MĀ (2025)

Mā is a poignant devised theatre and performance poetry work exploring chosen family, motherhood, and queer identity within the Samoan diaspora. It is an ode to trans fa’afafine, celebrating the coexistence of traditional and chosen families in Aotearoa.

Mā is an expressive and deeply personal piece of devised theatre, blending performance poetry, song, and movement to explore themes of identity, chosen family, and the intersections of motherhood and queerness within the Samoan diaspora. Directed and performed by Jonjon Tolovae, with contributions from Lijah Mavaega, Nikeidrian Lologa-Peters, and a strong creative team, the show is an ode to fa’afafine identity and an affirmation of chosen family bonds.

From the moment the performance begins, it is clear that Mā is more than just a theatrical experience—it is a heartfelt expression of cultural identity and personal storytelling. The production carries an intimate energy, inviting the audience into a space that feels both sacred and celebratory. This is not a conventional narrative-driven piece of theatre; rather, it is a series of poetic reflections, woven together through movement, music, and dialogue.

There is no doubt that Mā struck an emotional chord with its intended audience. The Samoan and Pasifika members of the audience were clearly engaged, responding with warmth, laughter, and ultimately, a standing ovation. The performance successfully conveyed a deep sense of belonging and cultural pride, making it an important and affirming work for those who saw their own experiences reflected on stage.

One of the most striking aspects of the production is its use of language. Samoan is a central component of the storytelling, and while some verses are in English for non-Samoan speakers, much of the dialogue remains in its original form. This choice reinforces the show’s commitment to authenticity, ensuring that the work speaks directly to its community. However, for audience members unfamiliar with the language, this created a barrier to fully understanding the story. Without a shared linguistic or cultural framework, you will find myself limited to relying on visual and auditory cues rather than grasping a cohesive narrative.

That said, Mā is a show that tries to communicate beyond words. The emotions expressed through song, movement, lighting, and facial expressions transcend language in many cases, offering glimpses into the depth of the performers’ experiences. These universal themes of love, family, and acceptance were palpable, allowing even those unfamiliar with the cultural context to connect on an emotional level.

Structurally, the production relies on a minimalist approach, foregoing props in favour of physical performance, vocal layering, and dynamic lighting. This simplicity allows for striking moments of theatricality, such as the clever use of light and sound to create the effect of a door opening. The absence of elaborate set pieces places the focus squarely on the performers, whose presence and energy command attention throughout.

The vocal performances were a highlight, beautifully sung and rich with emotion, reinforcing the show’s central themes of love and familial connection. The harmonies and musical compositions added depth to the storytelling, evoking a strong sense of nostalgia and longing. The music director, Lijah Mavaega, deserves particular recognition for crafting a sonic landscape that felt both intimate and expansive, drawing the audience deeper into the world of the performance.

In addition to its auditory impact, Mā also excels in its use of movement. The choreography, while subtle, was deliberate and expressive, adding layers of meaning to the spoken and sung elements. The performers moved with a fluidity that suggested both strength and vulnerability, embodying the emotional weight of the stories being told.

For some, the experience will be more of an appreciation of artistic expression rather than a fully immersive storytelling journey. While some may leave the theatre somewhat lost in terms of narrative, you cannot deny the power of the piece for those it was intended to reach. Mā is a show that knows exactly who it is speaking to, and in that regard, it excels. It is a celebration of identity and community, and for the right audience, an unforgettable and deeply moving experience.

Despite potential challenges in fully grasping the story, the production’s commitment to representation is to be admired. It is rare to see a work that so unapologetically centres fa’afafine and queer Samoan identities, and the importance of that visibility cannot be overstated. Theatre has the power to validate and uplift communities, and Mā does so with sincerity and passion.

At the same time, there is a conversation to be had about accessibility in theatre. There is always a balance to strike between artistic integrity and audience engagement, particularly when a piece is deeply rooted in a specific cultural or linguistic tradition. While Mā does not need to cater to non-Samoan audiences, a few additional contextual elements might have enhanced the experience for a broader audience without compromising the work’s authenticity.

In the end, though, perhaps Mā is not meant to be universally accessible—and that is entirely valid. Not all theatre is made for everyone, nor should it be. Potential struggles with aspects of the performance does not diminish its impact or its success. On the contrary, it highlights the importance of theatre that speaks directly to specific communities, providing a space for representation and affirmation.

For those who see themselves reflected in Mā, this show is undoubtedly a triumph. It is a bold and heartfelt exploration of identity, a love letter to chosen family, and a testament to the power of storytelling. And even for those who may not be the primary audience, it remains a beautiful and thought-provoking experience—one that lingers long after the final bow.

The short season of Mā runs from the 25th Feb - 1st March, 2025 at Auckland's Loft at Q Theatre. Tickets can be purchased here

Duration: 60 minutes (no intermission)

FIREBRAND (2023)

Katherine Parr, the sixth wife of King Henry VIII, is named regent while the tyrant battles abroad. When the king returns, increasingly ill and paranoid, Katherine finds herself fighting for her own survival.

Katherine Parr, the sixth and final wife of Henry VIII, has long been overshadowed by her more infamous predecessors. Despite her survival in a court filled with political intrigue and peril, she has rarely been given the same level of attention in historical dramas. Firebrand, directed by Karim Aïnouz and adapted from Elizabeth Fremantle's novel "The Queen's Gambit," attempts to correct this oversight by offering a dramatic reimagining of her story. However, while the film sets the stage for a bold revisionist take, it often struggles to fully capitalise on its premise, leaving audiences with an uneven but occasionally gripping historical drama.

At its core, Firebrand presents Katherine Parr (Alicia Vikander) as a woman attempting to navigate a treacherous political landscape while advocating for religious reform. The film introduces her as a figure of quiet strength, committed to her beliefs and determined to make a difference from within the system. Her alliance with radical Protestant preacher Anne Askew (Erin Doherty) underscores her willingness to push against the rigid structures of power, even as the threat of execution looms over her. Yet, despite the film’s attempts to frame her as a revolutionary force, Katherine's agency often feels diminished, with events largely happening to her rather than being driven by her actions.

The script, penned by Jessica and Henrietta Ashworth, amplifies Katherine's defiance by portraying her efforts to reintroduce the English Bible during her brief tenure as regent while Henry VIII is away at war. This sets up an ideological struggle between Katherine’s cautious reformist stance and Askew’s more radical approach. Katherine believes she can sway the King’s perspective, insisting that "he listens to me." However, her faith in her influence over Henry is ultimately misplaced, as the film makes it clear that his temperament is unpredictable and his paranoia ever-growing.

Central to the film’s narrative is Jude Law’s portrayal of Henry VIII, a performance so commanding that it often overshadows everything else. Law transforms into the ailing monarch, capturing his physical and moral decay with unsettling realism. Beneath layers of prosthetics and an imposing frame, he conveys the volatility of a ruler whose favour can turn to fury in an instant. His Henry is grotesque yet charismatic, embodying the unchecked power and entitlement of a man who sees himself as divinely ordained. His presence dominates the screen, and as a result, much of the film’s tension hinges on his unpredictable moods.

In contrast, Alicia Vikander delivers a measured and restrained performance as Katherine. While she convincingly portrays her as a woman of intellect and conviction, her stoic approach sometimes struggles to match Law’s overpowering energy. Their scenes together highlight this imbalance—while Law’s Henry is a force of nature, Vikander’s Katherine often feels reactive rather than proactive. This contrast, while perhaps intentional, results in a protagonist who is difficult to fully connect with. Instead of feeling like an active agent of change, she often appears to be simply surviving the ordeal of her marriage.

Visually, Firebrand is stunning, with cinematographer Hélène Louvart capturing the richness and texture of Tudor-era England. The naturalistic lighting and muted colour palette lend the film a grounded, immersive quality. Costumes by Michael O’Connor are equally impressive, providing a tangible sense of the period’s opulence and rigidity. The film effectively conveys the suffocating atmosphere of the court, where even the grandest feasts can suddenly turn into scenes of horror depending on the King’s whims.

Despite its strong performances and evocative visuals, Firebrand struggles with pacing and focus. The screenplay juggles multiple narrative threads, including Katherine’s relationship with Askew, her precarious position in court, and the overarching religious tensions of the era. However, rather than weaving these elements into a cohesive whole, the film often feels uncertain about its central theme. Is it a feminist reimagining of Katherine’s story? A political thriller? A psychological portrait of a tyrant’s final days? By trying to be all these things at once, it occasionally loses its momentum.

The film’s opening title card suggests a bold retelling of history, stating, "History tells us a few things, mostly about men and war. For the rest of humanity, we must draw our own, often wild, conclusions." This introduction promises an audacious approach, but the film ultimately plays it safer than expected. While the climax takes significant liberties with historical accuracy, much of the film remains restrained, never fully embracing the radical energy hinted at in its premise.

Where Firebrand truly excels is in its depiction of the dangers of life under Henry’s rule. The ever-present threat of execution looms over every conversation, and the casual recitation of names of those who have been sentenced to death is chilling. The film highlights the precarious balance Katherine must maintain—too outspoken, and she risks being accused of heresy; too passive, and she loses the ability to protect herself and those she cares about. Her friendship with Askew is particularly fraught, as it becomes clear that any association with radical thought can be used as evidence against her.

Jude Law’s performance elevates the film significantly, providing the tension and unpredictability that drive many of its most compelling moments. His portrayal of Henry as a decaying, paranoid ruler is both grotesque and fascinating, capturing the contradictions of a man who sees himself as an immortal leader even as his body betrays him. His ability to shift from jovial to terrifying within a single scene keeps the audience on edge, reinforcing the sense that no one in his court is truly safe.

Unfortunately, Vikander’s Katherine, while dignified and intelligent, never fully commands the screen in the same way. Her character is written as a woman of great inner strength, but the script does not give her enough decisive moments to assert her presence against Henry. This is particularly noticeable in their confrontations—while Henry is loud, menacing, and physically imposing, Katherine’s resistance is mostly internal, making it difficult to translate into a cinematic experience that feels equally impactful.

Ultimately, Firebrand is a film with much promise but inconsistent execution. It offers a visually rich and well-acted portrayal of Katherine Parr’s struggles, yet it never fully commits to making her the compelling, dynamic lead she deserves to be. Jude Law’s mesmerizing performance as Henry VIII often steals the show, leaving Vikander’s Katherine feeling somewhat overshadowed. While the film successfully captures the tension and fear of life in Henry’s court, it falls short of delivering a truly groundbreaking retelling of Katherine’s story.

For those drawn to historical dramas, Firebrand provides an engaging, if uneven, experience. Its strongest moments come from the oppressive atmosphere of the Tudor court and Law’s unnerving portrayal of Henry VIII. However, those expecting a truly radical reinterpretation of Katherine Parr’s life may find themselves wishing the film had taken even bolder steps. In the end, Firebrand is a film that, much like its protagonist, survives—but never quite thrives.

Firebrand will be in selected NZ cinemas from March 13, 2025

MAURICE AND I

In the aftermath of the 2011 Christchurch earthquake, New Zealand architects Sir Miles Warren and Maurice Mahoney fight to save their finest building from demolition.

The documentary Maurice and I is a film of two halves: one that explores the remarkable partnership of New Zealand architects Sir Miles Warren and Maurice Mahoney, and another that chronicles the Christchurch Town Hall’s turbulent history, from its design to its near destruction. Directed by Rick Harvie and Jane Mahoney, the film is both an intimate character study and a broader reflection on the value of architecture in society.

The story begins with the formation of one of New Zealand’s most significant architectural partnerships. Warren and Mahoney, despite their differing personalities, worked in perfect sync. Warren, the more extroverted of the two, had a natural ability to charm clients and present bold, innovative concepts. Mahoney, precise and detail-focused, ensured their ambitious designs were grounded in structural integrity and practical execution. Their combined expertise led to some of the most iconic buildings in Christchurch and beyond, with the Christchurch Town Hall being their crowning achievement.

The film moves seamlessly between archival footage and contemporary interviews, painting a vivid picture of their working relationship. The moments featuring the two men together are particularly compelling. In one interview, Warren speaks passionately, making sweeping statements about their work, only for Mahoney to interject with a quiet but firm correction. Warren, unfazed, continues with his storytelling. It is these interactions that truly bring their partnership to life, showing the mutual respect and reliance that made their collaboration so successful.

However, Maurice and I is not just a celebration of their architectural achievements. The film takes a somber turn when addressing the devastating impact of the 2011 Christchurch earthquake. Many of their buildings, once symbols of modernist ingenuity, were either destroyed or deemed unfit for restoration. The Christchurch Town Hall, an internationally acclaimed venue known for its groundbreaking acoustics, faced an uncertain fate. The debate over whether it should be demolished or restored became one of the most contentious aspects of the city’s rebuild.

The documentary presents multiple perspectives, including that of Gerry Brownlee, the former minister overseeing Christchurch’s reconstruction. Brownlee, who had previously pushed for the Town Hall’s demolition, appears in the film and acknowledges his stance, though he stands by his assessment of the building’s structural issues. This inclusion adds depth to the documentary, highlighting the tensions between heritage preservation and the practical realities of post-disaster recovery.

What makes Maurice and I so compelling is its ability to make architecture accessible to all audiences. While the film discusses complex design principles and acoustic innovations, it never feels overly technical or exclusionary. Instead, it highlights the human stories behind the buildings—the friendships, the creative struggles, and the cultural significance of these spaces.

The Christchurch Town Hall is more than just a structure; it is a place of memories. Through archival footage, we see performances from some of the world’s most iconic artists—Billy T James, Leonard Bernstein, The Ramones, Tom Petty, and many more. These moments reinforce the idea that architecture is not just about aesthetics or engineering; it is about the experiences that take place within these spaces.

One of the most touching aspects of the documentary is its timing. Neither Warren nor Mahoney lived to see its completion, making Maurice and I feel like a posthumous tribute to their work. The final interviews with Mahoney, filmed shortly before his passing, add an emotional weight to the film, serving as a reminder of the impermanence of life but the enduring nature of creative legacies.

Ultimately, Maurice and I is a beautifully crafted documentary that resonates on multiple levels. It is a film about friendship, artistic vision, and the struggle to preserve history in the face of disaster. Whether you are passionate about architecture or simply appreciate compelling storytelling, this documentary is well worth watching. It leaves viewers not just with a greater appreciation for Warren and Mahoney’s work, but also with a deeper understanding of why buildings like the Christchurch Town Hall are worth saving—not just for their design, but for the lives they touch.

Maurice and I was released in NZ cinemas on September 5, 2024

PANTI BLISS: IF THESE WIGS COULD TALK (2025)

The 'Queen of Ireland' Panti Bliss is packing her frocks and coming to New Zealand for the very first time this February as part of the Auckland Pride Festival with her record-breaking, smash-hit comedy If These Wigs Could Talk.

Drag can take many forms—a dazzling cabaret, a comedy routine, an interactive game show—but If These Wigs Could Talk is something else entirely. It is a deeply personal, often hilarious, and unexpectedly urgent piece of storytelling from one of the most iconic figures in Irish queer history, Panti Bliss.

Known as the 'Queen of Ireland,' Panti has spent decades in the spotlight, navigating a world that has drastically shifted around her. Born in a time when queerness was criminalised in Ireland, she has watched the LGBTQ+ community go from an underground presence to a celebrated part of mainstream culture. In this one-woman show, she takes audiences on a journey through that transformation—from rural Ireland to the global stage—while asking an important question: What does drag mean in a world where queer people are no longer forced to exist in the shadows?

At 56, Panti finds herself in a reflective mood. For much of her life, drag was an act of defiance, a statement against repression, and a way to fight back. But now, with queer culture featured on television, in advertising, and across social media, the need for that defiance feels less clear—or does it? As the performance unfolds, the answer becomes increasingly obvious. Despite progress in many parts of the world, there is a growing backlash against LGBTQ+ rights. Hard-fought freedoms are being chipped away, and forces of conservatism and extremism are pushing back against equality.

The show begins in familiar territory—witty, charming, and full of Panti’s signature razor-sharp humour. She recounts her early years in Ireland, a country where, until she was 25, being openly queer was illegal. She talks about navigating life in a world that viewed people like her as outlaws and about the journey of self-discovery that took her from the quiet corners of Mayo to the pulsating heart of London’s nightlife. The anecdotes flow seamlessly, delivered with a mix of theatrical flourish and casual intimacy, as if she were holding court at a lively dinner party.

But as the show progresses, it becomes clear that this is not just a nostalgic trip through Panti’s past. This is history—personal and political—woven together into a single story of transformation, both for an individual and for society at large. She speaks about the highs, like the historic 2015 Irish marriage equality referendum, which saw Ireland become the first country to legalise same-sex marriage by popular vote. But she also acknowledges the lows, the moments when progress felt like it would never come, and the reality that rights can be taken away just as quickly as they are granted.

And then, If These Wigs Could Talk takes a turn. The warm glow of reminiscing gives way to a sharper, more urgent tone. Panti brings the conversation into the present, pointing out that the same battles she and others fought decades ago are re-emerging in new, insidious forms. Across the world, reactionary politics are gaining traction. LGBTQ+ rights, once thought to be settled victories, are being rolled back in places like the United States, Hungary, and parts of the Middle East. The rise of authoritarianism, religious extremism, and anti-queer rhetoric threatens to undo decades of progress.

This is where If These Wigs Could Talk shifts from a history lesson to a rallying cry. What starts as a nostalgic and humorous reflection on the past evolves into a powerful call to action. Panti reminds us that history is not linear—progress can be undone. While some might have believed that the fight for equality was won, she argues that complacency is dangerous. The resurgence of political and religious conservatism in places like the United States and parts of Europe threatens to undo decades of progress, and she makes it clear that sitting on the sidelines is not an option.

Her words land with weight. There is an urgency in her voice, a passion that makes it impossible not to be moved. And the audience responds. The laughter, so frequent in the first half, now shares space with nods of agreement, murmurs of recognition, and moments of stunned silence. Panti is not just telling a story; she is issuing a challenge. To those who have benefited from the progress of the past decades, she asks: What are you doing to protect it?

For an hour and ten minutes, Panti commands the stage with her signature blend of sharp humour and undeniable charisma. She weaves personal anecdotes with cultural commentary, keeping the audience entertained while delivering a sobering message. The performance is seamless, effortlessly shifting from laugh-out-loud moments to poignant reflections. The crowd is drawn in not just by the humour, but by the weight of what she is saying—this is not just a story about drag; it is about the fragile nature of rights and freedoms.

The beauty of If These Wigs Could Talk lies in its ability to balance humour with gravity. Panti is a natural storyteller, and she knows exactly when to lean into a joke and when to let a moment linger. Even in the heaviest parts of the show, there is always a spark of wit, a reminder that resistance can be joyful, that laughter itself can be an act of defiance.

As the performance reaches its conclusion, Panti delivers her final thoughts with conviction. There is no room for passivity in times like these. The fight is not over, and if people do not stand up against the forces of regression, then hard-won freedoms will be lost. It is a sobering message, but also an empowering one. The audience leaves not just entertained but emboldened, reminded that they have a role to play in shaping the world around them.

It is rare to leave a theatre feeling both uplifted and galvanised, but If These Wigs Could Talk achieves exactly that. Panti Bliss does not just put on a show—she creates an experience that is entertaining, thought-provoking, and, above all, necessary. This is not just a performance—it is a call to arms, delivered with style, wit, and just the right amount of glitter.

Pant Bliss' season of If These Wigs Could Talk runs from 19 Feb - 23 Feb 2025 at the Auckland Civic's Wintergarden. Tickets can be purchased here. 

Runtime: 70 minutes, no interval

Recommended for ages 16+

Accessible seating available

BODY STORY (2025)

When was the last time your body felt happy? What does it remember? In his debut solo work, dance artist Xin Ji unravels his body's story, where emotion and movement collide. Through uncertainty, recklessness, and euphoria, he explores the body as a site of resistance and transformation.

Body Story invites audiences to reflect on their own physical experiences: moments of joy, tension, pain, and endurance. It asks viewers to consider the narratives their bodies carry—stories of achievement, authority, perspiration, transformation, wholeness, immortality, technology, ancestry, and concealment. What memories are etched into the fibres of our being?

In his first solo performance, dance artist Xin Ji explores his personal bodily journey, weaving together instances where emotions and physical sensations intersect. The performance navigates through states of uncertainty, abandon, and exhilaration, crafting an intimate narrative that invites the audience to view the body not just as flesh and bone but as a vessel of resistance and transformation.

Body Story defies conventional categorisation. Although it could be labelled as interpretive dance, this label hardly encompasses the depth and complexity of what unfolds on stage. The performance is structured into several segments or chapters, each exploring different facets of embodiment and identity.

The opening act introduces Xin Ji in a shimmering silver suit that obscures his form, creating an image of a body without definition. This choice effectively conceals his shape, presenting the body as an abstract concept rather than a recognisable human form. The audience is confronted with a multitude of possible identities, each hinted at but never fully realised. The body twitches, trembles, and contorts, as if struggling to decide what or who it wants to become. It evokes a sense of being trapped in a state of potential, much like a caterpillar in a chrysalis awaiting transformation. There is a palpable tension as the body seems paralysed by the multitude of paths it could take, hesitating between possibilities.

Following this existential struggle, a rebirth occurs, marking the start of the second act. The silver suit is shed, revealing a body that is now free to explore its capabilities. The set remains minimal, but the use of flowing, translucent curtains and dynamic projections creates a layered visual environment. This interplay of light and shadow enhances the fluidity of movement, crafting an ethereal and immersive atmosphere. The body dances through these layers, testing its boundaries and discovering new possibilities. The choreography is experimental and exploratory, capturing the curiosity and wonder of rediscovery.

The third and most narrative-driven segment unfolds in fragmented scenes, with occasional support from another performer. This part of the performance is notably more physically demanding, pushing the body to its limits and exploring themes of resilience, vulnerability, and connection. The movements become more grounded, confronting the constraints and struggles that come with embodiment. The narrative is less abstract here, but the emotional intensity is undeniable.

Body Story continues to unfold through several other pieces, each exploring different aspects of embodiment and identity. However, the magic of this performance lies in the experience of witnessing it live—the raw emotions, the intricate choreography, and the powerful atmosphere created in the moment. To describe each act in detail would be to diminish the impact of seeing it firsthand. It is a journey best experienced without preconceived notions, allowing each audience member to interpret and connect with it in their own way.

The production masterfully blends movement with a hauntingly beautiful soundscape, composed by Music Director Alistair Deverick. The audio is atmospheric and otherworldly, occasionally incorporating the sound of Xin Ji's heartbeat, which reinforces the physicality of the performance. Repetitive rhythms echo the cyclical nature of bodily experiences, amplifying the impact of the choreography. This sonic backdrop enhances the hypnotic quality of the movements, drawing the audience deeper into the narrative.

While at first glance the performance might seem erratic or even chaotic, closer inspection reveals meticulous precision in every movement. This is most apparent in sequences where Xin Ji interacts with projected visuals, creating an almost surreal dialogue between his physical form and digital representations. Every gesture is perfectly synchronised with the projections, highlighting the deliberate and thoughtful nature of the choreography. It becomes clear that nothing is accidental; each motion is carefully calculated to evoke a specific emotional response.

What makes Body Story so compelling is its raw vulnerability. Xin Ji exposes himself—not just physically but emotionally—allowing the audience to witness his struggles, triumphs, and uncertainties (Note: it is important to clarify that while his body is exposed, it is done with care and artistry. There is no explicit nudity or display of genitals). It feels deeply personal, almost autobiographical, yet universally relatable. The performance challenges viewers to confront their own bodily experiences and memories, sparking reflection on identity, change, and self-acceptance.

Body Story is not merely a dance performance; it is a visceral experience that defies easy interpretation. It invites curiosity, provokes thought, and lingers long after the final bow. Its abstract nature may leave some feeling bewildered, but it is precisely this ambiguity that makes it so powerful. By refusing to provide clear answers, the performance encourages each audience member to find their own meaning, to connect their own stories to the narrative unfolding on stage.

As a debut solo work, Body Story showcases Xin Ji's boldness as both a performer and a storyteller. It is a fearless exploration of the human body in all its complexities—fragile, resilient, evolving, and undefined. The collaboration with a talented creative team, including the evocative lighting by Rowan Pierce and the visionary set design by Talia Pua, elevates the performance to a multisensory experience. It is a testament to the power of dance as a medium of emotional expression and narrative exploration.

Body Story is a celebration of vulnerability and an invitation to embrace the uncertainty of becoming. It challenges conventional storytelling by embracing ambiguity and complexity, making it a thought-provoking and unforgettable performance. In a world that often demands certainty and definition, Body Story dares to revel in the unknown, the unfinished, and the unapologetically human.

The short season of Body Story runs from the 18th - 22nd Feb, 2025 at Auckland's Loft at Q Theatre. Tickets can be purchased here

Duration: 60 minutes (no intermission)

Warning: Adult themes

HEART EYES (2025)

For the past several years, the "Heart Eyes Killer" has wreaked havoc on Valentine's Day by stalking and murdering romantic couples. This Valentine's Day, no couple is safe.

Heart Eyes, directed by Josh Ruben and written by Phillip Murphy, Christopher Landon, and Michael Kennedy, dares to do something different. It attempts to mix the light-hearted charm of a romantic comedy with the blood-soaked thrills of a slasher film. Starring Alex Walker, Lauren O'Hara, and Latham Gaines, this Valentine’s Day horror-romcom hybrid aims to appeal to both lovers of romance and fans of horror. However, while it shows flashes of creativity and entertainment, it ultimately struggles to fully engage with either genre, leaving audiences with an uneven but amusing watch.

The story revolves around a serial killer known as “Heart Eyes” who terrorises couples each year on February 14th. Hot on his trail are detectives Jeanette Shaw (Jordana Brewster) and Hobbs (Devon Sawa), who are racing against time to catch the maniac before more lovers fall victim. Heart Eyes sets his sights on Ally (Olivia Holt), a pitch designer nursing a broken heart, and Jay (Mason Gooding), a charismatic freelancer brought in to rescue her failing campaign. Their awkward yet charming meet-cute is rudely interrupted by the arrival of the killer, throwing them into a frantic fight for survival.

As they navigate one deadly encounter after another, their flirtatious banter continues to bubble beneath the surface. It’s a clever attempt at maintaining romantic comedy beats within the high-stakes tension of a slasher film. However, the film’s focus on Ally and Jay leaves little room for the classic “whodunnit” suspense that often defines a good slasher. With a limited pool of suspects, the mystery surrounding Heart Eyes’ identity fails to gain any real traction.

Heart Eyes sets out to be both a romantic comedy and a slasher film, but it struggles to find the right balance. On one hand, it leans heavily into the familiar beats of rom-coms—embarrassing meet-cutes, playful banter, and even a quirky wardrobe montage. These moments work well, largely thanks to the chemistry between Holt and Gooding. Holt’s portrayal of Ally brings a likeable, plucky charm, while Gooding’s Jay is effortlessly charismatic. Their blossoming romance is believable and genuinely fun to watch, anchoring the movie with a light-hearted, feel-good energy.

On the other hand, the horror elements often fall flat. While the film doesn’t shy away from bloodshed, it doesn’t quite deliver the tension or fear expected from a slasher. Heart Eyes himself has a memorable design—a twisted, Voodoo doll-inspired mask that is both creepy and playful. Yet, his presence never feels truly menacing. The kills are gory but lack impact, mainly because the story is so focused on the two leads that the supporting characters feel disposable. As a result, Heart Eyes is left without any truly shocking or emotional kills, reducing his threat level significantly.

This uneven approach also extends to the overall tone of the movie. The light, humorous dialogue between Ally and Jay frequently undercuts any sense of peril, which may leave horror fans disappointed. In one scene, they narrowly escape Heart Eyes only to resume their flirtatious banter moments later. It’s entertaining, but it makes the horror feel like an afterthought.

While Holt and Gooding carry the film with their charm, some of the supporting cast are unfortunately underutilised. Devon Sawa’s Detective Hobbs, in particular, feels like a missed opportunity. Introduced as a seasoned investigator on the trail of Heart Eyes, his character never gets the depth or screen time needed to make a significant impact. Similarly, the whodunnit element is brushed aside too quickly, denying the audience the fun of trying to piece together the killer’s identity.

The film also misses the chance to fully explore its setting. It cleverly uses Valentine’s Day—a holiday ripe with romantic clichés and heightened emotions—as a backdrop, but it doesn’t push the concept far enough. Unlike other Valentine’s Day slashers like My Bloody Valentine, which leaned heavily into the holiday’s iconography, Heart Eyes only scratches the surface. A funfair scene, for example, feels disappointingly underutilised, relying on standard horror tropes like dark corners and jump scares rather than playing with the setting’s romantic potential.

Heart Eyes is at its best when it leans into the absurdity of its premise. The opening sequence is a standout—a brutal yet darkly funny take on influencer culture that sets the tone for a film unafraid to poke fun at itself. It’s a shame the movie never quite reaches that same level of inventiveness again. Most of the horror sequences are confined to a single location or rely on a repetitive weapon choice, which limits the creativity of the set pieces.

The film’s attempt to parody both rom-coms and slashers is admirable but uneven. It often feels more like an homage to genre classics rather than a fresh take. For example, it frames scenes just like a traditional romantic comedy—complete with the classic airport chase—but then abruptly shifts to horror with bloody deaths and brutal chases. This sharp contrast is jarring, and while it’s meant to be playful, it sometimes comes across as disjointed.

Heart Eyes deserves credit for trying something new. Merging romantic comedy with slasher horror is no easy task, and it’s rare to see a film attempt this blend so boldly. While it doesn’t always succeed in creating a cohesive experience, it’s still entertaining enough to keep audiences engaged. The charming performances from Holt and Gooding, combined with Josh Ruben’s playful direction, make for an enjoyable, if flawed, Valentine’s date night option.

Ultimately, Heart Eyes is a film caught between two genres, never fully committing to either. It has the heart of a romantic comedy but the blood of a slasher, and while this ambitious experiment doesn’t always hit the mark, it offers a fun and occasionally thrilling ride. For those looking for a unique twist on Valentine’s Day viewing, Heart Eyes is worth a watch—just don’t expect it to deliver fully on either the romance or the horror.

Heart Eyes was released in NZ cinemas on February 13, 2025

WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY-ANNE? (2025)

An electrifying tale of a trans woman balancing duty and desire, family and freedom. By day, she’s a devoted night nurse and caregiver; by night, she rocks out to Led Zeppelin and sings at a dive bar—dragging her bedridden father along. 

What Happened to Mary-Anne? is an electrifying theatrical experience that seamlessly weaves together the raw power of rock and roll with a deeply moving narrative about identity, family, and self-discovery. At its heart, the story follows Mary-Anne, a trans woman with an unquenchable passion for rock music. Beneath her dutiful exterior as the youngest of eight siblings, a night nurse, and a devoted caretaker to her bedridden father, lies a rebellious spirit that comes alive under the neon lights of a grungy dive bar. This show is a wild, unapologetic celebration of rock anthems, delivered with a powerful dramatic punch that will leave audiences exhilarated and emotionally moved.

From the moment the lights dim and the first electrifying guitar riff echoes through the theatre, What Happened to Mary-Anne? commands attention. Directed by Benjamin Kilby-Henson, the production is a masterclass in balancing bold humour with intense drama. The show draws its energy from the musical stylings of rock legends such as Stevie Nicks, Kiss, Blondie, and Fleetwood Mac, performed live by the talented ensemble known as The Grotesque – Māia Huia, Bray Jeffrey, and Rhohil Kishore. Their mastery of rock and roll is impeccable, enhancing every scene and serving as an emotional amplifier that adds depth and vibrancy to the narrative.

Mary-Anne’s story is one of contrast and complexity. By day, she is the obedient daughter and dependable sibling, constantly running errands and tending to her father’s every need, earning her place within her ultra-conservative family through quiet servitude. Her siblings barely tolerate her, accepting her presence only because of her usefulness. But by night, she transforms into a fearless rock star, belting out secular anthems at The Pig Bucket, a seedy dive bar where she can unapologetically be herself.

This duality is captured brilliantly by Brady Peeti, whose performance as Mary-Anne is nothing short of mesmerising. Peeti masterfully navigates the character’s emotional journey, from moments of vulnerability and longing to explosive expressions of liberation. It is this juxtaposition – the pious, dutiful daughter versus the audacious rock star – that makes Mary-Anne’s story so compelling. As she wrestles with her identity and the weight of her family's expectations, the audience is taken on a journey of self-discovery that is as heart-wrenching as it is empowering.

One of the greatest achievements of What Happened to Mary-Anne? is its ability to balance comedy and drama without diminishing the impact of either. The show tackles heavy themes, including religious piety, family rejection, and the struggles of self-acceptance. Yet, these are expertly interwoven with laugh-out-loud moments and clever comedic elements that keep the story from becoming overwhelming.

The narrative is peppered with witty dialogue and situational humour that highlight the absurdity of Mary-Anne’s predicament, such as her siblings’ obliviousness to her double life and the ludicrous situations she navigates to preserve her secret. Game show elements are cleverly introduced to engage the audience, breaking the fourth wall and inviting viewers to become part of Mary-Anne’s chaotic world.

Lighting is also used ingeniously to accentuate shifts in tone, illuminating moments of introspection or amplifying the energy during musical numbers. These seamless transitions allow the story to flow naturally between poignant dramatic scenes and uproarious comedic interludes, creating a dynamic viewing experience that keeps audiences on the edge of their seats.

The music in What Happened to Mary-Anne? is not merely an accompaniment; it is the lifeblood of the show. The setlist features iconic rock anthems, including Rock and Roll All Nite by Kiss, White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane, Call Me by Blondie, Cherry Bomb by The Runaways, and The Chain by Fleetwood Mac, to name a few. Each song is strategically placed to enhance the emotional weight of the scenes, reflecting Mary-Anne’s internal turmoil, her moments of defiance, and her ultimate liberation.

The live band, The Grotesque, delivers these classics with passion and precision, capturing the raw energy of rock and roll. Their performances are tight, energetic, and authentic, transporting the audience to a smoky, crowded bar where the music is loud, gritty, and unapologetically bold. Their musical prowess is matched only by Brady Peeti’s vocal delivery, which is both powerful and nuanced, bringing new life to these legendary tracks while maintaining their nostalgic charm.

The music not only entertains but also serves as a narrative device that drives the story forward. It punctuates dramatic revelations, provides comedic relief, and underscores Mary-Anne’s emotional journey. By allowing the audience to feel the highs and lows through the pulse of rock music, the show creates an immersive experience that resonates long after the final chord is struck.

At its core, What Happened to Mary-Anne? is a story about identity, acceptance, and the courage to be oneself. It portrays the universal struggle of seeking validation and belonging, while bravely confronting the prejudices and expectations imposed by society and family. Mary-Anne’s journey is one of resilience and self-empowerment, as she reclaims her voice and unapologetically embraces who she truly is.

The narrative explores the pain of being misunderstood and the consequences of living a double life. It examines the cost of people-pleasing and the toll of suppressing one’s true self to fit societal norms. Yet, amidst the drama and heartbreak, the story is also a celebration of freedom, rebellion, and the transformative power of music.

The character’s internal conflict is relatable to anyone who has felt the pressure to conform or has struggled to find their place in the world. This relatability, combined with the show’s vibrant humour and infectious energy, gives What Happened to Mary-Anne? mainstream appeal, ensuring that audiences from all walks of life will find something to connect with.

What Happened to Mary-Anne? is a triumph that defies conventional storytelling. It is a bold, brash, and beautifully crafted production that resonates on an emotional level while delivering the thrill and excitement of a live rock concert. With an outstanding cast, a killer soundtrack, and a poignant narrative that tugs at the heartstrings, it is a show that captivates from start to finish.

This is not just a musical; it is an experience – one that leaves you laughing, crying, and cheering for Mary-Anne as she rocks her way to freedom. If you have the chance to see What Happened to Mary-Anne?, don’t miss it. It’s a theatrical masterpiece that redefines the boundaries of comedy, drama, and rock and roll.

The short season of What Happened to Mary-Anne? runs from the 11th - 15th Feb, 2025 at Auckland's Loft at Q Theatre. Tickets can be purchased here

Duration: 60 minutes (no intermission)

TINĀ (2025)

Mareta, grieving her daughter's death in the Christchurch quakes, becomes a substitute teacher at an elite school. Unexpectedly, she discovers students lacking guidance and care, prompting her to provide inspiration and support.

Miki Magasiva’s Tinā is a film that wears its heart on its sleeve. It follows a well-established formula—grief, healing, and unexpected connections—but does so with sincerity, making it a deeply moving cinematic experience. Though predictable in its structure, it is a film that resonates, offering a poignant look at loss, cultural identity, and the power of community.

At the centre of Tinā is Mareta Percival, played by Anapela Polataivao in a stunningly heartfelt performance. Mareta is a woman struggling to rebuild her life following the tragic loss of her daughter in the Christchurch earthquakes. In an attempt to regain a sense of purpose, she takes on a temporary teaching position at an elite private school, where she crosses paths with Sophie (Antonia Robinson), a student dealing with personal struggles of her own.

The relationship between Mareta and Sophie is at the film’s emotional core, and their dynamic unfolds in a way that is both touching and familiar. Mareta’s affection for Sophie suggests she sees in her a reflection of the daughter she lost. This is solidified in a moment of crisis, where Mareta offers Sophie a keepsake from her late child. While this storyline risks falling into well-worn tropes—where a character of colour’s narrative supports a white protagonist’s journey—the film remains grounded by its strong performances and genuine emotional depth.

One of Tinā’s greatest strengths is its portrayal of Samoan culture. While the film doesn’t entirely centre the Pacific Islander experience in a way that redefines the genre, it does offer a warm introduction to Samoan traditions, language, and values. The dialogue naturally moves between English and Samoan, immersing audiences in a bilingual experience that adds authenticity. Some Samoan phrases are left untranslated, allowing Pacific Islander viewers to feel an added layer of recognition and connection.

The cinematography deserves praise, with beautifully composed shots that capture both the warmth of Samoan community gatherings and the stark contrasts of Mareta’s world in an elite New Zealand school. The film’s use of music is another highlight. The formation of a school choir not only brings Mareta and Sophie closer but also serves as a metaphor for collective healing. Music is a universal language, and here, it becomes a tool for resilience and transformation.

For all its emotional impact, Tinā does little to surprise. The narrative unfolds exactly as one might expect, with few deviations from the standard arc of a grief-driven redemption story. The racial and class prejudices depicted in the film feel familiar, and while they are handled sensitively, they don’t necessarily offer fresh insights.

That said, the film’s predictability does not lessen its emotional power. There is something inherently comforting about a story that delivers exactly what it promises—one that tugs at the heartstrings, elicits tears, and ultimately offers hope.

Much of the film’s success can be attributed to Polataivao’s performance. She carries the film with grace, exuding warmth and wisdom, making Mareta feel like a real, lived-in character. Antonia Robinson also delivers a compelling performance, and their on-screen chemistry is genuine. The supporting cast, while sometimes bordering on caricature, helps maintain a balance between the film’s heavier themes and its moments of levity.

The title Tinā holds significant meaning in Samoan culture, representing a mother figure, a respected elder who nurtures and guides others. Mareta embodies this role not only for Sophie but for the entire school choir, offering them support and wisdom as they navigate their own struggles. The film gently addresses cultural stigmas around emotional expression in Samoan communities, highlighting the importance of openness and support in the healing process.

While Tinā may not reinvent the genre, it is a deeply affecting film that succeeds in what it sets out to do—deliver an uplifting, heartfelt story about grief, healing, and the strength found in community. It ticks all the boxes, and sometimes, that’s exactly what’s needed.

Tinā will be released in NZ cinemas from February 27, 2025