I was greatly looking forward to The Monster in the Maze, NZ Opera’s community opera for 2025 in what will hopefully be a regular initiative. Aotearoa has a strong tradition of community made and performed musical works: you could even say that it’s part of our Kiwi kaupapa. Our well established network of community choirs, musical theatre, community theatre companies and community orchestras speak to that.

As Brad Cohen, NZ Opera’s Tuma Whakarae/ General Director says in his programme foreword, opera has shifted from its roots in community-based storytelling to sometimes being seen as a rather snooty art form (my paraphrase). NZ Opera seeks to actively move opera back to a form that is inclusive of and accessible to all, ‘(to) experience storytelling through the power of the human singing voice.’

A word from the ‘learnt-my-lesson’ corner: anyone attempting a ‘community inclusive work’ should tremble in fear at the hard work and sleep deprivation ahead and ensure they have a week at the end to sleep it off. The performers might not be paid like professionals, and you can get large casts at relatively low cost, but it’s still a costly exercise due to the resources needed to recruit, train, mentor, support, wrangle, costume and feed everyone. It’s both demanding and immensely rewarding.

Luckily, The Monster in the Maze has been written specifically for just this community treatment, and while it has been road tested in cities overseas, mounting this in Aotearoa must have brought its own unique challenges. The programme notes there was a total participant pool of 400 people. Doing six shows over two weeks in three cities with three different community casts is impressively/foolishly ambitious.

Looking at the programme, a relatively small group of professionals are involved – four voice leads, plus director, conductor, choreographer and producer, set/costume design, a community liaison and around three stage and tour managers per city. I know more people must have been involved but they don’t seem to be credited on the programme. If my sources are correct, the time they had to work with each cast was limited to just two weekends, plus music call and production week. Firstly, wow that they even made a show with this amount of time. Secondly, I have taken this limited rehearsal time into account in my response to the show.

The Monster in the Maze is very short for an opera – only 50 minutes. Dove and Middleton have chosen to strip down the story of Theseus and the Minotaur to just two aspects: the tyranny of King Minos, and the search for, and vanquishing of, the Minotaur. Ariadne, the princess with her silken thread, is cut from the story; Daedalus, the maze’s architect, here takes on the role of guide.  I’ve been pondering why one of the most compelling parts of this legend has been left out, and I think maybe it is because a cute love story might have distracted from the underlying theme of the piece, that of forced displacement, migration and exploitation.

From the beginning, the multicultural cast in simple costumes – plain coloured tops in earthy/ warm colours and dark trousers – gives a feeling that this story references every time and place. The singers visibly respond to the words from their own lived experience – in this country, the lived experience of being a migrant is only one or two generations deep for most people.  Middleton goes for simplicity in his libretto: repeated phrases, with call and response, evoke the pain of having to leave your family and face the unknown. Dove’s score is also unobtrusive, meandering in a constant recititive rather than moving into any strong melodies. I found myself wishing for more earworms though, as at times the music lost energy.

The beauty of the score and libretto for The Monster in the Maze, I think, is that it provides a blank canvas for each production to make it sing (pun intended) to their specific audience. Director Anapela Polata’ivao with her frequent collaborators, producer Stacey Leilua and choreographer Petmal Petelo, uses Pacific references throughout. Patterned textile bags given by grieving parents to their offspring evoke the sparse bundles of possessions given to Pacific youth departing to work in Aotearoa; they also evoke child refugees in every past and present conflict: WWII, Afghanistan, Gaza, Burma, Sudan.  The animated ‘ship’ that carries the youth tribute away simultaneously resembles a Greek sailing vessel and the transoceanic vessels used by early Pacific explorers.  There are echoes of Pacific movement forms – hand gestures and body positions in the group choreography, such as it is. With up to 150 people on stage, movement is sensibly limited to simple lines and blocks, with the cast mostly staying in their groups of adult, youth and child performers and moving as one (there are strays, but this is endearing!)

I was surprised that the four leads – all able and experienced performers – also don’t have a lot of movement, with the exception of a few set pieces. Theseus (Ipu Laga’aia) and Mother (Sarah Castle) stand far apart, even as Mother implores Theseus to stay safe with her instead of volunteering to sacrifice his life. Maaka Pohatu, who has only spoken lines despite being a fantastic singer, is confined by the text into a stereotyped tyrant. Daedalus, sung by the most internationally experienced cast member, Joel Amosa, has virtually no character arc and just disappears from the story after leading the youth to safety. I felt frustrated that key moments evoked little emotion in me and later realised this might be deliberate (the nerd in me remembers that epic theatre is about alienation).

The task of injecting energy and intensity mostly falls to Filament Eleven 11 as the production and lighting designers. Their daring, innovative and engaging design provides the drama that the music largely lacks. Strips of what moves like paper fall downwards or travel across the stage space, constantly changing and interweaving. Animated projections with text or simple line drawings evocative of comic book sketches provide pop, humour and style. 

There are plenty of technically accomplished wow moments – a sequence in which an animated ship sails along paper slips as they fall into place; Theseus with his companions seeking the Minotaur are enmeshed in a constantly shifting and changing maze. The Minotaur sequence – in which an animated beast appears above and around the frightened hostages – carries further meaning, evoking the idea that the Minotaur is within us all, and that the power to slay it comes from within. Laga’aia here shows off some slick moves with a machete, though his movements are also ritualistic, a solo dance. I loved that the Minotaur was slain with the most Pacific weapon ever: a tool as well as a blade, used for everything from harvesting to preparing food. Hopefully Theseus got some good steaks afterwards.

Once again, I have to whinge about the substandard acoustics in the Kiri Te Kanawa Theatre in the Aotea Centre. The dead space in the middle rows persists.  Many of the sung lines from the community singers struggled to reach; even the voices that were trained fell flat, except for the moments when the performer was centre downstage belting it out. I am sure this contributed to the lack of emotive response for me. It seems unfortunate and against the spirit of the style, but maybe opera sung in this theatre has to be miked.

The orchestra – Auckland Philharmonia musicians buddied with players from the community – did an excellent, committed job. It was a treat to see them take their curtain call, epitomising the tuakana-teina relationship that has been a foundation for this piece on both the singing and playing side.

In the end, the highlight for me was seeing the community cast and players up on stage, enjoying the discovery and buzz of performance. The presence of quite young children – primary and intermediate school age – was powerful, making the image of children being farewelled by their parents even stronger. The different ages in the cast also evoked the multigenerational effects of migration: not just the travellers, but also the people left behind are affected forever.

The Monster in the Maze, a story about young people who migrate to an island where they will be sacrificed to an invisible beast, has clear lines back to the history of our country, of how migrants are viewed and how they are used. The story you will see depends on your own lived experience. I found myself seeing the bags that the travellers carried as symbolising the love of parents – we carry the hopes and dreams of our kin. I also found myself musing on the journeys of those who leave home not expecting to return. If they do return home, they are forever changed: matured, but also different to those who stayed.

The Monster in the Maze is a lovely example of what community opera can achieve, and I applaud the efforts of NZ Opera in returning something that has always belonged to us: stories about ourselves, given power and heft with the magic of music, movement and staging. 

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Genocide is something that was once self-consciously whispered about following the ghastly atrocities of the 1939-45 and Balkan wars. Now it seems to blaring out of headlines stemming from Africa, the Middle East and even Eastern Europe. The opening stanzas of this opera have King Minos of Crete (Maaka Pohatu) proclaiming his love affair with genocide following his defeat of the Athenians.

With salivating relish he declares that, as a means of further twisting the knife, he will be feeding young Athenians to the “half man, half bull”, Minotaur. This will ensure that his enemy will forever be on its knees. Its succeeding generations will simply be devoured. Beware, the Minotaur inhabits a fiendishly designed labyrinth from which there can be no escape. A ripping end is assured for all who enter.

That’s when machete-toting Theseus (Ipu Laga’aia) pops up from nowhere and announces with great equanimity that he will slay the vile beast. The children will not have to pay that terrible forfeit. His mother (Sarah Castle) doesn’t want him to go but Theseus remains both swashbuckling and intent upon doing good for Athens.  

At this juncture one might observe that what we already know could be the grist for four hours plus of grand opera. But this version lasts no more than 50 minutes. Much has to be achieved in that time, Genocide must be averted, the code for the labyrinth must be cracked, Minos has to be taught a lesson and the Minotaur must not be scotched as much as killed. It must all come across as a mini-epic and not a series of three-minute clips.

So there is little debate or discussion between the principal characters. Every aspect of the work must be bent to advancing the plot: music, acting, lighting, graphic design, kinetic scenery and the mass movement of adult/children/youth choirs – i.e. well over a hundred persons onstage. Most are amateurs but must show considerable alacrity and occasional split-second timing.

Just about every aspect of this production is creditable in the extreme. However, my ‘absolutely spot on stuff’ prize for the night goes to the designers: Filament Eleven 11 (Bradley Gledhill and Rachel Marlow) in conjunction with the Creative Producer (Stacey Leilua). The basic story is an essential boil-down of the ancient myth. To reinforce the high points of the dialogue and monologue, most often when Minos speaks, key words appear like graffiti on ever-flying screens. I noted that screens that support action and atmosphere for the good folk are horizontal while those that underpin the villainous Minos are vertical.

It’s as if everything Minos intones is set in commemorative stone that will come home to flatten him. It also builds the tension surrounding the existence but never visible arrival of the Minotaur who is all suspense and minimal shock. That frightening aspect is also hyped by the excellent orchestra which is heavy on unsettling cellos and blood curdling horns.

The voyage to Crete with the ‘doomed’ children is managed with succinct aplomb using the horizontal screens while a small cartoon of the vessel sails beguilingly high above the stage. Crete itself (the forbidding domain of Minos) is depicted as a series of anachronistically tall buildings within the vertical screen conceit already mentioned.

The adult choir attired in black gang-like wear populates the space in between the skyscraper verticals. It intuits an ugly place with much to hide. The New York type skyline pitches us I suspect into the modern day. Just as genocide besmirches history, so too does the horrendous abuse of children. The big cities of today devour children too; those whose pictures appear on milk cartons with the “Have you seen this kid?” notices. A provocative little side issue there.

So on to the labyrinth. How do you induce audience claustrophobia and the entrapped despair that come with the maze? Well, you mesh all the vertical and horizontal screens and create a kaleidoscopic effect. One that further disorients those gingerly moving through the shifting and elusive passageways.

However, we have just met one Daedalus (Joel Amosa, an immensely lyrical and coherent singer). He is the Cretan originator of the maze. Repelled by the savagery of Minos, he is willing to share what he knows of its many secrets.

The final confrontation between man and beast is managed brilliantly with a montage of minotaur images steeped in red. Theseus becomes balletic and the trusty machete wins out. Harmony is restored and the entire cast stands under a warm, re-assuring sky reminiscent of an Edmonds ‘Sure to Rise’ packet.

The entire work is a triumph of compression of old story ideas and modern techniques. The music foreswears the usual opera set pieces and is devoted to conveying feelings and the depth of situations. There are no arias but there is a strongly beating heart that lasts the whole 50 minutes.

As I walked into the theatre I noted a huge notice board telling everyone that the house was “Sold Out”. And so it was. Maybe the good old Rudall Hayward technique of using the onscreen/onstage performers to generate their own audience has come to the fore again. All that aside, the opera stands up well as a human tale well told while using many innovative artistic forms. It bodes extra well for the future of opera in these parts.

It is an exciting night for the entire Wellington community. All is perfection under the measured baton of Brent Stewart. The 50-piece orchestra hums along with the smooth assurance of a top Hollywood soundtrack. Choreographer Petmal Petelo finds ways to ensure that an often crowded stage feels full of meaningfully moving bodies rather than overloaded. 

Director Anapela Polata‘ivao has triumphed in melding so many disparate elements into a breathtaking whole.  She was mightily well supported by a fine ensemble.

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Is community opera manifesting a promising future for the community that is NZ Opera?

Following conversations I’ve had with Annabel Holland, (chair of the Board of Directors for NZ Opera) about the politics behind Aotearoa’s current stance on opera as an art form and its overall sustainability, another chance conversation at tonight’s performance hinted at ways in which we can keep the art form alive.

I sat next to an elderly Jane Doe, who is delighted to tell me that the tickets for this evening’s showing of The Monster in the Maze are only $45 for an adult, in comparison to previous opera performances she had been to in support of her nephew in the choir, which easily climbed up to over $100 for an adult. This type of gratitude not only shows how accessibility can influence others to come to these theatre productions, but also influences attendance by a wider age range, which is another observation she made during a lovely conversation with me about her love for theatre. The Isaac Theatre Royal is certainly a full house on this opening night, filled with all ages, families, friends, cousins, nephews, nieces etc.

As for the Opera itself…

The story is about an Athenian hero, Theseus (played by Ipu Laga’aia), who is on a mission to save his people from Minos (played by Maaka Pohatu) and his half man-half bull labyrinth, the Minotaur. After saving Daedalus (Joel Amosa) from the maze (which Daedalus himself created) where the Minotaur is to be found feeding off the flesh of human youth, Theseus battles the Minotaur to death, saves the children and Daedalus, and they sail back home.

I am left with many questions. It’s not clear where home is. Are they from Athens? Are they Athenian people living somewhere else?

Why didn’t Sarah Castle’s character as the Mother have her name? Why is she just ‘Mother’?

The brass section of the orchestra is up in the balcony, in the boxes and along the wings, which makes for an immersive listening experience. The downside to this is that having the brass that much closer to your ears drowns out the diction and voices of the talented performers that are Ipu, Sarah, Joel, Maaka, and their accompanying choir.

The supposed antidote to this is briefly promoted at the beginning of the show, where you can scan a QR code for subtitles, but the subtitles are only shown at specific points during the show. While this innovative idea has potential to benefit the deaf, further development seems to be needed – perhaps including the QR code in the programme booklet, so that if you think you’ll be able to hear clearly, but have a change of heart, you can still scan the QR (currently only available at the beginning of the show).

Despite these challenges, there are many other beautiful and positive aspects in the production. While you cannot hear what the performers are always saying, it doesn’t matter because their voices are so mesmerising throughout the entire production. Ipu and Sarah steal the show with their voices, chemistry and, at times, occasional comedic moments. The comedic moments definitely break some of the dramatic tension, enough to keep you pulled in. Ipu’s first two numbers are musical highlights; he sounds gorgeous up there, and the choir complements his voice.

Honourable mention to the diva in the front of the choir with the bob haircut, who was grooving her heart out during the “Take them to the Labyrinth” number; her passionate performance sets her apart and makes her stand out; I hope she has her own production one day.

The use of drapes and minimal stage production enables a focus on projection, which is my personal technical highlight. These include illustrations and an almost brutalist-like aesthetic throughout, the words “BANG!” and “PUNCH!” during the battle scene, the illustrated Minotaur, the sailboat and the sunset colours. There is a wide variety of colours and aesthetic choices throughout the production, and it is all so gorgeously put together.

My final thoughts on the orchestral accompaniment leave me having mixed thoughts and feelings as a whole. A more minimalist approach to the orchestra or band arrangement would make the experience easier to understand. That shouldn’t stop you from getting tickets; overall it is a spectacle and was definitely worth the $45 for an adult.

The production is a clean 50 minutes long with no intermission. It is snappy and sharp, without feeling either too long or too rushed, and it doesn’t start too late, so you can get your kids home in time for bed. I highly recommend – 7.5/10 Labyrinths.

(Show images by Emma Brittenden).

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