THE GREATEST CHRISTMAS SHOW (2025)

The Greatest Christmas Show is New Zealand’s #1 family Christmas event, blending heartwarming moments, spectacular dance, and world-class entertainment into one unforgettable night.

Every December, theatres across the country fill with productions that promise to capture the magic of Christmas. Few, however, manage to balance spectacle, heart, and family-friendly fun as effectively as The Greatest Christmas Show. This production blends soaring vocals, dazzling dance routines, jaw-dropping aerial feats, and a sprinkle of illusion to create an evening that delights children and entertains adults alike.

From the moment the curtain rises, the atmosphere is unmistakably festive. The stage is adorned with Christmas trees, twinkling lights, and a grand piano tucked neatly to one side. It feels like stepping into a living Christmas card. Vocalists Sasha Simic and Catherine Hay step forward to welcome the audience, their contrasting personalities immediately evident. Catherine exudes warmth and elegance, while Sasha brings a playful energy that resonates with children. Together, they set the tone for a night of music, laughter, and seasonal cheer.

The show’s musical program is a carefully curated mix of traditional carols and modern favourites. Familiar tunes like Deck the Halls and Silent Night invite audience participation, while ballads showcase the vocalists’ range. Catherine Hay’s performance of O Holy Night is a standout moment; her voice soaring effortlessly, filling the theatre with emotion. Sasha’s solo of It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas draws smiles from parents swaying with their children, a tender reminder of the season’s family focus.

Instrumentalist Emily Roughton adds depth to the musical landscape. Her piano accompaniment is polished, but it’s her surprise violin performance of Carol of the Bells that truly electrifies the room. As she plays, the dancers swirl around her in perfect synchrony, their choreography sharp and dynamic. It’s a moment that fuses music and movement into something greater than the sum of its parts.

The dance troupe (Lizzie Lawless, Sophie Vos, Aria Somerville, Maddie McVeigh, and Emily Stewart) are the backbone of the production. Their energy is infectious, their timing impeccable. Whether twirling canes in unison or executing complex footwork, they bring vibrancy to every scene. Quick costume changes add variety, ensuring each routine feels fresh and distinct. Credit must go to choreographers Leah Street, Rachael Peters, and assistant Maddison Tetlow, whose vision and precision shine through in every number.

If the dancers ground the show, aerialist Britney Unmack lifts it skyward; literally. Her performances are breathtaking, combining strength, balance, and artistry. Early in the show, she demonstrates remarkable control balancing on poles, before transitioning to rope acrobatics that leave the audience gasping. Later, she reappears suspended from a hoop as artificial snow begins to fall on stage. The sight of her twirling gracefully above the dancers while flakes drift down is pure theatrical magic, a moment that encapsulates the wonder of Christmas.

One of the production’s strengths is its ability to involve the audience. Children are encouraged to clap, sing, and even dance along. At one point, the crowd is asked to switch on their phone torches during Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, creating a sea of twinkling lights across the theatre. The effect is both visually stunning and emotionally resonant, reinforcing the show’s central theme: togetherness.

Santa’s arrival in the second half is another highlight, greeted with squeals of delight from younger audience members. His presence, combined with illusions and a lolly scramble, ensures that children leave with lasting memories. Adults, meanwhile, appreciate the craftsmanship behind the spectacle; the lighting, sound design, and seamless transitions all contribute to a polished production.

While the show succeeds on many levels, there are areas that could be refined. Sasha Simic, though charismatic and engaging with children, occasionally struggled vocally. His microphone levels were inconsistent, and at times his delivery lacked the passion evident in Catherine’s performances. These moments risked diminishing the impact of certain songs. That said, Sasha’s strength lies in his ability to connect with the audience, particularly younger viewers. His playful energy and crowd interaction are invaluable, and with a touch more vocal focus and technical adjustment, his contributions could match the excellence of his co-host.

Catherine Hay, by contrast, consistently delivered with power and emotion. Her voice carried effortlessly, and her commitment to each performance was evident. Together, the duo offered balance; Catherine providing vocal gravitas, Sasha bringing levity and fun.

The pacing of the second act also felt slightly uneven. While the first half was tightly structured, the latter portion seemed rushed, particularly around Santa’s entrance. Some children grew restless as the show progressed, suggesting that a more streamlined conclusion might enhance the overall flow. Nonetheless, the finale, with Britney soaring above the stage, dancers in full swing, and snow falling, was a triumphant close.

The Greatest Christmas Show succeeds in delivering a festive experience that appeals across generations. Children revel in the music, dancing, and Santa’s magic, while adults appreciate the artistry and production values. The combination of vocal talent, choreographed dance, aerial spectacle, and audience participation creates a rich tapestry of entertainment. Though there are areas for improvement, particularly in balancing vocal performances and refining pacing, the overall effect is joyful, memorable, and deeply rooted in the spirit of Christmas.

This is not just a show; it is an event that celebrates togetherness, wonder, and the simple pleasures of the season. Families seeking a night of festive fun will find it here, and even the most seasoned theatre-goers will leave with a smile. In the end, The Greatest Christmas Show lives up to its name, offering a reminder that Christmas is best experienced not alone, but in shared moments of joy.

The Greatest Christmas Show is being performed at Auckland's Bruce Mason Theatre on 19 Dec - 20 Dec 2025. Tickets can be purchased here

SENTIMENTAL VALUE (2025)

An intimate exploration of family, memories, and the reconciliatory power of art.

Joachim Trier’s Sentimental Value is not an easy film to pin down. It resists neat synopsis, unfolding instead as a meditation on family, grief, and the uneasy overlap between art and lived experience. At its center is the Borg family home, a structure that has witnessed decades of pain and intimacy, and which now becomes both a film set and a crucible for unresolved trauma. The result is a bilingual drama (spoken in Norwegian and English) that is at once languid in pace and emotionally piercing.

The story begins with sisters Nora (Renate Reinsve) and Agnes (Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas) reuniting with their estranged father Gustav (Stellan Skarsgård), a once‑renowned director whose career has long since faded. Following the death of his ex‑wife, Gustav returns to the family home with a plan: to shoot his comeback film there. He offers Nora the lead role, a chance to embody her grandmother Karin, who committed suicide in the house after surviving torture during World War II. Nora refuses, unwilling to let her father mine her pain for art. Gustav quickly replaces her with Rachel (Elle Fanning), a young Hollywood star eager to work with him. This decision sets the stage for a fraught exploration of family wounds, artistic ambition, and the blurred line between healing and exploitation.

If Sentimental Value succeeds, it is largely because of its performances. Reinsve, who previously collaborated with Trier on The Worst Person in the World, gives a masterclass in controlled chaos. Her Nora is simmering with resentment, yet never reduced to caricature. In moments of silence, her face conveys more than dialogue ever could: the weight of betrayal, the pull of nostalgia, and the fear of repeating her father’s mistakes.

Skarsgård matches her intensity, portraying Gustav as both self‑aware and incapable of change. He knows he has failed his daughters, yet clings to the belief that art can redeem him. His charm is intoxicating, even when it is manipulative, and his desperation to remain relevant makes him both pitiable and infuriating. Lilleaas, as Agnes, offers a quieter counterpoint. Her calmness masks deep sorrow, particularly in a devastating scene where she reads her grandmother’s testimony of torture. Fanning, meanwhile, brings levity and perspective. As Rachel, she is the outsider who sees the family’s dysfunction more clearly than they do, and her presence highlights the cultural and generational divide at play.

The Borg family home is more than a backdrop; it is the film’s beating heart. Trier uses the house as a symbol of memory and fracture. A literal crack runs through its walls, the result of a construction error, but it also represents the fissures within the family. Gustav’s insistence on filming there forces the characters to confront the ghosts of their past. The house becomes a stage for grief, reconciliation, and confrontation, embodying the idea that trauma is inherited and embedded in physical spaces as much as in people.

At its core, Sentimental Value is about intergenerational trauma. Gustav’s mother Karin endured unimaginable suffering during WWII, and though she never spoke of it, the effects ripple through her descendants. Gustav’s attempt to turn her story into art raises uncomfortable questions: can filmmaking serve as therapy, or does it merely reopen wounds for the sake of narrative? Nora’s refusal to participate is both an act of defiance and self‑preservation, while Agnes’s quiet investigation into Karin’s past reveals the burden of inherited pain.

Trier also explores nostalgia; not as a trap, but as a potential source of growth. Gustav longs for the glory days of cinema, yet finds himself confronted by an industry that has moved on. His struggle mirrors the family’s inability to move past their origins. The film suggests that sentimentality, often dismissed as cloying, can be transformative when handled with honesty. Tender sibling moments, long gazes of recognition, and caustic confrontations all contribute to a portrait of a family learning, however imperfectly, to live with its scars.

The film runs 133 minutes, and its pacing is undeniably slow. Trier favors long takes, silences, and gradual revelations over dramatic twists. For some viewers, this will feel meandering, even frustrating. The narrative occasionally lacks urgency, and certain developments in the third act fail to deliver the emotional punch they seem designed to. The resolution, in particular, may strike audiences as too neat, letting Gustav off the hook when harsher consequences might have felt more earned.

Yet the languid pace also allows the film’s themes to breathe. The silences between characters speak volumes, and the slow burn of suppressed emotions creates a cumulative impact. Sentimental Value is less about plot than about atmosphere, memory, and the uneasy coexistence of love and resentment.

The strengths of Sentimental Value lie in its performances and thematic depth. Reinsve and Skarsgård, in particular, elevate the material, turning what could have been melodrama into something profound. The bilingual dialogue adds texture, highlighting the clash between cultures and generations. The symbolism of the house and its crack is powerful, grounding the film’s exploration of trauma in a tangible metaphor.

Its weaknesses are structural. The film is too long, and its pacing risks alienating viewers who crave narrative momentum. The ending may feel unsatisfying, offering reconciliation without fully addressing the harm Gustav has caused. These flaws prevent the film from reaching the heights it aspires to, but they do not negate its emotional resonance.

Sentimental Value is a film that lingers. It is not perfect, nor is it easy to summarize, but it resonates through its performances and its exploration of intergenerational trauma. Trier has crafted a drama that is both intimate and expansive, rooted in the wounds of personal history yet open to the possibility of growth. Its slow pace and occasional narrative shortcomings may frustrate, but its emotional evocativeness is undeniable.

For those willing to sit with its silences and absorb its atmosphere, Sentimental Value offers a rewarding experience. It is a film about the cracks that run through families, the ways art can both heal and harm, and the enduring pull of nostalgia. Cautiously positive is the right tone: this is not a flawless masterpiece, but it is a deeply intriguing work that captures the messy, unresolved nature of family life.

Sentimental Value is being released in NZ Cinemas on January 8, 2026

FALLOUT SEASON 2 (2025)

In a future, post-apocalyptic Los Angeles brought about by nuclear decimation, citizens must live in underground bunkers to protect themselves from radiation, mutants and bandits.

Fallout Season 2 opens with confidence, plunging straight into New Vegas and delivering the mix of nostalgia, strong performances, and atmospheric world‑building that fans have been waiting two years to see. The first episodes waste no time reintroducing Lucy (Ella Purnell) and The Ghoul (Walton Goggins), whose unlikely partnership remains the emotional core of the series. For longtime players of Fallout: New Vegas, the immediate appearance of the Dinky the T‑Rex landmark is a perfect nod; more than just fan service, it signals that the showrunners understand the emotional pull of the game’s world.

The narrative picks up exactly where Season 1 ended, maintaining continuity while building anticipation for the journey ahead. The structure still shifts between multiple arcs, echoing the rhythm of the games. At times this back‑and‑forth can feel heavy, but it enriches the larger tapestry, reminding us that every character has their own quest. Walton Goggins continues to steal scenes as The Ghoul, balancing menace with sardonic humour, while Ella Purnell’s Lucy brings optimism to the wasteland’s bleakness. Aaron Moten’s Maximus is the standout of these early episodes, his arc evolving from insecure Brotherhood squire into something far more layered.

Visually, the show captures the ambience of New Vegas with striking fidelity. Grainy textures, faded colours, and unexpected pockets of life evoke the game’s atmosphere, while the production design ensures New Vegas feels like a living, contradictory city; glamorous yet decayed, wealthy yet desperate. Practical sets combined with CGI give the world weight, making the wasteland itself feel like a character.

Plot threads involving Lucy’s father, Hank MacLean (Kyle MacLachlan), add intrigue. Once seen as a hero, Hank is revealed as a morally compromised Vault‑Tec employee secretly working for Mr House. His duplicity underscores the series’ central theme: appearances deceive, and survival often demands compromise. Mr House’s brief but chilling introduction captures the same malevolence that defined him in the games, hinting at larger conflicts to come. Already, glimpses of factions like the Great Khans and Caesar’s Legion suggest the show will attempt to balance the sprawling political landscape of New Vegas.

One of the adaptation’s challenges is how to handle the branching narratives that made the game iconic. With multiple possible endings, the series must honour player choice while crafting a coherent television story. Showrunner Geneva Robertson‑Dworet has confirmed that Season 2 will weave these possibilities into continuity without locking into a single “canon” path, a bold move that raises anticipation for how conflicting agendas, such as Mr House, Caesar’s Legion, the Brotherhood of Steel, the NCR, will collide.

Episodes 1 and 2 succeed in laying this groundwork. They balance fan service with narrative progression, offering familiar landmarks and factions while pushing characters into new territory. The pacing occasionally dips, particularly during transitions between arcs, but the exploratory feel mirrors the games themselves. Just as players wander from quest to quest, the series embraces digressions, trusting the audience to enjoy the cumulative effect.

The atmosphere is where the show excels. The wasteland is not just a backdrop but a mood, conveyed through sound design, cinematography, and pacing. Watching these episodes feels akin to playing Fallout: New Vegas late at night; wandering through desolate landscapes punctuated by sudden bursts of violence or beauty. That the series can replicate this sensation is a testament to its creative team.

If there are weaknesses, they lie in the occasional fatigue caused by constant shifts between storylines, which sometimes interrupt the momentum of Lucy and The Ghoul’s journey. Yet this ensemble approach reflects the ethos of the games: no single character or faction dominates, and every perspective matters.

Overall, the first episodes deliver a strong start. They honour the legacy of Fallout: New Vegas while carving out new narrative space, with compelling performances, immersive design, and thematic depth. Most importantly, they capture the paradox at the heart of Fallout; a world ravaged by apocalypse yet still teeming with humour, hope, and resilience. For fans who have waited two years, the return is more than worth it. The journey into New Vegas promises to be both nostalgic and surprising, a testament to the enduring power of the Fallout universe.

Season One is currently available to stream on Prime Video
Fallout Season 2 is streaming from Wednesday December 17 on Prime Video.
A new episode will be released weekly 

THE SPONGEBOB MOVIE: SEARCH FOR SQUAREPANTS (2025)

SpongeBob journeys to the ocean's depths to face the Flying Dutchman's ghost, encountering challenges and uncovering marine mysteries.

For nearly three decades, SpongeBob SquarePants has been more than just a cartoon character; he’s become a cultural fixture. His boundless optimism, goofy innocence, and unshakable belief that every day can be “the best day ever” have kept him lodged firmly in the public imagination. It’s no surprise, then, that Nickelodeon continues to bring him back to the big screen. The SpongeBob Movie: Search for SquarePants is the fourth theatrical outing for the beloved sponge, and while it delivers the expected chaos and comedy, it struggles to offer anything narratively fresh.

The film kicks off with SpongeBob waking up to discover he’s grown just enough to finally ride a towering rollercoaster that has long taunted him. For SpongeBob, this isn’t just about thrills; it’s about proving he’s ready to stand among the “big guys.” But when faced with the ride’s intimidating cannons and screaming passengers, his courage evaporates. He panics, lies to Patrick about his bravery, and retreats.

Enter Mr. Krabs, who mocks SpongeBob’s fear and flashes his old pirate certificate, reminding everyone of his swashbuckling youth before fast-food capitalism consumed him. In typical SpongeBob fashion, things spiral out of control: he accidentally summons the Flying Dutchman, voiced with gleeful menace by Mark Hamill. Suddenly, SpongeBob and Patrick are whisked away on a ghostly ship, tasked with helping the Dutchman break a centuries-old curse.

From this point on, the film abandons any attempt at building mythology or deep narrative. Instead, it fully commits to absurdity. Once SpongeBob, Patrick, and Mr. Krabs plunge into the underworld, the movie becomes a rapid-fire parade of slapstick gags, visual puns, and irreverent detours. The pacing is relentless: joke, cut, gag, cut, explosion of color, cut, chase scene, cut.

For younger audiences, this manic energy is a feature, not a bug. The film never slows down long enough for attention spans to wander. But for older viewers, the sheer volume of jokes and quick cuts can feel exhausting. It’s SpongeBob turned up to eleven, and whether that’s exhilarating or overwhelming depends entirely on your tolerance for chaos.

One of the enduring charms of SpongeBob’s world has always been its ensemble cast. Squidward’s grumpiness, Sandy’s scientific curiosity, Plankton’s hapless villainy, and Pearl’s teenage angst all add flavor to Bikini Bottom. Unfortunately, Search for SquarePants sidelines most of these characters. Squidward, Sandy, Plankton, and Pearl appear briefly, but they’re little more than cameos. The spotlight remains firmly on SpongeBob, Patrick, Mr. Krabs, and the Dutchman. This narrowed focus gives the film a tighter buddy-adventure feel, but it comes at the cost of creative range. The comedic voices feel limited, and longtime fans may miss the quirky ensemble dynamic that has always defined the franchise.

At its core, the film’s message is about bravery. True courage, it insists, isn’t about height, swagger, or certificates; it’s about facing fear, whether that fear is a rollercoaster or the suspicion that others don’t see you as capable. It’s a wholesome theme, and SpongeBob’s vulnerability makes it resonate.

The problem is that we’ve seen this story before. SpongeBob trying to prove his maturity or bravery has been a cornerstone of both the series and previous films. Mr. Krabs dismissing SpongeBob as a kid echoes the first SpongeBob SquarePants Movie. SpongeBob’s fear of the rollercoaster mirrors the classic episode “Roller Cowards.” By revisiting well-worn storylines, Search for SquarePants struggles to justify its existence beyond being another fun romp.

Where the film does shine is in its animation. The creative team has improcved SpongeBob’s CGI theatrical look, giving the characters a clay-like texture that makes them pop on the big screen. The style contrasts beautifully with the 2D animation of the show, offering a more cinematic, elevated feel. The characters almost resemble claymation figurines, with textures and movements that enhance the visual gags.

The Flying Dutchman and his crew benefit especially from this design. Hamill’s voice work pairs perfectly with the eerie-yet-goofy visuals, and Regina Hall adds flair as his long-suffering second-in-command. Mr. Krabs also gets more depth and screen time than usual, which is a welcome touch.

Despite the dazzling visuals, the story feels stretched. The central plot could have been told in 45 minutes, but instead it’s padded into a feature-length runtime. Long sections drag, and the relentless gag-driven pacing makes the thin narrative even more apparent. The tone also wobbles: at times it’s too childish for older audiences, yet some of the ghostly sequences may be too spooky for very young kids.

All in all, The SpongeBob Movie: Search for SquarePants delivers exactly what you’d expect: bright colors, silly jokes, and SpongeBob’s trademark optimism. It’s fun, wacky, and over-the-top, but narratively it doesn’t bring anything new to the table. For kids under ten (or adults who are kids at heart) it’s a delight. For longtime fans hoping for something inventive, it may feel like déjà vu.

The film’s dedication to chaos ensures plenty of laughs, but its recycled themes and padded runtime keep it from reaching the heights of SpongeBob’s best outings. It’s a fine, fun time, but not a groundbreaking one.

The SpongeBob Movie: Search for SquarePants is in NZ cinemas on Boxing Day

A CHRISTMAS CRISIS (2025)

Yule Laugh, yule cry... yule dance! Mr and Mrs Claus are headed for splitsville. Ashleigh’s Christmas Cupcake Shoppe is teetering on the edge. The elves are cracking under the pressure of soulless consumerism. Oh, and the North Pole? Melting faster than a snowman in a sauna.

Walking into Q Theatre’s Rangatira space, I thought I knew what I was in for. The poster for A Christmas Crisis looked like the kind of cheerful, family‑friendly holiday show you’d take the kids to, complete with candy‑cane stripes and smiling faces. I braced myself for ninety minutes of saccharine cheer, the sort of production where adults politely chuckle while children giggle at elves. What I got instead was something entirely different: a loud, brash, absurd, and occasionally offensive Christmas spectacular that gleefully dismantles every expectation of seasonal theatre. And somehow, against all odds, it works.

Dynamotion, Auckland’s resident comedy dance troupe, have built a reputation for pushing boundaries, and this new show, created by comedic powerhouses Tom Sainsbury and Lara Fischel‑Chisholm, takes that ethos to its extreme. From the moment the lights dim and the bass drops, you know you’re not in Kansas anymore. The opening act is a full‑blown EDM rave, complete with flashing strobes and dancers grinding across the stage in elf hats and very little else. It’s a statement of intent: this is not your grandmother’s Christmas pageant.

The show is structured around four intertwining storylines, each more ridiculous than the last. Mr and Mrs Claus are on the verge of divorce, their marriage fraying under the weight of centuries of yuletide stress. Ashleigh’s Christmas Cupcake Shoppe teeters on bankruptcy, a sugary metaphor for small business collapse. The elves, exhausted by soulless consumerism, are cracking under the pressure of endless toy production. And looming over it all, the North Pole itself is melting faster than a snowman in a sauna. These threads weave together into a narrative that is both chaotic and surprisingly cohesive, thanks in large part to the narrator (on the night I attended, Radio Hauraki’s Matt Heath) who rhymes his way through scene transitions with gleeful irreverence.

What makes A Christmas Crisis so compelling is its willingness to throw everything at the wall. Expletives fly freely. Drug references pop up in unexpected places. Seductive dancing and cross‑dressing blur the lines of traditional holiday fare. Costume malfunctions are embraced rather than hidden, folded into the anarchic energy of the show. It’s the kind of production that makes you cringe one moment and laugh out loud the next, often at the sheer audacity of what’s unfolding on stage.

The cast is enormous, a mix of actors, comedians, and dancers, many of whom juggle multiple roles. Tom Sainsbury and Lara Fischel‑Chisholm lead the charge, supported by Chris Parker, Kate Simmonds, Mayen Mehta, Liv Tennet, Karamia Muller, Shaan Kesha, Jennie Robertson, Arlo Gibson, Cat Fawcett‑Cornes, Sunny Liew, and Kermath. The ensemble’s energy is infectious, even when choreography veers from tight precision to gleeful chaos. In fact, that inconsistency becomes part of the show’s charm: the dysfunction feels deliberate, a reflection of the absurd world they’re creating.

Costumes are cheeky and minimal, often little more than underwear, elf socks and a specific shirt. It’s summer in Auckland, after all, and the light attire adds to the playful irreverence. Designs are simple enough to allow quick character changes, but they’re effective in reinforcing the absurdity. One moment you’re watching a solemn elf lamenting consumerism; the next, the same performer is gyrating in sequined shorts. The fluidity of roles underscores the show’s refusal to take itself seriously.

The first half of the production is a riot, building momentum through rapid‑fire scenes and dance numbers. By the time the interval arrives, the audience is buzzing, unsure of what they’ve just witnessed but eager for more. The second half, however, struggles slightly. Scenes stretch longer, jokes become more over‑the‑top, and the pacing falters. It feels as though the creative team expended their sharpest material early on, leaving the latter half to rely on sheer volume and spectacle. Still, the threads eventually converge in a climactic payoff that ties back to earlier gags, rewarding the audience’s patience with a finale that lands with a bang.

One of the show’s quirks is its use of mimed dialogue, reminiscent of drag performances. The cast mouths lines while pre‑recorded audio blasts through the speakers. At times, this works brilliantly, allowing exaggerated physicality to take center stage. At other times, it creates confusion, especially when multiple performers are on stage and the sound lacks directionality. With all audio pumped uniformly through the theatre, it can be difficult to discern who is “speaking” amidst the cacophony. A more nuanced sound design, splitting audio channels or adding spatial cues, could enhance clarity without forcing performers to overcompensate with exaggerated gestures.

Despite these hiccups, the production thrives on its own dysfunction. The choreography oscillates between tight synchronization and gleeful chaos, mirroring the show’s thematic embrace of disorder. Puns and Easter eggs are scattered throughout, rewarding attentive audience members with bursts of recognition. References to pop culture, politics, and consumerism pepper the script, ensuring there’s always another button waiting to be pushed. It’s a relentless barrage of silliness, absurdity, and mild offensiveness, designed to provoke laughter through sheer audacity.

Unconventional, but A Christmas Crisis succeeds because it refuses to play by the rules. It takes the familiar tropes of holiday theatre, Santa, elves, snow, family togetherness, and gleefully dismantles them, replacing sentimentality with satire and chaos. It’s not for everyone; those seeking wholesome cheer may find themselves bewildered or even offended. But for audiences willing to embrace the absurd, it’s a riotous celebration of silliness that somehow, against all odds, coalesces into a narrative that makes sense in its own twisted way.

As I left the theatre, I couldn’t help but marvel at how the production managed to push every button, with crude jokes, offensive gags, foul language, and absurd dance routines, and still deliver a night of genuine entertainment. A Christmas Crisis is loud, brash, and unapologetically ridiculous. And in the end, that’s exactly what makes it worth seeing.

A Christmas Crisis will run from December 10-20, 2025 at Auckland's Ragatira, Q Theatre. Tickets can be purchased here

GENUINE AND STABLE (2025)

 

An immigrant and a New Zealander claim they are in love. Two immigration agents must decide if they are telling the truth.

Genuine and Stable is a production that takes its title from the bureaucratic language of immigration policy, and in doing so, it immediately signals its intent to explore the intersection of love and regulation. What might sound like a bland phrase on paper becomes a powerful thematic anchor for a play that asks how relationships are judged, not only by the people within them but by the institutions that hold power over their futures. The story centres on Korean-born Sujin and her Kiwi boyfriend Jeremy, who apply for a partnership visa. Immigration officers Laura and Charlotte are tasked with determining whether their relationship is truly “genuine and stable.” As they sift through evidence, photos become exhibits, memories turn into testimony, and assumptions conflict with fact. What begins as a routine case quickly spirals into contradictions, and the line between the personal and the professional blurs.

The premise is deceptively simple: a couple in love, a bureaucratic hurdle, and two officers who must decide if the relationship is authentic. Yet the writing reveals multiple layers beneath this surface. The officers are not merely checking boxes; they are interpreting intent, direction, and milestones, and in doing so they expose the biases and stereotypes embedded in the system. The play asks what counts as evidence of love. Is it a shared lease, a joint bank account, or public displays of affection? Or is it something intangible, harder to measure, and therefore more vulnerable to being dismissed? The rulebook projected onto the back wall shows the audience the actual guidelines used to judge partnerships in New Zealand, and the vagueness of these rules allows for subjectivity. Officers can be generous or strict, charitable or cynical, depending on their own worldview, and this subjectivity is both fascinating and unsettling.

The production also highlights the emotional toll on couples who must prove their intimacy to strangers. Love becomes performance, and private people are forced into public gestures. Financial decisions are accelerated under duress, with couples pressured into buying houses or merging finances not because they are ready, but because the state demands proof in a specified amount of time before they are faced with deportation. Organic growth is replaced by artificial milestones, and the play asks what happens when intimacy must be documented, when affection must be staged for an audience of officials. This pressure creates its own stresses, distorting the natural rhythm of relationships and forcing couples to navigate a system that can feel both arbitrary and invasive.

The staging is minimal but inventive, relying on a cast of four to carry the weight of multiple perspectives. Sujin and Jeremy embody the couple at the centre of the case, while Laura and Charlotte shift roles, narrating, interpreting, and sometimes embodying the couple’s story themselves. The couple reenacts moments of their relationship, sometimes in the foreground, sometimes on the sidelines, sometimes even among the audience, blurring the line between observation and participation. The set design is striking in its simplicity, with long tubes and sheets of plastic hovering overhead evoking the sterile abstraction of an office, while modular pieces rotate and interconnect to create restaurants, bars, homes, and workplaces. This constant transformation mirrors the instability of the couple’s situation, their world always shifting, always provisional.

Lighting and sound are well executed and directed, creating an immersive environment that surrounds the audience. At times, however, the audio risks drowning out dialogue, making it difficult to hear the actors clearly. Projected text adds a documentary layer, grounding the drama in real-world policy, though the occasional spelling error (“far” instead of “fair”) momentarily breaks immersion. The style of the flooring and the wheels on the sets also make some of the transitions noisy, but these technical imperfections do little to undermine the overall professionalism of the production. Costuming is consistent and effective, and the integration of actual immigration rules and guidelines is eye-opening, offering New Zealand audiences a glimpse into processes they might otherwise never encounter.

For all its bureaucratic framing, Genuine and Stable is ultimately a love story, and it is disarmingly cute. The tenderness of Sujin and Jeremy, the small gestures of care, and the quiet resilience in the face of scrutiny combine to tug at the heartstrings. Even those who pride themselves on emotional detachment will find themselves moved. The pacing, at 80 minutes without interval, does sag slightly around the halfway mark, but by the end the momentum returns, and the audience is left wanting more. The lack of interval contributes to the immersive intensity, though it also demands stamina from the audience.

What makes the production so compelling is its ability to balance critique with tenderness. It succeeds because it takes something dry and bureaucratic (the language of immigration policy) and reveals its profound human consequences. It shows how love is commodified, how intimacy is measured, and how relationships are forced into unnatural shapes by external pressures. Yet it does so with warmth, humour, and emotional depth. By the end, the audience is left with two impressions: first, that the immigration system is imperfect, riddled with subjectivity and bias; and second, that love, even under scrutiny, remains resilient. The play is both critique and celebration, a reminder that relationships are not defined by paperwork but by the quiet, genuine moments that no checklist can capture.

At 80 minutes, Genuine and Stable is a compact but powerful piece of theatre. Its imperfections (minor errors, occasional pacing issues, noisy transitions) are outweighed by its creativity, emotional resonance, and social relevance. What might sound bureaucratic in title is anything but bland in execution. It is a heartfelt exploration of love under pressure and a sharp commentary on the systems that seek to define it, leaving audiences both moved and provoked long after the lights go down.

Genuine and Stable performance run from December 9-13, 2025 at Auckland's Herald Theatre. Tickets can be purchased here

A CHRISTMAS CAROL BY CHARLES DICKENS (2025)

It’s Christmas Eve and Ebenezer Scrooge is counting down the seconds until the silliness of the season passes. Deeply entrenched in his own misery, Scrooge is visited by four ghosts who take him through Christmases past, present and future. Redemption is his for the taking,  but is Old Scrooge capable of changing his ways before it’s too late? 

Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol is one of the most enduring Christmas stories of all time, a tale that has been adapted countless times across stage, screen, and radio. Its universal themes of redemption, generosity, and the rediscovery of joy make it a perennial favorite. Shake & Stir Theatre Co’s recent production, adapted by Nelle Lee and directed by Michael Futcher, demonstrates how a company can achieve a great deal with limited resources, crafting a show that is both immersive and heartfelt. While not flawless, it succeeds in capturing the essence of Dickens’s story and leaves its audience smiling.

The creative team behind the show deserves recognition for their ability to conjure Victorian England with ingenuity. Designer Josh McIntosh’s set is a clever arrangement of 3D pieces that interlock in various patterns, allowing the cast to move fluidly across and above the stage. This modular approach creates a dynamic environment that shifts seamlessly from Scrooge’s counting house to the bustling streets of London, and from intimate domestic interiors to the eerie landscapes of the spirit world. At times, particularly on the upper levels, the sets appear a little wobbly, but the overall effect is convincing and engaging.

The immersive quality of the production is heightened by Craig Wilkinson’s video design, Jason Glenwright’s lighting, and Guy Webster’s sound. Smoke, haze, and projections combine to create a three-dimensional experience that feels larger than the stage itself. The audience is drawn into a world where portraits come alive, spirits materialize from thin air, and Scrooge is whisked through time. The occasional hammy flourish is present, but rather than detracting, it adds to the playful theatricality of the piece. This is a production that embraces spectacle without losing sight of its story.

Costumes, too, play a vital role. Lavish and carefully detailed, they allow the supporting cast to shift between multiple roles without confusion. The outfits provide clear visual cues that prevent the actors from needing to exaggerate their performances, keeping the tone balanced between realism and theatricality. Composer Salliana Campbell’s score, performed live by musician Tabea Sitte, adds warmth and texture, underscoring both the festive cheer and the darker moments of Scrooge’s journey.

The cast of nine (ten if you count the presence of Tiny Tim) demonstrates versatility and commitment. Eugene Gilfedder, as Ebenezer Scrooge, is the only actor assigned a single role. He leans into the character’s senility and mania, with a twinkle in his eye that suggests both miserliness and eccentricity. His performance is entertaining, though it risks becoming caricatured and one-note by the end. The transformation of Scrooge from miser to benefactor, the emotional core of the story, feels somewhat rushed. Gilfedder’s change of heart is not as convincing as it could be, particularly in the scenes with the spirits of Christmas Past and Future. More engagement in these moments would have lent greater depth and made the redemption arc feel more earned. That said, his scenes involving his former flame are poignant and well handled, offering glimpses of the vulnerability beneath the bluster.

The supporting cast compensates for these shortcomings with energy and skill. Bryan Probets is particularly entertaining in his multiple spirit roles, breaking the fourth wall to draw the audience into the action. His playful interactions add humor and immersion, ensuring that the supernatural elements feel accessible rather than alienating. Nelle Lee, Mia Milnes, Ross Balbuziente, Nick Skubij, Lucas Stibbard, and Tabea Sitte all move seamlessly between roles, embodying family members, children, community figures, and even musical performers. Their ability to interchange swiftly, aided by costumes and props, exemplifies the production’s ethos of doing a lot from a little.

The ensemble’s smiles and warmth are infectious. Even when the joy feels slightly hammy, it conveys resilience and strength, reminding us that happiness can be found despite hardship. This is particularly effective in scenes depicting poverty-stricken communities, where the cast’s energy transforms bleak circumstances into moments of shared joy. The message of community and generosity shines through.

Shake & Stir Theatre Co advertises the production as suitable for the whole family, but it is best recommended for audiences aged ten and above. The third act, featuring the spirit of Christmas Yet to Come, introduces horror elements that may unsettle younger children. These moments, however, are integral to the story’s moral arc, and the production handles them with care, balancing fright with theatrical flair.

The overall tone is one of joy and celebration. The creative team and cast succeed in portraying the happiness that comes with the Christmas spirit. The audience is invited to rediscover the resilience of joy, the strength of community, and the possibility of redemption. While some character development could have been more organic, the production’s heart is in the right place, and its sincerity is undeniable.

The greatest strength of this production lies in its resourcefulness. Local Australasian theatre often demonstrates how to get mileage from limited means, and this show is no exception. Sets are reused and transformed, props become characters, and visual gags repeat to delightful effect. The lighting and video design draw the eye away at just the right moments, allowing the cast to reset the stage without breaking immersion. This ingenuity creates a world much wider than the physical stage, proving that creativity can overcome constraints.

The weakness, as noted, is in the depth of character development. Scrooge’s transformation, the emotional climax of the story, feels somewhat underdeveloped. While the supporting cast provides strong performances, the central arc could have been more nuanced. A deeper exploration of Scrooge and more engagement or responsiveness with the spirits' journeys would have made his redemption feel more earned. This does not ruin the production, but it prevents it from reaching the highest level of emotional impact.

Shake & Stir Theatre Co’s A Christmas Carol is a competent and well executed production that achieves much with modest means. Through clever design, versatile performances, and a commitment to joy, it brings Dickens’s story to life in a way that is immersive and entertaining. While some aspects of character development could have been more involved, the overall effect is one of warmth and celebration. The audience leaves with smiles on their faces, reminded of the enduring power of generosity and community.

This is a show that demonstrates the resilience of theatre itself. By embracing creativity and resourcefulness, it proves that even familiar stories can feel fresh and engaging. It may not be perfect, but it captures the spirit of Christmas with sincerity and charm. Very enjoyable indeed.

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens is being performed from December 2-7 at Auckland's The Civic. Tickets can be purchased here

Content Warning: This production contains supernatural themes, haze, smoke, strobe effects and loud music.