This debut play’s emotional intimacy is strong, but its broader cultural critique is less realised.
WET is a confident and generous debut by Tūī Matelau (Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Kahu ki Whangaroa, Fo‘ui – Tonga), signalling a playwright with a strong instinct for character, humour, and theatrical momentum. Showing at Te Pou Theatre as part of this year’s Te Ahurei Toi o Tāmaki Auckland Arts Festival, the work shines most vividly in its physicality and warmth – storytelling driven by performance, connection, and an unselfconscious delight in female agency.
The piece succeeds most where performance-driven storytelling takes centre stage, transforming what could have been a narrow premise about a woman who finds herself through erotic writing into a lively, engaging work that celebrates female empowerment, self-acceptance, and knowledge as sources of power.
At the heart of the play is Aroha, brought to life with remarkable nuance, warmth, and presence by Bronwyn Turei. A divorcee, loyal friend, and undercover erotic writer whose world expands when she unexpectedly becomes a podcaster, Aroha begins the play tentative and self-questioning. Turei captures this early hesitancy – reshaping sentences, doubting her authority – with such precision and generosity that the audience is immediately drawn to her. Watching her guide Aroha from uncertainty to unapologetic command by the play’s end is one of WET’s most rewarding arcs, and a testament to Turei’s finely tuned, deeply charismatic performance.
This transformation is buoyed by humour, which acts as both shield and scalpel throughout the play. The comedy emerges organically from Aroha’s character – it is sharp, self-referential, and never reliant on shock value. This allows WET to wink at the tropes of erotic fiction while still taking pleasure in them, framing Aroha’s self-doubt and emerging boldness through a tone that is playful rather than mocking. Even when her stories lean into genre predictability, the warmth of the humour sustains both the play’s momentum and the audience’s affection for her.
That humour sits in productive tension with the more difficult moments of Aroha’s journey. Through writing, she tests the boundaries of her confidence. Through performance, she begins to inhabit her own sensuality. When conflict arrives – including a fraught custody scene with her husband – her vulnerability is laid bare, and she is briefly diminished. But this low point becomes the hinge on which her agency turns, and the earlier comedic framing helps make the shift feel earned rather than abrupt. By the play’s end, she stands in full command of herself, no longer apologising or shrinking. The emotional payoff is moving, grounded, and quietly affirming.
The leading performance is supported by a committed and generous ensemble. Xavier Horan as Will/Fantasy Male and Paul Fagamalo as Fetu bring depth, humour, and physicality to their roles. Will sits within the familiar frame of the polished, successful doctor – an effective foil for Aroha, though his emotional and personal subtleties remain largely untouched. Similarly, Fetu occasionally leans into the trope of the witty gay best friend, offering warmth and comic lift but without a fuller sense of his own stakes or development. These choices don’t diminish the strength of the performances, but Aroha’s rich interior journey stands in sharp relief against supporting characters who feel more lightly explored.
The play gestures toward the cultural pressures and inherited shame that shape conversations about sexuality, but this thread remains largely individualised. Early hints at how colonial frameworks have constrained Māori expressions of desire, embodiment, and autonomy appear briefly, but there is little sustained reflection on what it means to speak openly about sexuality from a Māori perspective today. The work’s emotional intimacy is strong – its broader cultural critique is less realised.
Similarly, the deeper resonances of Aroha’s name hover beneath the surface. Aroha extends beyond the English notion of “love”, encompassing compassion, relational responsibility, and spiritual connectedness. These meanings remain as quiet undertones rather than shaping forces – complementing her movement from self-doubt to confidence without fully grounding it.
Even so, WET aligns comfortably with contemporary theatre that foregrounds intimacy, humour, and lived experience. Its commitment to character and performance provides emotional clarity, and its centering of women’s agency remains a meaningful and welcome gesture.
WET lands with confidence and heart – an energetic, self-aware debut that has grown visibly from its early workshop days to the polished, compelling production on stage. Having first found its footing at the 2024 Kōanga Festival, a kaupapa dedicated to nurturing new Māori storytelling and supporting writers as they develop their craft, the play now arrives as a work ready to be fully experienced. Powered by sharp performances and smart design and direction, it gives us a woman stepping decisively into her own story, humour, and self-possession.
WET is on show at Te Pou Theatre until Sunday 15 March. Tickets are available here.
