White Cloud

After settling into our seats, we notice the set — an Egyptian rug, tall white floor lamp, piano and other instrument stations. It resembles the room of a music teacher who typically conducts lessons from home. Tim Finn and Brett Adams take the stage, Finn giving us a brief explanation about how White Cloud materialised. After many back-and-forth emails with playwright Ken Duncum, the pair became increasingly drawn to their subject matter, which explores growing up in New Zealand. Finn teaches us the Maori word for non-Maori New Zealanders who are of European descent: pakeha. The etymology of the word pakeha is used as a springboard to transport us to The Land Of The Long White Cloud via memoirs and stories discovered by Duncum, interwoven within tales from Finn's own ancestry.

Video artist Sue Healey expertly splices together visuals utilising super 8 home movies from the Finn and Healey family archives. Finn's father, Richard Finn (who we're told is aged "94 and three-quarters") shot a lot of this footage, which plays out at the rear of the stage space on the type of pull-down projection screen that's often found in classrooms.

White Cloud's loose-form structure works well, with poems/memoir readings slotted between songs, with Finn also spontaneously addressing his audience on occasion. He pauses to acknowledge the action on the back screen, pointing out a wee Neil Finn playing baby Jesus in a front-yard family nativity play. And, boy, do those Kiwi kids know how to hula hoop! We learn early on that Tim Finn's an impressive whistler and he sure loves pushing that falsetto to unscalable heights. He apologises that tonight's show isn't "slick" since the pair haven't performed it for a while, before an audience member yells out reassurance: "It's great!"

There's a moving tribute to Finn's mother Maisie, who is no longer with us. We hear a recording of her recounting personal anecdotes, broken up by Finn singing alternate lines and keeping her memory alive through song. At the conclusion of this performance Finn beats his heart with closed fist a couple of times before bowing and leaving the stage.

A man behind us, who absentmindedly jangled his keys throughout this evening's entire performance (despite our over-the-shoulder glares), deems White Cloud "self-indulgent", but we totally disagree. This piece is charming, insightful and makes us want to delve further into the history of New Zealand. We feel as if we've been granted permission to leaf through the Finn family photo albums, which come to life and whisper secrets very much like the moving newspaper and photo books in Harry Potter films.