Debate 2025 #9: Tangata Whenua / Local

#BassistsInCouncil2025

I’m going to start this issue off, which is dedicated to Tāmaki Makaurau and local politics, in Christchurch. About a month and a half ago, found myself in Ōtautahi on a whim as my partner attended to real-world responsibilities and I kicked about looking for a new jacket. This was my third or fourth time in the garden city, and despite it being a flat and monochromatic ice plain, I’ve fallen deeply in love with Ōtautahi at its best. A lot of the food is fantastic, the air is fresh, and Lyttleton is only a twenty-minute drive away, making up the Canterbury music mega-bubble that has managed to produce some of the best musicians from our country. While Ōhinehou gets to take credit for Marlon Williams, Delaney Davidson, Aldous Harding and Ben Woods, the relatively big smoke has its own share of brilliant musicians too - Pickle Darling, Mousey, and a whole host of emo bands like This Dog, Only You, and my beloved Model Home.

If you were at the PUP show at the Tuning Fork a couple of weeks ago, you’ll know why I love Model Home so much - if nothing else, because I kept egging them on from the side of the stage. Their lyrics consist of descriptive anecdotes dedicated to suburban Aotearoa, backed by driving drums, twinkly guitars, cathartic vocals, and - importantly - basslines that cut through the mix, carefully punctuating each step of the beat and taking care of the rest of the band through support and reassurance. Seems like the kinda guy you’d want running for council, no?

Tom Roud, Model Home’s bassist and current librarian/union delegate, managed to get his campaign onto my radar before I had figured out who was challenging Wayne Brown in Tāmaki Makaurau (we’ll get to that later in this issue, don’t worry!). He’s running a two-ticks campaign to become a Christchurch City Councillor and join the Central Ward Community Board through the Alliance Party - which, unless you’re a kiwi leftist over thirty, you’re likely unfamiliar with.

“The Alliance Party was active in New Zealand politics from the early ’90s through to the mid-2000s. It hasn’t been very active recently, but I’m the first candidate they’ve put up in about 11 years.”, Tom tells me from the Christchurch BNZ centre. Why the resurrection? Initially, it wasn’t the plan; “Me and a bunch of my friends who have been doing this politics stuff have thought for a while about how to relaunch a more combative or strident left, and we came to the conclusion that you probably have to start from scratch. The Alliance side of it really came along as a serendipitous situation. Any movement of this kind worth its salt isn’t going to have a bunch of financial backing. It’s going to need a lot of people power. That was a big part of it.”

Just like how Tom’s basslines cut through the mix, his policies and election run have already started gaining traction with a clear focus on embracing his community. Later in the week, from when caught up with him, Tom officially launched the campaign with a gig at Space Academy starring aforementioned Ōtautahi music stalwarts like Pickle Darling, This Dog, and The Eastern. This not only helped raise awareness of his campaign within Christchurch’s arts community, but also highlighted key policies on local government music regulations. “We’ve got venue noise issues here, and Plan Change 21 is under consultation, which is promising. But music policy isn’t just about noise - it’s about infrastructure. Can bands unload gear easily? Can people get to and from venues safely?”

Obviously, Tom was preaching to a choir. If you’ve read any of my shit in this magazine, you know I’ll go to bat for any boring music policy that allows cool music stuff to happen across our cities. Given that most council candidates’ arts and culture policies equate to a resounding “suh, dude!”, I’m naturally going to gain a bias toward someone waving an ounce of support in front of the music community’s face. But I do think it opens up a wider conversation about how the attention of young voters can be cultivated through grassroots community events and no-bullshit policies. We saw Zohran Mamadani go from a political nobody outside of his city to the internationally recognised democratic candidate for the New York City Mayor, and I became aware of his campaign in the same way you probably did - a steady stream of high-quality campaign reels with occasional shitposts making their way into my explore feed.

Up here in Auckland, and almost everywhere else in the country that doesn’t have a mayoral candidate who dabbed on parliament steps, the council elections have remained stale so far. This isn’t necessarily to blame the mayoral candidates themselves, nor their marketing teamsit’s rather a trend of low engagement continuing onwards, only worsened by the conservative-swung anglophonic politicians making such inanely evil decisions that engaging with politics feels like an act of self-harm. The hope of young voters has been pummeled out of them for a year and a half, and with the government making sure that voting is as inaccessible as possible by cutting off election enrollment dates, it seems like that was the plan all along.

The suppression of voting rights and intentional disengagement from the government are powerful reasons for young people to make sure that their voice is heard in local politics. Every time an obscenely offensive comment made by Winston Peters gets brushed off, you need to turn your rage and bitterness into direct action - even if it’s for no reason other than spite. We’re kicking off the korero about what to expect in the Auckland Council elections later this issue, and will keep you all posted as our final few issues of the year make their way through the stands. In the meantime, you can practice your civic duty by reading about and voting in the upcoming AUTSA SRC elections - this’ll dictate who the AUT Student President is for the next two years, and how they’ll steer the ship. Even without all that, the Local issue has you covered with reflections from the New Zealand International Film Festival, niche sports playable across Auckland, and the usual stuff as well.

We’re getting towards the end of the year now, gang - trust me, feel like I’m piloting a corpse as well, but the sun is starting to return, and the flowers are starting to bloom. I’m pretty sure we’ll be able to manage.

Editorial By Liam Hansen (they/them) @liamhanse.n EDITOR

Illustration By Stella Roper (they/she) @dodofrenzy ARTS EDITOR

Dunedin - Ōtepoti

There is something to be said about the connection these names have to how our community works in Aotearoa. It is a well known fact that not every Kiwi is thrilled about the amount of Te Reo Māori in public spaces. Our current government seems hell-bent on reverting the hard work that went into revitalising Te Reo by stopping access to funding across most creative or independent organisations and stripping the current Te Reo Māori alternatives at corporate companies. They are investing millions of dollars into moving New Zealand BEFORE Aotearoa on the NZ Passport, which think is absolutely absurd. Not only is this decision a waste of time, money and resources, it also demonstrates an absolute disrespect for those who have come before.

Throughout my time as Te Ao Māori editor at Debate, I have been striving to include as much Te Reo as possible, through my column and any other pieces I’ve written. My hope is that through these pieces you can learn more and more of the beautiful reo that is Te Reo Māori. The importance of encouraging reo growth is paramount, and I cannot understate how vital it is to keep the spark of the reo alive throughout the motu. Our local culture and community is something people travel to experience, so let’s strive together to continue protecting this taonga we hold in our hands.

By using the Te Reo Māori names for our cities, we continue to build atop years of work to revitalise, encourage and bond through Māori culture. I cannot stress enough how important it is to do our best when Māori pushback is at an all time high. Be proud of being a Kiwi, be proud of coming from a country melting pot of cultures, stories and experiences. Encourage others to include small amounts of Te Reo into your day to day life- start small, and watch it grow.

‘He aha te mea nui o te ao? He tangata, he tangata, he tangata.’

What is the most important thing in the world? The people, the people, the people.

You approach the door. A shrill whistle punctures the air, piercing your eardrums. Morning fog disperses to reveal the hooded train manager. He beckons you forward. Chains dangle along his arm, clanking from the motion. Without opening his mouth, he asks how you got here. He asks for your final destination. Before you step on board, he points to the platform with his wooden oar. Mind the gap.

Written By Hirimaia Eketone (they/them)

Fluorescent white lights blink along the carriage ceiling. Each flicker reveals a new passenger. A businessman in a sweaty suit. A white haired woman in a hospital gown. A teenage girl in a navy blue school uniform. She sits in the priority seat, holding an infant in her lap. All four passengers stare at the same wall. They stare at a melting map of the city transport system.

You sit along the aisle, across from the man. The light beams a stranger into the seat next to you. You think you have seen him before. He raises his chin from his chest. He stares at you with wide red eyes. He grins at you with blunt yellow teeth. Through white peeling lips, he asks where he knows you from. You place your backpack between your feet before you answer. The stranger has no feet.

A disembodied voice penetrates your skull. It announces the next station, something like Avondale. The stranger tells you he's getting off at that stop.

Suspended orange pixels read ‘6°C’ above your heads. They glitch into ‘666’ when you blink. Through the window, the sky drips black and azure onto the rails. Your eyelids grow heavy, as though they are being weighed down. You drift along the Acheron.

A brittle snap beside your head startles you awake. Two gold coins land in your lap. An ivory hand waves in your face. Through chattering teeth, the ticket inspector asks to scan your hop card. He asks for the coins that were resting on your eyes. They clatter into his palm. Metal against bone.

A distant sniffling tickles your ear. You shuffle in your seat to locate the noise. The infant is crying. Crimson tears stream down her face. You address the teenage girl, still staring at the wall. The map has long melted off. You ask her why the child weeps. The baby answers. She tells you she didn’t have any coins. The ticket inspector has ordered her off at the next stop.

The train pulls into a station. The doors hiss and crack and moan. White fog seeps into the carriage, pooling around your ankles. Beyond the platform are grey fields you don’t recognise.

The PA system crackles to life.

‘Due to an unexpected infrastructure fault near Mt Albert, all passengers are expected to disembark at this station.’

The baby crawls from the girl's lap. The stranger beside you crawls from his seat. He crawls over your legs. He crawls out the door towards the ashen fields. The other passengers follow.

You remember where the stranger knows you from. You open your mouth to call out to him. You open your mouth to taste salt and iron. Hooked chains descend from the ceiling and pierce through your cheeks. They force your head towards the orange LED sign. The bar glows ‘Asphodel’.

The chains start to retract, groaning back into the ceiling. The hooks remain in your cheeks. Frantic, you try to follow the other passengers. You try to scramble to your feet, but find you have none. You begin to scream.

Western Line Gothic

Written By Athena Li-Watts (they/them) @dreamyplum CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Who’s running (and who’s stumbling behind them) in the Auckland Mayoral Race

The time has come once again to turn your attention to the most riveting triennial event in Tāmaki Makaurau: local elections! Maybe you’re a first-time voter, or maybe you’re seasoned in Auckland’s very own political game show - “Who on earth wants to be mayor?” You’ve probably started seeing election signs clogging up every roadside they strategically and legally can be pitched.

But if you want to use your vote for real and have no idea who to vote for, or what any of these candidates actually stand for; you’re in the right place.

This year, we have twelve candidates for the coveted mayoral seat. While not all of them have launched campaigns - or even left so much as a digital footprint for Aucklanders to browse through - I’ve taken some time, scoured the internet and compiled for you the rundown on all of Auckland’s 2025 mayoral competitors.

WAYNE BROWN

Wayne Brown is the incumbent Auckland mayor, running once again under the ‘Fix It’ banner. With three years of Auckland’s mayoralty now under his belt, Brown has a decided advantage in this year’s race.

In his Manifesto for Auckland, Brown has listed three key areas of focus for the upcoming term: 1. Technology and innovation, 2. Housing and infrastructure, and 3. Immigration and tourism.

It’s evident that Brown is chasing growth. He wants Auckland to become the ‘tech city’ of New Zealand, he’s already underway with plans of housing intensification in the CBD, and he wants the city to make the most of increased tourism.

Studying for a job in the tech industry? Hope more housing will mean less homelessness in the city centre? Been happy with local governance over the past three years? Fix-it felix is the man for you.

KERRIN LEONI

Kerrin Leoni is the most prominent challenger to Brown’s mayoral position, championing her campaign for the first wahine Māori to ever be elected as an Auckland Councillor to become the first Māori mayor of Tāmaki Makaurau.

Leoni platforms herself as “the new energy Auckland needs”. Demographically, she stands out as a mayoral candidate, residing in the minority of councillors who aren’t male and/or Pākehā and/or boomers. Leoni has said that this means she represents the city’s future, and that she’ll be a “visionary leader” who will take Auckland forward.

Her main focus is pushing ahead with big infrastructure projects, in particular expanding the trainlines to places like Huapai and the airport, and bridging the gap between Avondale and Southdown. Her various policies, found on her website, include improvements on housing, transport, sustainability, growth, and better leadership.

If you’re looking for the candidate you’ll actually see in the community, Kerrin Leoni says she’ll be the mayor for you.

TED JOHNSTON

Last time he placed sixth in the mayoral race as the New Conservative candidate, this time Ted Johnston is Independent as he seeks your vote once more.

Johnston’s campaign is a response to “decades of silly policies” caused by “incompetent mayors”. He sets himself apart through his experience as a lawyer - and promises to solve Auckland’s transport congestion problem and inadequate public transport system. Naturally, his solution is to work with the government to shut down council controlled organisations (CCO’s) like Auckland Transport etc which hold and control much of Auckland’s assets but act like little kingdoms, and are not accountable to the ratepayer and citizens of Auckland. These were set up due to a failed belief that we people of Auckland couldn’t look after it ourselves.” Whether or not Ted Johnston is aware that Auckland Transport is, in fact, run by Aucklanders is still to be confirmed.

Want to “live your best life”? If so, Ted reckons he’s your guy.

DR ERIC CHUAH

Chuah asserts himself as a pragmatist with a straightforward action plan and a strategic vision for a better council. He has been a member of the National Party since 2024, and in the 1999 general elections, he was a party strategist for United NZ’s Peter Dunne.

He wants to see the standard improvements of council services - better delivery, minimised rates, reduction of unnecessary spending, and safer communities. His specific policy announcements so far include his proposal for solving the ‘dog-lovers vs mums/dads with kids’ contention, his assertion that helipads should not be banned, and his promise to investigate the excessive use of roadcones for traffic management.

Do you want to be able to walk, drive, or helicopter around Auckland without all the pesky obstacles? Dr Eric Chuah (on instagram @ecbl777) may just be the candidate for you.

JOHN ALCOCK

John Alcock isn’t your typical mayoral candidate. He claims he will be the ‘leader of the (bitcoin) revolution’.

Alcock wants to “reclaim New Zealand from ideological extremism” by replacing governmental control with individual freedom. He describes himself as “equal parts legal eagle, crypto crusader, and conference kingpin”, and has legal, financial and governmental experience to boot. He boasts tenure on the ACT Party board, management of five businesses and a “polymathic” capacity to be a “whirlwind of productivity” in any professional role. In April 2024, Rock the Vote NZ proudly announced Alcock as their unanimously elected leader - but any evidence of his involvement with the party seems to have been scrubbed from his record.

Alcock certainly has an extensive digital footprint to explore. In lieu of any specific policy announcements, his most recent media appearance is a podcast episode on bitcoin as the only non-violent response to “world war three”.

Think we need a local governance crypto revolution? Then as Alcock himself says, “[he’s] already halfway through the plan, two steps ahead, and politely wondering why you're still stuck on step one.”

RYAN PAUSINA

If you think that Auckland's local governance is lacking ‘great minds’ like that of billionaire entrepreneur Elon Musk, look no further than mayoral candidate Ryan Pausina.

The 2025 local elections will be Pausina’s second shot at the mayoralty, after throwing his hat into the ring in 2022. This time, he is much better prepared.

Diving into his laundry list of policy plans - currently twenty six items long - Pausina has proposals on retaining biodiversity, the empowerment of dairies, an underwater bridge crossing, and lots more! He is confident that his expertise in macro and mechanical engineering is exactly what this city needs.

Are you an “intellectual voter”? Ryan Pausina says he is the candidate for you.

PETER WAKEMAN

Peter Wakeman is yearning for his place in council – and it doesn’t seem to matter how.

Where he lacks experience in actual council seats, he makes up for in his relentless campaign endeavours; from the 2017 Mount Albert by-election, the Banks Peninsula electorate in 2020, the 2022 Christchurch mayoralty, the Hamilton West 2022 by-election standing with the Aotearoa Legalise Cannabis Party, the Pukehīnau/Lambton General Ward in 2024, and of course, his latest venture for Auckland’s top job as mayor of Tāmaki Makaurau in 2025.

Throughout this time, Wakeman’s political proposals have included addressing climate change, exposing biased, inaccurate and unbalanced political media coverage, and reorganising the financial system to better support people with the cost-of-living.

Maybe it’s time he finally had his day in office!

ROB MCNEIL

It wouldn’t be an Auckland mayoral race without at least one animal justice advocate in the running — and for 2025, that person is Rob McNeil.

McNeil is the executive president of the Animal Justice Party Aotearoa New Zealand. His winning attributes are “empathy and organisational skills”, and he wants to see environmentalism and social justice become the central concerns of local government.

If the number of roaming dogs in Auckland suburbs has been at the forefront of your mind this year, or if you think it’s time that Auckland’s mayor gave animals their ‘desperately needed voice in politics’, vote Rob McNeil!

MICHAEL COOTE

Michael Coote has little to share about his political ambitions, but his financial expertise seems boundless.

He has over thirty years of experience in financial services, has many endorsements on his LinkedIn profile, and is currently a client manager with the Trustees Corporate Supervision.

That’s all there is to report on this candidate — if you’re after a nobullshit, strictly finance mayor, maybe Coote is your guy?

GHOST MAYOR(S)

Your final three official candidates for Auckland’s mayoralty are Jason Pieterse, Simon Stam and Denise Widdison. For people seeking to represent New Zealand’s largest city, you’d think I might find more leads

than a potential investment business registration, and an unclaimed participation in Round the Bays 2014. Maybe these candidates will jump out with some epic last-minute campaigns. Until then…

There you have it: your full list of Auckland mayoral candidates for the 2025 local elections! Whoever piques your interest, make sure your details are accurate and you’re ready to vote by September 5th. The official voting date will be Saturday October 11th, with official results published by October 17th.

Reviewing the Six NZIFF Cinema Venues of Tāmaki Makaurau for NZIFF 2025

Bolstering six venues for this year’s Whānau Mārama, the New Zealand International Film Festival’s offering for Tāmaki Makaurau cinemagoers ranged from beloved boutiques to the grandiose Civic Theatre. From getting there to accessibility and the experience, we review our time at these theatres as a representation of what our city has to offer. To cover every venue on offer, Caeden generously helped review The Lido and Bridgeway Cinemas.

Academy Cinemas

A cult cinema-going staple in what Tāmaki Makaurau has to offer, the tight underground Academy Cinemas is a home for all sorts of film lovers from the casual or budget-conscious to true cinephiles. For the uninitiated, they do $5 Wednesdays and host a number of classic and niche film screenings. The unassuming entrance, right along the front of the city centre Auckland Library, leads to a long stairwell down to the lobby where you can purchase tickets, food, and drinks. Fittingly, the lobby is adorned with Blu-rays and posters on sale. Unfortunately, the lobby and theatres also struggle with internet reception while below ground.

An easy City Link ride or walk from other central city pillars like the Auckland Art Gallery, getting to Academy Cinemas is a non-issue for public transport users. However, I understand that those with accessibility needs should contact the venue in advance or on the day. Those unable or preferring not to traverse the relatively steep stairs must use the intercom by the entrance to call a staff member to operate the venue elevator. Once in, the main theatre room itself has steps leading out to the lobby and between the small but serviceable seat rows. Flawed but intimate, you get the distinct impression that Academy Cinemas is doing what they can, to mostly great results, to provide a staple cinema-going experience with the physical venue they have.

SkyCity Theatre

The SkyCity Theatre, right above the SkyCity Casinos, is a smaller, hidden venue hosting one large theatre space in the heart of Tāmaki Makaurau. I found myself here after an unexpected venue change for this year's newly merged Ngā Whanaunga New Zealand's Best Shorts after previous iterations at the ASB Waterfront Theatre. Getting here, public transport with a brief walk was mostly convenient as expected of the CBD, provided the modest entrance is somewhat tucked away. Alternatively, SkyCity underground parking links directly to the theatre through the spiraling stairwell and elevators. However, the whole place seemed more befitting as a conference space, with retractable lecture-style seating, a too-tightly packed lobby before and after the screenings, and a well-attended food and drink stand, rather than a space for creatives and all-ages accessibility. Seats were on the narrower side with a descending step between each row toward the stage and screen. Your mileage will certainly vary, with the audio mix compelling me and my mate seated centre-middle to block our ears during peak volumes. Furthermore, wheelchair users may find the venue unwelcoming and difficult to navigate without wayfinding assistance from staff, especially as a cinema-goer avoiding steps where you could find yourself seated right down front craning your neck up at the large screen. An overall great venue to hear a

TED Talk or corporate conference, but with ample room for improvement as part of a film festival.

The Lido

The Lido is an upmarket cinema in the heart of Epsom on the busy Manauku Road. It’s a beloved venue for classic and indie film lovers (I have a fondness for it as it’s the cinema that introduced me to Audrey Hepburn), and it makes an opportune addition to the venue lineup this year. Parking can be a struggle - likely leading to a bit of a walk down one of the side streets. However, bus stops for the 30, 309, and 65 are all located nearby. While lacking the grandeur of the Civic, it offers far more comfortable seating and bigger gaps between rows. Unlike the Civic (which has its perks!), there are also proper armrests where you can put down the drinks or popcorn you’ve bought from the snack bar. The main cinema is upstairs, but in their helpfully labelled t-shirts, the film festival volunteers were ready to point us in the right direction. The one elevator was in near constant use, although didn’t get the impression the wait times were particularly long despite how full the theatre was. The only disturbance to my cinema-going experience was the unclear seat numbering, which led to some confusion and shuffling in my row.

Hollywood Avondale

Built in a modest but unmistakable neo-classical architectural style and clearly a labour of love from its owners, the Hollywood Avondale is a single-theatre boutique venue. Situated right by the main road, the venue is walking distance from the Avondale train station and a good chunk of Southwest Auckland buses. Alternatively, there is some informal roadside parking along the surrounding residential area as is suggested on their website. Once inside, the film festival staff were incredibly nice and helpful (huge shoutout to whoever had a blunt blond mullet, see you!).

As with the other venues, the concession stand offered a reasonable selection of snacks, ice cream and drinks. Regarding the cinema theatre, the balcony seats are personally far superior to the floor-level seating for visibility and comfort. With ambient blue and red lighting ironically matching my screening of Brazilian queer drama Night Stage, the venue bursts with personality compared to some other Tāmaki Makaurau venues, if at the cost of being relatively harder to reach from the other side of town. I note that I did not request or note in-person accessibility details for this venue beyond the NZIFF’s statement that there are three wheelchair seating spaces, there is ramp access via a side entrance, and an accessible bathroom is available from the courtyard.

Bridgeway Cinemas

Bridgeway Cinemas is a gem in the heart of Northcote. Opening in 1927, it got its current name in 1959 after the opening of the Auckland Harbour Bridge in a radio competition, according to Discover Auckland. Having a more expansive range of venues was an exciting selling point for the festival this year, however, for those of us on the other side of the bridge it can be a hassle to get to. I saw a 6pm screening, meaning had to get from the city across the bridge in peak-hour Auckland traffic. On weekdays, there are several buses (921, 922) that run from the University of Auckland to right by the cinema. I was able to catch one of these, and

despite peak-hour traffic, it was highly efficient. However, public transport routes on weekends would require far more walking. There are side streets nearby that could be used for parking, at least. There’s a set of stairs to get to the cinema screen upstairs, but there is an elevator available, as well as accessible seating. This was my first time going to the cinema and I wasn’t familiar with the layout. Unfortunately, most of the seat numbers are completely rubbed off, leading to even more seating confusion than what I had experienced at The Lido.

The Civic

At the heart of Tāmaki Makaurau and Whānau Mārama is The Civic. There’s the grandiose facades hugging the walls inside the theatre. The iconic night sky ceiling. The truly stellar lobby area and various nooks and crannies like the most beautiful, artistic maze. The Civic is truly awe-striking every time I have the privilege to enter the venue – especially when seated in the staggeringly angled but stunning upper floor ‘Circle’ seating. Commuting is as easy as the city centre can realistically be, and there are plenty of restaurants and dessert joints in the surrounding area. Inside what would normally be a spacious, ambiently lit lobby, the box office contains incredibly patient and helpful film festival staff, and further in there is a reliable but overpriced concession stand ($8 for a small popcorn is frankly ridiculous, even though that is market pricing). Unfortunately, opening night – screening Jafar Panahi’s Palme d’Or winning It Was Just an Accident – meant a beyond bustling crowd and queue to enter the venue. Once my friends and arrived at the venue, the queue to get inside snaked up along Queen Street all the way towards Aotea Square; both a show of NZIFF’s resounding popularity this year, and indicative of some event management problems forcing cinemagoers to stand outside on a cold Thursday night.

There was a real sense of community among us all, extending to applauds during the extended opening night speeches by NZIFF artistic director and lover of comfy-looking sweaters Paolo Bertolin and the other organisers. Notably missing, was the typical presence of the Minister of Culture and Heritage. Without over-speculating, I note the next night at The Civic for the world premiere of Workmates, a producer finished his introducing speech with “Fuck Fascism. Toitū Te Tiriti. Free Palestine.”

A Special Note on Accessibility at The Civic for the Opening Night of NZIFF 2025

Regarding the previously mentioned ridiculous crowding and queue, we were pleased that there was a security guard stationed outside who helped us skip the queue to accommodate accessible needs and instead enter through the box office towards the main lobby area – still just as crowded as outside. We note that some cinemagoers should have been more conscious of a wheelchair user, and given some physical room for movement rather than rushing past us and otherwise being situationally unaware.

The crowding was overwhelming at most times entering and exiting the venue during the opening night. There was excellent handover from the security guard to a uniformed NZIFF helper who then escorted us along the accessible corridor and up the elevator to the accessible entrance to the Stalls inside the theatre (the fit out being part of The Civic’s extension 25 years ago, as explained with beaming candour by the employee). This process appears to have been foreseen for wheelchair-using cinemagoers and flagged to staff, possibly related to me reaching out to them and Auckland Live ahead of time to kind and relatively timely, even if not fully informative, responses from their team. The helpfulness from NZIFF cannot be understated, and the location, spaciousness, and companion seat arrangement of the accessible seating is greatly appreciated. Unfortunately, there remains room for improvement. I understand from the NZIFF staff that there is only one accessible bathroom for the venue, tucked at the back of the box office. Getting past patrons and a potentially obstructing box office desk on wheels seems inconvenient, let alone the two tightly-spaced turns required to reach the bathroom. Finally, a photographer with a professional camera attempted to take photos of my friend immediately upon seeing them in a wheelchair and without asking for their express or implied permission. It is unclear whether they were there in a professional or personal capacity, but either way it led to a briefly uncomfortable situation. We hope this was a misunderstanding and that any such targeted photography of singled-out patrons would only happen with their express permission (including for personal use or any publication) at an event organised by NZIFF. Nevertheless, we hope NZIFF continues to build on the thoughtful work they have done towards accessibility for communities with different needs.

I extend my deepest thanks and gratitude to my dear friend for giving us permission to share and review their lived experience of The Civic’s accessibility as a wheelchair user during NZIFF’s opening night.

Overall, we loved these six venues. Tāmaki Makaurau needs more, not less, investment in accessible, diverse and well-funded third spaces including cinemas and theatres like these places. We look forward to Kaine Thompson’s (Chair of the NZFF Trust) promise to come back next year with an even bigger, bolder, and accessible Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival in our wonderful city of Tāmaki Makaurau.

Written By

Daniel Tang & Caeden Tipler CONTRIBUTING WRITERS

Throughout the New Zealand International Film Festival, Debate contributors have been sharing their reflections and reviews of internationally lauded blockbusters and local stories told on film.

#1: It Was Just an Accident

Written by Daniel Tang (he/him) | @daniel941 on Letterboxd | Contributing Writer

Opening Whānau Mārama 2025, It Was Just an Accident reflects an ongoing trend in prestigious, yet accessible global cinema, expertly weaving thriller, drama, and comedy around a socioculturally interesting premise and a bundle of pressing social commentary. In this first instance, Iranian dissident Jafar Panahi's latest thriller is set in his homeland and is defined by an intentionally Iranian experience of trauma. Traumatic events, including a dead dog (warning to my fellow dog lovers) in the film’s cold open, and trauma responses – of fear, anger, and repression, but also of community and revenge. Systemic trauma from a repressive regime where uninhibited state interrogators use any means necessary to abuse information out of suspected dissidents. Interpersonal trauma between an interrogator and an unlikely group of strangers-turned-peers, blending the target of the relationship causing despair between the interrogator-prisoner, state-interrogator, and state-prisoner. Personal trauma, in enraged outbursts and haphazard kidnappings taken too far, but also in injured organs and violated bodies from state torture. The film understands that with the right pacing and narrative, a series of plot twists bearing shock value become a cohesive storyline of vengeance and the inherent uncertainty in trusting a stranger, let alone your state-sanctioned oppressor. A country's worth of individuals have bodies that keep the score of top-down state violence, international colonial oppression, and a well-crafted barrage of conflicting personalities.

Equally, the latest Cannes Palme d’Or winner is a dramedy about found family and forgiveness. Across the 2000-strong opening night audience at The Civic, the inflated second act read as a breakfast club-like road trip of colourful characters, peppered with comedic gags and a regime's worth of trauma bonding. From sparse chuckles to loud cackles, the comedic potential of this film is delightful while remaining thoughtful. Even in these moments of levity, Iranian culture places itself at the forefront – customary practices from celebrating marriage and childbirth to the everyday moments of strangers coming together. Like his other films, Panahi displays an incredible love for the community of Iran while he criticises its misgovernance. On the film’s darker

edge, levity crashes to a literally blood-shot confrontation by the final act, with intense performances by lead actors Vahid Mobasseri and Mariam Afshari illuminated at night by strikingly red vehicle lights. Given that Panahi filmed this precariously without the Iranian government’s permission, the cinematography far exceeded expectations and the occasional visual and scripting falters were more than forgivable. Indeed, this film, as introduced by NZIFF creative director Paolo Bertolin, gently advocates for considered forgiveness. It considers the risk in trusting mutual forgiveness for mutual wrongdoing – for running over a dog, for being unjustifiably detained and tortured, and for torturing your torturer as vengeance. Especially so when ‘it was just an accident’.

Overall, Panahi displays impressive creativity in presenting a collective nation reckoning with what fighting for justice and liberation means through a dramedy thriller. Fighting towards revolutionary change, it considers forgiveness of trauma as a liberating step of personal and systemic progress riskily built on mutual trust. It Was Just an Accident asks, with no true answer given its open ending, what organised progress looks like and upon what values. What is done, is done, but what now?

#2: Dreams (Sex Love)

Written by Vik Sazhina (she/they) | @vik.sazhina | Contributing Writer

The category is sapphic yearning, and you’re up against 16-year-old Johanne who has accidentally fallen head over heels for her French teacher and decided to document it in writing. Chances are, you’ve probably already lost.

Dag Johan Haugerud’s Dreams (Sex Love) (2024) delves into the complexities of first love, discovering your sexuality and the fine line between dreams and reality. Johanne’s delusional thinking and far-fetched presumptions about the reciprocity of her relationship with her crush was not only comical because it was so ridiculous, but also because unfortunately it hit a little too close to home. From the constant questioning of what is real and what is not, to getting so lost in your feelings that you don’t even care anymore, I just had to laugh watching it, because my experiences with love and relationships have been strikingly similar (minus the teacher part, of course). In the context of sapphic love in particular, Johanne’s thought process felt particularly true to the experience, which I thought was a great step towards destigmatising the representation of sapphic relationships in media. The choice to turn her heartbreak into something tangible through her writing was also a very

vulnerable, yet effective way to convey the intensity of her feelings.

Although Johanne is the primary focus of the film’s storyline, the interactions between her mother and grandmother were a personal highlight for me - not only because of the closeness of their relationship, but because Johanne’s writing prompts their own discussions about love and dreams, that makes me feel as though I know these people personally. Dreams (Sex Love) is a film I know will consistently keep coming back to, not only because of the way it tackles love and sexuality, but also for its likeable characters and a storyline that feels personal and familiar.

Written by Vik Sazhina (she/they) | @vik.sazhina | Contributing Writer

As an atheist raised in an Orthodox Christian household, have a strangely deep fascination with religious themes in cinema. Consequently, there is nothing I love more than a compelling exploration of the nature of sin and religious guilt in young adults coming into their own. Urška Djukić’s Little Trouble Girls (2025) offers just that and more - reconciling the Catholic faith and female sexuality, the film exposes the uncomfortable and less-than-glamorous crevices of adolescence in a way that feels intimate and all too familiar.

Although I initially came solely for the subtle sapphic element of the storyline as sparks flew between 16-year-old Lucia and newly befriended Ana-Maria, I was pleasantly surprised at not only the technical elements, such as the use of exaggerated diegetic sound and extreme close-up shots to convey her growing attraction to the characters within the film, but also the approach to coming-ofage as a genre. Modern-day coming-of-age often lacks a sense of awkwardness and authenticity when it comes to exploring the transition from childhood to adulthood, portraying sex and sexuality as innately effortless. Lucia’s naivete to these subjects felt all too personal, from the initial aversion to growing curiosity. Although it was difficult to tell whether or not she was able to fully reconcile her sexuality with her faith after all, I believe that was purposeful. The film didn’t aim to end on a grand romantic confession, much less a committed romantic relationship, because that was not the point - Lucia’s journey to self-discovery was hers, and hers alone.

#4: Prime Minister

Written by Caeden Tipler (they/them) | @caedentipler | Contributing Writer

In his opening speech, Producer Leon Kirkbeck called Prime Minister “a hard film to make.” This isn’t surprising, considering the film centres on the biggest tragedies of Jacinda Ardern’s time in office: the March 15 terrorist attack, the Whakaari/ White Island eruption, and COVID-19. Little attention is given to the smaller wins of Labour’s time in office (abortion law reform is mentioned, and so is climate change, but not the Zero Carbon Act). While many of Labour’s non-crisis-related reforms still have lingering impacts in Aotearoa, it’s not what this film tells us Jacinda Ardern will be remembered for.

Post-screening, director Michelle Walshe told the audience what Ardern had told her when she started making the film. She wanted to see politicians humanised. After she saw the film for the first time, she said it was a hard watch but an accurate portrayal. I’ve seen online criticisms of this film that have called it a variation of a puff piece - but I disagree. If you have any connection to the events portrayed in the film, you will feel a very real emotional pull. It’s a hard watch for not just Ardern, but any New Zealander. As a younger member of Gen Z, it can be hard to stomach that this is the country grew up in.

It’s not just the nationwide crises that lend the emotional pull, but the more personal ones, too. The scenes that humanise Ardern. The film opens with the Labour leadership crisis of 2017 and the long post-election wait to see who beloved populist Winston Peters will form a government with. He went with Labour, for better or for worse. The joyous moments of Jacinda Ardern’s daughter, Neve’s, first years are plagued by the misogynistic vitriol Ardern received online. Her work at the United Nations is overshadowed by the global eruption, both for and against the idea that a world leader would bring her baby there. This can become tiring to watch (god knows how Ardern felt.) Luckily, Neve and Ardern’s (future) husband Clarke Gayford dip in to offer comedic relief as required.

Interestingly, Clarke Gayford has cinematography credits. He told the audience at the post-screening Q&A that the film started because he said to himself, “someone should film this.” He utilised his background as a cameraperson to capture the intimate clips that would frame the documentary as a “behind the scenes” portrait. He also provides clips that make you feel increasingly sympathetic towards Ardern and himself.

The other major player in the film is Ernest Shackleton. Jacinda Ardern uses his failed Antarctic expedition, but his ability to keep his entire crew alive in the harsh frozen desert, as a metaphor for Labour’s COVID response. Every time another 1940s BBC-style Antarctica clip came on screen, the film lost me. Maybe it will work for others! However, I found it out of place, jarring, and boring - the second most cringeworthy moment of the documentary. It was rivalled only by the cliché and unnecessary shots of Aotearoa landscapes that encroached on yet another one of our films.

While the film’s focus on crisis after crisis offers the emotional pull, it, of course, leaves a lot out. Too much out. Te Ao Māori is largely relegated to the scenes of Destiny Church protests and the anti-vax Parliament lawn occupation. To many of us, Ardern’s time in office was marked by Ihumatao and broader debates on honouring Te Tiriti. It is then disappointing for a film made here, especially one with so much international attention, to limit the Tino Rangatiratanga flag and protest haka to the realm of extremism.

Nonetheless, the audience loved it. The anti-vax protestors (bet you missed them!) stayed outside the screening, and everyone inside seemed to be, at the very least, sympathetic to Ardern. The start and end were marked by huge cheers, and a scattered number of people performing a standing ovation. There was a particularly outstanding moment of audience unity where everyone booed ACT’s David Seymour while he told Parliament why we shouldn’t ban semi-automatic rifles post the March 15 attack. The gun control laws were passed near unanimously at the time, but are slowly, largely by ACT, being unravelled.

Towards the end of the film, Ardern reflects on why she is resigning (“to bring down the temperature.”) Many of us will see people we know in her, and will be moved by her authenticity in the midst of a very stressful time. I doubt the film will change anyone's mind about her, but maybe it will bring a few people closer to a place of understanding.

A24’s new film Sorry, Baby follows a young literature professor named Agnes, who is dealing with the fallout of a sexual assault that she experienced in her graduate programme. The story is told in a non-chronological narrative with each year

being broken into its own short chapter, not dissimilar to the short stories Agnes wrote her thesis on.

This is Eva Victor’s directorial debut, and it’s deserving of all the praise it has been receiving since its premier at the Sundance Film Festival earlier this year. My experience watching it at the beautiful Civic was one filled with hope, laughter and heartache. The ability to control the tonal shifts throughout the movie is admirable. One minute the theatre would be filled with levity and laughter, the next you could feel the person next to you stop breathing. It switched so effortlessly between the two tones that not once did I feel it was conflicting. Only after the movie did realize just how much Victor had achieved.

It is funny without trivialising the subject matter or the characters, even Natasha who is a bizarre, ridiculous character who could very easily turn into a caricature of reality. Instead, the movie reminds you of the exact moment you too, have met (or maybe even been) a Natasha.

The highlight of the movie for me was the central relationship between the two best friends Agnes and Lydie. So rarely is friendship in the limelight, so seeing the deep trust and love that exists between their bond was heartwarming and relatable. These relationships are often relegated to the sidelines, instead being replaced with depictions of romantic love. I like that it also acknowledges the difficulties of growth and changing priorities, will force you to move apart. I hesitate to say grow apart, as the movie suggests this person may remain a deeply treasured and trusted person in your life.

| @daniel941 on Letterboxd | Contributing Writer

Igor Bezinović infuses an astounding degree of resourcefulness and creativity into Fiume o morte!, a documentary about eccentric Italian fascist Gabriele D'Annunzio. The residents of Fiume (presently Rijeka, Croatia), with great ironic candour, impersonate and play-by-play reenact D'Annunzio's short-lived rule of what was briefly a city-state. The film leans heavily into the absurdity of the fascists' private lives and military choices, with non-professional locals dressing up and re-enacting the city's history with D'Annunzio following the First World War. The re-enactments become a punchline of the ridiculousness depicted in the archival photos but also how funny, well-done and accurate they are despite the subject matter's moral bankruptcy.

It is in that ironic tension, poking fun at the fascist aesthetics and unreasonableness of fascist rulers, where the documentary misses its opportunity for criticality. Satire without a critical edge does not, and did not, amount to a true dissection and negation of D'Annunzio's fascist values and the rise of Mussolini's fascist Italy. Just as the selectively well-documented era of D'Annunzio's fascism depicted 'fun-loving' soldiers following their poet-turned-leader, this documentary fails to critique the strategic allure in the romanticisation of fascism. The film relies on the audience understanding its anti-fascism by inference along with some present day street interviewees in Rijeka airing their off-the-cuff thoughts. Under the current, terrifying rise and domination of fascism in Italy and abroad, including in Aotearoa New Zealand, films like Fiume o morte! simply cannot afford to risk further normalising and trivialising fascism and its aesthetics into a punchline. Facing an abundance of fascist dog-whistles and propaganda across culture currently, anti-fascist art must stand steadfast rather than rely on inference via absurdity and camp. We are in a losing systemic fight against fascism to defend equity, community, and democracy so when documentaries like this skirt along difficult conversations, it is, naturally, disappointing.

Matzembacher have never been better in creating a film that whole-heartedly commits to the sexual thriller style while delivering self-aware campiness with unabashed boldness.

They ridiculously abuse dissolves, snap zooms and split screens to rev up how camp yet wildly thrilling – sexually, clawing for power and dabbling in the slasher giallo genre – a gay love story can be in Night Stage. It was wonderfully fitting that my sparsely populated Hollywood Avondale theatre was mostly queer-presenting men, seeing a part of our culture on screen with dramatic lighting and a thumping score despite what seems like a cinematic phase of Othering queer people and prudish reserved individualism. Queer people, in this case namely men who have sex with men, create and maintain their own in-group cultural rules and expectations about kinship and sex – never among non-participants, unspoken consent cues, and what should be an undying solidarity to one another. It is in that latter sentiment of community solidarity that the central actor and politician pair’s violation of some cardinal rules in queer culture present a real, flawed instance of queer sexuality with exhibitionism. Even then, their ridiculous antics – behind closed doors and brazenly at public spaces alike – become endearing and part of what makes Night Stage so flawed yet critically engaging and full of life. Gay sex is so back!

Nevertheless, this film undeniably came from an astounding effort of production and clearly bears critical and educational merit. Critically, I will always appreciate the preservation and revitalisation of dying languages like Fiumano (the Fiuman dialect) as is intentionally arranged to be the narrated language across most of Fiume o morte! Missed opportunities aside, this documentary soars at its best as a love letter to the present and future of Rijeka and its community and breathes life into the possibilities in documentary filmmaking.

#8: Afternoons of Solitude

Written by Ricky Lai (he/him) | @rickylaitheokperson | Contributing Columnist

‘I got lucky’, pants 28-year-old Peruvian bullfighter Andrés Roca Rey, having just narrowly evaded fatality after being viciously crushed against a wall. The enraged bovine that did this to him is still bleeding to death. His subalternos zap in with testosterone-boosting compliments about his abs, his truthfulness, and the size of his cojones — “glazing”, I think we call it — and charge their fighter’s spirit during his lapse of confidence. Roca’s entourage insults the animal‘s cowardice, spurns the crowd, and continues their psychotic cheers into the sleek, spenny backseats of the matador’s chauffeur. Only when Roca leaves the vehicle, do the men quit their act and admit to the brush with death.

Serra is intrigued by the physical processes that contribute to a brutish artform; stretching tights while getting dressed, extending the muleta’s frame, the fighter swaying in accordance with the beast. It’s upsetting, a touch pretentious, and to be transparent with you, completely hypnotic. Though my mind drifted in the final stretch, my eyes were mostly wide open, glued to the possibility that Roca might get speared this time or the next. Bullfighting and the outrage against it pre-dates the 19th century — but bonded with our modern reassessment of masculinity, the upholding of such a deranged tradition looks downright uncanny. only learned today that “matador” means “killer” in Spanish.

#9: Resurrection

Written by Ricky Lai (he/him) | @rickylaitheokperson | Contributing Columnist

The white-rimmed, void-black blip in the right-corner of the screen in the middle of an old film is nicknamed – mostly thanks to Tyler Durden – a ‘cigarette burn’, cueing to the projectionist that a changeover to the next reel is soon due. Old celluloid burns on its own too, sometimes – it’s the heat. ‘Resurrection’ begins with a hole burning through the frame, revealing an audience from the 1910’s staring right back at us, presumably bewildered at the faces they can see. Bi Gan’s maximalist opus here is a causatum of Chinese history exhaled through the heavy dust and tobacco plumes of cinema. So much time has passed — it’s been 123 years since Georges Méliès sent his Animatograph on a trip to the moon; only 56 years since we got photographs from an actual trip to the moon. Each chapter here balletically evokes one of the five human senses, then concludes with a flashback to a cluster of wax candles melting, as if to set each of those filmic eras free of their provinces. An overnight timelapse; a make-up artist applying a latex mask to their actor; faces from previous chapters reflected in the windows of others – I can’t contain how many sights there are to see here. It is tempting from a myopic Western eye to see the boundlessness – and the astounding production value – of ‘Resurrection’ of Bi’s film as a testament to the opaqueness of his vision; so abstract and unpolitical that it freely navigates the censors of the Chinese film industry, doling him the yuan in mounds! But in truth, Bi’s fangs still bite – the power of liberty in dreaming for a freer world should not be bouncing off a closed mind. You don’t need to have a fricative grasp on what’s happening to feel it – and that moral isn’t limited to these 160 minutes. Think about the people on the other side of the Earth, kindred enough to be your reflections by sheer chance, that you don’t know exist. A+.

#10: Eddington

Written by Joshua Black (he/him) |

Contributing

Even his strong anti-mask belief is overshadowed as people around him fall further down the conspiracy pipeline. I enjoyed seeing these relationships pull on him throughout the film, as his love for his community is challenged by the rapid polarisation it undergoes.

While it’s sure to target the right, Eddington does not shy from mocking the left. It scolds the inauthentic elements - people who felt the need to support civil rights, mainly to accommodate their larger need to have a story post, or to have ammo for infighting.

Watching it at the NZIFF really instilled NZ’s love to gloat at all the crazy shit happening “over there”. But as the oldies around me continued to guffaw at white kids failing to grasp modern race theory, our own complicity in understanding could not go unnoticed. It suddenly felt like a boomer comedy in disguise.

Eddington takes a swing at everyone, and that’s a good thing. It doesn’t intend to take sides, it only means to showcase how far those sides have parted. Many repress 2020 as an ugly scar best not dwelled on, but its consequences are not contained in that year. As things get even crazier “over there”, a film that critiques where it all escalated from is a film worth reflecting on.

Written by Joshua Black (he/him) | Contributing Writer

I remember once learning that the audience will always have empathy for the protagonist, as they can only see the world as that protagonist sees it. While I always assumed that to be true, Lurker proved to be a film that will give you that empathy, only to slowly pry it away from you.

Matthew, the protagonist, finds himself suddenly - almost prophetically - close to rising star Oliver. Their relationship drives the remainder of the story as a constant push and pull of influence. The relationship is layered with subtle details, to the point where it can feel uncomfortably realistic. A simple two second reaction shot gives the same embarrassment and stress as when the cool group in high school didn’t laugh at your joke.

Matthew’s character seems inspired by Nightcrawler. Not just because both protagonists have a shitty camera, but because of their devotion and skill in weaponising said camera. Both films offer analysis of the inhuman hunger required to stay important in the media industry - this is best summarised by Matthew when he says "We all want the same thing, I just want it more."

Lurker is about paranoia with fame, it is about alienation with fame, and it is about the reflex to exploit fame. Neither Oliver nor Matthew are good people, and this will leave you with a lot to reflect on. Lurker will fight with your heart on who you should care about, and while there is a clear winner by the end, you’ll be sure to cringe in your seat as this battle unfolds.

Brazil. Here, aspiring actor Matias and city mayor hopeful Rafael enter a debaucherous relationship defined by risk and reward. Long-time collaborating directors

I didn’t need Serra’s documentary to take an explicit moral stance on bullfighting; just wanted it to be honest. And the camera of Albert Serra and Artur Tort doesn’t hold back on showing anything (!) over the course of these three afternoons, to the chagrin of the theatre as we witnessed the playful public slaughter of a creature that, unlike its opponent, did not wake up aware that it’d die that afternoon. No wonder the controversy.

Writer Eddington is about the isolation of society caused by social media in 2020. The titular town is a microcosm of America during this time, and the film uses this for a dark comedy sure to cast an ugly reflection upon the audience.

Main actor Joaquin Phoenix does a great job portraying Joe Cross, a weak man with strong beliefs. Reminiscent of his prior role as Arthur Fleck in Joker, he’s able to convey a pathetic person pushed too far, but leaves little inspiration for incel sigma edits.

Since October 7th, the world has been watching a live-streamed genocide. The overexposure of crying parents holding their dead dismembered kids, the burn-

ing bodies of hospital patients, and the bloody dust-covered babies in rubble has put anyone with a heart in a helpless state. While we watch these horrors through our OLED screens, Put Your Soul On Your Hand and Walk makes this so-called war intimate with its audience through the WhatsApp correspondence of director Sepideh Farsi with a 24-year-old Gazan photographer, Fatima Hassouna.

Throughout their multi-month conversations in 2024, Farsi frequently feels worried weeks at a time if Fatima can ever see her again, as the question looms through disconnections, lag, and bad internet, if Fatima is dead.

Fatima appears on her calls with a beaming smile that radiates joy, yet it doesn’t make the experiences she speaks about any less horrible. Intercut between the disconnections are displays of her photography documenting the ruin of Gaza, which are eerily too similar to the dark passages of history. Buildings reduced to rocks with the Palestinian people making shelter within the wreckage while children roam, still smiling. The joy of the Palestinian people here is inspiring, but the precious life they display in their faces are most likely lost in either starvation or murder.

Our beautifully lovely protagonist recounts the Gazan reality, providing personal insight into this ethnic cleansing campaign. As she keeps moving around the Gaza Strip, avoiding bombs at the direction of the Israeli occupational forces that even on her calls drop bombs close to her, she tells the story of the murder of her closest friends and family, one being her dearest grandma. Weeks before her death, she pleaded for her grandchild to stay with her. Fatima, with sadness, says they never got to bury and say goodbye to her. These FaceTime conversations and messages are nothing short of something out of a nightmare. Fatima’s pictures show, and her experiences of torture, starvation, and depression portray a life in a helpless prison. Fatima even questions why she deserves such a life, why can’t she be a normal girl with a normal life?

This film will leave you devastated and consumed with melancholic emotion, or enraged, even as was with eyes watering; however, Put Your Soul On Your Hand and Walk should be an activation. This is not just the story of Fatima but of all Palestinians. Her story is even more tragic when, before the screening of her story at Cannes, Israel bombed her and her 13 family members in their sleep at 1AM in April 2025.

| Contributing Columnist

There are foolproof plans, and then there are just foolish plans. Josh O’Connor plays James, an art thief in 1970s Massachusetts — ‘the mastermind’, he’s eventually accused of being by sleuths on his trail. This title becomes funnier as he cluelessly drifts through wintery Boston, and is a punchline by the end. Director Kelly Reichardt takes patient care for each step of the sting — we watch him in a barn at night, painstakingly disassembling a crate of paintings, carrying them up a ladder piece by piece, then reassembling them — so it’s hilarious to watch him return home and discover none of it was worth the effort. Michel from ‘Pickpocket’, he is not. Some mastermind.

This isn’t Reichardt’s first heist film. Her earlier ‘Night Moves’ (2013) steeped with a trio of radical environmentalists planning to blow up a dam; their moves were careful; discreet; quivering under guilty conscience. ‘The Mastermind’ is amusing because its heist, claiming several abstract paintings of debatable value in a suburban museum, is carried out by bumbling idiots. Yet despite the chummy cast — John Magaro and Matthew Maher steal the show as per — couldn’t buy into James’ nonsensical lack of motive, tossing his decent life aside for a half-baked caper. I couldn’t swat the question away; just what did this charlatan expect?

#14: Hysteria

Written by Nathan Cosmic (he/him) | @nathan.cosmic GenKlytusEyes | Contributing Writer

For a film named Hysteria, the opening scene creates a subtler atmosphere of creeping doom. Showing black and white CCTV footage of a fire encroaching onto unaware sleeping bodies in a house, children wriggling in their beds asleep while fire lurks under their bedroom door, it is traumatically nostalgic of fire prevention ads. An abrupt cut shows it is a set based upon the racist arson attack of 1993 in Solingen, Germany, that killed a Turkish family. The director of this recreation is a Turkish German named Yigit (Serkhan Kaya), who sets out to make a film based upon the racial violence inflicted upon immigrants during the 90s. He directs a group of extras who are Arab refugees in exploring the aftermath of the arson attack, wanting an authentic touch to his film. When one extra discovers a burnt Quran, production is put into a bonfire of chaos, blame, and blackmail.

Hysteria is as cunning as it is relevant to the modern-day audience. The film tackles the idea of hijacking narratives for personal gain - something all too common in the internet age, where a simple incident is injected with religious, cultural, and political prejudices. In the end, The suspects form a circling fire squad of who is guilty not only for the crime of disrespecting the Quran, but for stealing the film’s tapes. Elif, a university intern and the character we see the film through, loses the keys to the set, the scene of the crime, and goes down a path of lies and negligence to try to protect her own career. The extras dislike the director and producer who make Arab films with a Eurocentric view, yet some of them have their own aspirations in the film industry, causing some to sell out others, but are fearful of deportation if found guilty. Meanwhile, the producer Lillith wants the insurance money after the film is reported to the Ministry of Culture. Then the director, who loved the pure reactions of the disgusted extras of the burnt Quran, wants the film released with the burnt Quran.

Writer, director, and producer Mehmet Akif Büyükatala creates a sophisticated complex of today's social problems. Whether it is the portrayal and exploitation of Arab cultures, or the extent of artistic freedom, the audience's mind is buzzing around - not only because of the whodunnit, but from the layers Büyükatala puts into the story's commentary of normal people getting radicalised and divided. The ending is a masterpiece and is emblematic of our frantically self-destructive 21st-century world.

Written by Olive Cato (she/her) | @oliveecato | Contributing Writer

I have a fascinating relationship with Dakota Johnson. Her wide-eyed performance as college student Anastasia Steele in the upsettingly libidinous Fifty Shades of Grey initially caught my attention - not because of the movie (which is arguably terrible), or the premise (arguably worse), but because of what now understand to be The Unnameable Dakota Johnson Quality. She brings a certain aloofness to the otherwise discomfiting 125 minutes of soft-core Twilight fanfiction that almost, almost makes it work. Since then, her filmography hasn’t exactly moved her up the ranks. But I’ve stayed loyal. Even when her web was connecting them all, I stayed strong, because I knew. She’s got something special.

Splitsville works because it knows what Dakota Johnson is best at. As ‘Julie,’ TUDJQ is

on full display. She’s funny, and wickedly so, but not because she’s really trying to crank out the ha-ha’s. The Quality, I’ve realised, works best when she’s put next to people she can react to. It’s her silences; her looks; her sardonic, smirky comments that really drive Splitsville’s humour home. When Johnson first appears on screen, clad in Birkenstock Boston’s; her bangs at their very best, you know exactly what kind of movie you’re in for. And it delivers.

It’s just so 2025. Director Michael Angelo Covino - I’d just like to take a second to appreciate the fact that this guy is actually called Michael Angelo - and writer Kyle Marvin have pounced onto an array of contemporary, self-centered cultural trends (think life coach podcasters), and rightfully so. I’d like to note that Marvin (also the endearing lead) wrote several lines into this film about his penis being large, as well as explicitly showing it on several occasions. In fairness, it does help explain why Dakota Johnson and Adria Adjorna both want to sleep with him.

This movie explores the modern-day notion that non-monogamy leads to healthier relationships, because: ‘if we love each other enough, it shouldn’t matter.’ This cracks open a cackle-worthy can of worms for the core four, setting up a solid hour and a half of unpredictable fun. Although slightly underdeveloped, story-wise, the writing is so consistently funny that you don’t really care. If watched it again, could probably pick up on multiple grievances with the portrayal of women, or lazy scene beats. But, even still, as the bald man sitting next to me put it: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

I’d like to point out that, for a movie so entirely about sexual relations, there isn’t a single sex scene. Instead, Splitsville is an outright slapstick comedy. Covino and Marvin have an obvious appreciation for physical humour - the true highlight of this film is an outrageously choreographed fight scene between the two, which I’d be remiss to spoil.

All I have to say is: Chekhov’s massive glass fish tank.

#16: Mistress Dispeller

Written by Joshua Black (he/him) | Contributing Writer

This is the best documentary I’ve seen in years—maybe ever.

The film follows one case for a mistress dispeller, a specialist in China whose job is to quietly integrate themself in the life of a husband and mistress. Posing as a friend while subtly undermining the affair, they quietly end the affair and restore the marriage.

What have to love is how intimate and real the film is. There are no talking head interviews, no slow pans over old photos, knick knacks, or stock footage. There are no boring conventions that turn so many documentaries into nothing more than a high budget powerpoint.

No, instead, Mistress Dispeller gives you a ticket to be a fly on the wall of an aging couple struggling through this conflict. You see every difficult conversation in one long take, every scheme going wrong or right, every deep truth the wife, husband, or mistress share with the dispeller.

But unlike Cheaters the reality TV show, this is not a sting operation. Mistress Dispeller is a deeply emotional exploration of love, pride, and loneliness. You understand the motives of everyone involved, and get a glimpse into the wider context of the modern day conflicts of love and family in China.

Even the husband gets his fair share of screen time to give his idioms on love. Not that you’ll feel any better about his actions, but what he says is important. His pessimism confronts universal fears of old love: losing good looks, life settling into an unchanging rhythm, or especially, confronting your changing feelings.

This film captures the ugly beauty of modern love. Through this deeply insightful case study in China, as a reflection seen around the world. Romance is never like the movies… except for this one.

The Niche Sports Guide of Auckland

Everyone knows exercise = good, but its mental health benefits are especially important at uni. It reduces stress hormones such as cortisol and adrenaline, and stimulates the production of endorphins, think “runner's high”, or that post-workout calm. Since uni can create a lot of stress - and maybe a cheeky breakdown or two - a routine activity that mitigates these feelings is so important.

However, think many people go about this the wrong way by only getting a gym membership.

If you’ve struggled to stay consistent with the gym, and it’s your only form of exercise, that makes sense. If it’s not a sport you enjoy, it’s a chore. You’re only giving yourself more work and more to worry about.

The more you enjoy something, the better you’re going to get at it. So find something you’ll enjoy, where skill, progress, and community keep you engaged.

The Guide

I did some research to find some of the more unconventional sports in Auckland. This is to spark new ideas for those who never enjoyed anything offered in PE, those who want to try something new, or those who just want a unique conversation starter at parties.

Arm Wrestling Club(s): Auckland Arm Benders, NZ Arm Wrestling Federation, Savage Stallion Arm Wrestling

The sport for those whose biceps have biceps.

The premise is simple: you and an opponent interlock hands, and while keeping your elbow on the same table, you must pin their wrist to the table.

Though it’s deceptively simple, there is a lot of hidden technique involved. Wrestlers are allowed to wrap their leg around the table leg, and they make sure to position their wrist, elbow and shoulder in such a way that they can put their entire body into the motion, while protecting themself from injury.

Although you’d expect the sport to reek of toxic masculine energy, I did a documentary on the Auckland Armbenders a few years back, and I found that they were very chill and welcoming. The two founders were more inspired by Dragon Ball’s super saiyan charge-ups than any desire to out bro their bros.

Head to Facebook to follow the Arm Benders with training updates; nowadays, they seem to bring tables to Victoria Park under the overpass. Otherwise, go to the NZ Arm Wrestling Federation website to find the next competition.

Capoeira Club(s): Capoeira Abadá Auckland, Capoeira Angola Ecamar

The sport for those who really want to fight or dance, but don’t have time

for two hobbies.

Capoeira is an Afro-Brazilian martial art and game that involves kicks, handstands, and staying on beat. As a sport, Capoeiristas stay in a constant rhythmic flow from side to side, mixed in with attempts to kick the head and general acrobatic moves.

Most instances of capoeira don’t actually involve contact with your opponent. In a Roda, for example, a circle is formed by capoeiristas, and it becomes a simulated fight/dance battle fusion.

The outside circle will play instruments, sing, and clap along. The capoeiristas on the inside perform their moves as a showcase of skill. In videos, you’ll see very slow kicks or people backing off if they are actually going to make contact. There are no rounds, no scores, no winners, it’s just vibes.

So there are certainly more effective ways to learn to fight, but if you’re there for the vibes, check out those clubs listed above on Facebook for class times/prices.

Parkour

Club(s): Flow Academy

This sport is for those who bought a GoPro in 2013 but haven’t used it since the day they got it.

Parkour is the sport that combines acrobatics with traversing random shit. Athletes challenge themselves with the task of completing obstacle courses in the “fastest and most efficient way possible”. put that in quotes because freerunning, which used to be considered a more performative practice, has become assimilated with the sport. There’s nothing efficient about throwing a cheeky somersault in your run, but it’s accepted as part of the game.

Parkour is often done outside and associated with urban exploring and trespassing, which is pretty controversial, and just full of white boy energy.

However, there is an official NZ Parkour association that organises competitions and workshops with schools. If you are interested in learning the sport in an indoor training facility, you can go to Flow Academy in Albany.

Underwater Hockey Club(s): Pakuranga Underwater Hockey Club, FINS Underwater Hockey Club, Nova Underwater Hockey Club

The sport for people who were just really good at fighting over a bowl with their fork as a kid?

Underwater hockey is hockey, but your stick is the size of your hand. You can’t breathe, and you can’t speak. What’s not to love? Played at the bottom of the pool, you and your team take turns diving down, each player with a snorkel and flippers.

Underwater, you shimmy the puck up the length of the pool until you push it into their goal, or run out of air and resurface. The puck is weighted, and can actually be sent a long way, but the sport plays like fish tank roleplay where there’s only one flake of fish food left, so you don’t get many breakaways.

For reasons I couldn’t fathom, the sport isn’t that popular around the world. However, it turns out that New Zealand actually ranks first in the world for under 24’s men/women, under 19’s men, and the elite division for men. So I guess if you would like to carry on our world-class legacy, you can head to underwaterhockeynz.com for more info on clubs near you.

Race Walking

Club(s): Racewalking Auckland (RWA)

This sport is for those who often find themselves in a hurry to get somewhere but feel too embarrassed to run in public.

Race walking is racing where at least one leg must be on the ground (to the human eye), and your front leg must be straightened from the moment of first contact with the ground until it’s underneath your torso.

Years of research have perfected the walking stride. The best method is to walk along a straight line (like a tightrope), turning your pelvis to lengthen your stride, and with lowered hips for less bounce.

Races at the Olympics used to go up to 50km for men (longer than a marathon). The world record for this race belongs to French racewalker Yohann Diniz, who completed the race in 3:32:33. That’s an average pace of 14.11 km/h. Elite marathon RUNNERS have an average pace of 14.49 km/h.

RWA holds weekly events every Sunday, alternating between races and training. The venue changes every week, so head to their website for their venue calendar.

HEMA/Buhurt

Club(s): Auckland Sword and Shield, Auckland School of European Martial Arts, Dreadnoughts Medieval Combat

This sport is for those who want to pretend they’re learning ancient martial arts, but actually just want to give someone a concussion.

Buhurt/HEMA (Historical European martial arts) is a modern revival of weapon-based martial arts from the late Middle Ages. Buhurt is the term that was used during this historical period for team-based and one-onone bouts with blunted weapons, which would be held in events similar to jousting tournaments.

Because of this, the swordplay differs from fencing, as it is more about brute force than finesse. Athletes are donned in a full set of period-accurate armour, and simply beat each other until someone falls over or gives in (Practices do look more practical).

If you would like to get a better idea of the sport, there is occasionally a Beers and Brawls event, where the Dreadnoughts display their sport at the Beer Spot in Northcote. Otherwise, search for any of the clubs listed above on Facebook.

Airsoft

Club(s): The Bastion, MIA, Speedsoft NZ

This is the sport for those who thought they were going to join the military when they were a kid, but were disappointed to find out war is actually a soulless onslaught of tragedy and trauma… But they still want to dress up and shoot people.

Airsoft is a sport where people shoot each other with little plastic bullets - BBs - from airsoft guns that replicate real-life guns. Playstyles and events can vary from hardcore multi-day “milsim” (military simulations) operations to indoor run and gun “speedsoft” games. Players who are into the milsim side go all out to customise their attire and guns for periodic or faction accuracy, making this sport a unique form of LARPing.

In Auckland, it’s mainly a casual collective of squads that come together for games hosted on Facebook. Finding your squad is very important for not getting shot immediately, and from my experience, most people are happier to pick newbies up.

The Bastion is one of the more prominent squads that host casual games once a month. I’d recommend heading to their Facebook to find their next event.

Conclusion

Finding the right sport can be a long journey. The best way to find your sport? Try a bunch, and don’t feel bad about quitting early.

I quit Judo after a month. I found it awkward and frustrating; could feel new injuries every session. You’re damn right I didn’t give it “a proper go”, but how could I if I was already miserable being there?

As I bounced between other sports, felt the guilt that I always “gave up too early”. But now I’ve found bouldering, and I love it. I know this, because injuries are treated as “yea, but can probably climb a bit longer” rather than “god damn it, why am I doing this”. I’ve been at it for a year, and if I had given everything I tried a proper go, I wouldn’t have found bouldering for another five years.

So just jump around until you find something that clicks. There’s bound to be something out there for you, and I hope this list has sparked your interest to broaden your scope. The search is so worth it on the other side.

Written By Joshua Black CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Q: 20 he/him

I like someone, but how do I know if he likes me back? I’m too nervous to say anything or do anything more bold than a couple of flirtatious remarks here and there. I also don’t want to clue him in that I like him, because we have to see each other until the end of the semester, and I don’t want to make things awkward.

A: Ah… the age-old dilemma of requited or unrequited love. Before you break your heart with your own fantasies about this maybe-romance, I’ll give you some of my flirting advice.

I think there are a few handy clues, and even if these don’t tell you definitively whether someone is crushing back, they could give you the confidence to up your flirting throttle.

The first thing I would try to pick up on is if he mirrors your energy. When you make light, flirty comments or jokes, does he respond with someone equally playful? If so, that’s a good sign they’re into your vibe.

Does he initiate conversations or prolong them? If you’re having a chat, and he seems to want to keep it going even when you could have walked away, that could be a good sign that he enjoys your company, and possibly wants to enjoy it even more.

If you’re at a level where you have a small amount of physical proximity to your crush, consider a few things. Does he sit near you, lean in when talking, or not back away if you lightly touch his arm or shoulder? Comfort with closeness is a green-ish flag!

How is the conversation between you generally? If he’s smiling and seems genuinely engaged with what you’re saying, laughs at your jokes, that could be a good sign. Or if he remembers little things you’ve said in passing. People who like you tend to collect random facts about you like little trinkets.

Now, all that being said, everyone’s communication is a little different. In an age of pseudo-body-language-science, it’s important to remember that you can never really know what’s going on in someone’s head unless they tell you. Which, frequently,

and unfortunately, does require asking.

The best thing you can do if you can’t bear revealing your cards just yet is to focus on becoming great friends. Invite him out to a solo hang and see how the vibes are when you’re in a date-like situation. Remember the little things he tells you about himself, remember his favourite drinks/snacks and surprise him with a little gift sometimes. These things will show him you’re interested in being closer, but won’t give the full game away.

I would like to add that there is no shame in confessing a crush to someone. Although I understand your fear of making things awkward, I’ve been in many, MANY such situations in my time, and the thing is, awkwardness can’t kill you. It can barely deal damage. I once went on a 4-day trip with a friend who (on the first day) made a respectful move on me. After an extremely awkward rejection, we continued on with our trip, and we’re still great friends to this day.

Being rejected can feel like absolute shit, but wouldn’t you rather be crushing on someone who’s crushing on you back? Just something to consider.

But really - get your daisy out and start plucking some petals, because your guess is about as good as mine.

Q: 20 She/They

Hi Tashi! Okay, so I came out as bi last year. Yay, right? And I am happy about it, I don’t regret it or anything, but now I feel like I’ve accidentally entered some kind of queer Olympics where everyone’s silently judging my every move.

Like, if I hook up with a guy, suddenly it’s like I’ve been “claimed by the straights” or I’m just a “confused girl in her experimental era” (for saying I’m bi then hooking up with guys). And then if I’m into a girl, I feel this pressure to prove I’m queer enough. Like I have to look the part, talk the part, follow the right people on Instagram or something? It’s exhausting. I literally came out so I could be more myself, and now I feel more performative than ever. I don’t even like writing this down, because I feel like people are going to think I’m being mean to this or that group.

How can I just “be” without overthinking it all the time??

A: Firstly, congratulations! It’s an amazing feeling to be able to speak freely about your experience, and I’m so glad you’ve been able to embrace your identity!

Alas, I, too, struggle with being bi and not being taken seriously by either the gays or the straights. I’m not sure how much we can do about wider society, but I’ll share some of the advice that has helped me over the years.

I’ve been on the receiving end of biphobic noise since I came out. My mum laughed when I told her I was going on my first date with a woman, “But you’re not gay!” she exclaimed. No, mum, I guess I’m not. I’m bisexual.

While having lunch with my grandad in an adorable Castle Combe pub last year, he hit me with his latest piece of wisdom, “Bi people don’t exist. They’re just greedy and haven’t made up

their mind yet”. Way to ruin a lovely holiday moment, gramps.

I’ve had ladies on apps lose interest in me when they find out I’m bi. I’ve had men imply they need to be vigilant about the threat of more competition. And of course, I’ve had a lot of men get excited about the idea of an FMF threesome. People say I’m faking it because I’m greedy for attention. Biphobia is exhausting to navigate.

There is a long history of bi-erasure and biphobia from both sides of the fence. I’d highly recommend the YouTuber Verity Ritchie (@verilybitchie), who talks extensively on bi history and representation in media. Check her out!

In terms of advice, one thing that helped me is addressing my internal dialogue. The issue with biphobia is that it is so prevalent that we tend to take on these negative judgments in our own heads. When I’m feeling insecure, I imagine I’m talking to a young bi person who’s struggling, and what I’d say to them is: “Challenge the negative stereotypes or misconceptions about bisexuality you may have absorbed. You are valid. Give Yourself Time. Be gentle with yourself. Your sexuality is yours to define.”

The other piece of advice I’d like to impart is one about friends. Friendship should not feel like you’re competing in the Olympics. You shouldn’t have to work for approval from your support network. It took me until my mid-twenties to figure this out, so hopefully you can get a head start. People who claim there is a “right” way to be queer are not worth arguing with, and frankly, they’re likely bogged down by their own internalised homophobia in some way.

The problem with the capitalistic world we live in is that everything can (and will) be commodified. This includes identity, which is fucked on so many levels, but it feeds into a wider sociological problem surrounding identity politics. When people cling to a commodified identity, you realise very quickly how shallow it is. If being gay means you have to wear the “right” clothes, follow the “right” influencers, or use the “right” slang, it rips the individual completely out of the equation. Your identity is yours to define, and if you want to own more beanies than necessary, get a pixie cut, and get really into film photography to show off your bisexuality, all the more power to you. But if that’s just not you, that doesn’t make you less bi.

If there is a queer Olympics, you’re allowed to skip the training and just watch from the sidelines with an iced coffee. Your life isn’t a spectator sport. You get to decide the pace, the uniform, and whether you even want to compete.

So to finish off, let your bisexuality be something that lives in you, not something you have to prove to others. Over time, the noise around what’s “queer enough” fades, and the people who matter will see you, really see you, without you having to perform for it. That’s the freedom you came out for.

shows hosts

I

count my Blessings Ānei te tohu

1. two tūī dive overhead a pīwakawaka haunts each of our steps a girl passes us, eyes lifted I point to the kererū fat-breasted, drunk on miro, swaying

She says, “I think the kererū just shat on me.” But sis, that’s good luck.

2. A moss log, heavy with rain. From it — hundreds of gold caps, bruising purple in my hands. We wrap them in kawakawa, tuck them into your peke.

3. At the bakery, one magpie, then two. We’ve been so in love lately — last weekend you took me to Kiwi Valley Farms, where we fed all manner of animals 4. That evening, my sister calls. She is having a baby — my first iramutu. A baby is always a blessing.

5. In the morning the manu sing outside the window heralding fortunes. The sea is always still. Te Rākaunui rises, waxy orange, and we dance beneath it.

Artificial intelligence has been a dice roll of a topic haunting dinner tables for the better part of a decade. In pop culture, it’s often painted as a Transformer-like villain, here to either steal your job or upload your soul into some bleak digital purgatory (thanks for that, Black Mirror). But My AI Twin, recently on at the Basement Theatre, takes a glow-down approach, less villain, more awkward understudy, the kind that can talk in your voice, handle your life admin, while still fumbling the basics. Brown explores something far more familiar: the way this technology has already woven itself into our daily capitalist lives, whether we consented to it or not.

Written and directed by Shirin Brown, the play centres on Xan, a local councillor deep in the grind of a mayoral campaign, worn thin by the endless performance of being everywhere all at once. When a particularly disgruntled voter delivers a steaming opinion piece to her doorstep, she finally caves to her partner’s suggestion: try an AI twin. Not the glossy Hollywood kind, but a digital Xan close enough to pass in an online interview setting, if you can look past the cursed hands.

One of the moments that stuck with me most was the AI twin interview. Xan’s digital double sat there answering questions while the live comment stream gushed about how “authentic” she was. Later, reading those comments and sitting with the guilt of tricking her community, she seemed to realise how ridiculous it was chasing a political career while outsourcing the “talking to people” part to someone or… something else.

Balancing satire with a dose of reality, My AI Twin asks pointed questions about authenticity, the extra scrutiny faced by women in politics, burnout, and whether handing over your online self to an algorithm is really so different from hiring a PR team to do it for you.

Under Brown’s direction, the humour and commentary is clever without feeling too heavy or shameful, letting the ideas land while the audience is still laughing. My AI Twin leaves you mulling over your own moral ideals. Would you hand your voice to a slightly glitchy double just to make your personal life easier, or is that the moment you’ve stopped being the human you were elected to be and started working for the machine?

Review By Madeline Bradley (she/her) CONTRIBUTING WRITER