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.

A story as dark and cold as a Wellington winter night, The Fox gently unravels a modestly content household in the pursuit of happiness. Inspired by D. H. Lawrence’s novella of the same name, Keith Scott’s The Fox follows Jill Banford (Yasmine Alani) and Nellie March (Lottie Butcher), who live a humble life on a farm. Things go awry when Henry Grenfel (Sven Hoerler) returns from fighting in World War I to the homestead his grandfather had once owned, now the abode of Jill and Nellie.

The Fox is drenched in symbolism, which is often overlooked in plays, but the actors do well to emphasise phrases so that the audience can easily understand the references. Whether it is the titular fox or a deer, everything in the script has a deeper meaning. It takes paying a penny for your thoughts to a whole new level. We are prompted to view everyday life through a different lens, eager to dissect the meaning in everything. The Fox serves as a warning about the place we put men in our lives and homes and the damage they can cause.

The cast keep the audience engaged throughout – no mean feat for just three actors – and portray their characters with nuance, showing us the complexity and frailty of their relationships. I particularly enjoy the queer coding between Jill and Nellie.

The set (Ewen Coleman) provides the perfect backdrop and really feels like the quaint home Nellie and Jill have spent years perfecting. It is also refreshing to see how well utilised the set is, as each part serves a purpose.

This Wellington Repertory Theatre production will get you pondering on many levels as it asks a question about the cost of happiness and whether it is achievable. I know I will still be thinking of it in the days ahead. Come in from the cold and see for yourself the damage a fox can do.

By now, anyone wandering Wellington’s wonderful waterfront would have spotted two large shipping containers set up at Odlins Plaza. In giant block letters, one reads FLIGHT, the other SÉANCE. But what worlds wait inside?

DARKFIELD is an immersive audio experience that takes place in total darkness, but not before audiences see the inside of the containers. This gives us a setting for the experience to unfold and grounds us in reality before the rug is pulled out from underneath us (figuratively, but it sure feels literal) and our imaginations take flight.

Which brings me to FLIGHT. With the Australian and New Zealand set built by Show Works, stepping inside this container elicits a collective audible gasp. It looks practically identical to the right side of an airplane cabin, complete with round windows through which a faint glow emits. Familiar sounds you’d hear on any flight beep and crackle through the provided headsets. Hilariously, and without being asked to do so, many of us fasten our seatbelts. On small overhead screens, flight attendant Eugénie Pastor relays safety instructions and our captain, Nigel Barrett, dials in. Cue lights out.

It's pitch black as the sound of our plane taking off blares in our ears. I nearly get vertigo and, as I thrust back in my seat unwittingly, I curse inwardly for having forgotten my sucky lollies. Then I remember… this isn’t real! Talk about suspension of disbelief.

Fictional babies start to cry from multiple seats as their ears pop from the altitude and I find myself counting my blessings I’m not seated next to one of them before remembering, again, that I’m on the ground in Wellington. A hilarious highlight of the 360-degree audio performance comes when our flight attendant tells the babies to stop crying, please, and dead silence ensues.

The story that unfolds from here is a touch on the nose radome, particularly with the reference to a passenger named Mr Schrödinger. As someone who genuinely felt like they were on an airplane in the first five minutes, the script’s diversion into fantastical realms muddied my experience. I’d be curious to see a storyline that leans more on the merits of such a brilliant and unique concept – perhaps one that takes audiences on a regular flight filled with interesting character studies or relationship (aero)dynamics. Nevertheless, I’d recommend DARKFIELD: FLIGHT for the highly detailed set and the singularity of the experience: apart from next door at SÉANCE, you’ll never see (or hear) anything like it!

SÉANCE sees audiences enter a room single file, peeling left and right to sit on either side of a large rectangular table that runs the length of the shipping container. Small golden bells dangle on red strings, but other than that, the set (built for Australia and New Zealand by Form Imagination) is stark, cold. We’re instructed to place both hands on the table and to not, under any circumstances, take them off for the duration of the experience, lest we break the connection and unleash a spirit. Nervous energy crackles down the table like electricity. When the lights go out, Tom Lyall performs a séance through our headphones, seemingly stomping up and down the table and whispering sweet spooky nothings in our ears. I can’t spoil the story here, but there’s a certain melting, squelching sound that still makes me shudder!    

With artistic direction from David Rosenberg and Glen Neath, executive direction from Andrea Salazar, and creative direction from senior creative producer Victoria Eyton, DARKFIELD is produced by Amy Johnson and Nathan Alexander of Realscape Productions. I would’ve loved to have seen more character development throughout both stories, but wholly enjoyed my time in the alternative worlds, the heart-palpitating dark fields conjured up by this creative team. Enter at your own peril!

The Ballad of Briar Grant tells the story of Hayley (played by Phoebe Caldeiro) and how she finds herself again after confessing her true feelings and being rejected by Briar Grant, her best friend. After her hopes are crushed, aimless and despairing, she ends up travelling to an apple orchard in the south of France. Here she is confronted by fate and unable to escape her emotions, as the woman she is working with is also called Briar Grant (played by Anna Barker).

Barker and Caldeiro have excellent chemistry, their sharp and considered delivery getting the humour of the script across as the ridiculous coincidence of their situation is ignited by their opposing personalities. Hayley is dejected and lost, struggling to draw meaning from the beautiful landscape she has found herself in. Meanwhile, Briar is manic, brash, and desperate for connection to the point of unabashed obnoxiousness. The characters are relatable, and while their situation may not be familiar, it is easy to empathise with them and read oneself into the story. Hayley’s feelings of despondence and frustration are compellingly painted by Caldeiro, matched by Barker’s neurotic pushiness as Briar Grant.

The set design by Heather Wright is effective, consisting of modular crates full of apples and some drapes that evoke the rows of the apple orchard. Sound design by Ben Kelly and lighting by Jacob Banks also satisfyingly set the scene, with sounds of birdsong and an orange glow of light to depict the warm, sunny day in France. Lighting and sound are also used to punctuate key moments in the play, including the climax of the story where Hayley’s emotions finally build up to express her frustrations about her original Briar in song. 

At times, there are pregnant, ponderous moments in the play where the action is drawn out and we are able to reflect on what the characters are going through. Sometimes the motivation in these moments is a little unclear, but overall, the script is understandable and lifelike. Thus, it is incredibly cathartic to see the characters grow and change, and reflect on how we also may have become different from our past selves.