As we ascend the stairs to the Basement Studio, we are greeted by Whaea Eunice August Smith, continuing to fulfil her role as director she guides us to our seats in a room full of whanau. For those who might not be whanau that is soon remedied as Whaea Eunice declares we are now all whāngai.

We are gathered to see Wahanui Productions 65-minute solo drama-comedy Tangihanga, a play by Kristyl Neho (Ngāpuhi and Ngāti Kahungunu), which tells the story of a loving daughter, navigating the emotional landscape of her father Karanipa’s passing. As whānau members gather at the marae, we are exposed to a range of recognisable whānau characters, behaviours, cultural mores, and grief, during a time of loss.

We see a simple stage with a black box and crates upstage.  When actor Kristyl Neho enters, we met Jess, the main character as she sits and talks with her father in hospice.

Soon the heartache we expect but never want happens as Jess’s father, Karanipa, passes away and we move to the marae and begin to meet the many whānau members and the family dramas unfolds.

At the marae everyone has their job. The mahi gets done, and while Aunty Hana thinks she has it all under control the whanau are just getting on with the jobs.

Everyone deals with grief in different ways. Someone brought up in a funeral home certainly has their own unique view of grief and tangihanga, and in this evocative performance informed by Neho’s own upbringing, we see the relationships, the personalities and the whanau dynamics unfold during this time of grief.  Those who morn, and those who take the opportunity to stir up family drama.

With thirty plus characters from mokopuna, cousins, and the Aunties and Uncles arriving at the tangi, the characters are familiar. Neho’s transitions between characters are seamless and with no costume changes except one striking hat, her physicality and vocal mannerisms makes this solo show a cast of many.  A slight body movement, a shift of position, distinct vocal changes along with some special facial changes and the actress is transformed into a new person time and time again.

Neho’s writing is both lyrical and raw. The dialogue flows with an authenticity that captures the complexities of grief, interspersed with moments of laughter that provide relief to the whānaudrama. The characters are vivid and distinct, each so recognisable. They are our cousins, our aunties and uncles.  Let’s hope not too many of us have an Aunty Margaret, though.

Tangihanga is not just a play about death; it is a celebration of life, memory, and the connections between generations.

A graduate of Eastern Institute of Technology Performing Arts, South Seas Film and Television, Toi Whakaari: the New Zealand Drama School, and Massey University Creative Writing Graduate Programme, all of Neho’s skills and training shine through in this wonderful solo show.

This show is dedicated to Kristyl’s father, Mane Neho.  I had the privilege of meeting Mane, a much-respected man of humour and mana, during my time at Eastern Institute of Technology many years ago. I’m sure Kristyl knows this already but her Dad would be so proud.

A must-see performance.

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Kristyl Neho’s career is steeped in the craft of personal storytelling. She learned at the master’s knee, having been directed and mentored by Puti Lancaster – Hawke’s Bay theatre’s shining star, extinguished too soon. In her mahi with rangatahi she uses it as a device to pry kids out of their shells – a kind of theatrical rongoā that makes space for healing. Here, in a full-length solo show, she mines her own past for gold, processing it before our eyes as she goes.

Before the play begins, co-director Eunice ‘Mumty’ August Smith gives us permission to sing, to laugh, to cry – a benediction of sorts. And there are collective waiata and hymns, our song often lingering on after the recorded audio has died. It’s a way of simulating kotahitanga – we feel as though we are whanau, come together to celebrate and to mourn. And in a way we are. The community relationships depicted on stage are reflected in the audience, rippling out into the world. For this is a piece of theatre that deals in feelings that do not leave you once you leave the room.

Tangihanga is a one-woman exploration of whanau – of what it means to exist in close relation to others, to change and to grow, to be young and grow old. Neho inhabits her characters, her vocal tone and inflection changing dramatically to match her posture, gesture and facial expression, so that each one is distinct and intimately recognisable. The characters are caricatures, often played verbosely for laughs, but we can feel that each is germinated from a kernel of truth that shines from within, as though guiding her.

Opening at her father’s bedside, our protagonist, Jess, a stand-in for Neho, is given a challenge – to keep his tangi from descending into drama and chaos at the hands of her behatted antagonist aunt. It’s a task at which she ostensibly fails – truth bombs get dropped like grenades to blow apart the fragile whanau peace at the unsettling crescendo. But in the closing scene, Neho gets her chance for calm catharsis – once the older generation is dead and can quietly listen from their graves.

In between we are treated to the bustle of the tangi, the roles each whanau member plays and how they change with time. A father’s death affects each one in different ways. For her mother, the loss of a lifelong love. For Jess and her siblings the death represents them stepping up another rung of life, taking on responsibility, wearing the shoes their parents once wore. For the small children – who Neho plays impeccably, capturing their joyful innocence – death is just one more aspect of an unintelligible multitude – an abstract concept to be forgotten with the more tangible promise of lollies.

The deeper question asked by the play is what is left of us when we are gone, if we are to continually change and age, morphing into the roles of our elders, forgetting what it was to be young? The answer comes as a thematic beat, returning like a refrain – time changes, people change but memories remain.

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The preparation for Tangihanga is an experience in itself, requiring not only mental but cultural and spiritual readiness. As I sort through my wardrobe, I instinctively reach for traditional “tangi attire” – black clothing that signifies both mourning and respect. Before
heading to the theatre, I venture into the garden to gather fresh tauā to wear upon my head, symbolizing the sacredness of tangihanga, whether real or staged. There is an undeniable mauri, a life force, which elevates the ritual of tangihanga to the highest echelon of Māori cultural practice.

Upon entering the intimate space of ONEONESIX a soft, enveloping darkness greets me. The atmosphere itself is cloaked in a shroud of reverence. The soundscape, filled with the calls of tūī, kākā, and pīwakawaka, hovers gently on the periphery, creating a serene environment of tau (peace and calm) that wraps itself around the audience. A faint blue light bathes the stage, evoking the image of ngā whetū o ngā tūpuna (the stars of our ancestors) transporting ancient wairua into a contemporary space.

The whānau dynamics depicted throughout the performance are deeply familiar, striking a chord with everyone in the room. Neho moves effortlessly between roles—kaumātua, kuia, siblings, grandchildren—capturing the essence of each with remarkable ease. Her transitions are largely seamless, yet in the more intense moments toward the end, the characters seem to blur into one another, losing some of their distinction. While I can sense the complexity of these high-stakes scenes, there is room for further refinement in this particular area of the production.

The representation of the tūpāpaku (the deceased) is hauntingly beautiful and ethereal in both form and movement. The coffin, illuminated from within, seems to float through space as it makes its journey from the kāinga to the Whare Tūpuna. It stands as a silent witness, a sacred pou holding the emotional weight of the unfolding family secrets, silently observing the unravelling of the whānau.

One of the most striking creative choices is the use of overlayed vocals and dreamlike soundscapes as a substitute for karanga—the traditional ceremonial call. This decision is thoughtful and respectful, maintaining the integrity of Māori culture while bringing an innovative twist that honours the mana of the kaikaranga. It isn’t a dilution of the tradition but a poetic homage, reflecting the many voices that fill the puna roimata (the well of tears) during times of mourning.

Neho’s performance is a tour de force, particularly in her portrayal of Māori men—our brothers, uncles, and nephews. She captures their essence, not just in physicality but in voice and spirit, even singing like them with an eerie authenticity. It is a surreal experience. On one hand, I am watching a whānau on stage, and at the same time I am simultaneously seeing my own. As the dynamics of the family unfold, I feel my body physically react, shifting between tension and release, as the emotional depth of the story tugs at my heart.

Tangihanga encapsulates the universal experience of Māori whānau preparing to return to the marae, a journey deeply familiar to us all. Its relatability is perhaps its greatest strength. Neho is a refined actress, embodying a softness and authenticity that radiates from her core. I feel safe within the space she created, honoured to be part of this whānau’s journey. This performance isn’t just a tribute to Māori ritual—it’s a living, breathing extension of it.

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Preparation to go see/experience TANGIHANGA by the dynamic and talented Kristyl Neho, involved a strong cup of coffee and a couple of packets of tissues – as the name of the show already instils the expectation of some kind of emotional journey!

The 65-minute show, whilst lovingly set in te ao Māori, is a universal and totally relatable story about the passing of an aged loved one and the bringing together of the entire whanau (plus more!) to the marae for the funeral.

The starkness of the black box Thurston Theatre (at John Paul College), and sparseness of the set – a few black blocks serve as seats, a shelf, etc – on stage leans into the dramatic feel, but one does wonder how different the show might feel in a smaller more intimate space.

The show is introduced, in the dark, by the beautifully poignant singing of Neho, which seems to be coming from the stage but is a recording, a device used throughout the show as part of the storytelling – although it might have been a more visceral experience if those sound bites were performed live?

Costume-wise, Neho is dressed in basic blacks accompanied by a cloak made with a beautiful and vibrant blue koru design – this also matches the cover on the stage piece representing the coffin (the scale/size of this is an interesting choice) – and for a moment there is the thought that the costume would therefore aid in the development or accent of some of the many characters she plays, however this does not happen.

Neho’s acting prowess is powerful and immediate as she dives into the storytelling as main character Jess and begins the journey of navigating 30 different characters for the next 65-minutes.

Her portrayal of Karanipa (Dad) is so very charming and completely lovable, as is that of her Mum – and if I had to name just one favourite thing about the show it is the love shared between these two beautiful characters. The intimacy, their familiarity and love from being married/together for sixty (?) years is tangible and delightful, as they share their last few moments together in the hospice as she lovingly makes him a hot sugary milo and then drinks half, which he then just gives to her to drink! Their time-honoured banter is filled with ease and levity as they bear the weight of his passing. Then in the Wharenui as she farewells him – it is raw and heartbreaking, as she farewells her love and wonders aloud how she will ever live without him.

Neho is without a doubt an exquisite performer – the skill and craft with which she physically and vocally flips from character to character is outstanding. She brings these archetypal characters to life with fervour and joy, irony and ease – highlighting the classically irrefutable clashes of siblings, relatives and extended family onlookers. And the response from the audience – as we too become extended whanau members being prepped to do mahi for the arrival of Karanipa at the marae – is that of joy and remembrance and familiarity of the situation.

By the time the show is in full swing however, it is unfortunate that technical hitches seem to mar Neho’s performance. There are moments when the characters all seem to bleed into one another and the story – particularly in the most climactic point of the story. Although the gist is easy to follow because it is classic and universal, it is in those moments unclear, in terms of the action and narrative.

This does pose the question of whether there has been/is a dramaturg or outside eye on the work – the moments of levity, not always succeeding in shining through the over-all pathos of the piece.  

But it then also brings up the practicality (or impracticality?) of the theatre space, support staff, and/or the impact of obvious technical issues are having on the artist during the performance. 

There is certainly compassion and empathy for Neho as it is unfair on both visiting artists and their audiences if technical rehearsal time is inadequate or inefficiently planned, however there is also that deep understanding and acceptance of live theatre, the nature of touring, the unfortunate stresses and restrictions on Festivals.

If you are able, definitely go see it. Neho will have you laughing with joy and recognition (and possible cringe!) at her rendition of that ‘evil’ Aunty we all know – the one that likes to spill the tea and divulge the deepest family secrets in the most inappropriate times possible!

Wishing Neho and her team a wonderful tour of TANGIHANGA.

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The tangihanga for a loved husband, father, uncle, grandfather and friend will always bring whānau together, or not. It’s an ideal premise for a talented actor to recreate a diverse range of people and relationships for a one-hour ‘slice of life’ drama.

With seamless skill, their creator Kristyl Neho embodies 30(!) of them, some fleetingly, others more frequently. Simply clad in basic black with a sleeved deep-blue koru-patterned cape, the (probably unintended) hint that she has a superpower is appropriate. Only one character has a distinguishing item of clothing; the rest simply ‘become’ within Neho’s ‘being’.

A gentle guitar and waiata soundtrack gives way to pig-like snorting that turns out to be snoring, signalling the comedic irreverence that will counterpoint the grief, and foreshadowing the inevitable slaughter of pigs for the hangi. Jess visits her Dad, known to all as Karanipa, in the hospice and amid their loving banter is charged with knuckling down to her studies and looking after ‘Mum’ when he’s gone.

Known to all as Nanny Ma, Jess’s Mum is partial to Milo (the drink), makes it for Karanipa – and later makes it for the tamariki and mokopuna. A coping mechanism, perhaps. She recalls the first date that led to a 60 year marriage, but it’s Jess who answers the call to come to the hospice because “he’s on the way out.” That she arrives upbeat and full of good news about passing her papers is fair enough if she’s misunderstood “on the way out” so has not already phoned other close whānau. But it does seem odd that he is alone at this critical time. Perhaps the hospice is very short-staffed.

The poignant sound of a kōauau (Māori flute) marks the transition towards the tangihana, and a long box frame containing blue fairy lights and draped in a cloth represents Karanipa’s casket. Only now does Jess phone the whānau, commencing the gradual introduction of her older sisters, Moana and Kay, then key aunties, uncles and cousins.

It is assertive Aunty Hana who takes charge at the marae, designating and delegating jobs to whānau members who respect her mana and obey without question. Each character is revealed to us in action – apart from the old and infirm – enriching our awareness of, and engagement with, this mostly close community.

They range from deaf Uncle Tama, able-bodied Rangi and Matiu putting down the hangi, flighty Tiffany, and Tamara who has transitioned from Tamati provoking a diverse responses, to the youngest moko, Mikaere. His fascination with the face of laid-out Karanipa is gently indulged by Nanny Ma – whose explanation that Karanipa has joined the heavenly father in the stars gives meaning to the little blue lights.

Not all is ka pai, however. The Aunties are aghast at the prospect that Kay will bring “him” – which she does, exposing a 30-year rift that her sister Moana has not got over. Then there’s Aunty Margaret (unmarried and childless), adorned in an ostentatious tangi hat, who is poised to bring a family secret to light and delights in dropping hints.

The formal funeral service brings others to the fore. I do find it odd that pre-recorded dialogue is used to recall past events – as it has been earlier for a couple of phone calls. For me, it tarnishes the wondrous alchemy of a multi-character solo performance.  

And so to the big reveal of the “truth” Aunty Margaret insists on telling. As with many elements, the script (by Kristyl Neho with her co-director Eunice August Smith contributing) sets up the moment well. I won’t commit spoiler crime here, but have to say the outraged reactions from those who knew and wanted it hidden obscures the response of the person most affected.

Would it be possible to achieve an impactful moment of truth that brings our focus and empathy to that person? Is this a dramaturgical or directorial problem to solve? Or have I missed something because my mind has become too cluttered with trying to untangle the web of deceit and the reasons for it?

Having started with Jess and Karanipa, it sits well to end the play with Jess alone at his grave some time later (after the unveiling), sharing her thoughts and feelings. Love has many shades within extended families and we’re left with a sense that it’s nurturing love that has prevailed and endures.

Also enduring are the impressions Kristyl Neho gifts us of a richly variegated whānau. This BATS season is brief, before it heads north (see details here).

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