Meaning & the madness

He’s exposed hypocrites, taken on bullies, released a Netflix series and topped the box office with his two feature-length documentaries. Tauranga’s David Farrier reveals to Karl Puschmann the secret
to his success, his one regret, his philosophy on life and how
breaking his brain was the best thing he ever did.

Words Karl Puschmann | Photos Shayan Asgharnia + supplied

“All the best things that have happened to me – I’ve never planned them,” says David Farrier, his face scrunching into a look of quizzical bemusement. “If ever I do plan something, it usually goes disastrously wrong.”

It’s funny to hear him talk like this. From the outside, his life has seemed a steady, determined rise to the top. His media career began in the early 2000s, when as a fresh-faced journalism graduate, he took a job behind the scenes at 3 News. Passionate about pop culture, he began volunteering for entertainment-based assignments, eventually moving in front of the camera full-time as TV3’s entertainment journalist in 2006. 

Even that wasn’t enough to occupy him, though, so he began a variety of side hustles, including acting, radio, writing for magazines and generally reporting on anything that tickled his fancy. The stranger, the better.

Deeply engaged with internet culture, David’s trajectory changed when he discovered the world of competitive endurance tickling. Originally, he thought he’d found a typically quirky story for the nightly news; however, the tale took a dark turn when his jovial request for an interview with the US producers resulted in a shockingly hostile email response. 

Correctly inferring they had something to hide, David began seriously digging into the subject, leaving his role at TV3 to pursue it. He chronicled the twists and turns of his investigation in Tickled, his first full-length documentary feature. 

With its unusual and taboo subject matter, its crooked antagonist and David’s underdog fight to get to the truth behind the fetishistic videos while facing a barrage of life-destroying legal and implied physical threats, Tickled got the world talking. It premiered at the esteemed Sundance Film Festival to critical acclaim, topped the New Zealand box office and announced the arrival of a new force in the documentary arena.

Since Tickled, David has produced and starred in the 2018 Netflix docuseries Dark Tourist, which saw him visiting places around the world
that you really wouldn’t want to; released his second feature documentary, 2022’s brilliant and bizarre Mister Organ; and created the ongoing podcast Flightless Bird with David Farrier for Hollywood actor Dax Shepard’s popular Armchair Expert network.

But the project he’s most passionate about, and the one that connects him directly to his audience, is Webworm. This is his online newsletter that lands directly in your inbox and sees him flexing his considerable journalistic muscles in tackling the delightfully strange and quirky as well as the heavy and newsworthy. He has a particular and devastating focus on bullies, conmen, hypocrites and false prophets.

David says this astounding career arc was all completely unplanned. In fact, growing up in Tauranga’s leafy Bethlehem, he didn’t even want to be a journalist. Instead, he’d meticulously plotted out his life in an entirely different field.

“I went to Auckland University to get into medical school,” he says. “To get into med school, you’re competing with all the smartest people. I felt so dumb because I was dumb in comparison. It was a stressful time.”

Even though it had been his dream, he quickly realised he wasn’t built for medicine when he had to dissect a rat and experienced a visceral reaction. “I wanted to vomit,” he admits with a grin. “I didn't have the brains or the stomach for medicine. I would have been terrible. I care about people, but not in that capacity.”

Then, more seriously, he says, “That year completely broke my brain. It made me reset. I stopped caring about having to reach a goal or do a thing.”

Faced with this harsh awakening, he dropped out of university, tore up the blueprint he’d mapped out for his life, threw caution to the wind and enrolled into AUT’s journalism course. “It was one of the best decisions I ever made because, from that point on, I tried to walk through doors that opened with the idea of seeing what happened and not being afraid to make mistakes,” he says, then smiles and adds, “So far that’s worked okay.”

David’s now a world-renowned documentarian living comfortably in Los Angeles, so the evidence agrees with him. Yet it’s hard to miss the irony in his origin story: in wanting a career in which he could fix people, he ended up breaking himself.

“Absolutely, it really did,” he says. “I used to be really stressed out, and over-plan everything. I’m still an anxious, uptight person, to a degree, but not to the level that I was. I’m a lot better at chilling than I used to be.”

“That year completely broke my brain. It made me reset. I stopped caring about having to reach a goal or do a thing.”

In his two documentaries, David’s stress manifests in real time – unsurprisingly, considering the intense and unsavory characters he’s documenting, especially Mister Organ’s psychologically manipulative antagonist Michael Organ, a man with an unnatural talent for picking his way unwanted into people’s minds. Off-screen, however, for the 15 or so years I’ve known him, David has only ever been a chilled-out customer. Cool as any number of cucumbers. Someone seemingly unphased by life’s general hang-ups and cruising through the world with a welcoming aura, an infectious smile and a genuine enthusiasm for whatever’s happening around him. 

It’s an outlook all shaped by that devastating year, and the mental reckoning that followed. Indeed, the secret of his success, he reckons, is simply going with the flow.

“All the best things have come from completely random events, like Dax Shepard reading something I wrote for The Spinoff that now means I have a job and a life here. You’ve just got to be ready to respond to things that open themselves up in front of you, which sounds a bit airy-fairy, I know, but I’ve always tried to be open to random opportunities that came up.”

Even half a world away, David is still very much on top of the goings-on in Aotearoa. Through his Webworm investigations, he’s regularly ruffling the feathers of the unruly and setting the mainstream news agenda.

Webworm made headlines with David’s scrutinisation of the Arise megachurch, which uncovered the emotional and physical abuse carried out by its leaders; with his deep dive into Destiny’s Church, which saw them labelled a cult; and when he found himself in a legal tussle with extremist broadcaster Sean Plunket. This resulted in Plunket being forced out of his job at Mediaworks and facing two police charges, although they were later withdrawn.

Ask David why he’s still so interested in what’s happening here and he has a simple answer. “I care about New Zealand a lot,” he says. “It’s like this little petri dish of five million people trying to figure things out – like we all are. There are amazing stories there – good and bad.”

Although people generally associate him with the weird and quirky, his work on Tickled, Mister Organ and especially Webworm has seen him diving deep into heavy topics with people who experienced awful things and are deeply traumatised as a result. His exposé of Arise Church alone saw him contacted by hundreds of people detailing the evil they were subjected to. 

Their stories can be harrowing, but ever since his brain reset, David says he’s been a fairly upbeat person. “I haven’t had any major mental health
swings. The megachurch stuff became overwhelming because it was a lot of people and it was about something really sensitive. There’s a pressure to give people what they need and support them as they’re telling the story, and that does add up. But I’m lucky that I’ve got a good group of friends around me. I never feel like I’m on my own in it.”

He also looks after himself by turning off the computer and “getting the f**k outside”. He enjoys walking around his neighbourhood and spending time in a nearby park, where he delights in seeing baby skunks and deer. He can spend hours there – although he has to remember to be back indoors by 11pm, because that’s when the coyotes stir.

“Getting outside in nature is the ultimate reset,” he smiles. “As long as I do that, I’m fine.”

His go-with-the-flow philosophy has led him to the darkest and most dangerous places on earth and to interact with the most loathsome and evil people. Reflecting on his wild journey is almost as surreal for him as it is for those who have vicariously tagged along.

“Each project feels like a different life or a different person,” he says with detached bemusement. “It’s partly the way my brain is wired. I’ve got a bit of a spicy brain.”

That said, there’s one moment he can never forget, and can only look back on with deep regret. “Swimming in a radioactive lake in Dark Tourist,” he says, referencing one of the most jaw-dropping scenes in a show chock-a-block with them. 

This happened while he was travelling through Kazakhstan. His guides took him to the Atomic Lake and convinced him to join them for a refreshing dip in its nuclear waters.

“That was dumb,” he says, failing to hide how exasperated he feels with himself. “It was f*****g stupid to swim in that lake. If I could have my time again… It wasn’t worth it. But you know, we were a bit drunk at the time and there were some fun Russians who encouraged us. Objectively, it was really good TV and it felt exciting, but I look back on it and think
I should have skipped that one.”

Regrets, we all have a few. But David has come a long way from the self-described “uptight teen” he was growing up in Tauranga. He was born in Bethlehem on Christmas Day, which perhaps explains the holy fervour with which he pursues his subjects, and his devotion to battling bullies and sticking up for those in unfortunate circumstances. His Baptist parents homeschooled him until sending him to Bethlehem College when he hit his teens. With his med school plan firmly in mind, he studied hard, becoming head boy in his final year.

“I love the Bay,” he smiles, thinking back to his youth. “I’d regularly run up Mount Maunganui to try to get fit with my dad. I loved the beach. I wish I was a surfer – I’d just roll around in the waves.”

His beachy upbringing still manifests to this day. Rather than shorts, he favours wearing togs, bought in bulk during the winter sales at surf shops.

“I wear togs a lot of the time because I always think you should be prepared to jump in an ocean or any good body of water,” he once told me when I interviewed him a couple of years ago.

He says he’s due a home visit. He likes going to the hot pools, spending time on the walking tracks and tumbling around in the frothing surf. The last time he was here, he got a wave of nostalgia and went to the house where he grew up and knocked on the door.

“I thought they might be a bit like, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’” he laughs. “But they were so nice and took me inside.”

This would be a warm, fuzzy way to end our interview, with David warmly reminiscing about his childhood budgie and Chandler Bing, his favourite cat, but there’s still one last question to ask. 

Few people have thoroughly engaged with both the best and worst of humanity in the same way David has. If anyone has a hot take on humanity as a whole, it has to be him.

“I meet so many people doing so many good things, wanting good out of life and being so genuine and kind and thinking about others, but there’s also a lot of horrific, terrible stuff going on out there,” he says. “Both things are true at the same time, right? It’s the joy of humans. But essentially, we’re all the same. We’re all just trying to understand this weird rock we’ve woken up on, with no idea of why we’re here.”

Sensing bigger topics of life, philosophy and enlightenment, I ask if he’s found any deeper meaning to life’s existential and eternal mystery throughout his explorations into good and bad, right and wrong, justice and evil.

“No,” he answers flatly. “I wish I had. I think my life is ultimately meaningless. It is all ultimately meaningless.”

Grinning he adds, “I know that’s not a very positive quote for you,” before flashing a reassuring smile. 

“But this doesn’t mean life is hopeless in any way,” he continues. “It just means we’ve got to be really careful about how we use that time. We don’t have long here. It’s a matter of making the most of it.”

Then, with the accumulated wisdom of a man who has trawled the depths of humanity and survived, he says, “Ultimately, that’s the joy of it all.” 

To sign up for David’s online newsletter, visit WEBWORM.CO

Flatmate from hell

Lauren Mabbett’s new roommate is too good to be true – but at least the rent’s being paid.

Delilah Nunin. When I search her on Facebook, the name doesn't come up. Weird. No Instagram, either. I guess she doesn't like social media.

In early 2020, I move into a cute two-bedroom home in Auckland, and go on the hunt to find a new flatmate. Delilah, or “Del”, sends a lovely message: She's 42, American, a luxury travel agent, clean and tidy. Perfect.

I tell her that rent is $300 a week plus bills, and she gives a “pfft, is that all” type of response. It's an interesting response considering when I ask her to pay bond before she moves in, she refuses, because she has no money until move-in day. 

I notice tiny things that seem slightly off, but let them go, like the fact her three children are growing up in America but she's in New Zealand just because she “liked New Zealand more”. I ask her if she’s on social media, but she tells me she goes under different names as she “doesn't want her mum getting all up in her business”. Maybe don't add your mum on Facebook? But okay.

Level 4 lockdown hits. This makes me slightly nervous, as Del is a “luxury travel agent”, and every travel agent I'm hearing about is getting made redundant. Despite this, she convinces me she's the busiest she's ever been, working longer hours to accommodate all the trips being booked. She tells a lot of long-winded stories that don’t quite add up.

Then one day, Del suddenly tells me she needs to find a new place as her parents are coming over and she needs to live with them (this must be the mum she didn’t want all up in her business). Within three days, she's not only found a house, but has been accepted, and is moving this coming weekend. Since we are still on really good terms, she agrees to cover rent for both places until I can replace her (despite her new place being $750 a week).

In the meantime, she's buying a brand-new leather lounge suite. Brand-new dining table. Brand-new TV. Brand-new iPad… For someone who couldn't pay bond right away, I can’t help but think this is a bit suspicious – but as long as she pays rent, whatever.

Over the next few days, Del comes and goes to get a few bits. Her room is still basically full minus her bed, and we keep in touch. I even go to her new house with a pot plant. Two more weeks pass… And then the rent bounces.

I message her asking what happened, and get no reply. I try twice more, then change the locks.

A whole week goes by without hearing from Del. This is SUPER weird, as we talked nearly every day and there'd been no fights or anything. Just as I'm expecting the rent to bounce again, her rent pops in. This is even weirder. If you're going to ghost me, why are you still paying rent?

The rent keeps coming. Week after week.

I reach out on Del’s birthday despite having not heard from her, and notice most people on her Facebook page are calling her Wendy. Don't they know that's her fake name? Suddenly, another week of rent is skipped. But the next week goes in. What the hell is going on? I go away on a girls’ weekend and fill my friends in on the situation. We decide to Google her.

Oh. My. God.

The first article I see is a formal complaint to the Better Business Bureau in the USA regarding a fraudulent travel agent named Delilah Nunin. She ripped a group off of roughly $30,000, and when they tried to get their money back, she gave the special Del brand of long, confusing, complicated answers, then vanished. Several other articles popped up about her different aliases, pyramid schemes, multiple birth dates… The list went on.

About four weeks go by, and I send Del a final message to cover myself, basically saying that if she doesn't pay rent this week I'll be removing her property from the house. No reply.

Right! Time to pour a wine, invite a friend over, and have a field day going through what she left behind. And oh, boy. Do we ever.

We start sorting through piles of documents, handbags, folders, diaries, boxes. Pretty much everything minus her bed was left there. (Let me just reiterate I'd made multiple attempts by this point to reach her, and also consulted a lawyer to protect my terrified wee backside.)

Straight away I find her passport; it's under the name Delilah Nunin - and it seems real. Why the heck would you leave that behind? I find a wallet with multiple credit cards, eftpos cards, and other cards (all current) inside. Letters requesting to change her IRD number, multiple name tags with different names on them, it doesn't stop. I then find several letters from debt collectors demanding payments of upwards of $20,000. I can only imagine this may have played a part in Del’s sudden move.

My face is starting to look like Tim Curry in Home Alone 2 when he discovers Kevin's credit card is stolen.

I find an iPad – sweet. Maybe I can sell this to make up for that $600 in Del’s rent I'm now paying. A voucher for a night away in a deluxe room with breakfast included? Strange but okay.

I then Google her “luxury travel agency” and find it's been raided and shut down for fraud.

The next thing I find makes me physically shake; she'd been advertising her room in my flat for rent, and replying to comments of interest. Replies that were sent three days ago, when we hadn't spoken in weeks, and she's had no access to the house. I can only imagine this is some
ploy to take people’s bond and scarper.

We then turn to Del’s wardrobe and discover it's literally jammed full of clothes, at a guess around 300 pieces, which are all brand-new, expensive, labelled, and in significantly different sizes.

Well, I did what any burned roommate would do, and went shopping in there. I now own a few pieces from The Del Collection *flicks hair and looks at camera*, and the Sallies and Recycle Boutique got the rest.

To this day, I still have not heard from the mysterious Delilah Nunin again. I can confirm her parents are not here and never were. I have passed on her new address to the debt collectors.

All that aside, I am looking forward to my night away in a deluxe room with breakfast included. Thanks, mate. 

Listen to Lauren weekdays 9am to 3pm on The Hits 95.0FM. 

thehits.co.nz

Culture shock

Will Johnston has a solution for one of the Tauranga CBD’s problems, and he’s practically giving it away.

It’s fair to say that I was excited to go to Hamilton. That’s not usually a sentence that comes out of my mouth. Cold and foggy isn’t my cuppa. However, this time, Hamilton was going to be different.

It was at Spark Arena in Auckland, and it’s the musical about Alexander Hamilton that’s taken over the theatre world since its first performance in 2015. My wife is a huge musical theatre fan, so this was a must for her and, by association, me. Don’t get me wrong, I like a musical as much as the next 39-year-old musically untalented guy. But mid-show when I noticed my forearm was wet from the tears of joy and sorrow emanating from my wife’s face, I realised I was not at her level of enthusiasm/hysteria. Bless.

But the thing that really struck me while we had our baby-free weekend in Auckland was that we are lacking a vibe in Tauranga. 

There’s a buzz in Auckland (if you tell an Aucklander I said that, I’ll deny it). Maybe it’s more people, maybe it’s bigger buildings, maybe it’s just traffic (though we have that in spades here – amiright)? Or maybe it’s the fact that businesses are actually open and operating at night – not just food and booze businesses, either. 

I hear the same old argument about Tauranga not being big enough to support opening at night, or even support half of the businesses during the regular shopping hours. But rather than just complaining – as I’m prone to do as I sink into my late-30s role of dad jokes and loathing of bad parking – I have a solution! 

All I ask for this fix is a humble working week’s worth of fees that the Tauranga commissioners charge per day of work each. $1,500 each x 5 work days = $7,500. I know, generous of me, right? I’m not even charging the chair’s fee of $1,800 per day. Which I would be totally justified to do as I am quite clearly the chairman of my own board. 

So here it is: Whack it on the rates, mate! 

Every residential ratepayer gets an allowance built into their rates that must be spent on tickets to shows/events every year. If you don’t spend it, it gets divided up as an annual cash payment among all businesses/organisations in the CBD that would benefit from an entire theatre of people coming to town before/after a show. 

Worst-case scenario for the ratepayer: You get to go to a bunch of shows a year, expand your horizons, and fill the CBD with reasons for businesses to operate there. Worst-case scenario for a business/organisation: They get a sweet cash payment at the end of every year to keep the doors open/pay their staff and reinvest into their business to make the CBD a more attractive place to socialise for the ratepayer. 

Now, who do I invoice for this idea? 

All this aside… It worries me that I’ve mentioned rates AND went to Auckland and enjoyed myself. Who have I become? Middle-aged?! 

 radiowill