The publicity promises a “thrilling pageant of millennial terror” and The Bakery’s ever-rising buns – Leon Wadham, Chris Parker and Hayley Sproull – deliver as much. As an expose of existential angst, this could be described as Waiting for Godot for well-educated, socially-aware, middle-class millennials.

Their problem is they know there is no ‘Godot’ they can hope will turn up to tell them what to do next; that it’s up to them, individually and/or together, to make their lives mean something. They have grown up liberated from the tunnels of religious dogma, family-in-the-suburbs and career-for-life predictability, and been told they have the freedom to do whatever they want to do; be whoever they want to be. But they still have choose their own ‘what’ and ‘who’. Hence the angst.

They are also well-versed in the ‘safe educational environment’ model that allows them to contribute creatively without fear of negative put-downs. This is the culture that permeates their ultra-supportive interactions – except when it doesn’t – rendering their show deliciously pregnant with subtext and therefore very funny.

Mashing up the ‘lost in the woods’ metaphor of childhood folk stories with Shakespeare’s blasted heath and weird sisters, and adding earnest adolescent vow-making sends them into the hurly-burly of their separate lives, seeking achievement, significance, a sense of self-worth … Something to fill the void.

The devices employed include sharing their personal vision boards, ever-so empathetically one-upping each other as to whose existential crisis is worse, offering life-affirming advice, acting out scenarios as wake-up calls or to make dreams come true … And dancing to keep Chris happy. And singing to make the most of Hayley’s splendid musicianship.  

Leon’s skill and obvious joy at executing Chris’s choreography and harmonising with the others as prescribed by Hayley gives the lie to his asserting he’s unfulfilled by doing other people’s stuff – on screen and stage – instead of creating his own. Which points to another pleasure of engaging with this show: working out what is personal to each performer and what is a satirical observation of their generation at large.

Certainly the ability and willingness of each performer to take the piss out of themselves and allow the others to send them up too, sometimes mercilessly, adds hugely to the entertainment value. It’s this bravery and generosity that draws us in at a level much deeper than just watching three very talented people at play.

“The Bakery’s curiosity centres on social and cultural relationship, using song, dance, sketch and madness to investigate the things we dare not speak of,” their media release reveals. This proves Milky Bits has evolved through purposeful enquiry.

Their promo image, where they are hitting a glass wall (let alone the glass ceiling) is further proof of the creative intelligence that generates this production. The title, however – Milky Bits – beats me: suggestions welcome.

All analysis aside, though, trust me: this is a highly entertaining show that goes to the heart of what it is to feel lost in the dark woods or barren heaths that lurk beyond the hurly-burley of daily life. As such it tells us all we’re not alone; it’s therapeutic and a gift. 

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One of Shakespeare’s most famous lines, from his play King Lear, is “Nothing comes of nothing”, which most people, even if they don’t know Shakespeare, have heard of. Yet it would appear that the three actors from Auckland performing in Milky Bits, currently playing early evenings at Bats Theatre are not aware of this famous quote. 

That is because, for an hour, Chris Parker, Hayley Sproull and Leon Wadham ingeniously create one of the most exciting and dynamic pieces of theatre seen in Wellington for a long time out of absolutely nothing, which is testament to the skill and ability of the three actors. [More]  

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Three friends (Chris Parker, Hayley Sproull and Leon Wadham) are lost on a windy heath. After finding each other, they declare their mutual devotion and vow to return on the anniversary of their ordeal to celebrate their enduring bond.

And that about does it for plot. 

When I first heard the title ‘Milky Bits’, I was trying to unpack what it could mean. [More] 

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The familiar concrete and brick Basement Theatre stage lies bare before us, offering no clues of what is to come yet implying that anything’s possible.  The lights dim. Wet and windy storm sound effects arise, an exaggeration of the actual weather outside on this damp and dreary Tuesday evening.  The sounds continue for some time without anything happening, and the near capacity crowd demonstrates we’re ready for a good laugh as we chuckle in anticipation.  The first (but by no means last) big laugh of the night occurs when two people finally enter but it turns out they’re just a couple of latecomers. 

Eventually the keenly awaited trio of spunky young comics bursts onto the stage, staggering around in the swirling maelstrom, calling out to each other with a ludicrously affected thespianic tonality that draws on Shakespeare no less. The absurd, somewhat twisted quality of this opening scene is strongly indicative of the madness that follows. 

I’ve had the pleasure of Chris Parker and Hayley Sproull’s personal blend of mirthful insanity before so have an idea what to expect anyway.  Their comrade in camp mischief for this outing, Leon Wadham, makes for a most worthy third wheel as together they whip up a farcical feast of dependably ridiculous tomfoolery.

The theme underpinning their stereotype-skewering shenanigans involves the malcontented angst of the entitled middle class. Ostensibly there for each other, it’s none too subtly clear that they each yearn to be the main focus of attention.  Personal agendas are exposed: Hayley searches for a meaningfully self-destructive experience; Leon feels a deep need for some kind of violently induced epiphany; Chris just wants to incorporate more choreography into the show and life in general. 

In an effort to shake themselves up with a sorely needed existential wake-up call, they role play with different cathartic scenarios such as the horrors of wartime, the grimy reality of undercover police work, the terror of Truth or Dare, or a sunny day at the beach.  I realise that last one doesn’t sound terribly threatening or intense, but just you wait.

While not especially ground-breaking or cutting edge, Milky Bits (whatever that means?) delivers a welcome and generous helping of seasoned absurdity.  

Incorporating conceptual and observational humour with tribal dancing, a capella harmonies and many other cherished performing arts conventions, the mandate would appear to be that they can play up any ideas they think of as long as it is done in a hilarious fashion.  Which it is. 

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