EdFringe Review: Babyface

Professional wrestling and early-stage puberty share a surprising amount of common ground: both are hyper-dramatic, governed by rigid social hierarchies, and defined by the desperate search for a hero. In Babyface, Ōtepoti-based Kāi Tahu writer and performer Nick Tipa taps into this overlap to deliver a charming, physically astonishing coming-of-age solo show.

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Fresh from award-winning seasons in Aotearoa, the production staged in the close quarters of Paradise in The Vault blends physical theatre, small-town Kiwi realism, and high-energy sports entertainment into a tender exploration of childhood vulnerability.

Framed by a welcoming opening karakia, the story follows ten-year-old Kahu—whose name translates literally as ‘cloak’ or ‘covering’—as he is uprooted from his city home and dropped into Middlemarch—a remote rural town in Central Otago where nobody can tap their ‘r’s. Struggling to navigate the friction of being the new kid, early crushes, and the quiet breakdown of his parents’ marriage, Kahu constructs a formidable psychological armour: his wrestling alter-ego “Whiplash,” the undisputed heavyweight champion of the world.

Physical Theatre and Small-Town Realism

Dressed in black-and-gold ring gear atop a single blue mat flanked by fold-up chairs and a box of nostalgic mementoes, Tipa uses ringside bravado to process domestic anxieties he cannot yet articulate. Under Sara Georgie’s sharp direction and Bronwyn Wallace’s dramaturgy, Tipa executes a relentless physical workout—throwing himself into violent holds, flips, and suplexes against invisible opponents while rapidly shifting voices and postures across a dozen local figures, from condescending teachers and volunteer firefighters to playground bullies.

The production’s technical accomplishments ground the spectacle rather effectively. Zac Nicholls’ sound design weaves arena hype music with ambient soundscapes, while Quinn Hardie’s lighting and AV projections—incorporating family photographs, title cards, and children’s drawings—give Kahu’s memory palace some tangible texture. Where the 55-minute show occasionally falters is in its pacing; the rapid-fire transitions between vignettes can feel slightly episodic, occasionally prioritising quick character sketches over a satisfying narrative arc.

Yet the core wairua of the piece remains undeniable. Closing with an aroha farewell and a live-action rattle through the production credits, Babyface leaves a lasting impression. It stands not only as an impressive display of physical bravura and vocal versatility, but as a deeply human look at how children construct fantasy worlds simply to negotiate the process of growing up.

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