In every way, this show defies criticism. It is designed as a crowd pleaser for a loyal audience and it delivers on every level. The small but ardent audience in the Hatea Room at the Riverbank Centre loved it and gave it rapturous applause. “Bravo!” they cried.

And even there I’m being cynical when I say “small” because the audience filled just about all the available seats.

So I’m not sure where this leaves me, because this show isn’t designed for people like me. Helen Moulder knows both her character and her target audience like the back of her hand and gives ’em what they want – she makes sure they get their money’s worth. I felt quite churlish as I walk out because I have a few reservations about it yet all around me are singing her praises.

Who is “her”? In this case, Ms Moulder and Ms Fortitude seem indivisible, and if having a go is an essential of the Kiwi character, Ms. Moulder/Cynthia have a considerable go. What I do understand, with crystal clarity, is that the character (and thus the show) encapsulates an important and often ignored aspect of Kiwi culture.

It stems from the colonial days when all that was available, especially to Kiwi women (I call them ‘Kiwi-esses’), was what came in on the boats and when that was sold they had to either wait for the next boat – or make their own. So Kiwi-esses became adept at adapting recipes based on things they’d heard, even these days (Tiramisu in Tutukaka is delicious but bears only a passing resemblance to its Italian origins). It applied to arts and crafts, to needlework and embroidery, to books and to entertainment. Wanting more than just keeping house, Kiwi-esses became the stalwarts of libraries and theatre – most amateur theatrics rested on the shoulders of women. 

Then again, I could claim (and have) that the British Empire was only possible because of its women – such as my mother. The men may have conquered the territory but it was the women who kept house, making life bearable in exotic and alien places. “Pay, pack and follow,” the men said as they set off for other sometimes hostile territories, and the women paid and packed and followed, unsung heroines, coping with every vicissitude the new territory could bring. My mother paid, packed and followed my father, who had gone ahead, travelling with two young daughters and an infant son through Egypt when Rommel was a hundred miles away.

So Ms Moulder comes from a long line of unsung but determined, stubborn and achieving women, and here I have nothing but praise for her. Rather than bemoaning the lack of opportunities for women of her talent and calibre, she has created her own opportunities and I can only stand on the sidelines and cheer.

Knowing nothing about Cynthia Fortitude, I assume the antecedents of the character are Anna Russell and ‘Hinge and Bracket’, but Cynthia is enough of an original to withstand comparisons. I also assume from the title that this is not her first farewell tour, and I find a certain delicious irony in that. Great stars are reluctant to let go – how many ‘farewell appearances’ did Nellie Melba give? So Cynthia isn’t ‘letting go’. She sings, and sings with gusto, but it is all cleverly designed for comic effect, because perhaps Ms. Moulder’s voice is not what it once was, but this adds to the fun and no one can deny the energy and enthusiasm she brings, the charm and the sheer talent, sweeping the audience along and into her dotty world.

That Cynthia is a known and loved character is suggested to me by the enthusiasm of the audience, a participating audience who knows exactly what is expected of them and give it their all – with little urging they sing their hearts out.

Being churlish, I could wish that Ms. Moulder had better writers. A lot of the jokes are pretty corny, but that very corniness is what the audience loves, so maybe I’m just being picky. I could wish there was a slightly stronger plot, but the plot that there is sustains what she wants to do, so again, why quibble? Nominally, it is about the new opera she has written for rugby and the All Blacks – with a sub plot of the fastest Mozart competition along the way – and it is enough.

If I wanted to be really rough, I could say that Tim Bridgewater, as her accompanist, may not be the best actor in town, but he is much better than adequate, he plays the piano beautifully and the great relationship between himself and the tatty diva is palpable. And then again, perhaps I’m being condescending, because my ideal of theatre is as a participant event rather than as a spectator and Mr. Bridgewater establishes a great relationship with the audience, who love him.

I can say that it isn’t for me, yet Ms. Moulder understands that – she doesn’t intend it for me – and, in the end, I am swept along by the sheer brio (vigour, vivacity, verve) of it. I can either sit there alone in my grumpiness or join in the fun of the rugby choruses with the rest of the audience.

Cynthia’s victory was complete, because I join in.

I won’t rush to see Cynthia again (we are promised another farewell tour) but I am darn glad to have seen this one and I would greet any other show Ms. Moulder is in with some anticipation.  I have been, for an hour, in the presence of a genuine Kiwi original who is somehow able to encapsulate some of the unwritten history of New Zealand women in that hour.

Ms Moulder should be a household name, and it is to the shame of NZ TV that she isn’t.  

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