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