What a joy Te Pou Theatre is.

It’s always been special but as it evolves it continues to work on improving the audience experience. No resting on laurels for this outstanding team who have courage and creativity in spades.

Good parking is a great start – and it’s close to the theatre.

The host who welcomes audiences is excellent, a wonderful innovation, and the FOH team are pure magic.

My whanau arrived earlyish in time to purchase kai and a beverage. I had a vegetarian mince and cheese pie and a chirpy red. The heart embossed on the pastry was a nice touch. Both were excellent. Cushla had a Mediterranean platter and Finn ate all the bread. The foyer is attractive, changes for each show, and the excellent digital programmes are easily accessible via a QR code.

Te Pou is currently playing host to Massive Theatre Company’s emerging artists production Te Ao Hou and it’s a real treat.

The work of the Massive Company needs little introduction. Founded by Sam Scott in 1991 as the Maidment Youth Theatre and later renamed Massive, it is ‘a fusion company of emerging and professional artists.’

The company is, in fact, significantly older than many of its current artists which is, in an odd way, quite comforting, structural longevity not being a notable quality in our industry. With such outstanding work as Scott’s own 2002 production of Lennie James’ The Sons of Charlie Paora, through 2016’s devised piece The Island directed by Scott and Miriama McDowell, to the 2022 digital version of Lennie James’ third Massive collaboration Half the Sky – thanks COVID lockdown! – there has been a constant commitment by Massive Company and its leadership to performance excellence, devised work, sustainability, and to making art that is uniquely anchored in tikanga Māori and the rich cultures of our Pacific neighbours.

Te Ao Hou is no different. It is a devised physical theatre creation brought to life by a collective of emerging artists co-directed by the Queen of Creativity herself, Margaret-Mary Hollins, and Hone Taukiri. Taukiri is a graduate of South Seas Film & Television School, worked with Massive Theatre Company on the recent show What We’re Made Of, and if Te Ao Hou is anything to go by, he has a fine future in the industry.

Te Ao Hou means ‘the new life’ or ‘the new world’ in Te Reo Māori. The name isn’t new. Te Ao Hou was a bilingual literary journal published from 1952 to 1975 by what was then known as the Māori Affairs Department. Te Ao Hou was also the name of a national movement initiated in the 1970s, aimed at tackling the challenges encountered by Māori youth and which ran in tandem with Ngā Tamatoa, an activist group that promoted Māori rights, and highlighted issues relating to racial discrimination, the loss of te reo Māori and the continued confiscation of land.

Tama Tū, Tama Ora, Tama Noho, Tama Mate, Tama Toa.

Is it going too far to connect the work of these activist movements in the 1970’s with the work of Massive Company today? I don’t think so. I don’t think the latter could exist without the former and I point to the superb haka led by Manunui Rainey and supported by his fellow cast members Connor Magatogia, Lijah Mavaega, Tristin Katoa and Nikeidrian Peters that forms the centrepiece of this work, as my evidence. This haka is embedded in the work in ways that are all-consuming and declare unilaterally ‘this is who we are’.

The arc of the 50-minute journey is both fascinating and deceptive. We are introduced to the performers as though they are wittily dressed, charming, clown-type characters who are funny and who entertain. Nothing more, just that. Like The Wiggles but for teenagers. They’re multi-talented, for sure, but this is Massive so that’s no real surprise. It’s also no surprise when the content gets richer – that’s Hollins’ hallmark – but it quickly becomes evident that this certainly isn’t ‘Big Red Car’ reinvented, but a deep sweep through recent history, whanau relationships with grandparents, cousins, and lovers, dementia, things loved but lost – Burger King, mix tapes, the glory days of the VHS rental store and even the curtained off R18 area – get an hilarious nostalgic mention. It’s a riot of laughter, snatches of song, teasing – poor Manu without a girlfriend – a kava ceremony with a difference, and all with a sense of the gravitas of lives lived in our mixed up, modern, mess of a world, but with a real gravitas that’s painted in pastels, surrounded by endless love emoji, and with an anticipation of afternoon tea with grandma.

And, yes, there’s plenty of social commentary – Hollins, Taukiri, and their cast have the courage to go there – including observations about how we’ve salvaged Te Reo and how satisfying that is (don’t tell Seymour or Winston), how we now have gender non- specific clothing, and all this with a strong positive emphasis on a future that retains the gains we’ve made while continuing to love the things we’ve lost such as that elusive Burger King burger which gets a couple of notable mentions.

Te Ao Hou is an outstanding piece of devising – cohesive, clearly collaborative, rich in content, and swamped in manaaki – a compassion that is generously shared with an appreciative audience.

Did we love it? Yes, we did. We cherished the performers, the creatives, and the techies. They made us do it, it was intentional. We loved the beautifully interwoven narratives, that unique humour that so effectively mellows the pain, and especially we loved the gentle relationships with the grannies and the grandpas, the koros and the kuias, and the tūpuna who are never far away.

Connor Magatogia (keyboards) and Lijah Mavaega (guitar) provided an aural dimension that enriched the fabulous singing, and each actor gave everything they had to the whole. In the eyes of a wonderfully supportive audience, they’re all stars. Lauren Millar’s costumes are divine, Jane Hakaraia’s lighting is delicious, and Harmony Hogarth’s sound is close to perfection.

It’s clever work, perfect for a cold night after a day of wondering what’s next in the real world. After months of despair there now seems to be a glimmer of hope beyond our shores at least. Te Ao Hou reflects that wish, and we can only hope, having revitalised the reo, that we can say a resounding ‘no’ to the nutters who want to take it away again.

Toitū Te Tiriti!

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