It’s a Sunday afternoon, once again I’m running, running, running late, thanks to an also tardy grandparent childminder. Today there’s a carpark for my wheels, in the infamous Wilson’s carpark. The ticket booth doesn’t have a comp for me, I’m now leaping up the steps like an animal on the chase. Quick pee stop for the post-child-birthing-bladder and into a packed house in the Issac Royal Theatre’s Gloucester Room.

I’m attending TOAST: a show by Zen Zen Zo NZ, featuring in the ‘Made in Canterbury’ Festival (2021).

These amazing actors have had a 1 hour technical rehearsal leading up to the show and BAM they’re on.

The sight lines are annoying in the Gloucester Room (with the absence of the raked seating) but I DO love the ambience in this blood red velvet seated, intimate performance space. The lighting is dim, has a romantic feel (perfect for this mainly women audience perhaps). Delibes’ ‘Flower Duet’ beckons us into this feminine extravaganza. We’re here for an hour, watching 3 delicious actors: Mary Davison, Kate Allen both from Canterbury and Martine Baanvinger from Golden Bay.

The set is sparse. A clever 3-sided screen is manipulated in many satisfying ways over the course of the 60 mins. At times it is projected onto, at times it’s the hiding place from which a magic character transformation is revealed, other times it’s a literal changing room.

The costumes are minimal too: a sort of play on the Pākehā nude, which reminds me of that side-splitting dark-comedy Jonny Brugh and Jackie Van Beek did decades ago at Auckland’s Herald Theatre with their nude (also featuring merkins) costumery. What was that show called? [Was it FLASHDUNCE? – ed] These TOAST actors are wearing cafe au lait lycra cycle short-legged body suits, with a scooping under the breast design, like something my Mum wore to that one Jazzercise class she tried.

The magic in this show lies in the writing, the direction, the characterisation, the vulnerability and courage of both the actors and the content, and the turning of a difficult conversation into a mostly light-hearted, sometimes sobering, brave korero about body image, especially for people who identify as women.  

As good theatre does, this show’s first ‘image’ starts strong with three actors eating each other, and waxing lyrical in foreign tongues to boot. Spanish, Dutch and Cantonese words ripple out of mouths as one woman eats another’s hair, another devours an elbow, each mouthful a crescendo into an ecstatic exhausting climax.

The audience are eating this show up too. They are belly laughing, they are giggling like tweenagers, at the lines of dialogue and monologue woven throughout this physical theatre piece.
“I cleaned out the whole pantry during lockdown by eating everything in it.”
“Eating ’cause your mouth is lonely.”
“The whiter the bread the sooner you’re dead.”
“This sandwich looks miserable and soggy with responsibility.”
“Eat salad and stretch.”

A further favourite scene is ‘She’s at the fridge again’, when the show somewhat becomes a gospel musical for a few moments. 

This show is an example of the feminine at work. Many women have contributed to the research, devising, writing process as they could (time, energy and creativity wise, whilst juggling family and other work) to build this sensational show. This story is about empowerment, about togetherness, about naming something to eradicate the shame and silence.

The programme thanks Mary Davison, Kate Allen Martine Baanvinger, alongside Megan Herd, Stella Cheersmith, Jane Mclauchlan, Andrea Brigden and all the voices of our friends. The fact this piece is such a successful collaboration is a tautoko to Director Alys Hill, who sees the process as being just as important as the product. Described as therapeutic by the actors, the process speaks volumes to what it’s like to work and craft alongside the kindness, vision and generosity of Alys Hill. 

Hill’s direction is made stand out by the palette of sound she uses from Opera to Hip Hop, from the telling the story through surprising physical imagery, and from editing this show to contain moments of chaotic joy, something reminiscent of Christopher Durang, and other times so tender e.g. when a Mother in her final days, dying with Cancer from her death bed mutters to her daughter, “At least I’m thin now.”

The actors each bring something different to the show – some great casting here ladies and gentlemen. Kate Allen’s voice work deserves a special mention. It’s so satisfying being able to always hear and understand an actor. Mary Davison’s cupcake scene is something to remember. Davison shows such joy as a performer that it translates as ease and generosity. We get given so much by this performer, there’s a softness and vulnerability and also a daring that’s inspiring.

The happy open faces of the women around me in the now lightening theatre with her blood red velvet seats speak of a show that allows women to be seen. Thank you Alys Hill, the collaborators, the actors of TOAST for this generous act of bringing us together to share our collective story. 

Take your Whaea, your Aunty, your Noni, your girlfriend to this laugh-out-loud, heart-warming, shame-stopping show.

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