This performance of Tangihanga at the Tauranga Arts Festival is more than theatre. It is a wānanga of memory, grief and the delicate threads that connect whānau.

Kristyl Neho stands alone on stage, yet she fills it with a world of familiar faces. For seventy-five minutes, she becomes them — the aunties, the cousins, the vicar, the old uncles with their stories, the mokopuna running about, the sisters holding it all together, and those quietly falling apart.

Neho’s performance is a triumph — a masterclass in humanity. Watching her inhabit more than thirty characters, shifting effortlessly from humour to heartbreak, is a sacred, tapu moment. Her portrayal of three kaumātua, each distinct in gesture and voice, alongside the sharp-tongued aunties and tender-hearted daughters, feels like an act of aroha — a giving of herself to all of us who have stood at a tangihanga, a funeral, a memorial or unveiling, feeling both chaos and calm.

The story unfolds through Jess, a loving daughter whose father has passed. His tangihanga brings together a community of relatives, friends and ghosts of old grievances. Through her many voices, Neho captures the heartbeat of a marae during mourning: the whispers, the laughter, the quiet confrontations in the kitchen, the children underfoot and the endless cups of tea. The tension between grief and celebration, tradition and modernity, ripples through every moment.

For me, this story reaches far beyond the stage. In 2009, I lost my father — the same year Kristyl lost hers. That shared timing gives Tangihanga a deeper resonance. I understand that strange blend of grief and organisation, the ‘plan’ that surrounds death — who will perform the karanga, who will speak, who will bring the kai, who will hold the silence? There’s comfort and conflict in those rituals. Watching Neho perform feels like returning to that liminal space — where laughter bursts through tears, and memory is both burden and blessing.

In Māori culture, death is not an ending but a reconnection — with the ancestors, with whakapapa, with the land/whenua. Tangihanga embraces that truth while making it universal. We’ve all stood beside someone we love and wondered how to carry on. Neho’s brilliance lies in her ability to make these moments familiar, even to those who’ve never attended a tangihanga. Through her performance, grief becomes a language everyone understands.

This isn’t just a performance; it is a shared act of remembering. The night becomes a mirror for all who have lost, all who have planned, all who have stood before their loved one’s photo and wondered, how do we carry on? There are moments when the audience laughs out loud — genuine, deep laughter — and others where you cand hear the breath catch in the dark. The shifts in tone are seamless, like waves washing over the same shore.

As the house lights brighten, I feel both lighter and heavier — lifted by the beauty of it, weighed down by the truth. That’s the power of Tangihanga. It brings us back to the marae, to our people, to our stories.

Kristyl Neho has created something extraordinarily exquisite, revealing how familiar such spaces are for all of us. I grew up on Aotearoa’s East Coast, and I recognise many faces in her portrayals — faces that could belong to any community, not just Māori. The humour, the tenderness, the unspoken love — they are universal.

This is the final stop of a whirlwind tour of Te Ika-a-Maui/the North Island, and I am certain that others witnessing this magnificent piece of theatre were left in awe of its all-encompassing majesty.

And in those living moments we’ve shared — surrounded by laughter, tears and memory — I’ve found my father again, and am reminded that, in the end, we all need a plan.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer

In Tangihanga, Kristyl Neho gives us not just a performance, but a deeply felt invocation — of memory, of whānau, of the chaos and tenderness that gathers when a loved one passes. It’s theatre, yes, but it’s also ritual. Sitting in the audience feels like being on the marae — not as observer, but as participant, as witness, as cousin. The boundary dissolves.

The story follows Jess, returning home after the death of her father, Karanipa. Over the course of the tangi, whānau flood in, each carrying their own stories, their grief, their grievances. Secrets emerge. Old tensions flare. There is aroha and sharpness in equal measure. Through it all, Neho shape-shifts between more than 30 characters — aunties, uncles, cousins, even the spirit of the father himself — in a performance that is technically breathtaking and emotionally unrelenting.

What elevates Tangihanga is its unapologetic Māoritanga. It leans into the tikanga of tangi with truth and reverence, showing the ceremony not as a tidy cultural artifact, but as lived, messy, vital. We see the pōwhiri, the whaikōrero, the murmur of gossip in the kitchen, the sideways glances, the intergenerational weight of whakapapa. There is immense love in the portrayal — not sentimental, but real, aching love.

Held at Te Whare Hononga for the Reimagine Festival, skilfully presented by the Taranaki Arts Festival, the piece feel especially resonant. The room holds a kind of collective inhale — people recognising themselves, their aunties, their grief. I find myself thinking of my own father’s passing: the swirl of emotions, the half-finished conversations, the personalities that shift and spark under pressure. Neho captures all of that. There’s a moment — a silence after a final karakia — where you could feel the entire room holding back tears. That stillness? That’s the wairua of the piece.

The beauty of Tangihanga lies not just in its raw honesty, but in its refusal to simplify. It knows that grief doesn’t come in a straight line — that we laugh even as we cry, that love coexists with resentment, that a tangi is not an ending but a reckoning. Neho moves seamlessly from levity to devastation, from cousin banter to existential ache, always with deep aroha for the people she embodies.

This is theatre as offering, as koha — to the dead, to the living, to us. Tangihanga reminds us that even in our brokenness, we are held together by story, by ritual, by whakapapa. A remarkable work: a raw, beautiful requiem of whānau and grief.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer

The show begins before we step inside. Co-director Eunice August-Smith greets the audience with an address and an invitation to get to know our fellow audience members. August-Smith then lines us up and gives us all a hug. A proper hug. The kind that steadies you before a storm. One by one, we step into the theatre not as strangers but as whānau, embraced and folded into the kaupapa. It is an act of aroha, grounding and firm. It sets the tone.

Kristyl Neho takes the stage and becomes Jess, a daughter navigating the death of her father, Karanipa. From hospice to marae, from silence to laughter that bubbles up where you least expect it, the world of the tangi unfolds in front of us. Yet it is never just Jess. Neho carries more than thirty characters in her body, slipping between charming mokopuna, gossipy aunties, exasperated uncles, and commandeering cousins, each shift clear and distinct. A turn of the shoulder, a flick of the eyes, the tilt of a hat, and we are in the presence of someone new. In a lesser skilled body these characters would be caricatures. They are lived-in, recognisable presences. We all know them.

The strength of the work lies in how it captures the contradictions of tangihanga. The marae is a place of mourning, but it is also a place of reunion, confession, humour, renewal and rivalry. Everyone has a role to play and a job to get done, yet grief makes the simplest tasks heavy. This heaviness and those tasks are also the only way to begin to metabolise the maemae. Neho’s writing acknowledges this without romanticising it. There is laughter in the middle of tears. There is family drama even when death should silence it. That is the truth of whānau, and the play does not turn away from it.

Tapere Iti at Te Auaha is not a marae, yet in the space of seventy-five minutes it feels like one. The lighting, the soundscape, and above all, Neho’s physical presence transform a theatre, with its demarcated spaces for audience and stage, into a communal place of gathering. The audience becomes more than spectators; we are implicated, drawn into the rituals and the tensions, the quiet moments and the noisy ones.

At the centre of it all is Jess, though even her centre begins to shift as the story deepens. The tangi does not only surface grief; it loosens the threads that bind whakapapa, drawing out truths that have long been kept quiet. There is love in abundance, but it is tangled with betrayals and choices that echo across generations. Jess carries her father’s memory as her anchor, yet she also bears the weight of discovering her place is not what she has always believed.

Her journey is not only personal but cultural, a reminder that tangihanga are as much about the living as about the dead. The marae becomes a mirror, reflecting the strength of whakapapa as well as its fractures.

Neho’s performance is a feat of stamina and precision. It is also an offering. Tangihanga does not reduce Māori experience to metaphor or symbol. It insists on its reality: the voices, the bodies, the contradictions, the love. It is theatre as wharenui, performance as whaikōrero, art that does not just tell a story but holds a community.

Tangihanga is a must-see. It is tender, funny and deeply grounded in te ao Māori. It reminds us that death is not only an ending. It is a gathering, a reckoning and often, but still surprisingly, a beginning.

Tangihanga is presented as part of the TAHI Festival. Te Whanganui-a-tara audiences can see it at Te Auaha (Tapere Iti), 65 Dixon Street until Saturday 20 September 2025 at 6:00pm, with a matinee on Friday 19 September at 1:00pm.  A NZSL interpreted performance will be offered on Saturday 20 September at 6:00pm.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer

TANGIHANGA is produced, directed, written and performed by the indomitable Krystal Neho. This show is the culmination of three successive years in conjunction with the Aronui Arts Festival.

Neho is phenomenal.

From the moment she steps onto the stage as her lead character Jess, there is a steadfast groundedness and confidence that comes with having already done five seasons of this beautiful and ever-evolving mahi. 

As a solo performer, her ability to hold the audience with aroha, strength and grace is tangible. She takes every single audience member on a journey that have people crying, then laughing (well and truly!) out loud, then crying-laughing as they relate and connect not only to the different characters, but to every moment one might experience at the Tangihanga of a dear one. And whilst the story is set in Te Ao Maori – it is the mark of a beautiful, relevant and universal story when the whole audience is not just captivated but invested.

TANGIHANGA is the story of the loss of Jess’s (Neho’s) Karanipapa. It encapsulates the three-day vigil of a whanau Tangi, interwoven with the dramatics and dynamics of whanau members during this process. Whilst there is the sadness and grief of losing a loved one, it is also a beautiful tribute to all the many aspects of love, whanau, and culture.

Neho’s storytelling prowess, as she moves flawlessly from character to character is comparable to that of Madeline Sami in Toa Fraser’s No 2 from back in 2001.

Just stunning. The level of skill, knowledge of craft and execution, and obvious deep love for each character is a joy to watch. Glimpses of Neho’s training in the Bouffon style of performance also shine through as she endows each character with breath and motif.

Having seen and reviewed TANGIHANGA in its developmental stage, it is great to note the growth of the show, particularly with her deeply insightful portrayal of the thirty-one characters. Neho’s vocal mastery is a highlight – not only with her character work, but also with every waiata she sings. She soulfully woos the audience and fills the space with beauty, serenity and light.

The simplicity of Neho’s costume, set and props allow for her to traverse the stage freely and allow for her skills as an actor to shine.

It is unfortunate that once again, the lighting and sound designs are so poorly executed by the operator on opening night; it’s a shame that one only gets a sense of what the pure version of the show must be.

Technical errors plague Neho from the very beginning of the show, all the way through to end. Sound cues stop and start mid-flow, and are played at wrong times in the story, causing Neho, at several points, to address the lighting box with instruction – albeit wonderfully with humour, and expertly in character!

Lighting cues are haphazard with Neho left in darkness in crucial moments of the storytelling. This ultimately leads to her dropping the most vital scenes of the show for Neho and what she needs as her own journey as performer. Luckily I got to see this scene last year.

A fellow audience member and colleague later commented, the audience did not mind or even notice (“they loved the show”), but for Neho, for any actor, it means flow and focus are now not solely on performance and storytelling – which is challenging enough as a solo artist – because focus is now on trying to keep the narrative intact and finding flow in the story.

Perhaps the worst, most unacceptable moment though is the blackout during the curtain call – even before Neho’s second bow.

The audience are deep in the emotions of the final scene. After the heartbreaking and life-changing reveal at the Karanipapa’s Tangi, Jess returns to the urupa – eleven years later. Neho is dignified and vulnerable in her stillness – the scene is emotional, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

In the ensuing lighting shenanigans, I hear various audience members commenting on how abrupt it is –“ what a shame it is that they are not able to show their appreciation and love for the show and Neho’s performance.”

Whether the responsibility lies with the festival, the venue, or the technicians/ operators, surely there is a standard to be upheld?

The financial restraints cannot always be blamed for “technical difficulties”, especially when the technician not only operated TANGIHANGA in its developmental season last year but was sufficiently provided with a current video of the show and all the required specs for the evolved show.

One can bypass all the technical mistakes from the developmental season, but for it to happen again – even worse – in the sixth season of this iteration of the show, is appalling and disappointing.  

In this review, one might be seen as harping on etc, but with this level of work – years of blood sweat and tears it takes to create, produce and tour a full-length work… it is only fair to expect that the technical support be of the same high quality.

TANGIHANGA needs to come back to Rotorua. Perhaps this time to the Sir Howard Morrison Centre where it would sit beautifully in the Te Haumako Theatre and have the appropriate and necessary technical support and respect Neho and her team, and this amazing show, deserves.  

Congratulations to Neho and her team for a great work – but more so, congratulations to Neho for her professionalism and courage.  Her skills, talent, training and experience really come to the fore in this show, but one champions her even more for managing all the issues and still give a stellar performance.

Malo lava!

SIDE NOTE:  A must-mention is the sublime singing that captures the audience as we enter the foyer of the theatre. Local rangatahi, Kaprice Mita, angelically sings us all in with a range of waiata which captures our hearts and sets a tone of reverence and aroha. Her beautiful voice is pure heart in vocal form! What a taonga she has – what a taonga she is. Looking forward to watching her career soar – all the best Kaprice!

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer