I saw the musical stage show The Factory approximately two decades ago, back when it was fresh, the new sounds making waves in Aotearoa. A year later, it was packing its bags to head to the Edinburgh Arts Festival in Scotland. It was the kulimi (cream) of the crop, the first Pacific musical travelling to the land of kilts and empire. As a Samoan with some Scottish blood myself,

it felt both poetic and slightly ironic.

Fast forward to 2025: Songs from the Factory has me lit up with the same excitement. Seeing ‘Island Vibes’, Nyssa Collins, Paul Fagamalo, and the rest of this electric cast on stage fierce, live, and proudly brown.

I arrive at the Civic Theatre, on the corner of Queen and Wellesley Streets, and am immediately greeted by two glittering humans. We’re talking feathers, sequins. they were super helpful, lucky for me, because I hadn’t been to the Civic in years and was walking around like someone’s aunty who got separated from the tour group.

Warm reds, blues, and electric pink lighting washed over everything like a neon moana. The Civic has gone full cabaret-meets-circus, with a heart-shaped photo booth, a mystery potion station (drink potion), and a taro reading booth. Even the elevators were dolled up with shimmery paper. Now in my 40’s, I’ve come to deeply appreciate lifts, especially a well-dressed one. I like the atmosphere, but I feel a bit like a i’a (fish) in a different vai (water).

As more people arrive, I hear playful bantering in Samoan, Tongan, English weaving through the space. The sounds are deeply comforting, like finding my salty moana again after being inland too long. It feels like a stylish family reunion.

I make my way down to the Wintergarden, though it feels more like a tropical hideaway than a theatre bar. The air was warm, the lighting low, I settle at a small table lit by a sleek little lamp.

Looking around through the haze, I’m reminded of nights on the seawall, that easy, electric feeling when darkness is engulfed with humidity yet there is a Godfather-style mood in the air, cinematic, a little surreal and I am there for all of it.

The show kicks off with an emotional bang the opening number about Malaga, the journey. It hits all the right notes: migration, dreams, milk and honey hopes, and that quiet ache that comes with leaving home. The harmonies are stunning as well as the physical appearance of the cast. Beehives, bouffants, and head top buns adorned by sei. Their patterned dresses scream vintage Island fabulous. Misilei (Paul Fagamalo) floated across the stage with shiny curls bouncing such energy.

Then, a surprise moment. Producer/director Vela Manusaute takes the mic early on to share the show’s whakapapa. It was a perfect touch. Hearing from the original storyteller gives the whole night extra mana. He jokes that back in 2010, his team told him he couldn’t sing but that didn’t stop him from creating the first Pacific musical. I can relate, I’m Samoan, named after a famous English singer (cheers Dad), and sound close to a foghorn underwater.

Rosa (Anasetasia Mackay) brings the chills and all the feels, her voice, clear and stunning, wrapped around every lyric like silk. Nyssa Collins lit up ‘Working for the Man’ with a vocal range so powerful it makes your mata (eyes) pop and your taliga (ears) sit up straighter. The choreography is tastefully understated, allowing gentle flashes of Pacific movement to peek through, graceful nods to home woven into the rhythm.

Hans Fa’avae Jackson’s spoken word piece ‘Cut my mother tongue’ carves its truth into the room. Honest, raw, and achingly relevant. It speaks to the cost of chasing dreams, and what we leave behind in the process.

Throughout the show, we see duets between father and daughter, lovers, workers (Joanna Mika-Toloa, Aisea Latu, Vai Latu), each offering a window into the emotional world behind the factory floor. Real love, real loss, real moments. Edward (Edward Laurenson) delivers some beautiful chemistry with Anestascia Mackay.

Although the band isn’t always visible during the show, we feel them steady, soulful, and absolutely essential. They are the heartbeat beneath it all, carrying the rhythm and emotion without ever stepping into the spotlight. Malo lava, Sefa Taouma (guitar), Simon Savill (bass), Kevin Savili (keyboard), and William Tuionetoa (drums) for holding it down so seamlessly.

That said, part of me longs for a few more Pacific textures, maybe a touch of igi igi melody, a ukulele line threading through, and more spontaneous vocal breakout on the factory floor. That sound when Pacific people gather, and the fusion harmonies just happen. That kind of moment would’ve taken it from goosebumps to chills.

Misilei delivers the laughs with just the right amount of sass and sideways glances to keep us “in check” chuckling between the feels. ‘Niu Sila’ and ‘Kisi kisi’ are two of the most resonant songs I remember from two decades ago. The whole cast brings it singing, and code-switching between English and Pacific language. There is heart, humour, and harmony in every song.

If you missed it, let’s push for it to be remount or better yet, a film adaptation. I want to eat popcorn in the cinema and sing along with my wider aiga. It honours the strength, sacrifice, and soul of Pacific migration. These are the stories our ancestors dreamed we’d tell showcasing resilience.

As Vela Manusaute so powerfully said, ‘From the Pacific, we rise.’ And with this show, we rise with harmonies, humour and heart, and stories that stay with us long after the lights fade. So to Vela, Anapela, Stacey, William and the crew: fa’afetai tele lava.

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