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Kelly Mitchell (Any/all - Ngaati Maahanga) Nau mai e ngā kaitiaki o te matauranga, ki te whakarauika i nga whetū o te akoranga, ka whakarangatira, ka whakanikotanga i te huarahi mātauranga mo āpōpō. Ko te matauranga he puāwai whakapakari, he hua whakatupu i te hinengaro, hei rangatira i te ao e whakapau kaha ana ki te whakarauika, ki te whakarangatira i te hunga whai whakaaro. This article is to show gratitude for our Māori lecturers. Having just finished my degree, I have been reflecting on those who pave the path for us to achieve our tohu and how we ought to express our gratitude to them more frequently. I will talk a bit about some key lecturers and tutors I have had below, and also issue us a challenge going forward for how we might show our lecturers gratitude more frequently. Annie Te One was one of my first lecturers at the university, and Te Nia Matthews tutored me in her papers. They were bastions of the whakaaro that e kore koe e ngaro; he kākano i ruia mai i tō tūpuna. They taught us the work of Māori, past and present, in upholding our rights, and taught us how to wānanga about the present risks to those rights.Awanui Te Huia, Matua Mike Ross, Vini Olsen-Reeder, and Karena Kelly taught me te reo. Awanui taught me the possibilities. Matua Mike taught me and introduced me to the possibility of being relaxed when learning, as well as some new aspects of Waikatotanga. Vini not only taught but also created opportunities for us to use our skills, gave us experiences, and showed us what jobs were out there and encouraged us to pursue all that was available. Karena taught me that te reo had taumata beyond the university, and challenged us to aim for greatness. Carwyn Jones, Māmari Stephens, and Luke Fitzmauric were my Māori law lecturers. Nopera McCarthy and Riana Te Ngahue were my early-year Māori law tutors. They provided breathing room in papers filled with material that hurt the heart, and they brought to us examples of what Māori can achieve in the law: in legal academia, in the courts, in communities, and in Parliament. Luke let me know when the job I have now was advertised and told me to give it a go when I thought I had no chance of getting it. Our pūkenga Māori are often taken for granted, and only when they leave do we realise just how much we relied on them. Pūkenga Māori are torchbearers of knowledge, delving deep into the recesses of our histories and our present realities. Their influence extends beyond textbooks and lectures as they take up roles required for pōwhiri, tangihanga, karakia, and haerenga. However, despite recognising this, as students, we do not always show the same respect to our pūkenga Māori as other teachers, perhaps brought on by an expectation of heightened pastoral care or an easier path to success than other lecturers might give you. Nā tēnei hē, we can easily overlook the diligence and rigour required to excel in the disciplines taught by pūkenga Māori. E ea ai te werawera o Tāne tahuaroa, me heke te werawera o Tāne te wānanga. To properly acknowledge the cooks' efforts, we need to put effort into learning."Gratitude is not saying thank you for the extension, but rather it’s submitting the best work you have done all Trimester. He wero ki a tātou, let's show our kaiako gratitude by giving the same effort they give us". He aroha mai, he aroha atu. Nau mai e ngā kaitiaki o te matauranga, ki te whakarauika i nga whetū o te akoranga, ka whakarangatira, ka whakanikotanga i te huarahi mātauranga mo āpōpō. Ko te matauranga he puāwai whakapakari, he hua whakatupu i te hinengaro, hei rangatira i te ao e whakapau kaha ana ki te whakarauika, ki te whakarangatira i te hunga whai whakaaro. Hei whakamihi tēnei tuhinga i ngā pūkenga Māori i roto i ngā whare wānanga. I te otinga o taku tohu, kua whai whakaaro au ki a rātou i whakatakoto ai i te ara mā tātou kia oti ai ō tātou tohu, me pēhea hoki te whakapuaki i ō mātou whakawhetai ki a rātou. Ko ētahi pūkenga matua me ētahi tauira pērā hokie kōrerotia ki raro rā. Waihoki, ka whakapātari au i a tātou e koke whakamua ana ki te whai whakaaro me pēhea tātou e whakamihi ake ki aua pūkenga. Ko Annie Te One tētahi o ōku kaiako tuatahi i te whare wānanga, ā, i tū a Te Nia Matthews hei taku kaituruki i taua wā. Ko rāua ngā whakatupua o te whakaaro, e kore au e ngaro he kākano i ruia mai i a Rangiātea. I whakaako mai rāua i a mātou i ngā mahi Māori o mua, o naiānei hoki, arā me kōkiri ō mātou mōtika, ka mutu ka ākona me pēhea te wānanga mō ngā tūraru o nāianei ki aua mōtika. I reo Māori ai au nā Awanui Te Huia rātou ko Matua Mike Ross, ko Vini Olsen-Reeder, ko Karena Kelly. I a au i ō rātou karaehe, ka whakaatu mai a Awanui i ngā āheinga, ka ako mai a Matua Mike me pēhea te noho mauri tau i a au e ako ana, me ētahi āhuatanga hou o taku Waikatotanga. Waihoki ka huaki a Vini i te kūaha kia mōhio ai mātou me pēhea te whakamahi i ō mātou pūkenga, e whakaatu ana i a mātou ki ngā mahi e wātea ana mā mātou, ā, i akiaki ia i a mātou kia pērā. Nā Karena te whakaaro i whakatō ki roto i a au, he taumata kē mō tō tātou nei reo e tatari ana kia ekengia, ka akiaki ai ia i a mātou kia eke ki taua taumata rā.Ko Carwyn Jones rātou ko Māmari Stephens, ko Luke Fitzmaurice ko ōku pūkenga ture Māori. Ko Nōpera McCarthy rāua ko Riana Te Ngahue aku kaituruki tuatahi. Nā rātou i whakatū ngā wāhi haumaru kei waho i ngā pepa i kī ai ki ngā kōrero whakamamae i te ngākau. Ka mutu, ka whakatauira mai rātou he aha ngā mea ka taea e te Māori i ao ture: i te ture kura wānanga, i ngā kōti, i ngā hapori, i te Pāremata anō hoki. I te wā whakatairangahia te mahi e whai ana au ināianei, ka whakamōhio mai a Luke mō taua tūranga, me tana kī mai “karawhiua atu” ahakoa kāore au i whakapono ka taea. Kāore ō mātou pūkenga Māori e whakamihia pai ana, ā, ka wehe rā anō rātou, ka mōhio mātou ki tā mātou whakawhirinaki ki a rātou. Ko ngā pūkenga Māori ngā pou herenga o te mātauranga, e ruku hōhonu ana ki ngā auheke o ō mātou hītori me tō mātou ao e tū ana i ēnei rā. E toro atu ana ō rātou whakaawenga ki tua o ngā pukapuka me ngā akomanga i a rātou e pikau ana i ngā tūranga i te pōwhiri, te tangihanga, te karakia me te haerenga.Heoi anō, ahakoa tēnei, kāore mātou, ngā tauira e whakaatu ana i te manaaki ōrite i ngā wā katoa ki ō mātou pūkenga Māori pērā i kaiako kē. Tēnā pea, e pēnei ana tātou nā te pōhēhē ka kaha ake te manaaki, ka māmā ake rānei te ara kia eke panuku i a rātou, i tēnā ka whakatakotoriai e pūkenga kē atu Nā tēnei hē, ka māmā te pī i te pukumahi me te pākaha e hiahiatia ana kia eke panuku i ngā akoranga kua whakaakona e ngā pūkenga Māori. E ea ai te werawera o Tāne tahuaroa, me heke te werawera o Tāne te wānanga. Ehara i te mea, ko te whakawhetai te mihi noa ki te kaiako i te whakaroatanga, engari kē, he tuku i te mahi kounga rawa atu o āu mahi katoa kua oti i taua taraimeta. He wero ki a tātou te whakaatu ki ō mātou kaiako i ō mātou whakawhetai, mā te whakapau kaha, pēnā i a rātou. Aroha mai, aroha atu."Gratitude is not saying thank you for the extension, but rather it’s submitting the best work you have done all trimester. He wero ki a tātou, let's show our kaiako gratitude by giving the same effort they give us". He aroha mai, he aroha atu.

Words by India Jade Hinewai Grigson (She/her - Ngāitai) What does it mean to be part Māori, having grown up in a Pākehā environment? This question has troubled me in recent years as I have begun to navigate my identity, attempting to visualise where exactly I stand in the world. Ko Tainui te waka Ko Wainui te awa Ko Kapuārangi te maunga Ko Ngāitai te iwi Ko Tōrere te marae Ko India toku ingoa Through my mother, I am of Māori and Scottish descent, while I am of Pākehā descent through my father. Despite growing up in Aotearoa, surrounded by my mother’s whānau, I lacked any solid connection to Māori culture in my youth. My childhood shaped my understanding, or rather, lack thereof, regarding Tikanga. I went to a very Pākehā school that did not offer any Te Reo classes or Kapa Haka. In general, there was very minimal education surrounding Te Ao Māori. For most of my life, I have carried an inherited feeling of immense disconnect. It stems from my mother’s own experience as the descendant of the generations that were directly affected by the laws banning Te Reo Māori. My grandfather never passed down the reo and tikanga to his tamariki; instead, they had to seek out their culture on their terms, and each of them did this in different stages of their lives. Now I, too, seek out that knowledge. As I got older, I became increasingly aware of how little I knew, which evoked a flood of insecurities, shame and fear. Despite my attempts to learn Te Reo and increase my knowledge, I have still felt unsure of whether I could claim to be part of a culture that I knew so little about. I unknowingly subjected myself to stereotypes regarding what it means to be Māori, and my fears fed the belief that I could never truly belong. I thought I was alone in this internal conflict of identity. Still, as it turns out, many multicultural people face the same dilemma, often rooted in the after quakes of colonisation. It cannot be easy to know where you belong when society wants to define and label or place you in a box. But navigating your identity is an enduring process that I like to relate to finding one’s Tūrangawaewae: A concept that Defines one's sense of empowerment and foundation, providing them with a place to stand. It is an internal reflection of our security and comfort within who we are and where we come from. Tūrangawaewae can be a place, person, feeling, home or anything that connects you to your whakapapa. While I am still searching for my own Tūrangawaewae, I have learnt that part of embracing your culture and identity depends upon your strength to disregard that which seeks to limit or define you. It is never too late to reconnect, start your Tikanga journey and begin learning the language of your ancestors. So, if you are also feeling lost in an ocean of unknown and uncertainty, I encourage you to continue staying afloat in the hope that one day, just like our ancestors, we will find a more certain shore because there is a place for you to stand in this world. Te Rapu Tūrangawaewae He kupu nā India Jade Hinewai Grigson (She/her - Ngāitai) He aha tēnei mea te tangata Māori, i tipu ake ai i te ao Pākehā? Kua raru au i tēnei pātai i ngā tau tata nei, i ahau e aru ana i tōku tuakiri, e ngana ana ki te pohewa i tōku tūranga i te ao. Ko Tainui te waka Ko Wainui te awa Ko Kapuārangi te maunga Ko Ngāitai te iwi Ko Tōrere te marae Ko India toku ingoa Nā tōku māmā, he whakapapa Māori, he whakapapa Kōtirana ōku, ā, he whakapapa Pākehā nā tōku pāpā. Ahakoa i tipu ake ahau i Aotearoa, taiāmiotia e te whānau o tōku māmā, kāore ōku tino hononga ki tōku ahurea Māori i ahau e tamariki ana. I āhuatia tōku māramatanga, tōku kore māramatanga rānei o te tikanga, e tōku tamarikitanga. I kuraina ahau ki tētahi kura tino Pākehā, kāore he akomanga reo Māori, kāore hoki he kapa haka. He tino iti te mātauranga e pā ana ki Te Ao Māori. Mō te nuinga o tōku oranga, kua kawea e au te taumaha o te hononga kore. I takea mai i ngā wheako ake o tōku māmā, he uri o ngā whakatupuranga i pāngia e ngā ture aukati i Te Reo Māori. Kāore tōku koroua i hōatu i te reo me ngā tikanga ki āna tamariki; nā rātou kē tō rātou ahurea i kimi i tā rātou i pai ai, ā, katoa rātou i pēnei i tōna ake wā. Ināianei, ko au hoki tēnā e kimi ana i taua mātauranga.  I ahau e pakeke mai ana, i pūrangiaho mai te iti o tōku mōhio, kātahi ka  pokea e te āmaimai, te whakamā, ka wehi. Ahakoa taku ngana ki te ako i Te Reo, kia whakawhānui hoki i ōku mātauranga, kua pōhauhau tonu mēnā au ka āhei te whakatau he hononga tōku ki tētahi ahurea kāore i āta mōhiotia e au. I whakaraerae ahau ki ngā arotoka Māori, ā, nā ōku mataku i whakapono ai ahau e kore au e whai tūrangawaewae. I pōhēhē au ko au anake e whawhai ana i tēnei pakanga o te tuakiritanga. Heoi anō, he raru nui tēnei i takea mai i te tāmitanga i te nuinga o te wā, ki te tokomaha o ngā kākano maha. Ehara i te mea he māmā te mōhio ki tō ake tūrangawaewae i tēnei ao ki te hiahia te porihanga ki te tautuhi, ki te tapa, ki te whakanoho i a koe ki tētahi pouaka rānei. Engari, he haerenga roa te aru tuakiritanga, ā, he pai ki ahau ki tūhono tēnei āhuatanga ki tā te tangata rapu Tūrangwaewae. He huatau tēnei  E tautuhi ana i tō te tangata whakamanatanga, i tō te tangata tūāpapa, kia whakarato ai he tūrangawaewae mōna. He whakaahuatanga o tō tātou whakapono me tō tātou āhurutanga nō roto i a tātou anō, ā, ko wai tātou, nō hea tātou. He wāhi te tūrangawaewae, he tangata te tūrangawaewae, he aurongo te tūrangawaewae, he kāinga te tūrangawewae, he aha atu rānei e hono ai koe ki tō whakapapa.  Ahakoa e kimi tonu ana ahau i tōku ake Turangwaewae, kua akona e au, ko tētahi wahanga o te kauawhitanga ki tō ahurea me tō tuakiritanga, kei te āhua tonu o tō kaha ki te whakahē i ngā mea e pīrangi ana ki te here, ki te tautuhi rānei i a koe. E kore e tōmuri rawa ki te whai hononga, timatahia tō haerenga Tikanga, ā, tīmatahia te ako i te reo o ō tīpuna. Nō reira, mehemea e ngaro tonu ana koe i te moana o pōhauhau, o āmaimai, tēnei au e āki ana i a koe kia mānu tonu, mau ai ki te manako, ā tōna wā, pēnā i ō tātou tīpuna, ka tau marika tātou ki uta nā te mea he tūranga mōhou i tēnei ao.

Words by Grace Muldrock To my whanaunga from different maunga, Do you remember how stupidly young we were, chasing the sun, always wanting to be outside at night, and now we can barely muster enough energy to make it to town - let alone get our plans out of the group chat? Oh, how old we’ve gotten (we’re 19).  Do you remember the different spots we’d run off to in our explosive hometown, how tired we’d be in your parents' cars after kapa haka and how loud we’d laugh in class, except now we’re trying not to giggle in the back of our reo lectures? Time has gone by too fast. Time has gone by far too fast. We’re making friends together, we still share the same $20 we’ve had since forever, and instead of wagging class, we’re simply driving past uni to talk madness at Oriental (we go to class though, pono!). There’s a lot to appreciate in Te Ao Marama, A LOT, and it can range from finding that matching sock to seeing the sun shine brightly or skipping your lecture to having a mandatory tea sesh at Oriental.  I appreciate a lot in Te Ao, and whilst there isn’t any competition or anything I appreciate more or less than, I can fearlessly say I’m forever in my friend's debt. For the laughs, for the unconscious wisdom, and for always letting me raid their cupboards.  Best friend soulmates exist, and I know because they just won’t leave me alone.  Sure, they can be so annoying, and we can bicker back and forth about what we think people from our old schools are doing now, but knowing that we mutually have each other to rely on is so comforting. I will, without a doubt, always and always appreciate them for giving me that space, a space to be filterless and a tad bit delulu. If you have friends as I have, you truly do stop and stare, admiring how lucky you’ve gotten - sometimes I stop and stare at them and think, ‘This MF is one of the smartest, dumbest people I know,’ but you get the point. It’s all love until they make your vape blink. And if you don’t have friends like I have, I cannot emphasise how much I am manifesting this space for you. A final note to my whanaunga from a different maunga, send me $20, please and i appreciate you, ao noa po noa <3 Ki aku whanaunga nō maunga kē, Hoki mahara ki tā tātou rangatahitanga heahea, whaiwhai ana i te rā, hia noho ki waho i te pō, mānohi anō i āianei, tē whai pūngao ki te haere ki te taone - waihoki, e pōraruraru ana te whakaputa māhere i ngā huinga pātuhi.  Aue, tā tātou koroheke hoki (19 ā tātou pakeke). Whai whakaaro ki ngā wāhi rerekē i oma atu tātou i tā tātou taone kūrakuraku, ki tā tātou noho ngēngē i rō i ngā waka a ō mātua whai muri i te kapa haka, ā, ki ngā wā pukukata ai tātou i te karaihe, hāunga e whakapaukaha ana tātou kia kaua e whakakakī ki muri i ā tātou akomanga reo?  Kua tere te wā. Kua tere rawa te hipanga te wā.  E whakawhitiwhiti ana tātou i ngā hoa, e toha tonu ana i te $20 ōrite nō ngā wā o mua, ā, i āianei kāre i te whakarerea i ngā karaihe, e hipa ana i te wharewānanga mā runga waka, pahupahu ai ki Oriental (e haere tonu ana ki ngā karaihe, pono!). Tini ngā whakamiha ki Te Ao Mārama, TINI MANO, e whakamiha ai i te kitenga o taua tōkena taurite, i te whitinga mai o Tamanui-te-rā, i te karo karaihe kia kōhipi tahi ki Oriental hoki. Tokomaha aku whakamaiohatanga ki Te Ao Mārama, ehara i te mea e whakamaioha ake ana au i tētahi mea i tētahi atu mea, kā re i te whakataetae, ēngari e tū māia ana au i taku whakapuaki i aku mihi maioha ki aku hoa, mei kore ake i a koutou.  Tēnā koutou i ngā wā katakata, i te toha mātauranga, me te whakaae mai i taku urunga ki ō koutou whare, tāhae kai ai nō ō koutou kāpata. Kei te whiwhi iwi tātou, ā, ka mōhio ahau i tēnei nā te mea kāore rātou e whakamahue i a au.  Tika tonu, he hōhā rātou i ētahi wā, ā, kua roa mātou e tarahae ana i ā mātou whakaaro mō ngā mahi o ā mātou hoa-karaihe ō-mua i āianei, ēngari e tau ana te ngākau i te mōhio he taituarā tautoko mātou i ngā wā uaua.  Kāore e kore, tē mimiti aku mihi maioha ki a rātou mō tā rātou manaaki mai, aroha mai, kia whai wāhi kōrero tūpato kore au, paku pōrangi hoki. Inā he hoa āu, rite tonu ki āku, me tū marika koe kia whai whakaaro ki tō waimaria hoki - e pēra ana au i ētahi wā, whakaaro ai “Tēna hua! Tōna koi, tōna rorirori hoki”, hei aha, e mārama ana koutou.  Te mutunga mai o te aroha tae noa ki te kimokimo mai o tō wairehu i tā rātou kaha momi.  Inā kārekau ō hoa ōrite ki āku, e inoi ana au ka whiwhi whakaruruhau koe pēnei ki tōku. Hei whakakapi, ki aku whanaunga nō maunga kē, tuku mai te $20 koa, e whakamiha ana au ki a koutou, ao noa pō noa <3

Words by Ethan Manera (he/him) Freshers have been left itching and scratching as an unwelcome guest has taken over VUW’s Capital Hall: an outbreak of the small skin burrowing mite commonly known as scabies. Salient  understands a small group of residents first noticed some unwelcome itches two weeks ago, and have since informed staff they were receiving treatment for scabies, causing mite hysteria throughout the hall.  A TikTok video filmed by a resident shows common rooms cordoned off with yellow and black safety tape and “do not enter” signs, as well as a printed out notice which was put under residents doors announcing “confirmed case of scabies in our hall”. A Capital resident Salient  spoke to said they are “not surprised” that that the hall has scabies as “its fucking disgusting” and “everyone is filthy”. They said that residents were all asked to wash their sheets, which became an issue as “half the people in this hall don't know how to turn the washing machine on”  “All the common spaces are getting heavily deep cleaned with intense chemicals to kill the skin nits,” the source confirmed. They also raised concern about the timing of the outbreak, which occurred at the start of the mid-Tri break, saying, “we could be spreading it all over NZ” A spokesperson for the university has assured Salient  that the situation is under control, with all known cases receiving treatment and advice from Mauri Ora Student Health. They said that the common rooms have since reopened and that the laundry facilities “only enable hot water washing to support our students in avoiding a range of communicative illnesses, including scabies.” The World Health Organisation describes scabies as “a parasitic infestation caused by tiny mites that burrow into the skin and lay eggs, causing intense itching and a rash.” The pinhead sized mites are easily contagious in shared living environments but are not necessarily a sign of poor hygiene. The true number of cases within Capital Hall, known for its feral behaviour, is unknown.

Words by Ethan Manera (he/him) Willis Lane flaunts itself as “an exceptional curation of bars and eateries” with an “eclectic ensemble of vendors, gourmet wonders, curious attractions, and interactive experiences”, but what makes it different from any other Wellington CBD food court? I pulled together a rag-tag team of hungry third-years to put this new establishment to the ultimate test. We set out to try one meal from each of Willis Lane's 12 vendors, to see if this new eatery really lives up to the hype.  Disclosure: Willis Lane paid me back (bc cozzy livs), but had no control over what I wrote. Red Lantern  6/10 We parked up in a comfortable booth at Red Lantern to try out their buffet of what they describe as “imaginative twists” on Chinese dishes. We got a $18 large plate and filled it with a combo of all they had to offer. The beauty of a buffet is your ability to load the boat until you get a dirty look from the staff. The szechuan chicken was an absolute stand out: good level of heat and perfectly cooked veggies. The fried rice: bland. The sweet and sour pork: average. Overall, it's a safe option. Chinese food catered to Pākehā taste buds. Hot Like A Mexican  8/10 The first thing we noticed about Hot Like A Mexican was the steep price. Whether you wanted two tacos, one burrito, or the quesadilla, it would set you back about the same price as a five-pack of Wellington City Council rubbish bags. Additions, like guacamole, come at an extra price. Despite this, the chicken quesadilla was the finest quesadilla I've ever had, packed full of high quality, fresh ingredients, with a deliciously fiery salsa. They do lose points for not having any slushy margaritas available, despite being on the menu. Nam Nam  6.5/10 Nam Nam promises authentic Vietnamese street food. We ordered the chicken fried rice and roast duck cuốn (rice paper rolls). The fried rice was tasty but not very flavourful—more of a side than a main. The cuốn was pleasantly refreshing, although we would have appreciated a bit more flavour from their famous roasted duck. Nam Nam is like a close friend’s flatmate: they're nice, but you wouldn't go out of your way to hang out. Enjoyable, but forgettable. Downlow  9/10 At this point, Willis Lane was getting busy, but Downlow unfortunately was not. We ordered a double smashed cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate thickshake which totaled $26. George considers himself something of a burger connoisseur, and in his words, “Downlow didn't disappoint.” The presentation was immaculate, and the burger was just as delightful: a plush bun, beef patty, fresh red onion, and a briney pickle. It’s what I imagine a real life Krabby Patty would taste like. The chips were perfectly seasoned, with a nice crinkle shape. The thickshake wasn't special. It was rather thin and had an artificial chocolate flavour. You can’t win ‘em all. Crack Chicken  7/10  This much-hyped modern fried chicken joint is the latest creation of influential Auckland restaurateur David Lee. Drooling in anticipation, we went for the original fried chicken burger and fries. Our excitement soon turned to distress. The bottom bun was completely soggy with grotesque purple coleslaw discharge. As I tried to take my first bite, the structure of the burger crumbled. While the chicken itself was good, it was too large for the sodden bun, and the burger fell to pieces. The seasoned fries were bussin though. Wasabi Sushi  6/10 You would be forgiven for not noticing Wasabi Sushi if you power walked through Willis Lane really fast. I hope their rent is cheap. Ailish tried the prawn sushi and said it's “more fishy than one would expect”. The rice was incredibly sticky which helped each piece stay together nicely. The batter to prawn ratio was dubious, making the $14 price sting. One thing I appreciate about Wasabi Sushi is its unmatched convenience: the grab n go system means it’s perfect for any yo-pro trying to make the most of their short lunch break.  Rick’s Cheesesteaks  7.5/10 At this point in our culinary endeavour we were struggling. The thought of a beefy roll covered in nuclear-yellow cheese elicited cold sweats. We got the classic beef cheesesteak with the ambiguous “cheese wiz”. The thing felt like one of those big UE Booms. The taste could only be described as very savoury. “If I was starving, this would go down a treat,” George uttered while going down on the cheesy hoagie. Rick provided perfect bulking if you're a gym bro.  Angry Ramen  9/10 The staff here were very nice. I’m actually unsure what is angry about this place at all. We ordered a chicken katsu donburi bowl. It was ready quickly and the presentation was fantastic. Salty and delectable chicken, a good amount of sauce, and the little side salad was appreciated. Ruby described it as “a really solid meal”. For $16.90, it's a little on the expensive side, but so is fucking everything these days. Wilson BBQ  6/10 We ordered a platter for one, which boasts the brisket, pulled pork, ribs, and BBQ smoked sausage, a bread roll, potato salad, and coleslaw. This clocked in at a mighty $35.90— highway robbery as far as I’m concerned. The rib (singular) was deliciously smokey and the brisket was beefy. George reckoned the sausage was an underdog, and the pulled pork was so doused in sauce it was unenjoyable. The sides were a non-event. Wilson BBQ was tasty, but the price made it unjustifiable. If you were a wealthy alpha-male type who loves a meaty treat, this would be ideal for you. Foo Du Dumplings  5/10 The questionable variety of food sloshing around in our stomachs was taking its toll. Ailish took one for the team and tried the prawn dim sum herself. As far as prawn dim sum goes, she said it was incredibly chewy, and rather wet, “which didn't get me excited”. Upon chewing the dumpling, Ailish reported something bizarrely crunchy.  Nyonya Malaysia  8/10  “Chicken curry with roti”—a simple name which piqued my interest. Costing $16.90, with $4 for a side of rice, this  curry was bussin. Perfect amount of heat and tremendously flavourful. It had hearty chunks of chicken and soft cubes of potato. We were also caught off guard by the blue rice. Turns out this is a Malaysian thing. Very cool. Corso Pastaria  6/10 I was really excited for Corso. It's by far the biggest restaurant in Willis Lane, offering six different pastas alongside antipasti, salad, and desserts. We mistakenly asked the staff what the best pasta was, and the kind gentleman suggested beef cheek ragu. Unfortunately, he was wrong. The pasta was disappointing. There was barely any sauce, just stray pieces of beef cheek strewn around the bowl. Taste wise, it was unimpressive. The tiramisu was a divine saving grace—creamy, sweet, velvety. I’ll be back, Corso, but I won't be asking your staff for advice next time.

Words by Niamh Vaughan (she/her) In November of last year, the Fair Pay Agreement Act passed its third reading in Parliament, supported by Labour, the Greens, and Te Pāti Māori. Fair pay agreements (FPA) allow employees and unions to negotiate with employers on what a fair level of pay within an industry is.  Make Work Fair, a campaign backed by the New Zealand Council of Trade Unions, describe FPAs on their website as having the ability to ensure that “nobody in [an] industry can be paid less than the rate agreed. It’s like the minimum wage, but for a specific industry. This will be negotiated by unions and employers in that industry.” Alongside pay, an FPA can ensure fairness of negotiations over leave, working hours, and health and safety. Industries with FPAs in force include bus drivers, supermarkets, hospitality, and early childhood education. Aidan Donoghue is a current VUW student who works part-time for the New Zealand Council of Trade Unions as the FPA organiser for Wellington. Previous to his current job, he did a four-year stint in hospitality, one of the industries green lit for FPA bargaining. “Fair Pay Agreements are the biggest breakthrough in workers’ rights in 30 years, and are guaranteed to provide untold protection and benefits for all working class Kiwis, especially youth,” says Aidan.  The Labour Party stated in a press release as the bill passed that FPAs “will not only improve wages and working conditions, [they] will also encourage businesses to invest in training and level the playing field for employers trying to do the right thing.” Neither ACT nor the National Party are in favour of the Fair Pay Agreement Act, believing that its implementation will harm the economy and that not all workers will want to engage in bargaining.  Paul Goldsmith, National’s Workplace Relations and Safety spokesperson stated, “Fair Pay Agreements will make New Zealand’s workplaces less agile and flexible and make all workers beholden to a union agenda. It will force employers and workers within a sector to bargain for minimum terms and conditions for all employees in that industry or occupation, regardless of whether or not they want to be included.” Both National and ACT plan to repeal the act if elected into government later this year.

Words by Maia Ingoe (she/her) At risk of sounding like a conservative commentator, PSA: Public Service Announcements Election 2023  is not a play for the faint of heart. The satirical take on New Zealand politics is back again for its fifth election cycle and 18th production, and no one—not even Chlöe Swarbrick—is safe. The chaotic comedy runs until 26 August at Circa Theatre and is a must-see for any politics nerd (or anyone who despises politics). To my immediate delight, the set is a playground, complete with a slide and monkey bars.  There’s a set of ominous double doors centre stage and I blindly hope to see a politician burst through them. At first glance, I know the audience is in for some fun. The set provides endless opportunities for surprise entrances, three different levels, and all sorts of play. The show had me cackling at every turn, jaw dropped, aghast at the jokes made of politicians from both sides of the house. With a cast of five, the show’s characters change faster than a Labour minister can fall from Cabinet. To pull it off, the actors had to be masters of characterisation and the art of a quick wig change, and they did not disappoint. Simon Leary was a standout in his character changes: from the last standing cis, white man of the Greens, James Shaw, to his seedy, Hutt Valley born and bred take on PM Chris Hipkins, sailing onstage on a RipStik and cradling a can of Coke. Even National’s Chris Bishop was not safe from Leary’s spin, the character sporting a mullet and dim-wittedly calling after Nicola Willis at every opportunity. Bursting onto stage with unmatched energy, Carrie Green (Ngāti Porou) was another highlight, with her pūkana-serving Debbie Ngarewa-Packer of Te Pāti Māori facing the audience straight on. Anya Tate-Manning’s innocent take on Chlöe Swarbrick left something to be desired, but all was made up with her razor sharp wit and piercing stare as the blood-sucking Nicola Willis of the National Party. Written by seasoned PSA actors Thom Adams, Jamie McCaskill (Ngāti Tamterā, Ngāti Rangi), and Johanna Cosgrove, the Election 2023  script takes the tomfoolery to a new level of unhinged. There is no limit on what is too irreverent or too silly, and the burns are roasting hot. The National Party are plotting evil, Sean Plunket makes an appearance as a transphobic zombie, and Winston Peters makes an appearance (played excellently by Jamie McCaskill). Watch your back—the kingmaker even has his own song. The cast pull through with the perfect amount of unhinged behaviour that the scriptwriting demands. As the butt of many, many jokes, ADHD is even acknowledged in the programme. Each party has its own moment in the spotlight. The Greens abound with feeling circles and searching for the group chat leaker. Labour’s Chippy, Carmel Sepuloni, and Willie Jackson are grappling at the straws of a lost election. National’s Chris Luxon is delighted for some time with the boys, and Nicola Willis cleans up his mess at every turn. Te Pāti Māori are on the hunt for racists. Act’s David Seymour is dumb enough to have hung in there long enough to benefit from the National Party’s unpopularity (or is he?). In an age when our political landscape seems increasingly hopeless, it’s refreshing to sit back and laugh as the ridiculousness of it all is put in the limelight. Take a night off from your existential dread with Public Service Announcements: Election 2023 .

Words by Niamh Vaughan (she/her) Not many know there’s crystals in the clouds That grace the sky at midsummer’s last light; To show themselves at day they are too proud Belonging to the mysteries of night. Can you believe the stars inside the earth Form constellations from the inside out? Perhaps they shine for when we leave the hearse To guide the ending all the world’s in doubt. Just like the opening flowers of the dawn Or wilting blossoms fallen to the ground, All souls that bloom are fated to be mourned, Becoming dust that forms the still unfound.  In glistening clouds and insects I find peace, Despite that life’s given so short a lease.

For the ‘Academic’ issue, we paired up with the New Zealand International Film Festival (NZIFF) and gathered three VUW film students to review an NZIFF film each. First, they were shown a couple film stills to review the initial vibe and make a guess about what the film was about. Then, after watching, they wrote up their final thoughts. Catch the films of the NZIFF on now at a cinema near you until 10 September.  More info at https://www.nziff.co.nz/2023/te-whanga-nui-a-tara-wellington/ Carmen , Directed by Benjamin Millepied, Shown 31 July-6 August Words by Xavier Farrow-Francis, Third-Year Film Student, Favourite Genre: Art Horror (any/all) Film at a Glance Right off the bat, I’m uncertain of what to expect from Carmen . The glitz and glamour  of some of the stills remind me of Chicago , but then the grittier stills make me think of Denis Villeneuve’s more down-to-earth work in the likes of Sicario , Enemy , or Prisoners . I’m getting the impression the musical scenes may be fantasies, like that in Björk’s award-winning performance in Dancer in the Dark . All of these components are showing me that Carmen  is going to take me on a thrilling, twisty-turny ride. Film Review Carmen  is a bold and ambitious directorial debut from Benjamin Milliepied. Throughout its two-hour runtime, it boasts sequences and set pieces to be marvelled at. Its abstract dance sequences are compelling, and there’s some beautifully poetic dialogue to be found. Combined with large-scale cinematography and a hauntingly operatic score from the ever fantastic Nicolas Britell, Carmen  is a film that oozes with grandeur… but unfortunately that’s about all it has to offer. It kicks off with a highly promising and striking opening scene, full with fantastic dance choreography which is intentionally and tastefully vague, leaving the viewer in a wondrous and hungry state. It sets up its central characters interestingly, assuring a depth that unfortunately never arrives. And past the film’s first act, Carmen  just gets progressively less engaging. The vagueness and lack of depth is precisely Carmen ’s downfall. What is meant to be a mystifying and epic tale of finding purpose in oneself through grief and disenfranchisement instead comes off as an underdeveloped and bewildering film that wasn’t quite thought through enough. There is a definite likelihood that Carmen  just wasn’t for me though. I think anyone interested in dance or musical theatre should check it out, as I think it may offer a unique take on the two art forms. My biggest warning would perhaps be to pre-empt yourself for a thin plot and more of a performance than a film. L'Immensità , Directed by Emanuele Crialese, Shown on 3 August Words by Willem Koller, Third-Year Film Student, Favourite Director: John Waters (he/they) Film at a Glance Once I get past staring into Penelope Cruz’s eyes and seeing the still of a queer teenager both slow dancing and staring knowingly into a microscope, I’m hoping for a trans, modernisation of High School Musical  where t-boy Troy decides between a future in microbiology or dance. The production design and costumes are definitely 70s, which, next to the image of Penelope Cruz holding a candle in what looks like Catholic mass, makes me cross my fingers and hope L'Immensità  will emulate the trends of sacreligious explorations of Catholism in 70ss films such as The Devils  and Don’t Torture a Duckling .  Film Review Despite the fact that, surprisingly, my musical predictions weren’t as far off as I thought they would be, Emanuele Crialese’s L'Immensità  is a film that completely took me by surprise.  The film is a dramatic exploration of the impenetrable bond between Andrew, a young, bullheaded trans boy and his loving yet unorthodox mother Clara who live under an abusive patriarch. Perfectly balancing a combination of surreal performance sequences with a raw excavation of a suffocating, domestic space, the film is sunny and dream-like yet soberingly poignant. Moments of darkness and tension are elegantly framed, heavily saturated and dripping in warmth, tinged with normalcy, and undercut cleverly with sweetness. Under moments of calm and pure joy lingers a tingling feeling of melancholy for Andrew and his mother.  The exploration of Catholicism is artfully done. The Christ allegory explores trans protagonist Andrew’s desire to transcend his physical body and perform supernatural feats of physical metamorphosis. It’s arresting to watch Andrew have so much self-awareness and self-assertion as to know himself and be loved is exceptional in stories about trans children. Andrew is afforded a remarkably conventional romance, rare for any trans character in film, regardless of age. Although there is frequent resistance to his transness, the ecstasy of being seen as he desires to be seen comes through in crucial moments like a punch to the gut.  No one can depict the ephemeral connection to reality and the unique experiences of pleasure and distress created by the desperate aspiration for change like a trans director.  Crialese came out publicly as transgender when this film debuted at the 2022 Venice Film Festival, and notes that L’Immensita  is strongly autobiographical. The ending reflects this, depicting the sprawling nature of a life in progress. So don’t expect a tidy, satisfying resolution.  I don’t want this warning to deter you from watching this film, however. To me, the bittersweetness of the conclusion only strengthens the depiction of the transience of transness, leaning on the mechanism of escapism as so many of us do as we grow into a body that feels alien to us. As a viewer, I embraced this lack of stability, and I expect my feelings towards this film to fluctuate on every inevitable re-watch. As Crialese himself explained, “we are what we are in perpetual change”.  Brainwashed: Sex-Camera-Power , Directed by Nina Menkes, Shown 3-6 August Words by Wes Brooke-White, Second-Year Film Student, Favourite Movie: Ghost World  (he/him) Film at a Glance Opening my stills, I’m struck by a massive picture of Rita Hayworth’s face. I recognise the film without needing the helpful caption: that’s her in Orson Welles’s The Lady from Shanghai . It’s identified onscreen ‘as an example of gendered lighting’, which, combined with the woman watching from a cinema seat in the bottom right corner of the still, tells me this is a movie about movies. More specifically, at a guess, it’s an essay film like Los Angeles Plays Itself  or Aotearoa’s own Out of the Mist , with questions to ask about how films shape reality by representing women.  Film Review For better and for worse, I was right. Brainwashed  hits the classic stumbling block of being about too much to meaningfully develop any of its ideas. That’s true of many essay films. It’s hard to be systematic in a field which rewards sensational conclusions. The best make up for their academic shortcomings with strong rhetoric or emotional effect. Brainwashed  is a scattershot recap of an interesting discourse, but the width of its lens makes it feel shallow.  Filmmaker Nina Menkes cycles through dozens of examples suggested to reflect a mass cultural hypnosis: the arrangement of film techniques to code women as passive sexual objects. She breaks down elements of film form in helpful ways. Brainwashed  is best as an autopsy, carefully identifying a technique and revealing its invisible significance. The issue is that she immediately jumps to her biggest claims without laying groundwork.  During one of many montages, Menkes plays a clip from Julia Decournau’s Titane , a film lauded for nuanced, positive sexuality. Menkes erases this context to fit Titane ’s images of nudity into her universal formula. Her claim is so broad that it collapses under its own weight, and her examples begin to feel cherry-picked. She highlights one queer film ( Watermelon Woman , a far better movie about movies) and cites her own films no less than five times as positive examples. I don’t challenge the validity of some of her points (nor is it my place to) but her approach is self-sabotaging.             Brainwashed  is a presentation on how misogyny is baked into film language—an idea made famous by scholar Laura Mulvey in her 1975 essay. Mulvey’s often misread analysis of the male gaze is one of the most famous ideas in film criticism. Menkes interviews Mulvey, an incredibly articulate speaker. Based on Brainwashed  alone, though, you'd be forgiven for thinking Mulvey’s theories had gone unchallenged over the last 50 years. Feminist film criticism isn’t a monolith, and later theorists have expanded and refuted Mulvey’s points.  Brainwashed  excludes scholars like Patrick Shuckmann, Karen Hollinger, and Camille Paglia. Brainwashed  wasn’t on the hook to answer every interpretation of Mulvey’s work, but it flattens a living, breathing discourse and a rich body of queer and sex-positive cinema into a prepackaged headline. If you know these theories already, you’ll find no new insight. If this is your introduction, you’ll have missed the bus by about half a century.

Words by Bridey Newell (they/them) I find what often deters people from climate change literature is a fear that it’ll be pretentious and preachy.  Maybe we feel that books about climate change are not as aware or intimately acquainted with global warming as we are. I mean, we’re 90s-to-early-2000s babies. We’ve spent our lives entering adulthood deep within the Anthropocene. Even outside of climate change, Gen Z is a generation caught up with the importance of individual responsibility. We receive calls to action via our (globally aware) social media every week.  On top of climate change, we’re living in a century that has witnessed the rise of #BLM, Covid-19 guidelines, #MeToo, and so much more. The role of the individual has been characterised as the core of political change, yet, the individual is powerless unless they force the hand of the powerful. Fun fact for you: BP invented the term ‘carbon footprint’. It makes sense that literature would encourage us and inspire individual action against climate change—and when we’re living in it, we don’t need it to be over-explained to us! We don’t need to be told to care. I get it…  But I see little reason to endorse sitting on our hands. Comfort avoidance dressed in nihilism’s clothing can’t give us much. So, the books I’ve chosen to review here are not meant to ‘open your eyes’ to the catastrophe that’s been unfolding since before we arrived on Earth, for better or worse. They are intended to help you examine the climate crisis and the environment from new angles, challenging your perspective—as all good storytelling is meant to do.  The Overstory  by Richard Powers Oh Lordy, you know when you read or watch something and you’re kind of just like, ‘everyone needs to experience this’? The Overstory  is one of those things! In all honesty, this is a book I think anyone could enjoy.  The Overstory  isn’t about climate change as much as it’s about trees. If you watched FernGully: The Last Rainforest , read The Lorax , or planted trees in your community with your primary school class as a kid, this book has the uncanny ability to bring you back to those moments. Primarily set in the 90s (but also not, but kinda, but not really), The Overstory  explores the kinds of thinking that drive industry, conservation, protest, and eco-radical action that we first glimpsed in childhood. It’s philosophical, passionate, and yet unpretentious in the way that many people might find fiction about deforestation to be. Honestly, this book is phenomenal. I’ve recommended this book to everyone: my flatmates, my boyfriend, my coworkers, even to a woman selling plants at a Saturday market in Nelson.  Richard Powers says he read over 120 books on trees as research for writing this book, and it shows. But it doesn’t read like a Wikipedia page by any means. Powers’ writing is strong, well paced, and keenly interested in making sure the reader remembers every word (which is pretty hard for a 625 page book). The Overstory  is available at Good Books for $26.  Bangkok Wakes to Rain  by Pitchaya Sudbanthad At my most concise, I can say Bangkok Wakes to Rain  is about the scale at which time allows change to unfold—be that rapid or slow, minute or extreme. Spanning over a century, this novel depicts the eponymous city and its citizens going through the motions of history. Sometimes tragic and threatening (as history often is), Bangkok Wakes to Rain  constantly searches for beauty and seeks to build a vision of an optimistic future. Memories, ghosts, and imaginations of utopian futures and pasts that honour the climate all retain an illusive lustre here. Through Sudbanthad’s poetic prose, we’re able to hold these realities in our hands, however momentarily.  If you’re still not convinced but want a book that isn’t strictly about climate change and is more concerned with culture, people, and our place within this world, then you’ll probably enjoy this one.  Bangkok Wakes to Rain  is available at Paper Plus for $32. The Earth Transformed: An Untold History  by Peter Frankopan Written by historian Peter Frankopan, The Earth Transformed  is both wildly interesting and satisfying. It’s a novel that explores human curiosity, deep diving into the rich history of our species. Retelling the history of the earth from the very beginning (as in 4.5 billion years ago), we, through Frankopan’s words, witness various climate changes through the ages. Eventually, The Earth Transformed  becomes a chronicle of our relationship with the weather, God, and nature. What I appreciated most about this book was its thoroughness. Frankopan gives time and attention to the ecological and meteorological histories of as many civilisations, communities, and landscapes as possible. The book seems only Eurocentric to the point that it is focussed on the role European imperialism has played in climate change.  The Earth Transformed  is available at Unity Books for $45. Regenesis: Feeding the World Without Devouring the Planet  by George Monbiot   I’m fond of all the books discussed so far, but this one was a pleasant surprise for me. Not because I expected to dislike it, but because it’s a bit out of my area of personal and academic interest. Regenesis  is a non-fiction exploration of sustainable agriculture in the UK, told by George Monbiot as he travels between farms. He brings us along as he learns about the unconventional techniques farmers are employing to ensure the health of their soil. If you’re studying the sciences or have an interest in agriculture, this book would definitely be up your alley. Studying a Bachelor of Arts, I knew to keep my expectations tethered and approach this one with a modicum of humility. I know very little about soil microbes. But Regenesis  was charming—Monbiot seems to understand that interest, not prior knowledge, is what drives learning. And as a result, his writing is both accessible and attentive to the priorities of the layman and the farmer.  Regenesis  is available at Paper Plus for $37. Braiding Sweetgrass  by Robin Wall Kimmerer Braiding Sweetgrass  weaves together indigenous knowledge and biological science to build stories of our natural world and how we can reconnect to it. Robin Wall Kimmerer is an indigenous American of the Potawatomi nation, and a decorated professor and scientist in environmental science and biology. Braiding Sweetgrass is poetic and heartfelt, and tells stories from a place of home and family. Each chapter imparts a lesson on how to care for the world outside of yourself. It is a must-read for anyone who cares for the environment today.  Braiding Sweetgrass  is available from Unity Books for $26.

Words by Francesca Pietkiewicz (she/they) On the last Sunday before we started back at work, Bella and I journeyed our way through Te Aro toward the historical glory that is Inverlochy Art School to attend an art workshop. The Chemigram Workshop was hosted by Shoot Golden NZ and their founder Fatima Grant. Shoot Golden NZ is an actively inclusive and sustainable photography organisation and ecommerce retailer. I talked with Fatima about their kaupapa and vision for photography.  “I started Shoot Golden NZ in December 2023, based in Wellington. As a female, LGBTQIA+, and Filipino-owned photographic business, I feel that as an underrepresented individual, it is my purpose to inform and inspire our creative communities. My own motto, ‘it's now or never’, is how Shoot Golden NZ was born,” Fatima said. “My vision for the business came together due to my background in a multitude of creative practices including photography, fine arts, gold and silversmithing.”  Upon arrival, Fatima sent us foraging into Inverlochy Art School’s surrounding gardens for our artistic practice. I felt transported back to a school holiday programme from my childhood, collecting lavender, leaf skeletons, and pretty petals. It was glorious. We would be making chemigrams, which are produced from an experimental form of darkroom photography that involves painting on and placing objects onto light-sensitive photographic paper.  “Shoot Golden NZ focuses on trading restored, refurbished, and otherwise saved analogue equipment with the aim to keep this gear out of landfill and in the hands of practising creatives,” Fatima told me. “Our kaupapa is strongly connected to reducing our carbon footprint on the planet, [and] encouraging like-minded people to support local businesses and shop sustainably.”  “Analogue photography forces the user to slow down and appreciate the environment around them. Having a limited number of exposures, one has to be selective in how you document your surroundings. This is what drew me to photography in the first place.” “In the Chemigram Workshop, I ask participants to take ownership of their work by looking to their surrounding environment for inspiration, collecting found objects such as foliage. [They then focus on] repurposing them throughout their work to contrast the abstract textures chemicals create, thus allowing the creative process to be natural and unique to each individual.”  After you’ve made your masterpiece out of household objects and botanicals, you expose it to light under an enlarger. Bella and I both agreed that the process of spraying coconut oil, squirting and spreading toothpaste, and drip dropping nail polish over our flowers reminded us of the types of joyous potion making and finger painting we did as preschoolers. Finally, you discard the beautiful mess off your canvas, take it through the developing process, and hang it up to dry.  It was an honour to attend Shoot Golden NZ’s first workshop. The whole workshop was a gorgeously freeing experience. It took the stress out of creativity that Bella and I often experience as working creatives. We were allowed to be kids again.  “As a predominantly self-taught photographer, I noticed a lack of inclusive and supportive spaces for exploring analogue photographic practices for art students and creatives alike,” Fatima explained.   “We run workshops for this very reason, allowing curious minds to learn these skills, including black and white film developing, cyanotype, chemigram, and photogram classes, to name a few scheduled throughout the year.”  Find Shoot Golden NZ here:   Website: shootgoldenz.co.nz   Instagram: @shootgoldenz

Words by Wes Brooke-White (he/him) Wes is a film studies student and cinema employee, and now he's Salient’s resident film bro. Aftersun  (Directed by Charlotte Wells, 101m) 5/5 This debut feature from Charlotte Wells is a triumph of feeling—as visually rich as it is emotionally complex. Child actor Frankie Corio is revelatory as Sophie, and is more than a match for Paul Mescal’s sweetness and wounded masculinity as her dad Callum. It’s a film about fathers and daughters, and the gulf of memory and experience which separates them. We watch Sophie and Callum’s  nuanced relationship at the dreamy, formal distance of someone looking back on a childhood photo. Sophie is as inaccessible to Callum as his younger self. Callum’s inner life, meanwhile, is beyond Sophie’s understanding. Only in retrospect do either of them have the chance to fill in the missing pieces. It’s difficult to describe the full-body experience that Aftersun  entails — the burn of it — because it doesn’t feel real once it’s passed through you. As a sketch of cinema’s power to access the past, it’s inexplicable and essential. You can find it on Google Play, Apple TV, Microsoft, or Neon.   Enys Men  (Directed by Mark Jenkin, 90m) 4.5/5 Enys Men  is haunted. It’s a creepy-cosy chiller from Bait  director Mark Jenkin, one of the most exciting British filmmakers of our time, using its rhythms to build something uniquely terrifying. The film, shot without sound and on lush, vibrant 16mm stock, feels like a found object from a different world. Enys Men  draws heft and texture from its analog sense of place. Structurally, it’s tied to the everyday procedures of a wildlife volunteer observing a flower and taking simple notes. The rituals are almost disarming, until Jenkin turns them against you. If you have the patience for it, Enys Men  is as rewarding a horror experience as I’ve had in years. I’m hoping for an NZ streaming release, but until then, you’ll have to get creative.    John Wick: Chapter 4  (Directed by Chad Stahelski, 170m) 4.5/5 John Wick: Chapter 4  is a non-stop Greatest Hits mixtape of the action canon. Not much of it is novel, but its strength is in how precisely Stahelski and his team arrange the building blocks of familiar iconography. The things we’ve seen done before have never been done better. It’s a brutal collage of old-school physical comedy, martial arts, tactical gunplay, car chases, Westerns, and video games, all captured in delirious colour and light. After an early setpiece where archers fight a demonic SWAT team, the movie never hits pause. Every sequence is made up of a dozen moving parts, all interlocking in perfect, ergonomic zen. The film is badly written (which is good), incomprehensible (which doesn’t matter), and lacks nuance (who cares). If you’ve ever enjoyed an action film, you’ll love this glorious celebration of movement, physicality, and getting kicked down stairs. Rent it from the usual suspects. BlackBerry   (Directed by Matt Johnson, 119m) 4/5 Matt Johnson made a name for himself with his anarchic webseries Nirvana the Band the Show , but his three feature films have skewed darker. BlackBerry , about the smartphone of the same name, sees Johnson take the corporate docudrama formula (think Air  or The Social Network ) and place it somewhere completely new—more specifically, Canada. We’re miles away from operatic Silicon Valley psychodrama, following pathetic characters in dorky offices selling their souls for a doomed product. BlackBerry  goes through the motions of a rags-to-riches story, but as an audience, we know from scene one that the BlackBerry doesn’t end up like Facebook. This is the story of a failure and Johnson uses our foreknowledge of that fact to rob these free-market fantasies of their power. As a director known for gleefully pushing the bounds of corporate copyright, he doesn’t want us cheering for the brand. This is a pitch-black comedy about the joys of the creative process and how capitalism conspires to suck them dry. Until it’s available to stream, ask your CompSci flatmate to burn you a copy.   Rye Lane  (Directed by Raine Allen Miller, 82m) 4/5 The colours and compositions of Rye Lane  put everything else happening in modern rom coms to shame. Dom and Yas have the chemistry these films live or die on, and they have it in spades. Their day-long meet cute takes them across South London as they  confront each other’s pasts and decide what they want from their futures. The dialogue is whip-smart and the cinematography is playful. This film pays respect to a lineage of British screen romance, from Richard Curtis films like Love Actually  to successors like this year’s What’s Love Got to Do With It . But it dumps the nauseatingly upper-class blandness of those movies for something living and breathing. Curtis’ films are about romantic grand gestures, and while Rye Lane  has its share of those, it’s got much more to say about the smaller and more deeply-felt rhythms of getting to know another person. It’s available on Disney Plus.    Things Could Always Be Worse  (Directed by Joel Haver and Trent Lenkarski, 41m) 3.5/5 If you’ve seen Joel Haver’s name before, it was probably underneath one of a hundred short form comedy videos you’ve scrolled past in your YouTube recommendations this week. He’s at the centre of one of the platform’s best-kept secrets: the ‘folk filmmaking’ movement. That is, a loose group of creators who make feature-length movies with no budget and post them for free. Haver’s films are defined by a sense of community and improvisation. Things Could Always Be Worse is a collaboration with his friend Trent, shot entirely during the 2023 Oscars. The movie follows Joel and Trent (as lightly fictionalised versions of themselves) getting trapped in Joel’s bedroom over a long weekend. It’s a tense premise, but the big joke of the whole thing is how relaxed it feels. You spend time with these guys, getting a sense of who they are and why they’re friends. It’s a breezy, funny little picture and a reminder that you don’t need permission to make things with the people you love. Find it on YouTube for zero dollars.  A Thousand and One  (Directed by A.V. Rockwell, 116m) 3.5/5 A.V. Rockwell’s moving, richly-performed melodrama is also a portrait of a vanished Harlem. The film charts the disintegration of a damaged family across a decade, reflected in the systems of state violence which gentrify their city and lock them in cycles of poverty and trauma. The photography is clean, precise, and unsentimental, with a stillness and naturalism that allows a lot of room for the actors to breathe. Newcomer Josiah Cross has a climactic monologue where you can watch decades of little sorrows break across his face like a wave. It’s a story of love’s power to transcend circumstances, but more importantly it’s about people building a life even after that power fails. Find it from your preferred less-than-legal sources.   The 10th Annual ‘On Cinema’ Oscar Special  (Directed by Eric Notarnicola, 210m) 3.5/5 These past 12-ish years, alt comedy legends Tim Heidecker and Gregg Turkington have been busy making On Cinema . It’s a multimedia performance art project, a soap opera, a satire of lazy internet criticism, and a study of two broken men who ruin everything. It’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen online. Each year they pull out all the stops for a special Oscar night broadcast with special guests and shocking twists. Consider this your invitation to start exploring the On Cinema  mythos—from episode one, or, if you’re all about jumping in the deep end, from this 10th anniversary spectacular. On Cinema ’s greatest strength is also its biggest weakness. Individually, the pieces are good, not great, but they achieve greatness by rewiring your brain as you dive deeper. You might love it, you might hate it, but I guarantee it’s the most fun you’ll ever have watching a grown man weep while dressed as Pinnocchio.