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My most eagerly awaited theatre experience were The James Plays by established Scottish playwright, Rona Munro and first presented at the Edinburgh International Festival in 2014 by the National Theatre of Scotland. Being a co-production with the National Theatre of Great Britain they were then transferred to London for a season, and now, here in the vast Aotea Centre for just nine performances (3 for each play) fresh from the Adelaide Festival.

I’d got a deal by booking all three plays on consecutive nights. I also decided to take the fold up bike, saving the run down Queen Street to catch the ferry.  So on the Wednesday, I carefully locked the fold-up on a cycle stand and treat myself to a dish of salmon tortellini and a glass of red wine at the Italian restaurant next to the theatre.  To my delight a crowd of my swimming buddies, also culturally voracious were seeing the show and I anticipated meeting up in the interval.  I knew nothing about the history of Scottish monarchy – there’s the unreliable tale told by Shakespeare in Macbeth – until the story of Mary spills into Elizabethan history and the subsequent merger of two countries with James VI.

James I was captured by the English as a thirteen year old and imprisoned for eighteen years, released after the death of Henry V (Eng) – another of Shakespeare’s great ‘stories’ – on the promise of a ransom.  It is no coincidence that these plays were first seen in the year of the Scottish referendum for independence and Munro would have been crafting her work during the lead up. Like Shakespeare, she has not let truth get in the way of a good story and her programme note admits ‘that some small liberties have been taken with known events in order to serve our stories.’  There are many comparisons with Munro and Shakespeare – bawdiness, violence, murder and betrayal.  Human nature is examined in all its flawed complexities, but in an absolutely contemporary vernacular, so Shakespeare it is not, nor does it aspire to be.

Henry V appears as a character in James I as a mentor psychologically controlling the young King who presents as meek and compliant.  On his arrival back in Scotland and confronted by his Uncle ensconced in the castle with wife and sons, he has to prove he is a Scott and force them to kneel to him as their King.  Munro writes great parts for the women so a lot of the action involves their stories.  It would seem that the women took an active role in the scheming and violence. Notable are: Isabella Stewart, a crusty and hate-filled character, who, after her sons and later her husband are locked up and killed by the King, is herself incarcerated.  She survives as a mad visionary for the future James II;   Joan, an English noblewoman, who’s marriage is arranged to James I is a pragmatist who tells her new husband that he can take a mistress if he likes and that she will manage the household accounts as she did at home.  Sadly she does not entirely reciprocate James’s deep love for her.

All three plays highlight the financial difficulties that monarchs face, how to fund their wars and lifestyles?  The answer is usually by taxing the Barons, but the difficulty is getting them to pay up.  It’s not a new story as we now charge multi-national corporations, politicians and the rich with tax avoidance.  It’s just that in the 15^th century, more real blood was involved.  But each play takes a different view and if James I was mainly about power struggles and the necessity to survive by killing off relatives, James II investigates the psychological damage done by putting a six-year-old on the throne.  James, born with a large pink birthmark covering half of his face is further traumatised by the loss of his older twin brother.  Munro, has him constantly hiding in a chest to escape his fears and the power of the Douglas family who effectively ruled the country in the King’s minority.  Of course, James grows up to be yet another violent monster, wreaking revenge on the Douglas clan – killing off non-relatives.  With a fascination of explosives and canon, he is accidentally blown up by his own device, leaving another underage King of Scotland.

On both of these evenings, I was able to leave during the curtain calls, retrieve my fold up bicycle and pedal furiously down Queen Street to catch the 10.15 ferry.  James III turned out to be longer that the others and completely different in atmosphere.  This James was artistic, credited with bringing the renaissance to Scotland. He wants to have a choir accompany him wherever he goes, an expense he can ill afford.  His Queen, Margaret of Denmark brought with her, as dowry, The Orkney and Shetland Islands, which Munro uses as a running joke by the King, against her.  Initially devoted, the couple become estranged and the Queen retreats to Stirling Castle with their son and future heir, yet another James.  James III is decadent, arrogant, lazy and dangerous.  Although a good fighter, he loses control of his family and kingdom, taking to bed and battle his personal servant Ramsay.  In his final battle he is fighting his own people in a rebellion which included his own son.

The final dramatic scene sees James IV strip down to put chains of repentance on his chest, over which the coronation robes are placed.  It was too late to cycle madly down Queen Street so I stayed to applaud the end of an exciting trilogy.  With time to spare before the last ferry at 11.45pm, I relaxed with a glass of wine and a bucket of chips down at the viaduct area of the harbour.

Nixon in China is one of those ‘modern classics’ I’d heard about but had never seen. For me Nixon is irretrievably tied to ‘Watergate’ and thus labelled corrupt and disgraced.  This ground-breaking visit by the Nixons predates Watergate and, engineered by Henry Kissinger, sought to find a solution to the Vietnam War.  Someone hadn’t done their homework had they?  When I visited Vietnam in 2011, I discovered that the country had been subjugated by China for a thousand years and consequently had no love for their former oppressors.  In fact Ho Chi Min went to Russia for help and advice as there was considerable animosity between the two communist giants at the time.   Nixon’s visit did have the effect of opening up dialogue between the US and the Soviets, but that did not end the war, it was Ho Chi Min’s intellect and determination.

American composer, John Adams had never written opera before and poet Alice Goodman was new to libretto writing, so this was a recipe for something innovative.  What came out was extraordinary and exciting music melding the big band sound of the period with strong influence from Philip Glass.  The score demands an extended brass and woodwind section plus the addition of four saxophones and an electronic synthesizer.  All this adds up to high volume, requiring the singers to be amplified.

I’d chosen to sit in the horseshoe shaped balcony of the Auckland Town Hall (Great Hall) in order to be closer to the orchestra and soloists in this semi-staged production.  Coincidentally this placed me nearer the speakers relaying the voices.  There’s not that much you can do in front of and behind an orchestra taking up most of the stage, so it was disappointing that sur-titles were not available.  Fortunately a couple of guys I know on Waiheke had warned me to look up the synopsis so I would be able to follow the plot.  Great advice and all was well with the dramatic arrival of the Nixon’s, met by the smooth baritone voice of Chen-Ye Yuan playing Chou En Lai.  The cast progressed through the stalls, the Freemasons Opera Chorus took up the choir stalls and a host of local Chinese New Zealanders played the media (taking pictures), the Red Army and citizens of Beijing.  In a very formal setting, the octogenarian Mao, played with some vocal power by Barry Ryan teetering on unsteady feet, seemed about to fall from his high platform at any moment, demolishing the brass section of the orchestra.  Act two, focuses on Pat Nixon (Kiwi soprano Madeleine Pierard) on her tour around the city, culminating in a performance of a revolutionary ballet directed by Madame Mao sung by Soprano Hye Jung Lee.  Pat is moved to intervene in the cruelty portrayed between the Kissinger like villain and the heroine/victim, breaking the convention of theatre and ending the show in confusion. This prompts Madam Mao to sing her ‘Queen of the Night’ like aria ‘I am the wife of Mao Zedong’.

Act three takes us into the interior thoughts of the main characters.  As they wait to leave in their hotel room, the Nixons reflect on their humble origins and Chou En Lai wonders ‘how much of what we did was good?’  Here the lack of a libretto was a disadvantage and I understand that at the last moment, permission to include it in the programme was denied by US copyright laws.  The Opera seems to fizzle out with no great fanfare as the Nixons leave. With the benefit of hindsight and the sense that Chou En Lai does have a vision of the future, there is a glimmer of hope.  For all the shortcomings, I found the music thrilling and if I couldn’t always catch Goodman’s poetic lyrics, it didn’t matter too much.  At three hours ten minutes long, the only option home was the 11.45pm ferry.  Unaccountably on this Saturday evening, my bar at the viaduct was closed by the time I cycled down the hill.  To compensate, I ordered a small bottle of Waiheke red wine on the ferry.

A recent conversation with my friend Stephen Fisher in Palmerston North included a discussion of The Book of Everything, adapted by Richard Tulloch from the novel by Netherlander, Guus Kuijer, and produced by Silo Theatre.  I’d seen this excellent play back in February. Set in post war Amsterdam it’s about a young boy’s family experiences. A bullying father is trying to hold to his Christian disciplinary beliefs which are at odds with sensible child rearing and loving relationships. The next door neighbour branded a witch because she is different by the rest of the family, nevertheless becomes a fascination for the boy and eventually leads him to challenge his father, who is then redeemed. Ironically, the character of Jesus, who pops up in the boy’s head, is unable to provide any solutions.

I recommended that Stephen see the show when it came to Palmerston North, and I was quite relieved to hear that he had liked it. He didn’t however see the play in Palmerston North as the Regent Theatre asked him to review it in New Plymouth so there would have a better mid-week audience turn-out. It worked and the audiences came. Stephen and I then discussed the six million grant to Silo theatre for touring four North Island venues and was this pouring funds into Auckland Theatre to the detriment of Wellington Theatre?

Taking a deep breath, I pointed out that six million dollars wasn’t actually that much to tour a cast of eight, stage management, set and costumes to large scale venues (No 1 Tour in the UK) around New Zealand and that Kiwis often complain about everything being expensive – they don’t want to pay for quality.  But on a really serious note, it does seem that Auckland Theatre is in the ascendancy now. Stephen felt that Auckland might have better actors – they’ve re-located now that Radio Drama has joined TV drama production in Auckland. I chipped in to say that historically, employers here refused to hire actors unless they were already living in the area.  I found this to be the case in 1987 doing the audition rounds. Everyone asked, ‘how are you going to make a living when you are not acting?’ None of your business.  ‘Where are you going to be based?’ I don’t know and does it matter? So it’s no wonder that the main centres still do not exchange artists and give their audiences some new faces from time to time.

There were plenty of new faces during the Festival this year and early on, deciding what to see, I eliminated all the One-person-shows.  They seldom work for me and their proliferation is symptomatic both of the Kiwi ‘get up and give it a go’ mentality and the ‘we can’t afford to pay for more than one actor’ attitude. The result is a lack of real tension such as you would get in a dialogue between two actors. So, my first outing was a 2 pm matinee of Marama, Polynesian physical Theatre by Nina Nawalowalo at the large auditorium at Q Theatre.  Marama employs six women performers plus two animators operating puppets and other effects.

It’s visually stunning, magical and slow, like the themes it embodies – climate change and deforestation in pacific Islands.  There is a place in the forest where women can go and be safe, but that space is diminishing taking with it cultural values and a way of life.  Out of the stage mist and darkness, women emerge from the forest floor; objects magically appear and recede back into the void.  I know it’s done with the armoury of theatrical tricks, but don’t want to dwell on the technicalities, just enjoy the magic.  It’s a visual treat for those with a good attention span and not in need of an afternoon nap as the gentle music and Waiata (song) is rhythmic and lulling.

Always keen to see what New Zealand playwrights are up to, I managed to squeeze in two of the four Raw performances. These are works in progress shown to a live audience for the first time.  Making the most of my ferry journey from Waiheke, I’d managed to swim at Newmarket then a cycle up and over to Q theatre in Queen Street. Waiting to go into Cell Fish, I found myself half recognising Murray Lynch. We’d been at Massey University together in a drama course and at the time, I’d been envious of him running off to join a professional theatre company – something I managed to do three years later. Cell Fish, devised, written and performed by Miriama McDowell and Rob Makaraka – direction by Jason Te Kare – is centred around Miriama’s  experiences teaching Shakespeare to Maori men in prisons. The two actors play all the characters in the prison drama group, often swapping roles. The result – partly in Te Reo – is often hilarious, but there is a serious message to be had from these damaged characters who may or may not be rehabilitated to the ‘outside’.  We got act one, so this is one to watch as it develops.  Murray and I had forty years of catching up to do over a drink in the bar waiting for the next show. Murray now runs Playmarket – unique in the world as the only organisation that works as a playwright’s agency and library/archive, actively developing new work.

Tea by Sri Lankan Kiwi, Ahi Karunaharan had a cast of fifteen. Set against the backdrop of the history of tea, its colonial plantations in what was then Ceylon, the struggles for worker’s rights and conditions plus women’s emancipation, Tea tells an epic story. I was unsure about the first scene which seemed to be between god-like beings, but as we were presented with only act one, I’m sure this will become clear. I was quickly drawn into the narrative of the different characters and look forward to the spectacle of so many South Asian actors in employment.  Ahi was the producer of the Short & Sweet Festival last year and was a great help to me, so it was good to briefly hug and say ‘Hi’, after the show. My fold-up bicycle was waiting for me, tied to a balustrade in the Q Theatre Foyer.  It was bliss riding down Queen Street to catch the ferry.

Not part of the Auckland Festival, but very much in the centre of theatre-land is the Pop-up Globe Theatre, erected with scaffolding and corrugated iron (Kiwi iconic building material) in the car park to the rear of Q Theatre and in front of the Basement (Fringe venue). Celebrating the 400 years of Shakespeare, it offers a resident company plus guest companies presenting plays plus workshops and schools matinees throughout March. There has been much chatter about competition for audiences with the Festival and the added complication of the Biennial NZ Festival in Wellington covering similar dates. My choice of Henry V was entirely due to the fact that Lexie Matheson was making her first stage appearance since transitioning to female fifteen years ago.  We’d worked together at Theatre Corporate in 1977 and it was fantastic to reconnect.

In this all female production, Lexie played Alice, the French maid like a grand, but kindly duchess with a sense of humour. Lexie was a centred planet around which the delicate Princess of France flitted and her hat in the final scene was a triumph. It occurred to me that I’ve not actually seen a live production of Henry V before though I’ve studied the play and used one of the Chorus speeches for drama school auditions. It was disappointing, therefore to find the acoustics of the Pop-up Globe less than ideal. Sitting to one side, it was difficult to hear the softer unsupported voices of this young ensemble unless they were facing in my direction. Within this corrugated iron ‘O’, the sound does not bounce around the auditorium as it does in the wooden Bankside reconstruction.  Ironically, the groundlings got the best sound here. The cast were nevertheless, valiant with particularly fine performances from the Eponymous hero (ine) and opponent Dauphin, although I could have done with less macho pacing up and down and around the stage. Also worthy of note was the hilarious Fluellen forcing the rascal Pistol to actually eat a leek – drawing a round of applause.  With an eye on the ferry timetable, I was able to extricate myself from the after-show melee, but had to run down Queen Street. The bus ahead of me kept stopping, spurring me on, but I never quite managed to catch it.  Fortunately the 10.15 sailing was late arriving.

Next time: The James Plays from The National Theatre of Scotland and Nixon in China

My friendship with writer Judith Cowley grew during the rehearsal period, what with skype and mobile phone conversations, we discovered that we agreed on so much relating to script development and with the input from actors Sheena and Mike, the text came alive for us more or less in the way I’d first imagined it.

There were nuances which the actors discovered without my help and underneath the layers there were more delights to discover.  We explored the emotional journeys of the two bereft characters June and Bevan moment by moment throughout rehearsals.  They’ve lost their son Cody through addiction to sniffing spray cans and their relationship is in tatters.  Bevan visits with an important objective, but he’d also like to move back in, even if it’s only in the Sleep-out.  Bad idea, that’s where Cody slept and died watched by his dog.

The dog is the only connection Bevan has to his son, so he want’s desperately to get him out of The Pound, but June hasn’t the money and has had enough.  They reminisce, enjoying the happy times but it soon comes down to reflection of their failure as parents.  June struggles to keep in control, only just managing to send Bevan away to sort himself out before breaking down to deal with her own grief.

It might have been a risky thing to put in front of an audience, expecting them to love it, but they did, and you could hear them listening.  Four plays from week one were chosen to go through to the final Sunday gala performance, two from the Judges and two from the audience choice. To my great surprise, we made it on an audience vote.  It just goes to show that audiences can be discerning and recognise quality writing.  The other audience choice was the hilarious Threatened Panda Fights Back.  The poster boy for the WWF refuses to mate, until confronted by a pair of reconstituted Dodos about to lay eggs.

We had a week off, though I continued to travel to Auckland to see theatre and swim.  I’d entered the Taupo Masters Swimming Brown Trout meet which meant catching the early car ferry and driving to Taupo for a 1pm start.  I stayed the night in a motel, swam an 800m freestyle race in record time (for me) then drove back to Auckland in time for a 1pm rehearsal of In the Pound at the theatre.  The judges judged the plays (6 from week 2) at the 3pm performance with me watching from the lighting box.  At 7pm, we had the final show followed by the prizes.

Sadly we didn’t win anything but we did explore white heterosexual working class social realism – currently under represented.  Judith Cowley came up to Auckland for the second time and loved that the play had grown so much since the opening night.  Thanks to my theatre friends, Liz, Richard, Raymond and Johnny and Elizabeth, who gave us such positive feedback.

What now?  Well, I’m already into the Waiheke Playwrights Festival, directing The Other Flag and my play The Four Horsemen is in the programme.  Just to show that I am into diversity, The Other Flag is about Maori issues and Four Horsemen in about a gay relationship.

Theatre-going in the summer can be a bit of a chore, eschewing the long hours of daylight better spent working in the garden or cooling of in the waters of Rocky Bay and Palm Beach.  It takes something very special to lure me onto the ferry from Waiheke to New Zealand for a summer evening and after the show, there’s that rush down to the ferry to catch the 10.15pm if you are lucky or the last sailing at 11.45.

As I still don’t have a television here and the garden is more or less under control (swimming in the sea … in the winter?) I’ve set about investigating New Zealand theatre.  Auckland seems to be thriving these days and in particular, Auckland Theatre Company seems to be shunting out a continuous stream of product.

Rupert by Australian writer David Williamson was a rush through the life and business acquisitions of monster Rupert Murdoch.  Not well written and I felt no empathy for the central character even though Stuart Devine tried to make him cuddly.  The cast acted their socks off, having to work too hard to make the show work for me.  Lysistrata by Aristophanes, adapted and directed by Michael Hurst, was by contrast, joyous and outrageous.  This is the unlikely story of Greek women going on sexual strike to force their men to stop going to war.  The women are all glamorous and sexy while the men, poor things are plain, over weight, or decrepit.  One of them is in a wheel chair and smoking.  Once stripped down to their non-designer white underpants and displaying painful erections it all becomes totally farcical.  I remember having such fun in an Edinburgh Fringe Festival production many years ago.

 Last week I took myself off to see the ATC production of Heroes by French writer, Gerald Sibleyras (translated by Tom Stoppard).  What bliss to see three of New Zealand’s senior actors George Henare, Ken Blackburn and Ray Henwood having such fun with these damaged World War One veterans in a rest-home.  This is West End standard theatre, not cutting edge or confrontational, but gentle humour that sends you away with a warm feeling, ideal for a winter evening.  That was Wednesday and the 6pm performance allowed me to get the 10.15 ferry home.

Thursday took me out to New Lynn and Te Pou Theatre to see my friend Johnny Givins’ return to the stage as GranPapa in The Great American Scream by Maori writer, Albert Belz.  Set in New Jersey on Halloween evening1938 when Orson Wells’ radio production War of the Worlds created pandemonium in the population.  This seemingly wholesome American family are sent into panic mode and, believing that they will all die, begin to reveal their shameful secrets.  The play reveals the power of the media and fear of deviating from the accepted norm.  Chatting with Johnny afterwards, it dawned on me that Albert has written a ’well made play’ with every character harbouring secrets – a little touch of Tennessee Williams and well worth the journey.  Best of all I made the 10.15 ferry again.

No ferry ride was required on Friday as this was the only date I could see Jan Bolwell’s one person show Bill Massey’s Tourists at the Artworks Theatre, Oneroa.  Her publicity leaflet featured a generous quote from my old theatre director, Raymond Hawthorne, so I quizzed him about it and got a whole-hearted endorsement.  Jan had booked her show into the Artworks Theatre, Oneroa for three performances so it was lucky that I could only attend on the first night as the other two were cancelled due to lack of bookings.  Playing both granddaughter and grandfather, Jan told a moving story of a young girl prizing out a story of the First World War.  Of course, he was reluctant to say much, but Jan has filled in the details from meticulous research.  She’s touring around the country with this show, so I wish her well.

Richard Howard suggested I join him to see Michael Hurst’s one man show, No Holds Bard at the Tiny Theatre at Garnet Station, Westmere.  Hurst and a team of writers have put together a gripping and hilarious evening.  An Actor, playing Hamlet returns to his flat to end it all.  His personal life is in tatters and, on the brink of madness, inhabits not only the Dane, but Macbeth, Lear and Othello.  It kind of helps if you know these plays, but not essential as Hurst is a consummate performer.  His fight between Hamlet and Macbeth is astonishingly athletic and funny – lovely to see this up close in a full house of thirty people.

Back to the big space in Q Theatre to see Silo Theatre’s production of The Events by Scottish playwright David Greig.   Tandi Wright plays a liberal, lesbian priest who has survived a horrific attack on her local choir by a disaffected young man.  Her journey to understand and forgive him culminates in a face to face meeting in a prison.  Beulah Koale not only plays the young man, but all the other characters, including Claire’s partner.  Each performance welcomes a different local choir onto the stage.  The choristers have not seen the play previously, so their reactions to the events are spontaneous.  There’s plenty to think about in this 80 minute piece.  As an added bonus, the 7pm show got me onto the 8.45 ferry without too much running down the hill.