It’s a chilly win­ter day in Pōneke, but the joy from the audi­ence sur­round­ing me and my the­atre-going com­pan­ion could warm the most cyn­i­cal of souls. We’re here to see Hine Te Rēhia, a gor­geous piece of the­atre by Auck­land-based Tutatara Col­lec­tive, and the mood in the room is unbe­liev­ably high.

For­give my lack of piece­meal specifics, my notes writ­ten on my arm were oblit­er­at­ed by the fever­ish joy of this the­atri­cal expe­ri­ence, but I can give you an over­all vibe.

Hine Te Rēhia is an unbe­liev­ably beau­ti­ful and pow­er­ful the­atri­cal work. Even from the moment of enter­ing the the­atre, where we’re greet­ed by a korowai adorned carv­ing of Hine Te Rēhia (sculpt­ed by Hāhona Orms­by), and set dress­ing that speaks to worlds and lives beyond the play — wall hang­ings, framed pho­tos, a gui­tar and a com­fy seat, we are held in rap­ture by what this the­atri­cal piece of art presents.

Our six per­form­ers, young BIPOC women from a vari­ety of locales, give us just over an hour of wit­ty and tal­ent­ed per­for­mance. From haka, to poi, spo­ken word, singing, sketch and dance, these six wahine per­form with unbe­liev­able pow­er, and the the­atre ignites in applause and cheers. I’ve nev­er seen BATS so loud, but that’s the pow­er of these per­form­ers.

Told in vignettes wrapped around Hine Te Rēhia and oth­er Māori god­dess­es, our per­form­ers tell us sto­ries about fam­i­ly, drag up and dick about on stage as lads, bob around as sea crea­tures, and build mem­o­ries of home.

One vignette that par­tic­u­lar­ly moves me is when a water­mel­on is gen­tly car­ried onto stage and placed at the feet of Hine Te Rēhia; the god­dess pro­vid­ing recog­ni­sa­tion of the ongo­ing geno­cide in Pales­tine, and pro­tec­tion for the Pales­tin­ian peo­ple too. It’s a qui­et moment but a mov­ing one, and I’m stuck with the image for long after the show ends.

Hine Te Rēhia is a show that feels utter­ly con­nect­ed to the world around it. There’s moments with­in that clear­ly have been devised or rede­vised with­in weeks of the show’s open­ing — a piece of spo­ken word about the recent “man vs bear” meme is fun­ny and poignant — and that con­nec­tion spans not just pop cul­ture but the world between the per­form­ers and the one beyond.

It’s a show that feels built from not just moder­ni­ty, but the sto­ries and ties that bind the per­form­ers’ pasts, cul­tures and indi­vid­ual lives; this would not be a work that you could pass onto strangers to per­form, it’s the per­son­al sto­ry­telling that makes the piece blos­som such on stage, and the tal­ent of the per­form­ers that make it grow.

Hine Te Rēhia is one of those the­atri­cal works that you come across so very rarely. It’s near word-per­fect in its exe­cu­tion, full of utter­ly tal­ent­ed folk, deeply charm­ing and a piece of per­for­mance that will stick with you long after you see it. I am both envi­ous and embold­ened by the per­for­ma­tive space that’s been cre­at­ed in this the­atre, and I urge you to catch this show if you ever get the chance.

It’s one of the best pieces of the­atre I’ve ever seen.