As a ‘baby boomer’ I’m very familiar with stories about young people who break free of the stultifying constraints of middle-class conformity to seek freedom and enlightenment in alternative ways of being (cf: the ’60s and ’70s ‘cultural revolution’). Now these two solo shows – Acacia O’Connor’s AltarNative and Hone Taukiri’s Māori Krishna – speak for a generation brought up in those alternative lifestyles who likewise, or conversely, must seek their own alternative ways to be, free of what we used to call the ‘conditioning’ of their upbringings.

Are these stories variations on the timeless and universal theme of adolescents/ young adults divesting themselves of their familial cocoons in order to ‘fly free’? Or do Acacia and Hone start their quests for ‘self’ on higher planes of consciousness? Both have impressive levels of objective and subjective insight and awareness. And both know how to engage their audience by sharing their stories in very different ways that keep us guessing where they stand now, while we each evaluate our own position on the questions they raise.  

AltarNative

Acacia plays the New Age card from the start – she actually hands some out – and tells us she’s here to save us from our mediocre lives, possibly with the help – or maybe in spite of – the spirits floating in the ether above. Mention of Wherewhero intrigues (does she mean Pōtatau Te Wherowhero, the inaugural Māori King?).

But it’s her late mother, Amanda O’Connor, who manifests to take over the storytelling. In effect she inhabits Acacia, psychologically and physically. Given Amanda recorded seven albums (her band was LAVA), I assume it’s her songs that Acacia/ Amanda sings live to counterpoint the lively monologue – or rather, the duologue between mother and daughter.

In her initial and delightful interactions with the audience, Acacia has mentioned family trauma, forgiveness and her subsequent need to do a lot of healing. She’s ambivalent about Amanda revealing some aspects of their lives to us. A brimming suitcase full of colourful clothing facilitates Amanda’s speedy recaps of significant moments. Acacia has a wacky way of popping out from her mother’s belly in her vain attempts to intervene (you have to see it to get the picture).

This is how we become privy to the ‘life lessons’ that made Amanda who she was before her untimely death (in 2011) and have made Acacia who she is (so far) today. Drugs are important – not for recreation but to be avoided because of ‘Big Pharma’s motives. Besides, being a Christian Scientist, Amanda doesn’t believe in hospitals or their medicines.

The country, all continents (except Antarctica) and many decades are traversed as Amanda then young, itinerant and impressionable Acacia are exposed to wonders, wisdoms, and dubious beliefs and practices. As we tune into the impact all this is having on Acacia, connections are made with moments we all know about – like planes flying into NYC’s Twin Towers, for which Amanda manages to blame herself.

Spiritual influencers, some filtered through mother to daughter, others encountered first hand, include Rudolph Steiner, a Cherokee man, a Hindu woman, Christian Science, Christianity, the world of Harry Potter … and te ao Māori. Discovering she whakapapas back to Te Wherowhero helps Acacia locate a possible place to stand while acknowledging there is no one way to be Māori – or human, for that matter.

Acacia O’Connor’s AltarNative (directed by Hone Taukiri) presents itself as a light-hearted yet profound experiential kaleidoscope, while reassuring us, by its very existence, that she now has her bearings and is bound to live a fruitful life.  

Māori Krishna

After an interval we return to a more ordered setting where Hone Taukiri sits quietly beside a small table holding four books. Having exchanged names and a handshake with everyone in the audience, he embarks on a quest to determine who or what he actually is. His centred stillness is a complete contrast to Acacia’s highly active performance.

We learn that Hone’s Great Great Great Gandfather was an Anglican minister who travelled the far North on horseback to preach; his Māori father phoned his Guru to get his Krishna name bestowed as his mother was giving birth to him; and he honoured that name as a teenager by serving a guru. His enquiry is peppered with parables and stories that are variously allegorical or historically true.

The unspoken question that sits behind the many Hone addresses is, where does he sit now with regard to the belief systems he has lived by? And as his ‘show’ proceeds, many of us may also ask ourselves where we stand in relation to godly concepts, and test our own belief systems against those he traverses.

Hone reaches back to the USA in the years after WWII, the ‘American Dream’, the Vietnam War (the first to be televised), the disenchantment of those who sought alternative value systems … Presumably that’s what brought his parents to Krishna. Spoiler alert: at the age of 18 Hone rebels and leaves the ashram to follow his dream of becoming a film maker.

In explaining why being an actor is not the answer he seeks, Hone exhibits a brilliant capacity to adopt the mode and voice of the cliché Māori ‘bro’ his agent casting directors apparently say must now be his persona (to which I say, understand the separation between yourself and the roles you may play to contribute to a bigger story, and get a new agent who sees your greater potential).

Of course staging this show goes a long way to presenting Hone’s authentic self in public. It emerges his ‘who am I?’ quest is tied to his purpose in life. Awareness of how his father’s people have been disenfranchised through generations suggests a way forward.

His final story, drawn from The Bhagavad Gita and set in a battlefield, troubles me when I hear it as a justification for accepting we have no individual power in the greater scheme of things, and therefore must own the role of warrior and obey orders from on high to fight. Then I realise it’s an allegory for taking up metaphorical arms for a cause one believes in, that’s bigger than just oneself. Tautoko that, then.

As a double bill, AltarNative and Māori Krishna are fresh, timely and complementary responses to a timeless quest.

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Cult Chur, or perhaps just ‘Cult’ because for reasons that weren’t explained, we only saw half of this duo. Cult Chur was advertised as a double bill with two solo performances by Acacia O’Connor and Hone Taukiri. Because I saw only Acacia O’Connor, this review will cover her performance.

This show begins before the show, with O’Connor providing her own pre-show entertainment—busking songs she learned at Steiner School. In between verses, she asks the audience to pop money into her guitar case—though the money is actually chocolate coins we received when we entered the theatre.

O’Connor’s half of Cult Chur is an immersive, hilarious and unsettling glimpse into the world of cult healing. We, the audience, have come to be saved from ourselves and “the Mainstream”, and O’Connor promises to make it happen. Indeed, O’Connor is the perfect host. Her charming freneticism drags you into memories from her childhood, where magical thinking seems to provide a perfect solution to all her (and your) problems. That is until the death of her mother, when she realises those magical thoughts might not be all they’re cracked up to be.

As a performer, O’Connor is brilliant. She has a chaotic, intense energy that works well with the cult healer persona. Her skill lies not only in her voice (speaking and singing), but also in the way she uses her body to act out various comedic scenes. Particularly entertaining is her ability to spell names using Eurythmy—a sort of dance created by Rudolph Steiner and his wife. I also enjoyed her use of torches to portray two separate, warring sides of her personality. This is highly effective and put me in mind of Gollum and Sméagol.

Another great facet of this show is the gentle audience participation. There’s nothing too scary for those of us who don’t like to be singled out, but plenty of opportunity for everyone to get involved.

Around the middle of the show I found the story became a little confused and there are some threads that never quite tie together, but it gets back on track and builds to a resolution, culminating in O’Connor performing an Irish jig on the recorder (impressive!) while the audience throws chocolate coins at her as if she’s a leprechaun.

There are parts of this show where O’Connor asks the audience not to smile, but it’s genuinely hard not to with such a charismatic cult leader on the stage!

One final note: as Hone Taukiri was not present, O’Connor’s father, Sean, stepped in instead and played some original music (with backing vocals by O’Connor) which tied into the overarching story of their family. Though it wasn’t what the audience was expecting, and it was perhaps a slightly disjointed fit, the music itself was lovely, emotive, and served as a calming antidote to the chaotic energy of O’Connor’s performance.

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Back at Te Pou theatre for the second night in a row, this time to take in the 6pm showing of Altarnative and Māori Krishna, a 75-minute double bill comprising two solo shows linked by the experiences of the actors both of whom grew up in worlds well outside the mainstream.

The Koanga Festival website tells us that ‘Hone Taukiri (Māori Krishna) and Acacia O’Connor (Altarnative) didn’t grow up in Te Ao Māori but they didn’t exactly grow up in Te Ao Pākehā either. Now nearing their 30s the unusual pair sift through their incense-clogged pasts to make sense of who they are. Hone deep dives into the world of Hare Krishna on the Kāpiti Coast, tales of multi-headed demons, and being told what to dream, Acacia recalls van life, Steiner schools, lizard people, and being on an endless search for answers. These back-to-back heartwarming, strange, and sometimes uncomfortable solo shows will explain the meaning of everything.’

Enough to whet the appetite? It is for me!

Each actor presents a thought-provoking exposé of alternative parenting and alternative growing up in vastly different alternative worlds. Both have now left these disparate lifestyles but seemingly without rancour or judgement which is refreshing in a world where resentment and criticism are often the order of the day.

Both works are presented in the flexible, multipurpose, blank canvas, black box Tāhū Studio, a space that could house just about any concept you might think of, so, if you’re rehearsing a new production, workshopping, or know your audiences are likely to be relatively small, then this is a space that you might well consider.

We park, and head into the theatre escaping a cool, spring, Tāmaki Makaurau evening and the welcome is, as always, efficient, cordial and warm. There’s time for a juice and a bag of chips, just enough to take the edge of the appetite before we move into the theatre. The 100-seat space is at least three quarters full when we arrive and there is a level of excitement that is infectious. Tickets are electronic and accessible on my phone which I have grown to appreciate. It was pleasing to see a friend working the door and after excited hugs with her and family introductions we were presented with a bowl of chocolate coins and invited to take one. I’m telling you this, so you don’t fall into my trap and make a fool of yourself as I did. I was quite chuffed to be given the chocolate coin and somehow missed the point of why it was given, so I ate mine with alacrity.  My guests were horrified because the coin was not for eating but had another purpose to do with the show.

Too late, mine was gone, but you can benefit from my mindlessness, don’t eat the coin!

Altarnative, written and performed by Acacia O’Connor, is first up.

We are asked ‘have you ever thought there must be something more to life? That perhaps we are stuck in a cage, but just can’t see it?’

There are murmurs of agreement.

Fortunately, we learn from Acacia that Acacia knows all the answers. She tells us that she has grown up in guitar cases, travelled on GE Free New Zealand buses, cavorted naked in the mud at folk festivals, and attended both Montessori and Steiner schools.

This all sounds worryingly familiar.

Acacia, it seems, has had a taste of everything that isn’t mainstream and, as a result, thinks she is better than everyone else and is here, now, to teach us her ways and to save us from ‘our mediocre existence’. 

I’m not sure I’m ready for this. I sense others feel the same. I am, after all said and done, rather fond of my ‘mediocre existence’. 

What starts informally as quite an enjoyable, fun romp is suddenly deep into Eurythmy, an expressive movement form invented by Rudolf Steiner both as a performance art and as an anthroposophic ‘medicine’ used for therapeutic purposes.

Damn. Caught out!

Eurythmy is a word from the Greek meaning ‘beautiful and harmonious’ rhythm but to me it’s most certainly not that. Ever the classicist, I’ve always viewed it as middle-aged ladies of a particular ilk dressed in wispy clothes skipping about and waving their arms in the air.

Is that ungenerous?

It is, yes, but, when it comes to dance, I’m about as mainstream as it gets.

We are, however, all drawn in by the Acacia’s charm, and the interactive nature of her material. Much fun is had, there’s laughter, and music, and I warm, even to the arm-waving. Chocolate coins come into their own and everyone, other than me, throws coins into Acacia’s guitar case. It’s a busking gag. I feel a pang of guilt because I can’t play along with everyone else because I have already eaten my chocolate coin. (Hint: don’t do this, or you will have the same nanosecond of guilt I had).

The structure of the show rather replicates the educational philosophies of Steiner and Montessori. It’s loose, fun, charming. It draws you in, promises much, engages you.

Just when you think you know what it is, it radically changes direction and the happy happy becomes dark. The flip is effective, we meet her multiple personalities, but Acacia is always in charge. Without warning she is using multiple, hand-held light sources, and the looseness goes, replaced by a deeper, stronger, more powerful presence.

Costumes are changed, and, mercifully, normalcy is resumed, Acacia is well, but it’s not the same and it will never be the same. It feels as though she is able to fall back on the good alternatives in her past life and leave the bad behind and we breathe a collective sigh of relief. We’ve grown to like her and wish her only good. True to its history in the fringe and alternative world, Altarnative concludes with a magical recorder rendition of a traditional jig, in this case ‘The Irish Washerwoman’. It’s fast, quite superb, and rounds out forty minutes of the purest of 70’s alternative theatre, like The Incredible String Band on a good day (with The Incredible String Band, they were ALL good days).

Acacia O’Connor is a seriously talented performer, accomplished singer and musician, and she really does take us on quite a ride.

Acacia’s minimalist set is moved and, true to form, the audience, helps. She offers tarot readings, but I get engaged with what’s to happen next, so I don’t know if anyone took her up on her kind offer.

It’s worth noting that the show is on the flat as is the seating so try to ensure you’re not sitting behind the tallest person in the audience. I did, and the only saving grace was that he seemed like a really nice man.

There’s a seamless transition between Altarnative and Māori Krishna. I watch as Hone unpacks a mid-size plastic box containing quite a stack of Hare Krishna books. I chuckle at this so have to explain to my guests that I, at different times in my life, have owned all of those books. To explain, like many of my peers, I explored the possibility of becoming a Hare Krishna in the 70s and while I eventually opted not to, it wasn’t until I had explored many of the spiritual benefits of membership. The Beatles and the Maharishi might have had something to do with it, of course, and Hone explains, at length, how it all came about.

Hone knows how to win an audience. He’s charming and easy to relate to. He greets every member of the audience with a handshake or a hug. I am privileged to get a hug. It’s a very nice hug, and I appreciate it. It’s a clever ploy as it ensures that we are all in one place, each joined to the others by that single tactile moment, that we are all engaged.

We learn that Māori Krishna is a deep dive into Hone Taukiri’s childhood world of Hare Krishna on the Kāpiti Coast. We hear tales of long days on street corners with a stack of books, chanting, meditation, food, and gurus warning that making films goes against God’s plan. Hone’s is a tale of conversion by parent. We are fortunate to have Hone’s mother in the audience. They have a hug and get a round of applause. It would appear that she has been a significant influence on Hone growing up in the ascetic Hare Krishna world. His journey, like Acacia’s, has only occasional interactions with the mainstream and he takes the huge step of going to live on an ashram while still young. I am moved by his stories for their own sake but also because he is a master storyteller. I have certainly bought books on Queen Street from Hare Krishna’s just like him. I am enraptured by the story of his birth, his explanation of bead-driven meditation, the story of Abhaya Caraṇāravinda Bhaktivedānta Svāmī Prabhupāda going to America, chanting in Central Park, and founding the International Society for Krishna Consciousness which now has centres throughout the world, his own naming, having a guru, life on the ashram, and the trauma of leaving at the age of eighteen to seek his fortune as a filmmaker. Hone has a wonderfully benign attitude to his experiences, has no animosity, is charismatic, and a fine storyteller.

As a theatre work, Māori Krishna has a more accessible structure than Altarnative which provides a comfortable juxtaposition between the two. The performances are seamless, and I am reminded that performance begins where memory leaves off which suggests excellent rehearsal processes and fine scripting. While each is complete in and of itself, as a pairing, they work extremely well together. Two performers in sync with themselves, the work, and each other.

My guests and I left the theatre in extremely good spirits due almost entirely to the nature of the work and the charm of the performers. The openness of the storytelling and the lack of ego and judgement that accompanied each telling was most refreshing.

The Kōanga Festival is proving to be a diverse treasure chest of performance art, and the quality of the offerings so far are of an excellent standard. Neke and this double bill both play until Saturday. Quite different experiences each fulfilling in its own way and I more than happily recommend both of them to you.

I guess, now that this is done, it will be OK to ditch the wrapping from the chocolate coin that has been burning a hole in my pocket for the last twenty-four hours.

My most secret shame.

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