The interplay between real life actors, puppets (beautifully crafted by Hannah Smith and dressed by Nicola Holter), and shadow play sequences is smooth, flowing, and frankly mind-boggling well done considering that this is an operational cast of only three! The sustained vocal and accent work is vital to this illusion of ease, and Ralph McCubbin Howell must be specially commended in this arena for his work as Constable Good-One and Blanket Man.

The overall aesthetic of the play was utterly charming, and it’s musical pieces and sound design (Upjohn-Beatson). Many of the songs, performed live, highlighted the beautiful voices of the cast and the song-writing skill of McCubbin Howell, adding that extra sparkle to an already endearing piece.

The only glitch in the show was that on opening night some small technical difficulties with the puppets led to a facial panel falling off of a leading puppet in a terrifying jolt leaving a black space where a face should be. I’m not too proud to admit that I initially thought this was a deliberate move to amp up of the terror of the piece even further. The actors smoothly replaced the facial piece and seamlessly kept going, unshaken, which is something I highly commend them for.

Speaking to another patron on this section of the play she said she was ‘more scared than [her] daughter’. Her daughter giggled. This patron also felt that The Road That Wasn’t There was ‘a perfect way to end a day out in Wellington’. I can’t think of a better summary myself, so I shall just re-iterate that this is a beautiful show well worthy of your time and money.

The cast too was incredibly strong. Brynley Stent, recent Toi Whakaari graduate, was absolutely brilliant as the eldest daughter of the bible-weary family, and Freya Sadgrove alongside her was also incredibly convincing. For me the highlight of the play was Sadgrove’s tear-jerking monologue, which really spoke to the pains of familial relationships as a late-teen-limbo-kid looking to explore the world. All of the actors made the lyrical script very natural and normal, giving a lovely hint of poetry and magical realism to the play, which still giving grounded and thorough performances.

As a new play from Lori Leigh there was a lot riding on this opening night in terms of the script as well as the performance, and all I can say is you will not be disappointed. First of all having four meaty well-developed female characters onstage is a burst of fresh air to say the least, and a joy to watch. Secondly, the issues dealt with in the script, including faith, homophobia, depression, anxiety, and abortive rights, were sensitively and elegantly handled to give a profound effect. Lastly, the writing itself flows beautifully, and is inter-spliced with audience addressing monologues, giving us a key into each character. These monologues are almost beat-poetic, or in the style of a some kind of free-writing, and are incredible; personal, poetic, profound.

Overall, the only fault I could find with ‘Revelations’ were the scene transitions, which broke the world a little for me, but I’m not sure what I could expect to fix that as they were necessary and done in low light; I’d presume that by the end of the season they will be smooth as anything. In terms of opening night, this show was humorous, touching, beautiful, and left me with a wonderful, deep-seated sense of melancholic joy that only great poetry can instil.

As the dancers emerge from the deep dark, their costumes, designed by Jane Boocock and Donna Jefferis and constructed by students, are strikingly elegant and beautifully made, setting the scene for this bizarre performance – outside of any specific time or place. And so the magic begins, holding a little bit of something for everyone is terms of the variety of style and pacing. Highlights choreographically include Paige Shand’s ‘In the mood’ for it’s pure energetic brilliance and style, and Amanda Mitrevski’s ‘Line’, for it’s complexity and stunning metaphorical depth. ‘Born Under a Bad Star’ choreographed by Roymata Holmes, also had some beautiful statements to make about anxiety and depression, and was skillfully performed.

The most striking routine was Eliza Sander’s ‘Pink!ish’, during which two male dancers perform an intense and complex choreography while keeping their mouth’s constantly in contact. As it came to a close, I was left with an image that defined the experience of falling passionately in love. On this point, throughout the performance I was thrilled to see pairings between same-sex partners. These relationships were not exoticised or eroticised, and worked beautifully; it is wonderful to see this level of openness and equality in a show.

Although all of the dancers put on a compelling and highly skilled show, highlights among the second-year crop were Latisha Sparks, Jacob Edmonds and William Keohavong, whose particular attention to expression and enthusiasm made them electric to watch. The most striking performer for engagement with and energy towards the audience was Felix Sampson, who captured the spirit of so many different genres and eras with charisma and commitment.

Among the student choreographers, Tessa Hall, James Wasmer, Roymata Holmes and Eliza Sanders captured the crowd’s attention with devastatingly strenuous solos and beautiful pair-work, although once again, these are the highlights of an incredibly strong cast of dancers.

While my guest searched for a structured narrative, I found several themes around affection prevalent, which was enough to guide me through the performance in a linear fashion. This performance captured the joy, anxiety, total infatuation, control, and potential abuse involved in human relationships, and even though the pieces were individually choreographed, this overarching intensity and profundity was gracefully achieved.

My only criticism of The Residents can be put down to opening-night jitters – it is vital that dancers backstage and to the sides of stage recognise that they are still visible to the first rows, and as such must remain still and quiet. Other than this, it was a wonderful mix of styles and pacing, and the skill and stamina of the dancers made for an awe-inspiring and highly engaging show.

As the dancers emerge from the deep dark, their costumes, designed by Jane Boocock and Donna Jefferis and constructed by students, are strikingly elegant and beautifully made, setting the scene for this bizarre performance – outside of any specific time or place. And so the magic begins, holding a little bit of something for everyone is terms of the variety of style and pacing. Highlights choreographically include Paige Shand’s ‘In the mood’ for it’s pure energetic brilliance and style, and Amanda Mitrevski’s ‘Line’, for it’s complexity and stunning metaphorical depth. ‘Born Under a Bad Star’ choreographed by Roymata Holmes, also had some beautiful statements to make about anxiety and depression, and was skillfully performed.

The most striking routine was Eliza Sander’s ‘Pink!ish’, during which two male dancers perform an intense and complex choreography while keeping their mouth’s constantly in contact. As it came to a close, I was left with an image that defined the experience of falling passionately in love. On this point, throughout the performance I was thrilled to see pairings between same-sex partners. These relationships were not exoticised or eroticised, and worked beautifully; it is wonderful to see this level of openness and equality in a show.

Although all of the dancers put on a compelling and highly skilled show, highlights among the second-year crop were Latisha Sparks, Jacob Edmonds and William Keohavong, whose particular attention to expression and enthusiasm made them electric to watch. The most striking performer for engagement with and energy towards the audience was Felix Sampson, who captured the spirit of so many different genres and eras with charisma and commitment.

Among the student choreographers, Tessa Hall, James Wasmer, Roymata Holmes and Eliza Sanders captured the crowd’s attention with devastatingly strenuous solos and beautiful pair-work, although once again, these are the highlights of an incredibly strong cast of dancers.

While my guest searched for a structured narrative, I found several themes around affection prevalent, which was enough to guide me through the performance in a linear fashion. This performance captured the joy, anxiety, total infatuation, control, and potential abuse involved in human relationships, and even though the pieces were individually choreographed, this overarching intensity and profundity was gracefully achieved.

My only criticism of The Residents can be put down to opening-night jitters – it is vital that dancers backstage and to the sides of stage recognise that they are still visible to the first rows, and as such must remain still and quiet. Other than this, it was a wonderful mix of styles and pacing, and the skill and stamina of the dancers made for an awe-inspiring and highly engaging show.

Who’s involved with the Company and with the performance? What age range are the dancers?
We have a company of core dancers – Emma Coppersmith, Michael Gudgeon, Sarah Gatzonis and Lauren Carr – with NZSD student Demi-Jo Manalo joining us for the season and for the Edinburgh tour. Ages range from 20–32. Two dancers will have their 21st birthdays on tour this year.

How long has this show been in rehearsal?
Back of the Bus premiered in Wellington in 2008. Since then we’ve performed the show at festivals in Christchurch, Dunedin, Southland, Rotorua, New Plymouth, Adelaide, Perth, Auckland, Mackay and Tauranga. The next stop is Edinburgh in August!

How did you come up with this idea for a show on a bus? Is the bus moving?
YES the bus is moving! When I was a kid I’d look at the bars in the bus and think about using them to dance. Then the inspiration to bring Back of the Bus into reality came during a trip to France. I’ve always loved dance that erupts out of ordinary situations, and the music from buskers on the subway in Paris made it almost impossible for me to sit still in my seat. I loved the idea of going on a tour of your own city and seeing it in a completely different light, like it’s somewhere exotic you’ve never been before. This desire to re-examine the familiar plays out in the journey the characters take.

What’s the most rewarding thing about performing this show?
The interaction with the audience; it’s so up close and personal. It feels like we’re good friends with them by the end of the show. The opening scene is really fun to do but you’ll have to come and see it to find out why!

What can an audience member expect from this show as a theatrical experience?
You meet these characters on the bus and then you get to see their inner thoughts and their transformation. You see them in public and private and it’s all done through movement.

Back of the Bus is showing at Circa Theatre 9–12 April; tickets are $28 for students and $35 full price, and $12 for the preview on Tuesday the 8th. Bookings and meeting point at Circa Theatre.

http://www.circa.co.nz/site/Shows/Back-of-the-Bus

Fight the Fat, which made up the second half of this saga, was written by award-winning Arthur Meek and directed by Richard Finn, starring Hannah Botha and AJ Murtagh. This story rather less romantically “follows two dirt poor and destitute actors… [as] their dubious educational shows about healthy eating fail to support them as they struggle with life’s hurdles; death and other stuff.” (bats.co.nz) Although the actors were committed, energetic, and often had brilliant timing, this show could not outgrow its script. Jocular references to cancer, and paedophilia charges, were sorely unamusing, and the plot seemed to sputter itself silent three-quarters of the way through. I was left with the impression that the false ending around the 20-minute mark should have been the legitimate one. The most distinctly memorable moment of the piece to me was when the school bully was inexplicably the only school-age character portrayed with an African-American accent, which to me is a faux pas simply for indulging stereotypes regarding the race of muggers, but also shows a lack of common sense given that we are seeing the scene at a through-and-through Kiwi school programme. Although there were clever set changes and an endearing employment of sock puppets, the brand of humour in these cases was mundanely offensive with none of the skill and wit to give it licence to be outrageous. The children’s health songs, and charismatic street dancing, were humorous, and the characters fairly well rounded and developed, but overall, the second half of Black Romedy diminished the strong impression left by the first. Overall, as two short two-handers with a common director, I was surprised by the contrast between the humour of these two plays: 14 Days Left struck a charming, universally awkward and romantic tone, with a slightly macabre edge, while Fight the Fat was wantonly indulgent of borderline and often immature humour, which did a disservice to the skilled actors employed for the show.

The narrative follows “the building of the Waitaki hydro-electric dam near Kurow in the late-1920s and how its revolutionary medical scheme helped the 1935 Labour government create the Welfare State we take for granted today” (thebacchanals.net). Although this made for a challenging and relevant piece of theatre (it is, after all, election year), this political theme did weigh heavy in the atmosphere of the theatre, and was driven home a little too hard during our second act. What began as heartening political common-sense campaigning by likable, charming characters, slowly became scene after scene of frustrating political warfare which, although realistic, was, for one audience member, “a bit too shouty”. Although the themes and messages were of value, towards the end of this two-hour production, the atmosphere descended into chastisement over provocation, a fault which I think lies primarily in the script, but still let down this brilliant production.

The set, consisting almost entirely of old suitcases, was clever, versatile, and made for beautiful scene transitions and play between actors as they threw them back and forth, built their homes and a dam from them. This basic set was brought to life by the beautiful voices and instrumental music of the players throughout, which appears to be a common theme in Bacchanals productions, making them an absolute joy to watch.

Our protagonists – Kirsty Bruce as Ethel McMillan, Alex Greig as Dr Gervan McMillan, Brianne Kerr as Frances Nordmeyer, Michael Trigg as Arnold Nordmeyer, and Michael Ness as Michael Joseph Savage – served us well with consistent, energetic and often comedic acting, which helped the pacing of this wordy piece. The supporting roles, from Alice May Connolly, Joe Dekkers-Reihana, Hilary Penwarden, Charlotte Pleasants, Jean Sergent and Aidan Weekes, were fantastic as always, with charming play, quick wit, clear delivery, and a great sense of enthusiasm in their performances. It is not often that in a production where you watch four separate actors poo on stage, the air is still endearing, especially given that we watch another cast member shovel their wares away immediately afterwards.

This is not your last chance to view this production, however, as there are murmurs of an upcoming tour of the show, which I would recommend to any politically minded theatre-goer as a tight, charismatic piece by a well-respected company. Overall, this show was interesting and compelling, primarily due to the skill of the players, and the endearingly small-time beginnings of the protagonists. Pre-show and interval entertainment was jubilant, and special mention must be made of the hilarious performances from Brianne Kerr, Michael Trigg and Jean Sergent in these breaks and throughout the show. Musicians Ellie Stewart, Hilary Penwarden and David Lawrence were wonderful to listen to, and added to the production without distracting from the main action, which is a credit to any ensemble.

What were your recent Fringe Festival shows centred around?

One was called de Sade about the Marquis de Sade – one of the world’s darkest minds and a renowned philosopher/pornographer. The other was How to Pick Up Women, though it’s less about weightlifting and more about seduction. I played five of the greatest pick-up artists. Both were one-man shows.

How did you handle a topic like ‘How to pick up women’ without becoming a misogynist prick?

I didn’t. Among the pieces of quality advice given (as different characters) were reliable hints like ‘make her feel ugly and take advantage of her while she’s down’, right through to ‘pretend you’re physically disabled so she feels pity and can’t help but talking to you’. I’m a comedian; if you take everything I say literally, I’m not to be blamed. That said, there’s always a little bit of backwards logic that should make you sit up and think ‘that makes sense, even though it shouldn’t’. Also, women are clearly better than men in every way – except for pay rates, childbirth and G-strings (which are uncomfortable) – and I respect them for that.

Do you consider yourself a master of picking up aforementioned women?

What is the correct answer to this? It’s either yes, I’m irresistable – a massive claim; or no, I’m a failure – a reputation-destroying statement. I pick yes.

What does your girlfriend make of this?

*girlfriends

What challenges does working alone bring? And what reliefs?

The only challenge in one-man shows is the organisation. All work, deadlines, and problems go through me – in any other format, I would be concentrating entirely on creativity. It can be very stressful, especially putting on two solo shows in one month.

That said, there is no better format than the one-person show. I have complete creative control, I can make any changes I like, and it’s my show. When people come up and say they love one of them, I know for a fact it’s down to the work I’ve put in. I also do it for practical reasons. I can tour a show whenever I like, I keep all the money, and I can get out into crowds and make sure they’re having a great time. Solo shows are the one way to guarantee I get paid for performing, which is what I’m here to do.

How did you become an established comedian on the Wellington scene? How did you start out?

I started doing weekly gigs at The Medicine at The Cavern Club on Wednesdays, and Raw Meat Monday at Fringe Bar. The most important thing is to have goals and back yourself. I put on shows and I make my own opportunities. Waiting for weekly gigs to come to you guarantees stand-up will stay a hobby. You have to work hard.

Why do you maintain this public persona of being so opinionated – often to the point of being an arsehole?

My job is to say what I think, not what everyone already believes. When I say North Korea is my favourite country because it’s super-efficient and everyone feels complete loyalty to their leader, people remember it. Nobody cares about a Labour-supporting comedian; I say vote Colin Craig! He stands for what he believes in. All I’m saying is New Zealand should be a dictatorship and Winston Peters should be our foreign-affairs minister. Also, New Zealand is a boring place. Put me on the $5 note pulling the finger with the slogan ‘New Zealand, fuck yeah!’ instead of that dude that climbed a hill. Hillary was a beekeeper, and our national bird can’t even fly. We need to sort a few things out.

See what I mean about you being an arsehole?

I have an opinion, and it’s the right one. No apologies given.

What can we expect from you next?

It Was Supposed to Be a Joke is my solo show in the NZ International Comedy Festival – if you want opinions, jokes, and a bloody good time, book now.

What advice would you give to a budding stand-up enthusiast?

Watch a lot, write a lot, perform a lot. Write about what people want to hear about, in a new way.

Highlight of your Fringe Festival?

On the last night, the show started late because somebody had stolen the whip. My mum ran to Peaches and Cream and purchased an $80 riding crop for me to be whipped with because all the other whips had been sold (to me, on previous nights). My mother bought sex gear for me so I could be whipped in front of a paying crowd. It’s comedy gold – no one has a better story than that.