Wellington Fringe 2026

F.ART!

Time Shivers!

Genre: Absurd Theatre, New Writing, Physical Comedy, Poetry-Based Theatre

Venue: Thistle Hall Community Venue

Festival: Wellington Fringe

Low Down

Review

The invitation that plopped into my inbox was compelling – come along to an esoteric (and hard to locate) venue on the outer edges of Wellington’s Fringe to celebrate Bain’s three long years of sobriety, with poetry, discourse, badinage and shanties as our celebrant confronts his conflicting approaches to life and art.  What’s not to like?  Hey, there was even a suggestion that choregraphed wrestling might be included.

So, I padded up the length of Cuba Street, waved my e-ticket at the visibly twitchy and rather strangely dressed FOH person, took my seat in the cavernous space that is the Thistle Hall Community Centre, and waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.

Now, one of the many things I’ve learned in my short time at this fringe is that nothing starts on time.  It starts when the audience arrives.  Which it did.  Eventually.  As did Bain, who tottered onto the stage looking and sounding like he wanted to be someplace else.  Anywhere, in fact.   So he didn’t have to “celebrate” his sobriety with a bunch of people he’d never clapped eyes on.

Perhaps that explained Bain’s foot shuffling, his nervous laughter and verbiage that had no structure or natural sequitur.  Then, two chords into a bit of the music we’d been promised, the wheels came off the metaphorical bus as our man had what can only be described as a catastrophic meltdown, leaving him prostrate centre stage.  What the………?

By now the small audience, consisting mainly of people who evidently had nothing better to do on a wet Thursday evening, was exchanging nervous glances, clearly wondering what was going on.  And this reviewer was about to cast his notes into the Room 101 of failed productions and try and slip out of the back door without attracting attention.

Then Ben arrives, besuited, composed, batting not an eyelid at the chaos in front of him, calmly checking the “corpse” for signs of life, before offering poetic theory as to why Bain was so lain.  Then enters Shane, a man that speaks plain who also seeks to explain.

What had already been a pretty wacky, bonkers sort of a start then quickly ramped up the zany’ometer to warp factor twenty as Ben (the exquisitely urbane Oscar Fitzgerald) and Shane (the rumbustious, wonderfully narcissistic Aidan O’Malley) launched into a fifty minute set of superbly crafted spoken word and poetry, covering subjects ranging from the dangers of addiction, through to the decimation of world order engendered by the rich and powerful, via a treatise or two on the general vicissitudes of life.

Each poem is a show in itself – with a beginning, middle and end – and the quality of each performer’s delivery draws every nuance from the superb wordsmithing behind the subject matter being extolled.  Characterisation is clever too, with O’Malley and Fitzgerald deliberately playing opposites, the former about as self-centred as the current POTUS, the latter the epitome of the reformed addict, principled to the core, his steely willpower refusing to bow before “Shane’s” persistent invitations to “just have the one drink.”

That’s the trouble with addition, the theme that runs through this thought-provoking piece of performance art.  Addiction is addictive.  Breaking it requires a set of skills and mental strength that, sadly, many living with an addiction are incapable of mastering.  The causes of addiction(s) are many and varied, which the poetry highlights in ways that are both sensitive and instructive, none more so than in Fitzgerald’s masterful treatise on the collapsing world order which covered everything from the overreach of oligarchs to the ineptitude of 21^st century statehood.

This waterfall of words is segued with anarchic conversations between the poetical protagonists, ensuring that the attention of the (by now) completely engaged audience is unwavering, a tribute to the care that has been put into the design and delivery of something that could have all too rapidly turned to custard given its reliance on the surreal, the absurd and the downright weird and wacky.

But what of Bain (the convincingly nervous Lachie Oliver-Kerby) and his meltdown?  Well, this was a zany show so it seemed entirely appropriate that he remained motionless throughout the poetry, prose and, yep, on-stage wrestling that was unfolding around him.  Cushy number?  Think not such thoughts.  Lying comatose on a stage is no laughing matter.  One twitch and the spell is broken, your characterisation ruined.

Much credit is also due to the superb lighting design from Michael Goodwin which captured the multiplicity of onstage moods to perfection, supportive of but never intruding on the narrative, with Oliver-Kerby’s nicely crafted soundscape adding icing to an already impressive cake.

This is a very, very impressive piece of theatre.  Wordsmithing of the absolute highest order; characterisation that wrings every nuance from the script; choreography and staging that was tight and effective; ditto the sound and light.  Written, directed and yanked into shape on a shoestring budget by the three performers, this is work that’s shouting out to be seen by the many, rather than the few lucky enough to have stumbled across what is a true hidden gem of a show.   So, if it’s touring anywhere near you, seek it out.

Surreal, absurdist, bonkers, zany and just plain weird scarcely describe it. But it works.  And how!  Quintessential fringe, in fact.  Quintessentially Wellington.

Published February 21, 2026 by Tim Wilcock