of sass and sauce, saunter to Riviera Revenge in cinemas, but be warned: N’avoue jamais or never admit – the original title – is perhaps a better indicator of what to expect!

This is my first encounter with the Prefab Hall venue, and I am impressed. The glass and cathedral-grain plywood interior is an ideal backdrop for this intimate chamber music performance. There is minimal but effective stage dressing consisting of suitcases, sheet music, and candles. In the front row, we are within touching distance of the cellists.

The production includes many thoughtful touches. The programme notes for each piece are written by a different musician, and include their personal musings and emotional responses to the works. Before each musical work, NZSQ violinist Peter Clark reads a poem by a well-known author from Aotearoa. Each poem is cleverly chosen to resonate with the themes of the music. It’s an effective convention; the poems feel almost like palate cleansers between courses of rich food.

We begin stirringly, with the newly formed Antipodes Quartet in their Wellington debut, playing Dmitri Shostakovich’s String Quartet No. 7 in F-sharp minor. Right from violinist Mana Waiariki’s adroit opening the quartet are precisely attuned to each other. This is an emotionally and structurally complex work, which I last saw performed by the internationally renowned Borodin Quartet, yet I was astounded and moved by this rendition.  

Antipodes Quartet follow the Shostakovich with Gao Ping’s A Lingering Echo – homage to Dmitri Shostakovich. We then have a reshuffling of musicians. Antipodes Quartet cellist Lavinnia Rae is joined by two New Zealand String Quartet members and guest violinist Arna Morton for Shostakovich’s String Quartet No. 6 in G major. It’s a tremendous pleasure to see these different combinations of artists working together, especially at such close quarters when the minutiae of their techniques can be appreciated.

All eight musicians return to the stage for the decadent and diabolical final work, Shostakovich’s Two Pieces for String Octet. The octet produces a gloriously balanced sound – each young musician synergistic with their counterpart. Luminary cellist Inbal Megiddo is especially magnificent, drawing overwhelmingly beautiful phrases from her instrument.

Party Faithful is a remarkable concert programme, presenting two symphonies – both Aotearoa premieres – by 20^th-century masters. Dmitri Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 3 in E-flat Major, Op. 20 The First of May, and Benjamin Britten’s Symphony for Cello and Orchestra, Op. 68 both emerged from complex times in the artists’ careers, when each composer was publicly celebrated yet privately vulnerable. The two men were near exact contemporaries: while Shostakovich navigated his perilous acclaim under the shadow of Stalin’s purges, Britten lived a precarious double life in England – a semi-closeted gay man, who nevertheless enjoyed the official patronage and personal friendship of the British Royal Family.

We open with Britten’s Symphony for Cello and Orchestra, an intellectually demanding work composed for the legendary Russian cellist Mstislav Rostropovich. Soloist Lev Sivkov joins the orchestra, and from the outset commands the stage. The piece unfolds as a series of musical affirmations and challenges that threaten to destabilise the work, before once again allowing the soloist enough momentum to counterbalance the orchestra. Sivkov’s characteristically intense style extracts each phrase with precision, switching deftly between tones in an assortment of grainy, breathy, and rumbling theme-fragments. He fires volleys only to cut them off abruptly, or detonates hard-struck chords only to demur and dapple us with a warm, golden cadenza. The audience is engrossed, and even Sivkov’s fellow musicians seated around him seem transfixed by his playing.

By the time Shostakovich composed the symphony featured in tonight’s programme, his friend and fellow composer Mikhail Kvadri – who had received the dedication of his extraordinary First Symphony – had already been executed. Fittingly then, the Shostakovich we hear in this Third Symphony brims with political contempt and anxiety. The work uses a single-movement structure, with marches, brass flourishes, and lyrical passages tripping over each other in their desperation to proclaim the praises of the Soviet State, without a single theme repeated. The conclusion is a driven and disquieting fanfare, culminating in a compelling choral section from the Orpheus Choir.

There are so few opportunities to enjoy collaborations like this one that the audience dived wholeheartedly into the enormously uplifting experience Mana Moana offered us. The very full programme was a repertoire of songs from around the Pacific Islands arranged for Signature Choir and the NZSO. “Pasifika music is grounded in storytelling, vocal interplay, and spiritual expression while orchestral music brings scale, structure, and emotional range,” Signature Choir founder and music director Fepulea’i Helen Tupai says.

The Signature Choir embraces more than 50 vocalists, and was formed three years ago in Te Whanganui-a-Tara Wellington to promote Pacific language and culture through music. The local audience loves their local choir and plenty of waves, smiles, greetings, and eye contact between singers and family in the crowd added to the palpable excitement in the sold-out auditorium.

We voyaged between the Cook Islands, Fiji, Niue, Samoa, Tokelau, and Tonga, guided by exceptional talent: Helen Tupai and Jadrah Tupai, director and co-director of the Signature Choir; Brent Stewart conducting the NZSO; and MC Tofiga Fepulea’i. With one of Aotearoa’s leading comedians at the helm, the evening was filled with laughter as well as the simple but powerful happiness inspired by the music.

And the music was awesome. The choir was superbly supported by the orchestra. Voices might sometimes be overwhelmed by instruments but not in this performance. The sounds of the Pacific were front and centre and the orchestra proved how musical traditions can step out of their familiar spaces. Western culture claimed the term ‘classical’ for its music and musicians, but the NZSO showed us how they can flex those boundaries. Expert arrangements and wonderful performances demonstrated how cultures can combine in musical and metaphorical harmony. Whoops, cheers, dancing, clapping, singing, laughter, and delight were the other prominent sounds of the evening, all of them rapidly growing in the last quarter of the show. Pure joy.

Are you a believer or a sceptic? The kind of person who just wants to be entertained by the mere mention of magic or someone who needs to know the truth behind the smoke and mirrors? Illusionist Anthony Street – with what seems like nothing more than a flick of the wrist or a snap of his nimble fingers – leaves both camps spellbound.

From behind puffs of smoke and billowing satin flags, the Australian dream maker conjures up grand illusions for his audience of willing Wellington fans, fabricating worlds of wonder where anything is possible. He makes dancers Imogen Doody and Rachael Peters vanish seemingly into thin air – weren’t they just inside that sword-stabbed box not a moment before? Audience members are brought to the stage only to find their chosen cards appearing in the most unexpected places. A motorcycle somehow materialises at the flash of a perfectly timed lighting change (Xavier Dannock). Each one of us in the crowd, after performing a card trick according to the instructions, finds the three of diamonds tucked snuggly beneath our leg, just as Street predicted.

But it’s not just the illusions of grand scale that make Street’s audiences “ooh” and “aah” on cue. His skill and showmanship shine brightest in the smallest tricks, in the intimate moments of heartfelt humour, sentimental storytelling, and charming connection. Beginning the show by performing the first magic trick he ever saw, Street walks audiences down memory lane, tracking the standout moments that led him right here to The Opera House stage.

Watching eight-year-old Willow’s eyes light up as she helps Street levitate a table on stage or little Basil’s eyes widen in disbelief as the illusionist pulls coins from behind his ears and elbows are the truest and purest moments of magic. With stage manager Jeremy Evans in tow with a camera linked up to a projector screen above the stage, Street takes three rings from the audience and, before our eyes, links them together – I cannot for the life of me figure out how he did it. And truthfully, I don’t really want to know. Call me a believer, but I prefer to live in a world imbued with magic.

It’s been a long time since I have left the cinema with such a big smile on my face. Whether you want to attribute it to the heartwarming story, the irresistible charm of an exceptionally cute dragon named Toothless, or the fact that I have watched both this new live-action iteration and the original animated feature sat next to my mum in the cinema is your call. Regardless, I would bet that How to Train Your Dragon will make you smile as much as it did us.

If you, like me, recall staring starry eyed up at the screen when the animated movie How to Train Your Dragon was released in cinemas in 2010, then you’re in luck, because the live-action version is essentially a shot-for-shot remake. For those who didn’t grow up with the franchise, the first film in the series takes place in a Viking settlement that battles with dragon attacks daily. Descended from the best fighters of all the Viking tribes, the inhabitants of the Isle of Berk have been tasked with one job: kill all dragons. To chief Stoick the Vast’s (Gerard Butler) dismay, his son Hiccup (Mason Thames) either didn’t inherit the dragon-slayer gene or perhaps just sees the world a bit differently. When Hiccup befriends a dragon named Toothless, he never would have guessed that together they would turn the world upside down.

Written and directed by series creator Dean DeBlois, the live-action film sees Nick Frost in the teacherly role of Gobber the Belch, New Zealand’s own Julian Dennison as Hiccup’s classmate Fishlegs Ingerman, and Nico Parker of The Last of Us fame as Hiccup’s crush Astrid Hofferson alongside relative newcomer Thames and Butler reprising his original role. Together, they deliver a performance that captures the same charm and high-adrenaline spirit of the original cartoon without seeming over the top. The story and world are believable, and incredibly beautiful thanks to cinematographer Bill Pope’s sweeping shots of the Irish coast. The CGI has copped some criticism for not blending in well with its surroundings, but it looked seamless to my untrained eye. With excellent production design (Dominic Watkins), costumes (Lindsay Pugh), and dynamic editing (Wyatt Smith), How to Train Your Dragon is as joyful, adventurous, and fun as I remembered it so many moons ago.

John Ritchie’s Papanui Road Concert Overture was a brilliant opening piece in this programme. The road came to life in a series of distinct soundbites. It really was like walking down the street, checking the front gardens, peering up driveways, spotting locals, remembering events, and noticing what was going on.

Pianist Javier Perianes played Manuel de Falla’s Nights in the Gardens of Spain with a sound neither dominant nor lost in the orchestra. Just as the composer intended, all the musicians came together in a lovely unity of Andalusian, flamenco, North African, and classical traditions.

Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G Major is also an intermingling of styles, this time the composer’s Basque heritage and 1920s jazz. The opening whip crack tells you this is something different. The first and third movements have a tinge of jazz to go with the folk melodies. From the first piano notes – which were beautifully played – the balance and tone in the piano and orchestra were so seamless that in the second movement, it was as if the woodwind emerged from inside the piano, one after the other. Emilia Hoving’s conducting talent and style were really apparent here.

While playing in different time signatures in each hand is definitely challenging for the pianist, imagine the next level of difficulty this presents for the conductor. Hoving is a very talented, assured, and confident young director. Her distinctive style has been noted by commentators in the last couple of years. Here she appeared to be conducting a different time in each hand, each comfortably independent of the other.

Leading the orchestra into Stravinsky’s The Firebird, Hoving played with the opportunities the 13 movements presented to bring out some amazing solos from horns, strings, woodwind, and harp. The intensity and liveliness grew, building towards a thrilling finale. Waves of pulsing sound raised the heart rate, excitement, and the applause.

By the time Anatole Zsa-Zsa Korda’s sixth assassination attempt is underway, Wes Anderson’s orderly, well-balanced world has been blown to smithereens… quite literally. As for Korda (Benicio del Toro), he seems more annoyed than afraid.

We soon learn that this is nothing out of the ordinary for ‘Mr Five Percent’. The world’s most elusive businessman seems to profit from dubious dealings – hence the routine assassination attempts. Except this time, something has changed. After his latest plane crash, Korda had a vision: a Biblical, black and white cut scene in which he appears to be on trial for his life. Perhaps he died for a moment this time. Regardless, it won’t be his last vision or death

He decides to appoint his only daughter, Liesl (Mia Threapleton), a nun, as sole heir to his estate. Thus begins The Phoenician Scheme, setting Korda, Liesl, and Norwegian entomologist tutor-turned-administrative secretary Bjorn (Michael Cera) on a madcap venture to revolutionise the area formerly known as Phoenicia.

Written by director Anderson and Roman Coppola, The Phoenician Scheme, like any Anderson film, is distinctively his in every aspect. From sets to sound, dialogue to dramatics, the master of arthouse filmmaking has done it again. His latest is isolating yet intimate, microscopic yet monolithic, a perfectly choreographed two-step where moments of high-stakes intellect waltz onto the screen only to be replaced by a lindy hop of unhinged absurdity.  

Adam Stockhausen’s sets look as flimsy and fabricated as Korda’s grand scheme, while Bruno Delbonnel’s cinematography makes everything seem toy-like and distant yet still utterly personal and aesthetic as in true Anderson fashion. The score, crafted meticulously by Alexandre Desplat, is incessant. Like a dripping tap, it accompanies every breath, every argument, every drop of every pin. As messy as Korda’s world, it eats away at your sanity as the story devolves into chaos and uncertainty.

Add flat lays, extreme long shots for exposition, and hyper-detailed closeups overflowing with props and the result is a reality that seems both utterly fabricated and inherently real, chaotic and choreographed, impossible and familiar. Despite its orderly appearance and general dreaminess, The Phoenician Scheme is a world of inconsistencies, opposites, coincidences, tragedies, and miracles. Like every Wes Anderson film, it’s a bit like life itself.