KEY POINTS:
It would be nice if a 10-year-old play about domestic violence was an out-dated look at the past, but a glance at newspaper headlines shows that New Zealand women are still suffering at the hands of their husbands and partners.
Written by Dianna Fuemana, Mapaki tells the story
of Fisi, a naive young woman who has "forgotten how to love herself".
Trapped by the violence of her relationship with Jason, Fisi retreats into a fantasy world of childhood memories and soap opera romance.
At just an hour long and with only one actor, Mapaki could have been a simple monologue.
But Fuemana has written a dense piece that combines seven characters and elements of song, slice-of-life dialogue, physical comedy and drama.
It is an unusual mix of madness and mundane where a recited shopping list of sausages, mince and veggies becomes an incantation to soothe a tortured mind.
Mapaki is a dream role for an emerging actress, giving her the chance to showcase her skills of characterisation and audience manipulation.
Nora Aati, 21, seizes the opportunity to impress and gives a vital performance of strength and vulnerability.
At times her characters sway towards stereotypes but the play is challenging, giving only a few lines to establish some characters and requiring Aati to play attacker and victim, sometimes in the same scene. It is a difficult task and overall Aati pulls it off with a confidence that belies her youth.
In the programme notes Aati pays tribute to director Hori Ahipene's passion and flair, which seems a fair assessment given the end result.
I found some of the stylised movements used to signify Fisi's fantasyland a little distracting but he should be proud of the performance he has coached from his leading lady.
Jennifer Lal's lighting effectively helps the audience to differentiate from Fisi's golden fantasies and the stark reality of her real life. Unfortunately Lal's pedestrian use of colour (red for anger, blue for sadness) make for an ultimately cliched design.
The set, designed by Ross Gibbs, is a simple metal bench seat that sits centre stage and in the middle of an edging of two lines of white tape.
The white lines look a bit like sports-field markings and, during the course of the play, they become a track that Nora runs around and around in a physical metaphor for Fisi's hopeless state.
The play's marketing describes Mapaki as a piece in Niuean and English, which might make people who can't speak Niuean worry that they will somehow miss out.
But the intention of the Niuean words and songs are crystal clear within the context of the play.
What is less easy to understand is that Mapaki is a reality for some and, in Auckland, women still live like Fisi, existing in half lives trapped in violence, fear and madness.
