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Words by: Ethan Wolfe (he/him) Movies have been a life-long passion of mine, I love their ability to transport you, to make you  think, and to entertain. My favorite part of watching movies is pushing myself out of my  cinematic comfort zone, and discovering new films to fall in love with. In this column, I hope to  share this joy of discovery with the reader through this selection of five movies, perfect for a lazy  night at home.   Bullitt (1968) - (Action, Hollywood):   A neo-noir, action, and thriller that delivers on all of its promises. The action makes great use of  practical effects, the mystery is genuinely thrilling and makes you want to find out how it ends,  and the story and acting is surprisingly nuanced and thoughtful. In a modern action movie status quo of watching two CGI monsters fight each other with laser beams, there’s something  refreshing about an action scene that’s just a slick old-school Mustang flying down the San  Francisco hills, in pursuit of the bad guys.   Clerks (1994) - (Comedy, American Independent):   An intensely clever independent comedy that revolves around the lives of minimum-wage store  clerks. It shines in its ability to capture the confusion and aimlessness of that odd period of life  where you’ve become a real adult but you’re still terrible at it, and by doing so in a way that lets  us laugh at. Filled with snappy dialogue and absurd humor, Clerks helps remind all of us stuck  working low-level dead end jobs not to take them too seriously, and that they are as dumb as you  think.   Embrace of the Serpent (2015) - (Adventure, Colombian):   A truly epic adventure through the Amazon, centered around an Indigenous man who guides two  different European explorers through the jungle. Consciously they search for a medicinal plant,  subconsciously for self-discovery. While most adventure films focus on the hero, with the  foreign locale serving as more of a background, Embrace of the Serpent sets a different tone, the explorer almost totally at the mercy of his environment. A walk through the jungle as well as a walk through Colombia’s history, Embrace of the Serpent manages to both entertain and fascinate.   Amélie (2001) - (Romantic Comedy, French):    Where most movies allow you to become a spectator to another time, place, or world, Amélie  pulls you into the world of the main character, allowing you to experience the story from her  perspective, rather than just watching it. Amélie is shy, with few friends, and finds the joy in life  through simple pleasures and through her imagination; the world of the film takes on a  fantastical tinge where pictures can talk, and what’s happening in real life is often interrupted by  sequences of her frequent daydreams. Much of the charm of the film comes from the supporting  cast, studded with dreamers, neurotics, tragic lovers, bullies, and other loners. Amélie presents a simple but well told story about a girl falling in love, enhanced by a visual style that constantly  excites, which in my opinion, is almost infinitely re-watchable.   Drop Dead Gorgeous  (1999) - (Black Comedy, Cult Classic):   A mockumentary about a teen beauty pageant in rural Minnesota that joyfully bashes  commercial femininity, loud ignorance, and arbitrary competition—without allowing the tone to  become too dark or depressing. Mockumentaries gained popularity in the 80s with the release of  This Is Spinal Tap in 1984, but very few managed to strike the balance between keeping it real  enough to feel human, and absurd enough to be comedic. Drop Dead Gorgeous executes this  balance masterfully: the characters are charming and hilarious, and splashes of dark absurdity  toss them into even funnier situations. It’s the best mockumentary I’ve ever seen, and a great piece of cinema in general.

DAN MOSKOVITZ (HE/HIM)

Written by Guy van Egmond (he/him) Maybe I’m being subjective here, but a show playing “Man or Muppet” as house music is bound to be good fun. And Sandwich Artist was! A heartwarming and silly musical, that poked fun at the genre conventions while being a genuinely well-put together show, with a lot of love and just a bit more to it than only sliced bread.  The story follows Sammy Rye (Phoebe Caldeiro), an unrecognised sandwich genius working for an unnamed sandwich chain, who’s unorthodox, off-menu sandwiches get her fired, despite how good they are. She gambles it all on a bus ride to Wellington, where a fellowship is formed with a despondent carrot farmer (Catherine Gavigan-Binnie), a butcher with attachment issues (Anna Barker), and a strangely shifty baker (Dylan Hutton). Phoebe and Jack McGee worked together on a story that does a lot with very little: only 6 major speaking roles and minimal props or set.  Extremely self-aware, The Sandwich Artist was unabashedly silly yet professionally executed. Musical spoofs like fake pirouettes and cheesy dance canons made the most of a cast that couldn’t really dance, and the bright themes and set designs were delightful, if a little immature. Every scene had been very carefully constructed with an eye for detail: everyone leaned at the same time when the ‘bus’ turned, and Brad’s weird house-rules foreshadowed his bakery work. They even referenced Solace in the Wind (The Naked Man statue on the waterfront), a small example of the very clever humour that peppered through the show.  What truly blew me away, however, was the show’s music. The collaboration between a cast of talented singers and Phoebe Caldeiro’s original composition was very impressive. Each song was clear and purposeful (and intelligible!), balancing rhyme and rhythm with lyrical storytelling and lovely melodies. ‘The Pitch: Take One’ went hard, and ‘Kill Your Darlings’ was a personal favourite too. Lin-Manuel? Take notes.  The music did suffer from some mic issues, which were consistent enough to be distracting. That’s where the small-scale production trips up; none of the main actors had enough time off-stage to fix any issues after starting. But otherwise every costume or scene change went flawlessly.  All things considered, The Sandwich Artist was very straightforward, but so heartwarming. Not overly avant-garde—as many Fringe shows tend to be—its strength lay in both an excellent execution and a really personal connection. As the show wraps up with a blue-sky conclusion, the real message dawns. Sammy’s quest for sandwich perfection is an homage to the trials and triumphs of creating independent art in New Zealand. To the dream of making it big, globally big (intergalactically big, even). It’s a shoutout, a pat on the back, a standing together with anyone and everyone who makes crazy, funky, batshit art in this nifty little country at the bottom of the globe.  The 60-minute show I watched was only a taster of Sandwich Artist’s potential. They’re in a so-called Development Season as yet, but this isn’t a mark on the show so far. It’s only upwards from here for the team; their Fringe premiere will hopefully lead to the time and money for a more ambitious, long-form performance run. Until then, catch Sandwich Artist for a final few shows until the end of the Festival, and stay tuned for whatever else is to come!

Written by: Guy van Egmond (he/him), Phoebe Robertson (she/her) How do you summarize a play that has no summary? A play whose own blurb matches only its first 10 minutes?  The show starts simply: two newlyweds and a realtor-cum-narrator, looking for a new house to call their own. This is about the only thing simple about the show, as it quickly breaks form and takes us on a journey from the 1940’s to the present day—with some Shakespeare and self-awareness thrown in—all wrapping up in the snowy world of Antarctica. Phoebe thinks the yeti hunt was her favorite part of this play. This is disputed by Guy, because Yeti live in the Himalayas, not Antarctica. If there’s one thing this play was: it was surreal. Detrimentally so. The show’s timeline takes Tom and Suzanne (Ethan Cranefield, Hellena Faasili), who married in 1949, but are looking for a house 81 years in the future, having not aged a day and without any sort of generational accents or speech. It’s also never clear how or why we’re in Antarctica, why it’s only freezing cold when there’s no other dramatic tension, or why Romeo is there… Add in a fourth wall that comes and goes on a whim, and you’ve got a performance so contextually displaced that it’s hard to feel any sort of sympathy for the characters at all. Are they even characters? Are they just actors trapped in a black box? Blurring this line was excellent in concept, but needed some refinement to really pull the audience into the narrative and improve clarity in its delivery.  The show’s narrator (Joshua Hughes) initially had us hooked, providing the most deliciously snide and charming performance in the first act. But he lost his grip on the audience, as his character lost his grip on the show. His existential and domineering narrator-in-the-flesh was the show’s biggest narrative technique, both in explaining the plot and building an audience relationship through the fourth wall. There were moments of gold, definitely: when he and Romeo (Lincoln Swinerd) challenge our voyeurism of on-stage anguish. “Be thou entertained?” they demand, with only slightly less menace than Russel Crowe. But the acting grew stale as the second act concluded; there’s only so long you can yell at an audience before your message is lost to the volume.  But, don’t get us wrong, there were a lot of good moments in this show. The script was clever at times, invoking laughs from us and the audience. The lighting and sound design (Scott Maxim, Alex Quinn) was where the show truly excelled, with excellent soundscapes to help set the stage in a black box theater, which was expertly coordinated with the choreography of the actors. A particular moment that stood out was the video store scene, where a foggy gray backdrop disoriented the audience and the actors alike. Throughout, the excellent timing of lighting and sound cues went off together without a hitch.  Even though we both were disappointed that the narrator wasn’t a vampire in the end, we can't help but look at the potential a show like  Antarctic Endeavors holds. With a production that came together from the departure of the original script writer and director, they did an excellent job of pulling the show together. I would be interested to see how this show could be developed given a second season and more time behind the scenes. But for now, Phoebe will be traveling to the Himalayas and looking for her own yeti. Guy might come with.

Words by Jia Sharma (she/her) I’d consider myself a dedicated music nerd. So a few weeks ago when I heard about Pixie Williams, Aotearoa’s first popstar, my first thought was “why do I know nothing about this?” For that reason, I am so grateful for this production.  A Portrait of Pixie Williams unveils the journey of Aotearoa's pioneering recording artist. Through a blend of timeless songs and narration, the production traces Pixie's life from its humble beginnings to the peak of her fame. Surprisingly, her story of love and stardom resonated with me far deeper than I had anticipated. Stepping into the theatre, one is instantly transported to the 1940s by a gorgeous set, enveloped in smoke and blue lighting—a nod to Pixie's debut recording,  ‘Blue Smoke.’ The show opens with a heartfelt reminiscence from Sir Ian Taylor, who fondly introduces his ‘Auntie Pixie’, adding a layer of intimacy to the show. From the very first song, I was captured by the story of Pixie’s life, going through her formative years, her triumphs, and her quiet moments of reflection.  Each cover song seamlessly aligns with the corresponding phase of Pixie's life, and her story is fascinating to hear about. Her reluctance to embrace fame, her lack of financial recognition, and her family oriented lifestyle are all perfectly expressed through the chosen covers. I cannot exaggerate the sheer talent that was put into making this production. Lisa Tomlins, Kristen te Rito, and Rachel Fraser perfectly channel Pixie’s spirit through their acting and vocals. Simone Kennedy's narration weaves through the many songs, enhancing the storytelling experience. Not to be overshadowed, the band delivers an impeccable performance, each member granted a moment to shine. While I’m typically not too fond of audience interaction, I found that it worked quite well, adding a level of fun into the narrative. Covers of ‘Que Sera Sera’ and ‘Let’s Talk It Over’ were some of my favourite songs in the show, and deafening applause told me the rest of the audience agreed. But of course, ‘Blue Smoke’  was the standout. One of the highlights of the show was when they played the original recording of the song sung by Pixie. ‘Windy City’ , also sung by Pixie, is a nostalgic ode to Wellington and I loved watching the photos of 1940s Wellington projected onto the stage. My one criticism of the show was the use of iPads that were attached to the mics. The cast had to keep scrolling on them, and I found it distracting me from the story for a few quick moments.  A Portrait of Pixie Williams  is a lovely tribute, shedding light on an unfamiliar part of Wellington’s history and a pivotal figure in Wellington's musical legacy. The crowd would not stop applauding and only cheered more when the cast came out for an encore, and that speaks volumes. It’s both a heartwarming and heartbreaking tale, and I only wish I could see it again.

Watched wistfully by Chloe Eichler (they/she) Whisking us back to a world of swing jazz and giggle juice, Bars Behind Bars  is an immersive experience. From the moment the audience enters, the actors are scattered about, welcoming us, having secret conversations in the hallway, sending us back in time. The show begins with a fourth-wall-breaking introduction to the characters and their lives at The Cat’s Pajamas, an illicit bar in Manhattan during the prohibition. When the bar’s owner is murdered in the back room, his wife Annie is the primary suspect of the interrogation.  Despite having a limited area of IVY Bar to work with, and minimal props, the actors interact with them and each other in a way which makes us feel as though we’re in the audience at The Cat’s Pajamas. Making such a small space work in their favour is really impressive. The only drawback with props is that the cork ‘evidence board’ falls over a few times—finding some way to stick it to the wall, even if it takes a whole stick of blu-tac, would make some scenes run more smoothly. A highlight of the show for me is the use of voice—the 1920’s New York accent is so distinctive that the show wouldn’t be the same without it, and they were nailed for the most part. And though the music is slightly too loud at times, the clear diction of the performers ensures the lyrics are still brought to life, which is commendable given the speed at which they fly by. In a show with characters who do morally questionable things, it makes sense that we dislike the characters as much as they dislike each other—this was performed especially well by the three leads, creating a clear dynamic between them which invites the audience deeper into the mystery. However, we also need to connect with them, even in ways that make us uncomfortable—like relating to Bill’s resentment or Annie’s vanity. There isn’t quite enough weight in the characters’ vulnerable moments; if the tone slows right down from grandiose to intimate, the audience can appreciate them more. If we see Annie let her guard down, Eddie let go of his panic, or Bill let his anger melt into misery, we connect with them in a more profound way.   For me, a large part of the show’s weaknesses come from its length. Because it’s only 45 minutes, there are no other suspects in the murder mystery, and the ending appears largely out of nowhere. As much fun as it was, it’s not a satisfying plot twist if we can’t see it coming, even in retrospect. With that being said, it’s still satisfying in its execution. “An Old-Fashioned Love Story” is undoubtedly the best musical number, with fantastic harmony between actors both in terms of singing and acting. Allikins and Marilyn Mansilla clearly have a great time performing the number, and their energy is infectious. This energy is also brought into the moments of comedy in the show, which are at their best when improvised and particularly with the audience—it gives the fourth-wall breaking a purpose beyond using it to introduce the characters. With a runtime of only 45 minutes, a small space, and minimal set, props, and costumes, Bars Behind Bars still shines brightly.

Words by Ashleigh Putt-Fallows (she/her) Ngāti Whātua, Ngāpuhi, Tūhoe Hāpaitia , created by Parekawa Finlay and Raureti Ormond and produced by Te Auaha, was an incredibly insightful and significant show that explored themes of the Māori mind and emotion intertwined with Te Ao Māori, our history, our whakapapa and our connection to those.  As I walked in, I immediately noticed the set ambience: one suitcase filled with dirt in the middle of the stage, and more falling in. Lighting and sound cemented this effect; mimicking natural light, the ambient sound, soft but present. The show opens with Tīmata, a beautifully written monologue and waiata that highlights the strong connection between the performer and Papatūānuku through their tūpuna. It brings to mind memories of tūpuna on the marae. Then starts Te Kaikohi, where Parekawa explores the internal colonisation of her mind and her journey to free herself from the colonial mindset. With an outstanding balance and smooth transition of humour and serious discussion, she talks about Horatio Robley—a coloniser from the 1860s—his part in our history in and around the Waikato invasion during the Māori land wars. She bares her whole self, in a confronting yet validating first half.  This was complemented by special lighting and sound design, which helped demonstrate emotion and attitudes at the time and connected her kōrero back to the Tikanga of Māori people. Parekawa beautifully explains Tikanga Māori to help illustrate just how different these attitudes were. Raureti then launches into Te Whio, the whistle, which utilises an ensemble to demonstrate some possible kōrero from the victims of the Tangiwai Disaster. Set on Christmas Eve 1953, the kōrero and waiata provide an emotional experience as you, as the audience, watch the characters give their own lives and the chance to ever see home again. It's a touching and thought-provoking piece that brings us into the lives of those victims. It was evident that much effort had gone into how the waiata was sung and how they sounded, including what different harmonies, emphasises and quiet moments would tell the audience about a particular character or the group. The choreography was well-matched and executed with great timing. The lighting, along with the costumes and props, effectively conveyed the setting and time period. The ending, Mutunga, had an almost whanau vibe, encouraged by the use of 'Country Roads' by John Denver between Raureti and Parekawa, as they brought us back to the main themes, our connection to te ao, and to each other.  The show and its cast did an exceptional job of highlighting complex topics while also incorporating elements from te ao Māori, making it accessible and engaging for all viewers.I believe there is still room for improvement in the waiata and chorus sections, but overall, I would encourage everyone to see this show and truly listen to its message. My one critique would be that it should have a longer run time than just four days.

Maid by: Theodore K. Monroe (he/him) Maid cafes are cafes where maids serve you, pretty self-explanatory. They are, however, only under the  larger umbrella of ‘Concept Cafes’ in which a theme or trope is explored for the customer’s personal enjoyment. The first ‘permanent’ maid cafe was built in 2001, with the purpose of being a place where you can have a meal and interact with women in a safe and interesting environment. Nowadays establishments like these are mostly utilised by tourists and the lonely, as Japan has a growing issue concerning intimacy and relationships. Maid cafes can aid to appease the symptoms, but not the cause. As far as I know none of or most Concept Cafes aren’t sexual in nature, and I doubt any in Akihabara offer sexual services. If any do I didn’t manage to find any of those myself—not that I looked. In November 2022 I was on my way to Europe where I sought a new life, and my mother offered to pay for a layover in Japan lasting twelve days, as she knew that I’d always been enamoured with its culture and people. I eagerly went, and being fully intent on experiencing everything I could naturally meant that I got drunk every night, visited Shibuya, bought panties from a vending machine, made friends and memories that’ll last forever. The first week was spent on the outskirts of Tokyo, and the second within the district of Akihabara:  Otaku central . A place well known for its dedication to technology and anime.  I already knew of maid cafes from years spent watching anime. I watched my first anime when I was around twelve, and for a few years there it had me in a vice-tight grip, educating me on the weirder side of Japanese culture. I wanted to visit one myself—half out of curiosity, half out of intrigue, and entirely out of novelty. While at a bar I’d heard tales of a street where girls stood one after another, dressed in exotic and interesting attire, handing out flyers for their respective cafes. I tracked it down and spent about an hour walking down “Junk Street” collecting each flyer I could, perusing each one to see which cafe I’d like to visit.  There were the stock-standard maid cafes (nothing wrong with the classics), along with bunny-girl cafes/bars, and even a military-style cafe—which piqued my interest. I visited approximately seven of these cafes, not including times I revisited. Each one had a ‘first time visitor package’ that usually included food, a song, and a polaroid. So suffice it to say, I have a lot of polaroids of women I paid to hang out with me. It got easier to go to each subsequent cafe as my nerves were quelled, and my sense of enjoyment rocketed. The novelty never quite wore off and the atmosphere was always inviting. Some cafes such as ‘Maiddreamin’’ had their own unique lingo, such as a ‘love letter’... which was the bill. Being a foreigner was an icebreaker in itself as usually the first question was about where I was from, and that made starting conversations easy.  There was a ‘classy’ ‘gentleman’s club’ where the women dressed in Playboy Bunny-suits, thighs clad in fishnets. Being my first time in such an environment I had no idea where to keep my eyes, so I probably stared at the ceiling more than the girls. The Bunny-Girls didn’t offer lap dances, stripteases or anything of the sort. Even photographs were restricted. I felt like a fish out of water, surrounded by men in suits and women in bunny-suits. There was another fashioned in a WWII military style. The girls wore green uniforms and marched with big leather boots, ordering you around and singing for you if you paid for the package. When reading the informational booklet I used my phone to google translate the more niche words, and found that these girls were the ‘Akihabara division of the Fuhrer's army’. I couldn’t help but laugh, hoping that perhaps it was a mistranslation of some sort. The place itself had concrete walls and a very spartan design aesthetic; I wondered if it was intentional, or budgetary.  These maid cafes even caused some friendships to happen. I had been attempting to read a map provided on the back of one of the fliers when a Mexican girl who lived in Korea saw me and struck up a conversation. She mentioned that she’d never been to a maid cafe before, so like a true paragon of virtue I brought her along on the adventure. We followed the map to a dark and dingy alleyway where I wouldn’t have been surprised if a knife found its way into my belly, but instead we found a rather cute and low-budget cafe. Lala-chan was our host, and we were pleasantly surprised at her kindness and cuteness. As we left she wrote us a sweet letter on the back of a picture of her that I had bought. My most treasured memory of any maid cafe is of Maiddreamin’, the biggest franchise there. I went one day after a shopping trip  for some lunch, just to see what it was like. Whilst waiting for my meal I read one of the manga I had bought called ‘Aku No Hana’. Believe me, it’s a niche and very problematic title, but alas, one of the cooks approached me and told me she’d read it. Not a maid, no. A chef. I purchased the whole song and dance and a polaroid, and went my way.  Back at the hostel I found that I had accidentally bought one of the manga twice. I figured that I may as well give it away so I returned to Maiddreamin’ the following day and gave the extra copy to the chef, Kaoru. She loved it. When the time came to leave I was given a ticket for a picture. I’d already gotten a maid photo the previous day so I wasn’t particularly desperate for another and just shrugged, handing it back to her. She told me: “You can ask Kaoru for a picture, if you want.”  Immediately I rushed to Kaoru and asked if she’d like to, and she broke into a grin, agreeing. She put a cat-ear headband on me and we posed together for the picture. She even doodled a heart and a little message on the bottom. Looking at the difference between the maid and Kaoru, I could definitely see who wanted to be there with me, and who was being paid.  All in all the maid cafes were a minor but a very interesting and enriching experience I had in Japan. They were most certainly enjoyable, if not addictive. I even got rinsed of about $300 in one, so there was some bad to be had. But given the choice of all the bunny-girls and maids in the world, I’d pick the girl cooking at the grill.

Angrily Ranted by Ashleigh Putt-Fallows (she/her) Ngāti Whātua, Ngāpuhi, Tūhoe As I sit in a hui after the state opening of parliament, I contemplate my role as an advisor contracted to a ministry and as a young Māori woman. Then, I hear a sentence that will stay in my mind for weeks. “Remember, you work for the government of the day”. This sentence creates immense rage in me. Here is why: Firstly, I was contracted to work for the previous government. I can respect that governments can and do change and will keep a level of professionalism. I don’t have to like it nor do I have to agree with their new policy changes. Second, the purpose of this sentence is generally to remind public service workers that they shouldn’t be blatantly biased for or against any particular party publicly, in a way that could come across as representing the view of whatever agency they work for. It’s not meant to apply as much to specific policy or to an individual sharing their political views; for some reason this is how it's being used. This usage limits the diversity of perspective that goes into policy. It repels people who can provide these perspectives, while creating bad working environments for those already in the space. A lack of diverse perspectives is detrimental to policy as it means what is put in place and enforced doesn’t actually reflect Aotearoa, our values and who we are as a nation. Third, it is incredibly bad for one's mental health to be working in a space in which you are not only invalidated in your identity consistently but also told your opinion doesn’t matter because you choose to work a public service job. You should not be put under the amount of stress you are to provide for people who don’t provide for you. Fourth, it is borderline undemocratic to tell people that they can’t criticize a government or its policies. Full Stop. It becomes even more so when people face consequences for their critique. Nobody should ever fear being fired or facing retaliation in the workplace for simply engaging in political discourse. Fifth, I am a strong believer that once you become government anyone and everyone should be allowed to criticize your work. It's your job to represent us, not the poor intern, so do your job. Sixth, personal expression of ideas is an important tool people use to understand, digest and deal with what is happening in the world. The civics space is no different. When removing that ability you're only putting your workers, and therefore yourself, at a disadvantage. Seventh, people express themselves through their work and this is how they reflect their passions at times. If you are passionate about te taiao or youth work and decide helping at a policy level would be your contribution, you should not lose your ability to participate in wider discussions. Look, I understand there is a need for the public service to be nonpartisan so that the government elected through our democracy can do their work, but it's equally important to remember these are people. Individuals with their own values, communities, opinions and identities that make that service who shouldn't have to sacrifice these for a job. For me, I would like to make it very clear, I do not work for the government of the day, I work for people I am paid to represent and advise on behalf of. I work for youth, I work for rangatahi Māori. I will not sacrifice their voices to make adults elected into a positions of privilege feel better x

Words by Ashleigh Putt-Fallows (she/her) Ngāti Whātua, Ngāpuhi, Tūhoe A central, appointment based brothel that has been open since 2006 has announced that they will be closing their doors on the 29th February 2024.  A statement made by the owner (who is a sex worker), announced the closure to clients with mixed emotions, stating “Although this decision is not made lightly, I believe it is the best way forward for both myself and the business”. There was no reason provided in the initial statement as to why the decision was made - at least not to clients.  The owner stated they were “committed to ensuring a smooth transition for our clients and our babes” but the sex workers who work there were, reportedly, only given two weeks notice, and the opportunity to work on premises as independent workers until the 24th of March.  When contacted for comment, the club said that the reported short notice was not accurate. They also mentioned they had asked their works not to share any information that wasn’t already public externally.  Sex workers who work for agencies, for th e most part, are contractors and that means they can be stopped from working at short notice. Giving two weeks can put girls in a tough position, risking their income and livelihood. While the clubs reported commitment to a smooth transition is nice, the owner putting a strong emphasis on independent work can create uncertainty for workers who are used to agencies with protections in place. Such as security guards or having multiple operations from the same venue. Finding a new agency can be hard when some contracts around Wellington include clauses preventing girls from working with ‘competitors’. This has been a longtime issue in the Sex Work industry as the Fired Up Stilettos advocated for better contractor rights last year and the Green Party has committed to putting forward a members bill regarding these issues. With all being said, I would encourage those who have or are planning to engage with sex work to support the workers as much as possible. Continue to visit them, tip them and treat them with the respect you would any other worker.

Harris Puanaki Devon & Te Waikamihi Lambert Tumuaki o Te Mana Ākonga & Tumuaki Takirua o Ngāi Tauira The racist disestablishment of Te Aka Whai Ora by the New Zealand Government undermines 184 years of tino rangatiratanga and mana motuhake Māori. The continued weaponisation of Pākehā legislation to perpetuate Māori suffering and inequity is not surprising, and proves the ongoing and vicious existence of colonialism within modern-day New Zealand. The excuse of 'urgency' to push the bill through Parliament reveals the violent usage of ignorance and incompetence to stall equality. Where was this 'urgency' when Tūhoe was illegally raided? Where was this urgency when Ihumātao was being illegally confiscated? Where has this urgency been whilst the Government has sat silently observing a genocide in Palestine? The argument that Te Aka Whai Ora promotes inequality and privileges Māori ignores the systematic and racist frameworks of the New Zealand health system, a health system derived from the colonial teets of Westminster—built by Pākehā, for Pākehā and with Pākehā. By ignoring Māori and disestablishing Te Aka Whai Ora, the New Zealand Government is sitting idly whilst overseeing the continued death and suffering of Māori under its governance. For continued decades Māori have been told to find solutions by New Zealand Governments, and each time these are undermined and deemed not good enough. The Government is not good enough. The Government has never been good enough. The overrepresentation of Māori in negative health statistics derives from colonisation and the consequential social, cultural, physical and legal barriers, which have prevented Māori from achieving true equity in a health system that purports to support them. This is the birthright of Māori, as guaranteed under Article 3 of Te Tiriti o Waitangi which states that all New Zealand citizens shall be equal. The Government's actions to disestablish Te Aka Whai Ora is anti-Māori, is anti-Te Tiriti, is anti-Aotearoa, and is regressive—we are witnessing the re-colonisation of the New Zealand Health system which aims to forcefully portray Māori, as James Prendergast once described, as "primitive and barbaric". Nā māua, me ngā mihi o te wā, nā

Words by Guy van Egmond Oh, the magic of the movie theatre. The latest cinematic art and entertainment on the silver screen; luxury seats and service, the widest array of confectionery and the greatest markup on a bag of chips known to mankind. I spent 5 years working at an adorable cinema in Matakana and it was one of the greatest first jobs any 14-year-old could hope for. Working a couple shifts a week, I built up my hours behind the counter, under seats and inside projectors. I climbed the ranks to be assistant manager by the time I left. But, as with any industry, work somewhere long enough and the illusions of rigour and quality fade, the cheeky shortcuts and blindspots become clear. I have no grievances with cinemas—I still go very regularly—but I do think it’s only fair to now offer a glimpse behind that silver screen.  First order of business, I admit: cinema food is overpriced, often ridiculously so. But please grin and bear it. The problem doesn’t lie with the cinema; they’ve got wages and power and rent to pay. But that money sure doesn’t come from tickets. For a big blockbuster like Barbie or Oppenheimer, the faceless money-hungry studios demand more than half of ticket sales in the opening weeks—and continue to carve out their chunk of profit throughout the film's release. The films make piss-all profit themselves, but they’re incredible people-magnets: cinemas are basically candy-shops that happen to have a couple projectors going in the back. How else could people be tempted to buy an ice-cream, drink and a bag of chips for $18?  In all honesty, I wouldn’t want to pay that much either. So I could never get too mad when people ran to the Four Square for a Party Mix and a Coke. If I didn’t catch you? Fair play, enjoy. Just take your rubbish out with you! There is no bigger middle finger to some poor kid on minimum-wage than an empty can of Pringles on the floor, the last chips ground to dust in the carpet. You and I both know they didn’t sell those, so you can save them the extra work too. But the lolly-smuggler’s litter is nothing in comparison to what else could be found after screenings. The lost property was always stacked with sunglasses (easy to lose), credit cards (unfortunate), shoes (how didn’t you notice?!), car keys (how did you get home!?!). And what the rubbish bin got was even worse. One coworker’s favourite story was the used tampon he’d found on the floor…  We’d find these things while cleaning the theatres, but don’t fool yourself into thinking it’s sanitary. If you’re after the cleanest seat, bring it from home. We’d get hundreds of people through a single space each day, and the credits didn’t last nearly long enough to do a thorough job. The most you could hope for is a sweep of the crumbs and a wipe of the tabletop. To be fair, that’s all that most seats needed after a session. Every so often, some inept child would spill half an ice cream over the armrest, but that’s nothing a bit of fabric cleaner and a wet cloth couldn’t fix. However, any seasoned employee would know which seats never to choose: the one sat in by the lady who had some bad chicken from the restaurant downstairs; the one sat in by the 4-year old and their apple juice who didn’t need to “go bathroom” before the film. Those seats are beyond cleaning. Those seats should be burned.  Or at least deeply sanitised. Which does happen, I promise you. Besides Christmas, there were one or two days a year where we’d close up shop for the whole day. A battalion of us youths tempted by extra pay—and our 32-year-old manager who didn’t get a choice—would march through each theatre. The forward ranks with brushes and dustpans, spray bottles and cloths; behind them followed the vacuum and the steam cleaner, heavy artillery of this battlefield. The months of dust and crumbs never stood a chance. Buckets worth of stale popcorn, gum, bottle caps, dollar coins were pried out from between the seats. Mysterious stains were erased from existence, the pattern of the carpet rediscovered. It was always a hard day’s work, but satisfying. And afterwards, we’d go buy waffles with all the loose change we found.  But we weren’t a troupe of hired cleaners. The majority of our work instead required smiles and saintly patience, and an arsenal of ‘mm’s and ‘mhm’s. There’s an art to managing customers, skills which were very often put to the test. That black marble countertop saw some of the most ignorant, self-important and indecisive people Matakana had to offer; like the Almond Milk Lady, who tried to use an expired student ID every time and would  complain that her order of ‘scalding almond milk’ was both too expensive and not hot enough.  Working the box office was the greatest hands-on crash-course; I learnt volumes about rhetoric and improvisation. After 8 hours of dusting and cleaning, it was rare that I'd want to spend another 2 hours in those very same seats. Which meant I very often hadn’t seen every single film we had screening at that moment. But with clues picked up from the poster and reviews, I could pitch just about any film to any guest. I once sold a man a ticket to Paw Patrol: The Movie at 10:15 in the morning. Although, I don’t know if I can claim much credit there, he just needed to kill an hour.  Then there were the moments that called for feigned shock and horror. Those chips you just bought were a week past their best-before? “Oh jeez, I had no idea, I’m so sorry.” Damn, we were hoping no one would notice. Like restaurants reusing the table bread and butter, cinemas are masters at making stock last. The best-before date is a loose guideline at best, and not legally binding. Besides, the chips tasted fine! I would know, I ‘checked’ an entire bag of them in my break. Slightly more criminal was when my manager gave me a box of colas dated to three weeks ago. I spent half an hour in the back with meths and a cloth, rubbing the best-before dates off bottle necks.  Infuriatingly, the times they never believed me were when I spoke with full honesty. The post-credits scene is a fun little gimmick and it gets people to sit through the credits. But certain unnamed franchises such as Marvel have pavloved audiences into expecting a reward at the end of every film, which very often is not the case. There were countless times that I’d be forced to sit in the theatre, listening to credits music that I’d heard three times already that day, because two diehards wouldn’t take my word for it. No, there’s no teaser for Elvis 2, go home!  The cinema certainly has its quirks, some more off-putting than others. But that’s the case with almost any industry: restaurants, hotels. I’m sure builders cut corners, and even a surgeon must forget to sanitise on occasion. We humans are inherently gross and lazy creatures. So please, don’t let me put you off the movie experience. It’s a wonderful way to spend a couple hours and a couple dollars. Take the upgrade on the popcorn and the chocolate-dipped icecream. Enjoy! Settle into your seat and try not to think about how many others sat there before, or why the attendant chuckled when you picked your seat, or what that weirdly sour smell is…