The plotline may be about five Pasifika women who meet as new mothers, but I can promise you that you don’t have to be Pasifika, a mother or even a woman for this show to resonate.

Yes, it’s about motherhood, but for me, it is really about identity and connection, and the way our journeys lead us to question, or solidify, both.

Joy (writer, director and producer Sela Faletolu-Fasi), her sister Finau (Tonia Noa Siaosi), Racheal (Bianca Seinafo-Tuilaepa), Judah (Taleta Maree) and Lalelei (Josephine Mavaega) first meet in Mums Anonymous, a support group echoing the 12-step groups which help people overcome or manage a lifelong issue – in this case, it’s motherhood.

The intimacy of the setting is enhanced by a small audience on the night I attend. The characters introduce themselves within a sparse set, comprising just five chairs and a tapa cloth, and it’s abundantly clear from the offset that what drives each woman and, vitally, how they see themselves, leads to very different mothering styles.

Finau is a woman very much connected to her professional identity; it is what has defined her and given her purpose. Her sister Joy is, frankly, a badass mama bear who will brook no interference with her family. Judah is an influencer who lives life online. Lalelei grapples with self-doubt, and wants to wrap her children up in cotton wool. Rachel believes that everything happens for a reason, and that is God’s reason. 

Whether they realise it nor not, the experiences these women have had and the influences in their lives will, of course, be reflected in how they parent their children. They each do their best with what (and who) they have available to them. Sometimes, they fall short of their own expectations.

Having met the characters, we go back to when they first met as new mothers, their babies just a few months old. The play takes us through various stages as their children grow, but we never meet the children – this is a play about the women who mother them. The vital role of ‘mother’ does not take away from the fact that these women are individuals first – people, not just parents.

Over the years Lalelei, Racheal, Judah, Joy and Finau become fast friends. They support, challenge and cheerlead for each other, and each other’s children. This is the village that raises its children.

As in real life, there’s conflict here too, both between the women and off-stage. Joy is living with and struggling to survive an abusive relationship. Faletolu-Fasi gives a realistic and powerful portrayal of the way in which psychological and emotional violence seeps into a person’s entire being, and the ways in which it then seeps out all around them. Noa Siaosi as Finau captures the clash of love and exasperation that anyone who has tried to help someone, but had their good advice rejected, will understand.

Each of the five women has her struggles and joys, and these friends support each other and their children. Whether they are dancing, drinking, or singing in support of Lalelei’s stage frightened son, such is the familiarity of the scenes and characters that I feel I want to join in. Anyone who has had a deep friendship, within or outside of their family, knows this connection; if we are lucky, we have felt it ourselves.

When the tension becomes full-blown, it takes me by surprise; it is visceral and I feel it. The anger, pain and grief are beautifully captured and conveyed, as is the helplessness of the bystanders.

I really enjoy this play. I laugh a lot. I cry a lot too. Each of these five actors is wonderful and I give them full credit for taking me on such an amazing journey in just 60 minutes. (Side note, these women have beautiful voices and need to do a musical to sing together!)

So, yes, this is a play about motherhood and what that means to different people, but it’s also a play about individuals – how what has shaped them and continues to drive them will pass through them, to all of the people they love, including the ones they love the most. Choose what baggage you carry with you wisely. 

For me, this play really is a celebration of friendship. This is the tribe we find and choose to share our journey with, even when partners leave us or our children move on to create their own story. This story is so familiar to me and, if you have ever experienced the joy and pain of human connection, it will be familiar to you too.

Love; Mum plays at Little Andromeda until 22 March, then moves to Auckland.

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The only thing I’m sorry about when I watch Sela Faletolu-Fasi’s play, Love; Mum, is that we haven’t packed out BATS Theatre for this remarkable play. It’s Tuesday night of the Fringe Festival and the Christchurch actress and playwright is performing one of the lead roles in the play she wrote as a love letter to her six children, Love; Mum.

In the five-strong Pacific wahine cast, Faletolu-Fasi is superb as Joy, the victim of an abusive relationship. We find this out about her a couple of scenes into the play, when her sister, Finau (played by the emerging actress, Tonia Noa Siaosi) arrives at her home and sees a hole in the wall and glass scattered over the floor. [More]

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer

The thing about mothers is that they are never just mothers. They are sisters, daughters, best friends, enemies, emergency contacts, and the people who know exactly what to say — or exactly what not to say. Love; Mum knows this intimately.

Written, directed and produced by Sela Faletolu-Fasi, this play is a love letter to the messiness of motherhood and the fraught beauty of sisterhood, both by blood and by choice. It is also a warning, an elegy, and at times, a sermon — one delivered with all the earnestness of a Racheal prayer (see below). Bianca Seinafo-Tuilaepa’s comedic timing is, quite frankly, divine.

Before anything else, it must be said, this show does not shy away from hard truths. Love; Mum carries a trigger warning for family violence, and with good reason. Joy (played with heartbreaking physicality by Faletolu-Fasi) begins the play in survival mode. Her trauma has hardened into something brittle, something sharp. Her sister Finau (Tonia Noa Siaosi) tries to break through, offering a helping hand, but — no matter how well-intentioned — hands can only reach so far when the heart is closed.

A Sisterhood in Motion

The play unfolds in vignettes, tracing the journey of five mothers as they navigate the stages of parenting. It begins at Mums Anonymous, where Joy is physically clinging to Finau, unwilling to let go, unwilling to let in. The other mums — Racheal (Bianca Seinafo-Tuilaepa), the prayer warrior; Judah (Taleta Maree), the ultimate mummy blogger; and Lalelei (Josephine Mavaega), the anxiety-ridden protector — each bring a different facet of motherhood to the space. Their neuroses play out in ways that are all too recognisable: Lalelei hovering like a human safety net, Judah wielding her phone like a third limb, Racheal doling out scripture and a hallelujah in equal measure.

Time passes. The kids grow. The friendships deepen, fracture and heal. They dance, they fight, they mourn, they celebrate. A White Sunday performance goes sideways, a netball game turns into a battleground and a drunken night out provides a much-needed reprieve. But nothing prepares them — or us — for the silence that follows.

A Performance Rooted in Truth

Each actor carries their character with an honesty that is almost uncomfortable. Faletolu-Fasi’s Joy is raw, her body language speaking volumes especially in the roughness. Siaosi’s Finau is deeply human, balancing competence with the insecurity of regret. Maree’s Juddah has a charisma that is impossible to resist, making you almost forgive the constant content creation. Mavaega’s Lalelei folds into herself, embodying a mother who is both present and hidden.

And Seinafo-Tuilaepa? A revelation. The comedic relief in a show like this is no easy task, but she delivers every “Thank you, Jesus” with such warmth that you almost want to sign up for this year’s Easter play.

Space, Sound, Silence

The use of space in this production is clever. The way the chairs are arranged, the way bodies shift — these small details speak to the changing dynamics between the women. Joy, once tethered to Finau, gradually moves further away as their relationship frays. The music and soundscape provide emotional punctuation marks, making the moments of silence land even harder. You can hear sniffles in the audience when the sound drops out entirely, when the weight of what isn’t said fills the room.

Final Thoughts

This play ends on a hard-fought resolution and makes no qualms in showing how hard it was to get there. It does not sanitize trauma for the sake of palatability. Joy is not a perfect victim. The healing journey is not linear. The characters don’t always do what we want them to do, and that’s frustrating.

Watching this play is an exercise in recognition. In the characters you recognise people you love struggle, grow and sometimes disappoint you. But in that disappointment, there’s also deep recognition — of our mothers, our sisters, our friends and ourselves. Therein lies the brilliance of Love; Mum. It understands that motherhood is complex. That sisterhood is complex. That love, in all its messiness, is worth choosing again and again.

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Love; Mum is showing at BATS Theatre in Wellington from March 4–8 as part of the 2025 NZ Fringe Festival. It will then travel to Christchurch’s Little Andromeda Theatre from March 12–22, before heading to Auckland’s Basement Theatre from March 25–29. If you can, see it. And maybe call your mum afterwards.

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