Four art works stand on plinths, giving the BATS Stage an Art Gallery look. Steady footsteps, highly amplified, tell us someone’s coming …

Emma Holland bonds with us soundly during her first wordless minutes simply by proving that her red boots are made for walking, dancing, running – off and on – and finally standing still to announce she loves art.

Is there deep meaning in that riveting opening sequence? Is our collective focus on the mystery of how her steps are amplified a masterful means of uniting us? Throughout the show her interactive moments draw us closer – who knew we all have zooming binoculars built into our hands?

There’s another mystery too: where have I seen her before? The hair (long and straight, unlike her publicity shot); the attentive, friendly eyes; the smile; the teeth; the enigmatic looks blending mischief with kindness … So familiar. And yet she’s Australian and this, I think, is her first foray into Aotearoa NZ. I don’t think I’ve seen her on Australian TV comedy shows she’s been on … But I digress.

Emma illustrates her love of art with slides, comical comments, fascinating insights – the fate of St Peter’s foot, for example – and some very funny ‘mistakes’. Her interest in Street Photography is sparked by one Philip diCorcia, whose NYC activities raise ethical questions concerning image appropriation – a topic she will return to. But it’s the way Emma’s displayed art works trigger recollections of significant life experiences that gives Don’t Touch My Trinkets its through-line.

A stylised angel painting takes her back to her Anglican Girls’ school and her lover of the art of singing, until … It’s a Robbie Williams-related trauma that will come back to bite her many years later/ later in the show.

A sculpture of a man recalls one Levi who used magic tricks to score a date (of sorts) with Emma. It’s a tale vividly told and cleverly structured, as is the entire show.

A diorama encapsulates an incident with an Uber driver which segues into a heart-warming account of how Emma and her feminist husband, Marshall (her tech operator), cope when confronted with sexism. This too is a set-up for a payoff I won’t reveal.

The final item on display relates to the time Emma scored a gag-writing gig for the AACTA Awards … where a certain angelic chicken comes home to roost. Does this give her a chance for redemption? You’ll have to see the show to find out.

Throughout the show I’ve kept getting flashes of recognition, of a sense I know her from way back, and then – is it her Labour Red ensemble that does it? – it suddenly clicks: Emma is a dead-ringer for Jacinda Ardern! Not that she does or says anything to suggest its intentional. Even so …

A sudden shift of tone sees Emma seriously interrogating questions of artistic integrity and the way exploitation gets rationalised. Her rant relates to the street photographer but now I’m wondering – like a curator composing esoteric commentary on the hidden depths of an art work – whether the look Emma has cultivated for this NZICF season is a subtle homage to a great leader or straight out identity theft!

Of course I’m joking – but is Emma, with her rant? Again, you will have to see the show for the final payoff. (Sorry, her short run in Wellington is over but she’s on at Auckland’s Basement Theatre tonight and tomorrow.)

Emma Holland has elevated solo comedy to an art form.

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