Critical Corner: Mā

If there’s one running theme I can see in the Pride Elevates programme this year – a programme introduced to highlight artists, supporting them to create and perform on a larger platform than they otherwise would’ve been able to – it’s welcoming queer artists to take centre stage. How taking centre stage looks varies wildly depending on the artist. For Brady Peeti, it is a dive bar-set cabaret with the songs she clearly wanted to sing. For Xin Ji, it’s an exploration of body, and the gaps between what we expect of our bodies and what they’re actually capable of.
For Jonjon Tolovae, it is quite literally taking - and holding - centre stage as trans fa’afafine. Her name sits above the title for the show - Tolovae is making a tribute to Mā, her own mother, but also Tolovae is Mā, with all the complexities that word implies.
Her presence makes up the first image of the play, in a gorgeous garment designed by Sammy Salsa, and while she moves from that literal centre point through the show’s 45 minutes, she is never not the focal point.
Mā moves through several forms and genres. At some point, it feels like a memory play. At others, it is the kind of banter-heavy play that used to be programmed at Basement Theatre every other week. At others, the nebulously defined “play with songs”. Towards the end, it becomes an earnest tribute to chosen family.
Throughout it all, the one constant is Tolovae (although she is very winningly supported by Nikeidrian Lologa-Peters, who matches her beat-for-beat in some zippy two hander scenes). She’s a brilliant, compelling performer, and her ability to mime smoking a cigarette could put a French clown to shame. The stage is clearly her comfort zone, and it made me wish I could see whatever she puts her name, her face, and her body to next. Aotearoa needs to see more of what she has to offer.
As such, Mā feels more like an artistic statement than a show. A declaration of intent, a purpose, an introduction, even a simple stake in the creative ground. The spread of forms, the relatively short length, the sprawling messages of love, acceptance and community, feel like an announcement. Jonjon Tolovae is here. These are the shows she wants to make. The world better watch out - and they best book tickets.
In that way, it also excites me to see the artists that Pride Elevates chooses for next year. The spread this year feels purposeful and strategic - three performers who could not be any more different in the work they want to make and how they want to say it, and three works that would not exist without this programme. More shows, more stories, more people onstage. More means more, and we need more.
Mā plays at Q Theatre until March 1.
Other Things I’ve Consumed
- I read Jason Schreier’s Play Nice, a fleet retelling of the rise and fall of Blizzard Entertainment. A decent yarn, if a bit light on context, and a bit short.
- Before We Begin is a fascinating show about queer consent that I caught upstairs at the Basement Theatre studio on Tuesday night, it runs until Saturday. I went in mostly blind, and recommend that experience!
- That’s it! I’ve been making a show, y’all.
Things to Read
- Again, I haven’t read a lot, but I highly recommend reading Madeleine Holden’s essay “The reason you feel alienated and alone”. Holden is easily the best writer on internet culture in Aotearoa, and one of the best in the world. Give the piece a read, subscribe to her (pay if you can!) and while you might not feel better about the world, you will definitely understand it a bit more.
Self-Promo
- The show I’ve been working on since the start of the year, From Another Woman, opens at Basement Theatre tonight (!) and runs until Saturday. If you’re in Tāmaki, I’d love to see you there. I’m very proud of it.
- I’ll be doing regular coverage of Auckland Arts Festival from next week onwards, so stay tuned for that. I’ll also be continuing regular coverage of books, films, TV and such now that I’m not making a show.
Writing and reporting takes time, and if you want to support the amount of time it takes (and ensure that the scant amount of meaningful coverage of local art can continue), please considering supporting Dramatic Pause with a paid subscription ($8 p/m, $60 p/a) and if you can't afford a paid subscription, please share the work with your networks!
Member discussion