Bella Baird is a brilliant but brittle Ivy League creative writing professor. Christopher Dunn is her talented yet angry and somewhat mysterious student. Surrounded by real life and literary fiction, an unusual friendship grows between their two lonely souls. Then one winter’s day, Bella asks an unthinkable favour of Christopher and their figurative and literal bonds turn full circle.

With much of the text delivered in direct address to the audience, Dulcie Smart has a huge job to do in playing Bella and does so with the self-assurance of an accomplished international stage and screen actor. As Christopher, Kieran Charnock carefully carries the awkwardness and sometimes disingenuous nature of a young novelist struggling to find his identity and voice. 

Stella Reid’s tight and flowing direction makes the most of Meg Rollandi’s creative set design that allows multiple rooms, a bar, and a park to co-exist without need for walls. Natasha James’ moodily effective lighting design that employs three onstage lamps, plus top and side light through haze, emphasises the darkly multi-layered narrative. Thomas Arbor’s shapeshifting music and sound effects provide a pulsing sonic backdrop, most appreciably during the scenes where both actors are on stage. 

I appreciate the expressive and often lyrical writing, the exploration of the loneliness that sometimes accompanies high intelligence and literary sensibility, and the encircled creativity of the story. I would like to have seen Bella and Christopher interact more often and have more actual dialogue and less reported speech than Adam Rapp’s script gave them as their refreshingly non-sexual relationship unfolded. This I think would have allowed me to emotionally invest in the characters and their fates, rather than marvelling at their intellectual capabilities. Ultimately, The Sound Inside tugged more at my head than my heart.

With an award-nominated script, high production values, slick direction, and highly rated actors, The Sound Inside is a classy piece of theatre that will leave you with much to chew on and dissect.

After the opening piece, Don Juan by Richard Strauss, conductor Adam Johnson told us it wouldn’t be the last time the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra (NZSO) National Youth Orchestra (NYO) string musicians would play it. Don Juan is apparently one of the more difficult pieces in the repertoire and, should they pursue their careers with other orchestras, they will probably find themselves playing it in their audition. On the strength of this performance, their careers, and those of their colleagues, are off to a great start. The sound was lush and deep with strong rushes of romanticism through lovely legato playing.

Soprano Madison Horman, a local from Palmerston North with an impressive musical education, took on the challenge of Strauss’ 4 Lieder, Op. 27. Horman has a rich tone and although a little outweighed by the orchestra in early, quieter passages, her big voice did justice to one of the most frequently performed of Strauss’ works.

As well as an opportunity for the country’s best young musicians to play and perform together, the NYO also supports an annual composer-in-residence. This year, Luka Venter drew inspiration from UNESCO’s International Year of Glaciers’ Preservation to take listeners inside a glacier. Glaciers are in a constant state of change and Venter captured the sounds of that perpetual movement with a mysterious accuracy. As well as depicting the vivid blue colour of the ice, we could hear the light dancing through the form of the glacier.

Rachmaninov’s Symphony No. 2 brought together all the hard work our National Youth Orchestra musicians have put in on their own, in their regional groups, and finally, as one orchestra rehearsing together for the last week. The passion of the piece was matched by passion in the performance. It feels harsh to pick only one amongst so many, but the standout was the principal clarinet in the Adagio. Long passages, played with infinite care and attention, held the narrative perfectly.

Mister Six and I had the privilege of being in the presence of a famous duo at Heidi and Sean Show. Heidi Jean Lougher and Sean Kaata Dwen have trained and performed all over the world, including Vietnam, Scotland, and Iceland, and they did not disappoint. They may have even encouraged my son to attend circus school one day!

Although the weather is wet, the Tararaua Tramping Club Clubrooms are warm and cosy. We are warmly welcomed by Fergus Aitken and show producer Amalia Calder at the door and make our way to the lolly table, which has become a part of our tradition when attending KidzStuff shows. Then we go to scout out some choice seats. The venue is already pretty full, and I am surrounded by lots of excited faces. What I love about the theatre is the fact that there aren’t allocated seats, and the kids are welcome to sit on the rug right in front of the stage. Talk about front-row action!

Heidi and Sean’s simple but effective staging, costumes, and props make us intrigued about what tricks they might have up their sleeves. The lights and music by the wonderful Deb McGuire set the vibe for each act.

With the number of oohs and aahs, gasps and claps that we heard (and sounded ourselves), it’s safe to say you and your kids will be in for a treat at Heidi and Sean Show. Humorous jokes are worked into the act, aimed at both young and old. It gets even more fun with a bit of audience participation, and the finale will leave you wanting more.

After every show I go to with Mister Six, I always ask him what his favourite part was. Unfortunately, I can’t share his specific answer this time because I don’t want to spoil it for you, but it does turn out that he loved… drumroll please… all of it! He loves magic, tricks, stunts, and all things awe-inspiring. So, pop down to Heidi and Sean Show for a show like no other these school holidays!

Presenting A Nightime Travesty in its international debut, one of Australia’s few First Nations independent theatre collectives explodes onto the Wellington stage as part of the Kia Mau Festival. Their “unique brand of Blak Brechtian, post-traumatic adventure theatre” is a brutal, passionate, and X-rated satire against toxic patriarchy, colonialism, environmental destruction, white supremacy, and the abuse of God to demonise and subjugate Indigenous peoples. Even the inequities and privations of the theatre world come under its savage spotlight.

Co-creators and committed performers Kamarra Bell-Wykes and Carly Sheppard play the lion’s share of the roles as the Last Fleet of privileged humans takes to the sky to escape a poisoned Earth burning below them. They’re bound for an uncertain fate, perhaps the afterlife they’ve dreamed of in church. The “last Aboriginal”, the naively hopeful and warrior-hearted Angel, is one of two flight attendants and a failed pilot, denied the chance to fulfil her potential simply by her race and sex. The actual pilot, Captain God’s Gift, is an over-sexed, hugely endowed man-beast who ravages any available female just because he can. Lurking on the fringes and occasionally joining the story is a bong-smoking, masturbating Death (Zach Blampied).

Helping deliver the often hilarious, occasionally heart-rending original songs are smallsound and Matthew Pana on guitar and drums. smallsound is also responsible for the easily portable set design that involves a desk, skulls, stuffed toys, a couple of small bins, a large gong, and various other bits and pieces that Death plays with and that become props used throughout the show, alongside the odd amputated limb and severed head. Gina Gascoigne’s pacy lighting design augments the garish, crazy action.

A Nightime Travesty thoroughly eviscerates its themes in 100 minutes of raw, eye-popping theatre. Sit in the front row and you’ll be offered bottles of urine and cat food to keep you going on this journey to Hell. Strap in for a wild ride!

This concert continues Orchestra Wellington’s season-long exploration of the works of Dmitri Shostakovich, spoiling us with the Aotearoa premiere performance of his Symphony No. 2 in B major, Op. 14 October. This challenging work epitomises a precious and precarious time in the composer’s career, when he was still the beneficiary of state support. October was commissioned by the Propaganda department of the State Music Publishing house to mark the 10^th anniversary of the October Revolution.

The orchestra opens with low muttering strings, a chaotic ferment of pregnant tension. Music director Marc Taddei’s command of the symphony’s moods and mutations is masterful, and the audience clings on through tempestuous, whirling themes and an almost sarcastic march. Brass shines throughout, glutting on variations of liminal and mocking tonalities. This crucible of sound is collapsed instantly by the wail of a factory siren, a simultaneously otherworldly and industrial interruption that summons the choir (Orpheus Choir Wellington) for the rousing and bizarrely banal finale.

In the interlude that follows, our conductor confesses into the microphone, “Bonkers is the word for this music”.

This is a night of delights for the Russophiles, with Shostakovich set alongside his fellow countrymen, 19^th-century greats Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky and Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov. It’s smart programming – opening with the melodic refusals and polyphony of October allows for the full shock value of the work to ring out, and makes the lyricism of the following pieces all the more pleasing.

Celebrated pianist Jian Liu joins the orchestra for Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 3 in E-flat major, Op. 75 and delights us with his adept and sensitive playing. The evening closes with Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade, a tone poem whose endless harmonic invention and reinvention on the same seductive tunes conjures the plenty of the Arabian Nights. Concertmaster Amalia Hall winds balletically through the yearning violin melodies, complemented by dynamic section soloists, including a deliciously expressive oboe. We leave Favoured Son stimulated, satiated, and eager to see where this season’s narrative takes us next.

As part of the Kia Mau Festival, this collection of three dance works traces the connections between vast ancestral landscapes and our bodies. It’s performed by Raven Spirit Dance hailing from Vancouver, Turtle Island, and the unceded ancestral territories of the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), sḵwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish), and səl̓ilwətaɁɬ (Tsleil-waututh) First Nations.

Frost Exploding Trees Moon follows the journey of a woman (Michelle Olson) travelling her trap line. She is simply outfitted in dress, head scarf, and soft leather boots and carries three tree branches. She moves sometimes joyfully, sometimes thoughtfully, sometimes fearfully while responding to the rhythms of ancestral music and song. Eventually, her branches become a modest teepee that she shelters under from the harsh mountain environment she previously revelled in.

The second piece, Spine of the Mother, began as a collaboration between Indigenous artists in Canada and Peru and explores their deep connection with the mountain ranges that join them geographically. Representing the spirits of North and South, Eagle and Condor, two women (Tasha Faye Evans and Marisa Gold) interact with stones while haunting music and the harsh sound of grinding rock guides their movements. Often twisted, painful, and frantic, their bodies echo the cracking freeze and thaw of the high mountains. They find peace and connection in each other as the two hemispheres come together in breath and spirit.

Finally, Confluence uses five flowing, playful bodies to trace the journey of a rushing river that speaks to the resilience and adaptability of Indigenous women. Dressed in bright colours, the five women (Michelle Olson, Starr Muranko, Jeanette Kotowich, Samantha Sutherland, and Emily Solstice) clap and move in time as they celebrate life together, then split and reform as water curves around rocks. A sweet echo of the first piece comes as Olson is briefly left solo on the stage glancing upwards at the sky.

Beautifully lit (John Carter and Jonathan Kim) and accompanied by a lush soundscape from a variety of artists, Braiding the Land is a contemplative and thought-provoking physical exploration of the ancient ties between people and land.

As director Izzy Rabey notes in the programme, For the Love of Spam is often “the first encounter audiences have with someone from Guam” and that was certainly true in my case. I’ve never knowingly met anyone from this small Micronesian island perched on the lip of the Marianas Trench and knew little about it apart from its bloody role as a Japan–US battleground in World War II. I also didn’t know that the canned meat made famous by a Monty Python song was so integral to the culture there.

Sierra Sevilla is a wonderfully engaging performer and has written this show, on in Wellington as part of the Kia Mau Festival, from her heart. With a few simple props and set pieces – most notably a cutout of Guam made from Astroturf and a cross constructed from piled-up Spam tins – she tells us the story of her waymaking in life as a 33-year-old CHamorou/Filipino/White woman and lover of Spam. Along the way, various audience members are brought into the story, including one brave young woman who becomes Problematic Roommate Number 5, who thinks Spam is gross and not something you should be eating in a Boston university dorm.

The CHamorou creation story of Guam, playing Quidditch to fit in, a hunky Spam Daddy who provides comfort while she’s homesick in London, and a conversation during sex with her husband about introducing their future kids to the tinned comestible all feature in a hilarious tale of finding her place in the world. Punctuated by song and dance, it’s all light-hearted and entertaining until the final kicker where 14 minutes take on a deadly significance and we find out how vital the presence of a foodstuff can be in someone’s life.

Sevilla and Rabey have beautifully achieved what they set out to do – making a work about colonialism and Indigenous people’s rights funny and engaging without alienating the audience. I left the theatre feeling enlightened in a way I never expected from a play ostensibly concerning spiced ham.

A Master of None: Brown Fala marks celebrated tenor Lila Crichton’s debut as writer, composer, and director. Created together with Woven Collective and presented as part of the Kia Mau Festival, the production melds artforms, influences, and modes of narrative into a cohesive aesthetic world that feels simultaneously radically creative and profoundly grounded.

The story is told through a plethora of techniques, but music is key, with all of the cast contributing voice talents and most also serving as musicians. The compositions celebrate Samoan roots and the influences of Māori and Black culture, and feature magnificent choral sections.

The narrative addresses the issue of violence against women and tamariki in Samoa through the fala, or woven mat. Fala are used by the cast as gathering places, sites for work, storytelling, intimacy, and violence. The action is structured around the communal activities required for making fala: harvesting pandanus leaves, boiling, drying, and finally weaving the strands together. The ensemble’s movements and choreography (Luchiano Tuioti) are deftly executed and enrich the worldbuilding.

Fala also feature in the practice of ifoga, when an offender covers themselves with a fine mat as an atonement for an offence. At one point a sobbing woman is confined under a mat by her partner, and the discomfort of the ensemble (and audience) is left to grow as she continues to cry, isolated in the dark from the rest of her community. The ifoga, and by extension the weight of shame, is then moved by the community onto the offending partner. The following sequence in which the woman is restored to her full dignity through community care, and the contrite offender is reintegrated, is perfectly paced and poignant.

A Master of None: Brown Fala is a superbly well-crafted show from a multi-talented virtuosic team. All elements of the production from wardrobe (Masi Smith) to videography (Inti Resende) deserve their own paragraph of praise. Grounded in pride and identity, this is powerful contemporary theatre that manages at the same time to be gentle, and to hold space for our human complexity.

Part of the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra’s annual Setting Up Camp programme, Masterworks will be off on a brisk tour to Blenheim, Nelson, Manukau City, and Kerikeri. I once came across the NZSO and its impressive logistics at Blenheim airport but hadn’t really thought about musical preparation. The artistic team must create a programme to engage audiences who have the luxury of attending live performances often, and excite those who have few of those opportunities. Enter Masterworks: Mozart & Beethoven.

Grieg’s Peer Gynt Suite No.1 opened with the evocative Morning Mood. A lightness of tone was especially apparent in Anitra’s Dance, where delicate pizzicato was matched by nimble bowing.

NZSO concertmaster Vesa-Matti Leppänen’s performance of Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 5 was the evening’s highlight. As CE Marc Feldman told us in his well-pitched introduction, this concerto is from the time Mozart was starting to mature, aged 19. Leppänen delivered a calm, composed performance. His cadenzas were beautifully played, delicate, graceful, and expressive, not letting youth run away with a moment in the spotlight. His solo passages were executed thoughtfully and through the second and third movements we could feel him leading and bringing the orchestra with him much more than just being accompanied by them. This is also testament to admirable restraint on Judd’s part, letting the whole of the NZSO do what they do best.

The many layers of Briar Prastiti’s The Garden were atmospheric and complex. In nature ‘the more you look the more you see’ can also be true in music when ‘the more you listen the more you hear’.

Feldman told us Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony, Pastoral, was modern for its time. If you listen beyond the pastoral themes, you can hear a modernity in the Allegro, where syncopation, dynamics, and orchestration have a ‘Beethoven feel’ and contrast with the idyllic other movements. Every resolution to the theme is different (but similar) and Judd accentuated this with a different dynamic for each.