Melbourne International Comedy Festival 2024 reviews

Rhys Nicholson has good reason to celebrate: the past few years have seen the much-loved comedian’s profile continue to rise, thanks to a star-making turn as a judge on Ru Paul’s Drag Race Down Under, plum acting gigs and a run of award-winning stand-up shows. Oh, and they also recently got married to long-term partner Kyran Wheatley (a writer, broadcaster, comedian and producer in his own right). So it’s fitting that Nicholson’s 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival show is titled Big Huge Party Congratulations.

There’s an anticipatory party vibe in the air as we wait for Nicholson to ascend to the Comedy Republic stage – which is semi-surprising given the early 6pm time slot on a Tuesday evening. But a bangin’ soundtrack, bright red spotlight and a pointed opening crack that we’re all tightasses for being here on cheap Tuesday sets the scene for an hour of high-powered hilarity. 

The set moves at a sizzling pace – gags come in thick and fast about audiences in other states (people are “proud” in Perth and “weird” on the Gold Coast), whether or not Nicholson would get work done, and how it’s “a tiny bit funny” when billionaires get themselves into trouble, à la the Titanic submersible saga.

But there are a few recurring themes in what initially seems like an off-the-cuff livestream of Nicholson’s inner thoughts. Marriage is one of them, as is the inevitable follow-up question: do you want kids? While Nicholson’s deliberately perplexing go-to answer is “we’re childless by choice but we’re going to keep trying”, it serves as a springboard to dive into their childhood and discuss things like sleepovers with girlfriends, recreational drug use and establishing a roaring porn-selling business (yes, really) with a friend called Marcus. 

Nicholson’s relationship is also at the forefront of many cackle-inducing anecdotes, and they discuss how all good marriages involve “pushing your partner to a precipice”. Cue a tale about Nicholson forcing Wheatley to drive them to their drug dealer’s house, and another about an extended family gathering over Christmas that circled back around in the most hilarious fashion to that age-old kid conundrum.

Big Huge Party Congratulations is an opportunity to see a comedian who is cool, confident and at the top of their game. Nicholson is as sharp and biting as ever, with the ability to make you spit out your Champers in a genuine fit of laughter (yes, I can personally attest to this). Congratulations are indeed in order.

Tickets for Huge Big Party Congratulations are now on sale via the MICF website.

Craving more laughs? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

Fresh from her first Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Anna Piper Scott’s latest show for The Melbourne International Comedy Festival does not disappoint. The cult phenomenon of Melbourne’s comedy scene is here to finally reach her target demographic: heterosexuals. 

Scott welcomes her audience by introducing herself individually as they sit. She acknowledges that this is something she likes to do to make everyone feel comfortable, as this may be someone’s first time meeting a “real-life trans woman”. The act is the kindest set up to a punchline imaginable, instantly setting the tone that she is allowing us to laugh with her at all the queer shenanigans soon to unfold. 

A quick audience poll determines that a grand total of two people here are straight, and Anna reassures that this is a safe space for them – she has tens of hetero friends, after all. In fact, Scott explains that this show was made for the straights. She declares that upon seeing their undying love for Ed Sheeran as a cry for help, and receiving advice from fellow comedians to “tone down her queerness to gain success”, she has decided to give it a go. 

Scott balances this perfectly – keeping her set ostensibly queer, but just as accessible for any fresh allies wandering in. In her first story of the evening, Scott recounts a tram ride where she was defended by a Pedro Pascal-esque cowboy from two shit-talking teenage boys. The entire interaction, having unfolded in Spanish, completely goes over Scott’s head, but the chivalrous act from said cowboy has Scott melting, calling into question her identity once again.  

Identity and self-discovery are the threads that tie this piece together. Scott shares her own experience of not only discovering that she is transgender, but also of being a polyamorous, autistic, ADHD lesbian with a boyfriend. She reflects upon lightbulb moments throughout her life that have formed her identity, such as snorting ADHD medication at a party and proceeding to answer every email in her inbox, with shameless delight. Her partners’ experiences with their own gender and sexuality are also shared, with Scott gifting these tales with nothing but love in her eyes. A particularly warming moment is when Scott tells us about her partner coming out as a trans man, prompted by a ‘Birthday Boy’ badge gifted by her a week prior. The only hesitation about this Scott feels is the fact she once again needs to face the impending doom of becoming another bisexual female stand-up comic. 

Despite the awards and rave reviews she has received across the Australian festival circuit, Scott has announced that None of That Queer Stuff  is her final stand-up show for the foreseeable future. The hiatus is a direct result of the toll independently producing her work has taken on her – a feeling countless artists across Australia can surely resonate with whole-heartedly. Scott is an immensely talented and clever comic, and it feels like a true shame to have her potentially walk away from the industry forever. The entire audience were in stitches from her set, with many laughing before they could stop themselves at some of her more socially risqué takes. Scott herself states she is simply brave enough to tell her “group chat jokes on a stage”.

For a jubilant night out and maybe your last chance to see this vibrant performer at the top of her game, get along to see None Of That Queer Stuff, playing until Sunday, April 21 at DoubleTree by Hilton.

Tickets for Anna Piper Scott's show are available via the Melbourne International Comedy Fesitval website.

Chasing more laughs? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

Last year was a bloody great one for award-winning comedian, writer and composer Lou Wall. They received a prestigious Moosehead Award, their Melbourne International Comedy Festival show was well-received, and they scored a sweet TV gig on the ABC. The only problem is their personal life went to shit in pretty much every way imaginable (yes, we really mean that). 

If you’re thinking the title of Wall’s latest show, The Bisexual’s Lament, is starting to look quite literal, you’d be exactly right. This show is the definition of making some (distinctly horrific) lemons into lemonade, and that lemonade tastes quirky, acidic in its anarchy and just a little sweet. 

Always equal parts chaotic queer and comedic powerhouse, Wall first takes a ride on an audience member’s scooter, before lamenting the burden of being the first comedian ever to go through a breakup. They then launch into a list of things that made them laugh during a “c**t of a year”. An early 2000s-style PowerPoint, rapid-fire anecdotes and intermittent singing ensues, as Wall puts all their faith in the old adage ‘tragedy plus time equals comedy’ and comes out swinging. 

Slideshow comedy seems to be especially popular at this year’s festival, but we can confidently assert that no one does it quite like Wall, who is a true master. This is no dull presentation, but rather a mile-a-minute lesson in multimedia storytelling, with memes and selfies zipping by faster than you could swipe your TikTok feed. 

From the nightmare of trying to find an affordable and habitable rental in Sydney, to a brilliant song about the most unhinged Facebook Marketplace interaction you’ve ever heard of, the laughs roll on at a borderline alarming pace.

However, the biggest achievement of The Bisexual’s Lament isn’t Wall’s presentation prowess or even the way their wisecracks leave us screaming, crying, throwing up. Conversely, it’s Wall’s uncommon ability to dig into personal moments that are extremely dark and literally break into song about them, all the while exuding the utmost sensitivity and somehow convincing us that they really are okay. 

You’ll leave with aching ribs, a healing heart and a strong desire to give Lou Wall both a hug and a high five.

Tickets for The Bisexual’s Lament are available now and you can nab yours via the Melbourne International Comedy Festival website.

Chasing more laughs? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

Having had the pleasure of catching Mel O’Brien and Samantha Andrews’ High Pony at last year’s Melbourne International Comedy Festival (a completely unhinged hour of queer energy and catchy musical bops), I returned once again to the Toff in Town, fully prepared for whatever insane magic this powerhouse pair has cooked up. And with The Platonic Human Centipede, it’s clear they didn’t come to play it safe.

The opening number quickly sets the tone for the evening, taking things from zero to 100 real quick. ‘Eat My Ass’ is a nod to the show title’s filmic inspiration and features the instantly quotable lyrics: “Eat my ass, not like yum but more like I love you”. Add a choreographed high-kick moment, and there’s not a person in the room who isn’t going feral for these two. 

The show's overarching theme is unsung duos of the modern world – we’re talking Bart and Lisa Simpson, Willy Wonka and Charlie Bucket, and Santa Claus and Mrs Claus. The latter feature in a hilarious couples therapy skit that unpacks their love languages. Spoiler alert: ol’ Saint Nick is a words of affirmation guy.

But it’s an especially cheeky duet starring Mel and Sam as Robert and Bindi Irwin singing to their dearly departed father up in heaven (RIP) that elicits a can’t-believe-they-went-there response from the shrieking faux-horrified audience. Oh, they went there alright, and we’re all the better off for hearing them belt out “Is it slay? Do they play The Crocodile Hunter on Blu-Ray?” in perfect unison.

Other musical moments touch on all the important topics plaguing twentysomethings across the country right now, including sharehouse life (“every sharehouse has a cat that hates a pat”), polyamory and just wanting to be a soft girl who cries into her Stanley Cup, drives a hatchback Mazda and wears bows. Amen to that. 

But there’s a sweetness to this set that balances out the chaos, courtesy of Mel and Sam’s dads who provide completely inaccurate introductions to each new song or segment via voice recordings. An honourable mention must be made to Paul O’Brien (Mel’s father) for saying the show is about “a very friendly millipede”.

As they say at the start of ‘Anthem for the Soft Girl’, 2024 is undoubtedly a “year for the girlies”. And for those of us who worship at the glittering altar of Mel and Sam, we couldn’t agree more. These two remain a force to be reckoned with, and long may their whip-smart lyrics, spot-on comedic instincts and matching swishy parachute pants reign.

Chasing more comedic highs? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

It’s 2am and you’ve found yourself in an incoherent conversation with a high-energy himbo and his hot lady muse in the club smokers. They’re not a couple, and yet they keep making out in between offering you more of whatever it is they’re on. You can’t find your friends, and now you’re considering going home with them to explore a new life of non-monogamy.

That’s what going to see Hot Department is like. A wild party of fast quips, chaotic dance numbers and horniness. It’s not for the faint-of-heart, but it is for those who would rather go big than go home. 

From the outset, Honor Wolff and Patrick Durnan Silva explode with energy. They’re dancing like nobody's watching, except it’s a packed-out audience at the Malthouse Theatre. This impeccable duo knows their audience very well –  they’ve perfectly cultivated a style of comedy for the theatrical Inner North queer community. They walk, so a new breed of fast-paced and ultra-camp comedians can run. 

Early on the duo reveals that they are, unsurprisingly, theatre kids, meeting at acting school before deciding to venture into comedy. This explains the triple-threat nature of Durnan Silva and Wolff — who can not only make you giggle, but can also come up with sharp song lyrics and even tap-dance. 

Stand up comedians should watch out, because Hot Department relies on more than just witty observations. They will kill you with laughter, then tap-dance on your grave.

It’s refreshing to see sketch comedy made for a younger and chronically online audience. Brace yourself for a TikTok-esque Kiera Knightley impression and a very sapphic Barbie sketch, which are just some of the memeable highlights to look forward to. 

In another memorable moment, the duo play a couple who tries to spice things up by pretending to be mice. Within minutes, the cuteness of the mouse sketch has dissipated — evolving into extreme levels of horndog and very little mouse. With so many fast and fun sketches, a circle back moment or cleverly interwoven theme would’ve really brought this show to new heights. 

What Hot Department does best is turn any moment into something sexy and erotic. They will seamlessly turn you on, and terrify you in the span of 30 seconds or less. They aren’t afraid of bringing the audience in on the fun either, forcing two men to fight over Honor’s honour by using some carefully crafted cue cards. 

Now we won’t spoil the ending, but be prepared to see Barbie in a whole new light — plus a leotard that leaves very little to the imagination. It was the perfect conclusion to an unhinged show of dancing incoherent madness. The stars of Hot Department are a power couple in the smokers you’ll never forget. 

Hot Department is playing at the Malthouse's Beckett Theatre until Sunday, April 21. Tickets are available here.

Want more? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

Josh Cake could be a couple of things: a man, a brown person, an Australian. Too bad all those labels are scams. But Big Josh (who’ll take any pronoun you give them) loves to win – and they’re definitely onto a winner with her tight 50-minute musical comedy about just how scammy the world really is.

First, Cake gaslights you into believing there are magical mountains and wind, with the help of their tinkling electric piano. Then, he delightfully sets out the rules for the show: you’ve paid for her to make jokes for an hour, so it’s not your turn to talk. This clarity is a nice touch for those of us who forget the rules sometimes (whether we mean to or not).

Cake makes accessibility a priority, and incorporates it into the show without drawing too much attention to it: a visual tour of the space becomes a delightful interlude between songs, and warnings are calmly, clearly given before a potentially traumatic story is told.

Cake is a warm, inclusive storyteller, with a great sense of pacing that makes the 50 minutes fly by. They have a gentle, encouraging, demeanour that made a small audience interact and giggle like they were in a room full of people. It’s no mean feat to bring this much warmth into a tiny room – and Josh’s sometimes dark but always appropriate sense of humour, and ability to read people, makes it seem like a breeze.

I won’t spoil the conclusion for you, but the well-drawn arc from gender, nationality, race and violence is also particularly satisfying in Gender is a Scam. Take a chance on the Tasma Terrace, and while you’re at it grab a couple of tickets to see some comics you might not have heard of. You won’t regret it.

Catch Gender is a Scam and I am Winning at Tasma Terrace from April 8-21, as part of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. You can find out more or secure some tickets here. 

Want more comedy? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

For those of us that rely on Taskmaster UK to introduce us to the plethora of exceptional comedic talent out there, you’ll be pleased to know that Fern Brady is just as charming at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival as she is on TV. The season 14 fan favourite’s new stand-up show is an hour of dry quips and social commentary, ranging from meeting her spirit guide in the form of a stray cat on a beach in Thailand, to questioning why it is that Scotland has more monuments dedicated to dogs than to women. 

When Brady first walks onstage, she dives into the classic ‘Melbourne vs. other-Australian-city-international-artist-has-toured-to-recently’ debate, winning us over very easily with a dig at Adelaide’s Easter Parade and limited Coles trading hours. From then on, we are with her completely. Going into depth about her love/hate relationship with Botox, she has us in stitches as she recalls the time that Miriam Margolyes ripped her to shreds for daring to interfere with her ageing, all whilst passing her immobile reaction to the situation as her ‘tism, and not the fresh dose of ‘tox in her forehead. 

Botox is not the only pharmaceutical she is a fan of, however. A ‘committed stoner’, she praises Australia’s recognition of psilocybin as a treatment for depression, before launching into a wild tale of finding drug dealers whilst on holiday to gift her brother with a birthday treat of ‘mushroom therapy’ – before incidentally eating an entire bag of the things herself. Her delivery as she speaks of this anxiety inducing night is as nonchalant as if she is just telling us what she needs from the shops. Only afterwards we stop and think how absurd it all is, as is the way with many of her stories. 

A recurring topic throughout her set are her experiences since being diagnosed with autism as an adult in 2021. Brady recalls the sudden boom of interest from certain celebrity competition shows (which may or may not feature activities such as ballroom and baking), wanting to collect her as their diversity token for that season. However bleak these prospects may sound, Brady spins them into something to laugh about, punching up at the audacity of these institutional programs. 

Brady is a natural storyteller, effortlessly holding the audience in the palm of her hand. Though she’s extremely witty, the energy of the room felt more like we were all leaning in to meet the next weird and wonderful thing with a sudden cackle, rather than a constant uproar of laughter. Her ability to weave seemingly unrelated anecdotes together so smoothly is a true talent for a stand-up comic, with Brady managing to command the room while also making you feel like you’re just catching up with a mate over a pint.

 I Gave You Milk to Drink, is playing until April 21 at the Rydges Ballroom, and it would be a shame to miss this grin-inducing evening. Tickets are available here.

Feeling funny? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

Viral Youtube star and English sketch comedian, Adrian Bliss sprints out onto the Beckett stage at Malthouse Theatre in a giant orange inflatable ball and light-up undies. He is ‘Little Atom’; literally a tiny atom that we’ll be following across time and space as he searches for meaning. So goes the plot of Bliss’s first live show, Inside Everyone. For any one of the millions of followers across Bliss’s Instagram and YouTube accounts, it’ll seem like a pretty typical gambit for the comedian.

Bliss has carved out a unique little corner of the internet for himself with a brand of historical and fact-based sketches delivered in the driest deadpan you’ve ever heard. Think of any common idiom or turn of phrase and Bliss has likely made a sketch out of it, thrown it into a specific period of history or made a part of the body sing it. It’s part dad joke, part absurdist sketch comedy, and part history lesson – for that reason it has a certain adorkable charm. Like any good dad joke, there’s an earnestness behind the intelligent wordplay that is incredibly endearing. It was this combination that made Bliss soar to fame during the pandemic, propelled by our collective desire for easy escapism. It’s also why much of his material seems to have aged.

Inside Everyone is Bliss’s attempt to transition from online star to onstage comedian. For one hour we follow this ‘Little Atom’ as he stumbles through iconic moments of history; from the extinction of the dinosaurs and Shakespeare’s rise to fame, to the birth of Jesus and the death of Van Gogh. But like everything with Bliss, there’s always a unique twist. With a coat hanger side stage packed with outlandish, and beautifully made costumes, he becomes a self-conscious brontosaurus eager to look hot in their fossil record, or Mary failing to file a complaint to God, or Van Gogh’s ear-turned-art critic. 

Title cards, tight lighting design and intentional audience interactions help translate Bliss’s often restrained delivery style and physicality to the sold-out Beckett Theatre. It’s clear that Bliss and his team are incredibly savvy theatremakers. Just when his style of comedy seems to be teetering on unbearably twee, he’ll suddenly introduce a bawdy pun or risque premise; a showstopper sung by a sperm that never was, or a pants-less Shakespeare presenting at an awards ceremony. Part of what is unique about Bliss is the way he seems to be ahead of the categories that might pigeon hole him. And, though he apologised for opening night mishaps, moments when he was forced to ad-lib after a lost costume or missed catch were among the show’s highlights. 

Ultimately, it’s an easy hour to watch, but too often does Bliss’s twee style overstay its welcome with overlong sketches and saccharine ballads. The note of hope Bliss tries to strike at the end - a general call to “follow your heart” – pulled the show dangerously close to the realm of children’s edutainment. There’s much for fans to enjoy here all the same, and perhaps some history lessons to learn for the uninitiated.

Inside Everyone is playing at the Malthouse Theatre until April 21 and tickets are available over here. 

Want more comedy? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

Lizzy Hoo has been busy, with the release of her first comedy special 12 months ago, plenty of TV appearances and getting the call to host the festival’s esteemed gala this year. Not to mention, she turned 40 and bought a house with her long-term partner who she then split from, all in the same year. So, she’s got plenty to unpack. 

Her mid-week evening show is packed out, but she saunters around on stage (wearing a hilariously tacky ‘Melbourne’ tourist T-shirt) and fires off witty quips with casual ease. She has the same cheeky grin as always, but you can feel that she’s cemented as a seasoned comedy pro.

Hoo doesn’t hold back in her show this year and delves into a can of worms that’s brand new for her: sex and dating. She’s recently single, keen to mingle and ready to dish salacious stories from her self-proclaimed cougar era (or Hoo-gar, as her friends have dubbed her). While romantic misadventures and dating apps certainly aren’t new fodder for comics, Hoo offers some fresh and funny perspectives, as a woman getting back on the market in the modern dating era of Hinge prompts and prolific ghosting. She unabashedly and refreshingly owns it, and it definitely makes for some great material. 

But Hoo’s comedy isn’t confined to the saucy tales of her romantic (or not so romantic) pursuits, she covers off plenty of other life tidbits too, with a side of taboos. Within the space of one laughter-filled hour, there’s a fondly-recounted story of a flasher, a tale of when she had a (literally) shitty time while on live radio and an MDMA-fuelled house party filled with 40-year-old mums. She delivers it all with a dryness and interspersed chuckles that make the jokes even funnier. The crowd loves her and for good reason – no matter the subject matter, she brings an upfront realness that is super relatable and not to mention, very funny. 

Hoo's That Girl? is playing at the Victoria Hotel's Banquet Room until April 21 – find out more here.

After more rib-splitting laughs? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

If 2023 was the year of the girlies (think the Women’s World Cup and the Barbie movie), 2024 is the year women embrace our feminine rage. Kiwi comedian, TV host and everyone’s favourite Jacinda Ardern impersonator Melanie Bracewell is on board with this thesis, telling us she’s determined to learn how to unleash her anger.

Aussies are more agro than New Zealanders, she tells us, but apparently Adelaide residents are angrier than Melburnians. It might just be a line to butter up the crowd, but it works a treat, getting us immediately onside. 

Bracewell teaches us that learning to let out your rage can take many forms, from joining a social netball team, to questioning a front row punter’s choice to leave their drink on the Max Watt’s stage. She builds layer upon layer of smart quips, woven between silly stories rich with wordplay. 

The show attacks an impressive number of varied topics, but the uniting thread running through it all is the winding tale of the time Bracewell lost her airpods. She manages to whip what could have been a pedestrian topic into a recurring plotline worthy of the most dramatic soap opera, thanks to modern technology (aka the Find My iPhone app) and a hefty dose of tenacity. We won’t spoil the outcome here, but rest assured you’ll be heavily invested.

Melanie Bracewell is a smooth comedic operator, mixing finely tuned punchlines and callbacks with off-the-cuff audience interactions with ease. The subject matter she explores in Attack of the Melanie Bracewell is relatively lighthearted, sticking mostly to safe territory. Nevertheless, a smattering of darker jokes (and one particularly risky punchline that thankfully lands well) add enough spice to keep us guessing. 

Fans who know Bracewell from the small screen will be thrilled to see her goofy personality shine through IRL, and newbies will likely leave as freshly minted members of the Bracewell fandom. 

Attack of the Melanie Bracewell is playing at Max Watt’s until April 21. Tickets start from $35 and are available here.

Want more? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

He Huang has a way with nationality-deprecating humour that bites. When she first broke through on Australia’s Got Talent in 2022, she archly apologised for Covid before pointing out it wasn’t her fault. She spent the entire time locked down in Australia. When one douche shouted at her to go home to China, she replied to his racist retort, “But sir, there are no flights.”

An instant hit, her three-minute taster that included a bit about Huang being a “leftover lady,”  unmarried and not dating while in her 30s, led to her debut stand-up show Bad Bitch. It scored a nomination for Best Newcomer at last year’s Melbourne International Comedy Festival and won the same category at the Sydney Comedy Festival. 

Huang starts her sophomore outing in the same vein, deadpan asking the assembled audience in the Chinese Museum’s Silk Room if she can record the set on her phone, only to drop, a wicked beat later, “for the Chinese government.”

Apparently her schtick caused quite a ruckus back home, and not just with the bureaucrats who constantly monitor Chinese social media app Weibo. Her mother, back home in a remote and still very pro-Mao community, tells everyone that her daughter essentially lies on stage for money. Still, the gig has seen Huang graduate from the “leftovers” table at family events to her uncles’ perch, where she is expected to sink shots and gamble with aplomb. 

Always teetering gleefully on the edge of bad taste, Huang’s personal revelations are incredibly sex positive and she’s fond of lobbing C-Bombs too, so prudes need not attend. A sharp wit with a deceptively laid-back style that’s as dry as the desert, her crowd work is top-notch, including when she asks one gay man sitting in the front row (not me) how much he’d charge for an hour’s sex work. When he inexplicably tells her she could command $100 less than him, Huang not only takes this foolhardy heckle on the chin, but also merrily uses it against him, rightfully so (he loves it, too).

This friendly fire is also turned on herself, with an extended bit that giggles at a local girlfriend’s unadulterated horror on seeing Huang suck the toes of her favourite dim sum order, chicken feet. This leads to a sudden realisation that it’s all relative, when presented with a box of fried rats while working for an NGO in Kenya. 

Huang’s travels make up a fair chunk of this show, including the same Australian friend convincing her to go backpacking in her thirties as a delayed rite of passage. Only making it as far as Bangkok, she’s confronted with the inherent noisiness of hostel dorm rooms, not to mention the hefty price of hooking up in one: 85 baht, compared to only five for the bunk bed. Then there’s the guided tour of North Korea and the suspiciously spy-like men in the bar of the only hotel available to outsiders, a trip which in retrospect, she muses, probably funded Kim Jong Un’s wine and cheese habit.

Offering a genuinely fresh perspective, Huang deserves all the awkward overseas trips, wine, cheese and dips this outrageous fun set earns her.

Huang is performing at the Chinese Museum from March 28 until April 21 and tickets are available here.

After some rib-splitting comedy? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

If you watch too many horror movies, you might get a little unnerved when you enter the darkened sanctum that is ACMI’s Swinburne Studio to witness an array of (admittedly cardboard) tombstones erected on stage. If so, perhaps you’ll scream when Mexican-Venezuelan-American comedian Lara Ricote emerges from the shadows, pre-show, in a Wuthering Heights-like floaty white robe that seems destined to get bloody. 

If you do, you’ll look a little silly. 

Ricote may exude a certain out-there energy, but she’s no phantom of the comedy festival. Working the room with her amiably oddball charm, she asks each of our names in a near-full house, her trademark cartoonish voice (she points it out herself, and that it has nothing to do with her being deaf) making her sound, for all the world, like she’s a character from The Simpsons.

Turns out her unusual attire is actually baptism garb because – very on trend for our Easter Sunday review spot – we’re about to experience a resurrection of sorts. Making like it’s an episode of UK gameshow Countdown (not to be confused with the beloved Molly Meldrum’s musical alternative), she asks us to pluck a series of vowels and consonants from our minds as Little Tiny Wet Show (baptism) begins for real with us collectively renamed (dubiously so, in our bad luck). So begins a complete life cycle that lasts the length of an almost-hour-long show involving a light dusting of audience participation, but only if you offer yourself willingly. After all, if she’s here to make us laugh, isn’t it only fair and balanced that we return the favour?

What does it take to maintain a healthy relationship? Whether it’s with us, the audience, her opposites attract parents (who she reckons should prob divorce), or the boyfriend of four years she convinced to join her in the Netherlands, only to prance around the world touring with her comedy shows, we’ll hear a variety of clashing answers. 

That’s because Ricote, like her mother, reserves the right to change her mind within moments and then deny she ever said anything different. It’s a funny and surprisingly subtle bit that shows how much is going on under the surface of Ricote’s surface-zany act, replete with mangled lyrics from The Beatles and the hope of a collab with “Mrs Elliott”.

Winning Best Newcomer at the 2022 Edinburgh Fringe for her debut GRL/LATNX/DEF, Ricote knows how to maximise her dark-leaning, exceedingly surreal and occasionally confronting humour. She relishes in exaggerated ticks (both facial and otherwise, in one particularly bizarre joke), prancing poses and a deft handle on holding a bit uncomfortably long. But it’s all underpinned with smart commentary on unrealistic expectations placed on women, on relationship status and the pass-agg nature of her therapist, who suggests her commitment issues are all about having bead curtains for doors when she was a kid.

Whatever made Ricote who she is, her oddball musings on the wolves we all contain within us (not in a werewolf horror movie way) are remarkably good at sinking their teeth into you. And that is worth being reborn in her image. 

Little Tiny Wet Show (baptism) is playing at ACMI until April 21 and tickets are available here.

Want more quirky comedy? Discover our weird and wonderful faves from this year's festival. 

The mention of crowd participation at the average comedy show would spark a trembling fear in most audience members, but at Gillian Cosgriff’s performance of her award-winning show Actually, Good, attendees are quick to eagerly call out when prompted. But this lack of hesitation in a typically intimidating scenario makes sense, as Cosgriff’s show feels more like catching up with a friend than watching a comedy show. That’s essentially the basis of her performance, a conversation between her and the audience. It’s a collaboration that leads to plenty of surprises, many hilarious, and many heartwarming.  

The central question that Cosgriff asks audiences is simple: what do you like? Over the course of an hour, the audience collectively makes a ranked list of ten things they like, while Cosgriff shares her own alongside amusing anecdotes. She has an amiable charm that disarms the crowd from the outset – sitting on stage before a sold out audience, she appears authentic and truly sincere. But her show avoids becoming a wholesome cliché, it’s actually refreshingly earnest. Her act centres on admiring the beauty of the human condition, but make no mistake, this is a comedy show and there is plenty of room for laughter. Cosgriff rattles off hilariously niche yet very relatable references and observations about our everyday experiences. There are plenty of witty quips that only Melburnians will find truly funny, and judging by the laughs, they are all crowd pleasers. 

Not only is Cosgriff an endearing performer, but she’s also impressive. She live loops her singing vocals (although slightly stalled by minor technical difficulties) to create complex harmonies, and performs six cleverly-written original songs, although at a couple of points her divergence into the musical medium somewhat slows the performance's overall momentum. She adeptly accompanies herself on keyboard and proudly shows off her musical prowess with piano riffs and moments of soaring vocals. She’s a fantastic singer and songwriter – there’s definitely a bit of Tim Minchin about her, with her fast paced lyrics and jazz-styled tone. Not to mention, she’s got comedic chops. Even when some rogue answers from wannabe comedian audience members could have created some awkwardness, she manoeuvres through to keep the laughs coming. 

Between seamlessly weaving audience interaction, songs and stories, Cosgriff subtly builds a poignant narrative that packs an emotional punch towards the end of her performance. Her show leaves audiences wandering out of the theatre pensively, probably reflecting on the little things in the minutiae of their own everyday lives that they like. Cosgriff’s unassuming optimism is infectious and inspiring, and alongside the laughter from her comedic quips, leaves a smile on the audience's faces after the show ends. 

Want more comedy? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

Aussie comedian Josh Thomas has come a long way from being the guy who was always shooting zany one-liners on prime time television panel shows. Turning his hand to writing, acting and producing, he's gone on to create and star in the groundbreaking comedy series Please Like Me, and then the American-produced series Everything’s Gonna Be Okay. (Currently, he's working on Good Person, a new series in development with Hulu & 20th.) Now, Thomas is finally making his much-anticipated return to stand-up, with Let’s Tidy Up playing at Arts Centre Melbourne from April 9-21. Tickets are available here and you can keep reading for our review of the Sydney season of the show.

Forty-five minutes into Josh Thomas’s solo show at Sydney Opera House, he grabs a broom and breaks into a languidly executed and bizarrely brilliant dance routine that belies the unlikely sex symbol that he is to many Australian millennials. As a British import, the intricacies of many of Australia’s pop culture personas remain a mystery to me. I’d been unaware of this side to the comedian (whose existence I’d learnt of only days prior), and it made a fun addition to the cocktail of traits that form his on-stage persona: erratic but engaging, wicked-smart but infinitely endearing.

For someone who has (staggeringly) managed to make it to 2024 without encountering the cultural phenomenon that is Josh Thomas (or the television shows he has written, produced and starred in: Please Like Me and Everything’s Gonna Be Ok) I’m quickly acquainted with the cornerstones of his identity. Early into the show, he recounts his diagnoses with both ADHD and autism – describing how the former brought him face to face with the ghosts of what he thought he could become, and the latter came as an unsurprising relief.

For a show that is ostensibly about one of the most mundane of domestic tasks, Let's Tidy Up belies some pretty profound wisdom.

With a lightness that appears effortless, Thomas explains how his autism diagnosis arrived as welcome news – and the qualification that yes, life for him is harder than it is for most neurotypical folks. And while (appropriately) non-neurodivergent audience members might feel some discomfort around jokes made about autism, he handles the topic with masterful delicacy. This, I learn, is what has gained him a position as one of the most widely-loved comedians of a generation: a self-referential ability to expose the intricacies of his own existence in a way that feels inherently relatable. That broad-spanning relatability comes as a result of his varied life experience – growing up in middle-income Australia, then being catapulted into the spotlight and the sparkly life that surrounds it in his late teens.

With entirely unfiltered detail, Thomas recounts experiences that are both absurdly aspirational (an engagement at a private villa in Vietnam, a poolside party in West Hollywood) and excruciatingly embarrassing. Cumulatively, these stories lay the groundwork for the crux of the show. Let's Tidy Up is billed as an examination of how the act of tidying up presents a personal challenge, but ultimately it’s so much more – an interrogation of the myth of self improvement and the universality of mediocrity as perceived through Thomas’ (apparently trademark) unfiltered lens.

Lally Katz, the award-winning playwright who worked with him on the script, is referred to throughout the show – with the kind of warmth that portrays the pair's friendship. The chaotic dinner parties and the indelicate dating advice that Katz shares with Thomas are the most aspirational anecdotes, and serve to highlight one of the key takeaways: that the sparkling experiences we see on screen aren’t the ones we should be shooting for.

For a show that is ostensibly about one of the most mundane of domestic tasks, Let's Tidy Up belies some pretty profound wisdom. To paraphrase his (startlingly philosophical) monologue on the human condition: we’re all shit, what’s shit about us now will be what’s shit about us when we die, and that’s exactly what the people who love us love us for.

The dance with the broom is as close as Thomas gets to actually “tidying up” the perfectly-chaotic set that stands otherwise untouched behind him on the stage. Aside from gaining an additional half-tonne of paper hearts that fall sporadically from the ceiling through the duration of the show, the set itself doesn’t change a bit. And that’s perhaps the main message that Thomas seeks to share – that the mess within all of us will never really change, and that’s the beauty of being human.

Want more? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

Only Australia’s resident cabaret king, Reuben Kaye, could turn an existential crisis into an hour and a half of uproarious comedy. Fresh off the runaway success of last year’s Live and Intimidating, Kaye returns to the Melbourne International Comedy Festival with the apocalypse on his mind and some family history to unpack.

He begins Apocalipstik, as all kings must, on a golden throne surrounded by towering portraits of himself. The Malthouse’s Merlyn Theatre has been transformed into a political caucus, throne room and personal shrine in one with Kaye’s signature bold lash and red lippy splashed across two hanging banners on either side of the stage. He’s gathered us to celebrate, mourn and rally against the end of the world; a nihilist in six-inch heels, strutting from double entendre to biting social commentary with the elegance and narcissistic cheek we’ve come to expect from him.

But a Reuben Kaye show is the yardstick one uses to evaluate a Reuben Kaye show. And unfortunately, Apocalipstik does not quite live up to the high bar he’s established for himself. In between soaring ballads and whip-smart improv, Kaye tells us the story of his Uncle Helmut, an enigmatic man he met only once as a child. None of our weird uncles could hold a candle to Helmut; a charismatic man, wanted criminal and semi-successful connoisseur of amateur sex tapes in 1990s West Berlin. 

Kaye revels in the bawdy details of this camp figure. He’s a magnetic storyteller and the show is at its unruly best when it channels his natural theatricality to tell Helmut’s already theatrical  life story. But things go awry when he starts to shoehorn Helmut’s life into general commentary. Kaye has always had his finger on the pulse of current affairs, but nowhere has his topicality felt more unfocused. Stories of his uncle are shoehorned into pre-written thesis statements and near-sermonic asides about nearly every contemporary crisis: calls to ‘cry for freedom’, rally against capitalism (after buying Kaye’s merch, of course) and odes to small moments of rebellion. Kaye is too good to let these moments slip into the saccharine, but teeters close. 

The problem is that Helmut’s life just doesn’t quite fit into these generalised asides, a fact Kaye acknowledges. “What is this show even about?” he quips at one point. “Remember my uncle?” he says, trying to butter up a particularly toothy segue. No one is more self-aware or in control of their audience, but there’s a limit to Kaye’s self-awareness that catches in the throat (pun intended) after a while, a sense that we’re being told criticisms of the show that should’ve been raised and resolved when it was being written. 

There’s no one like Reuben Kaye. If Apocaliptstik feels disappointing, it’s because of a sense of missed opportunity more than anything. There’s still more than enough audience sexcapades, rallying calls against oppressive systems and soaring belts for it to represent a thrilling addition to his ever-expanding kingdom.

Apocalipstik is playing at Malthouse from March 28 until April 21 and tickets are available here.

After some rib-splitting comedy? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

Darby James had an interesting lockdown. Like most of us, he scrolled to the ends of the internet and what he found there was an ad… for a sperm donation clinic. The ad took hold in his brain and led him down the path of giving away his baby batter, which previously hadn’t had much use – given he’s a cis gay man. So of course, he’s written a cabaret about the process of donation, and the moral quandaries that come with it, that’s now running the full duration of this year’s Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

James’s writing and songs are full of puns and quaint rhyming schemes, turning the clinical process of filling out online forms, going to various appointments and meditating on the ethical dilemma presented by having children into a musical adventure – complete with sea shanties and vulnerable ballads. The music is very much steeped in the musical theatre tradition, with elements of modern pop mixed in (particularly in the donation clinic that plays nothing but ’80s hits). There are plenty of opportunities for cleverness and James attempts to squeeze as much as he can out of the source material.

The highlights of the show include ‘If I Were A Dad’, a delightful song about the kind of parent a gay man might become, and the final number in which he writes a letter to his potential future child. These songs are written with a concrete tenderness that imagines what the future of the sperm might look like, and crucially how complicated the feelings about this future can become. Other numbers sometimes drift into shallower territory, and the hesitation to give any answer for the children-creating question leaves us wanting a little more… steering. 

Set and costume by Betty Auhl dresses James as a navy-striped, white capped seaman (geddit), standing atop his small circular rug made from rope surrounded by various bottles and other rope sculptures. The set becomes somewhat restrictive over the 60-minute run time, particularly on the Malthouse Bagging Room stage, giving both James and director Casey Gould not much opportunity for movement outside of the small circle. This leads to some awkward choices that make it difficult for James to reach through the fourth wall and effectively interact with the audience. 

Overall, Little Squirt is a unique musical meditation on the experience of thinking about our legacy and how we can ethically continue to exist on this planet. Unfortunately it doesn’t quite manage to move too much outside of the boundaries it creates for itself, both in terms of movement and content.

Little Squirt is playing at the Malthouse until April 21, with tickets starting from $28. Tickets are available via the Comedy Festival website.

Want more? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

Julian O'Shea cuts a striking figure at his debut Melbourne International Comedy Festival show. The popular online content creator, university lecturer and one-time participant in Moomba’s Birdman Rally strides onto the stage at the DoubleTree by Hilton wearing a brightly coloured road map jumper that resembles those cartoon rugs once found in playrooms across the country (IYKYK). This playful attire, combined with O’Shea’s palpable enthusiasm at the prospect of performing in front of a sold-out crowd, sets the scene for an hour of fun facts, chaotic anecdotes and plenty of laughs.

The premise of O’Shea’s show, M is for Melbourne: The World’s Mostly* Liveable City, is simple: it’s an A to Z of Melbourne, highlighting all that is cool, quirky and kinda weird. It’s also a roll call of reasons why Melbourne is worthy of snatching back its World’s Most Liveable City crown from Vienna (cue a couple of cheeky jabs at the Austrian capital littered throughout the set). 

All the obvious topics are present: F is for the free tram zone, H is for hook turns and M is for the Montague Street Bridge (a “true Melbourne icon”, according to O’Shea). But it’s the slightly left-of-field inclusions that allow for O’Shea’s truly comprehensive local knowledge to shine.

A deep dive into the City of Melbourne’s decision to assign email addresses to all 70,000 of its trees (E is for emailing trees) is as genuinely intriguing as it is funny, and provides O’Shea with an opportunity to tell any audience members with a potential gripe that they should forward it on to his favourite tree on Bourke Street. Then a homage to the failed bicycle-sharing system that took over the city in 2017 (O is for oBikes) becomes hilariously solemn when accompanied by a moving montage of the yellow two-wheelers in various states of disrepair across the city.

As he continues to work his way through the alphabet, O’Shea also reveals Guinness World Record attempts (Q is for quadricycle) and viral opinion pieces that become the catalyst for increased parking fees (T is for truckzillas) – the latter also providing a clever segue into his *cough* interesting pricing model.

If you’ve happened upon O’Shea’s YouTube channel or TikTok account, chances are much of this content may seem familiar. But there’s something to be said about the impact of seeing it live, complete with the aid of a PowerPoint presentation, props and take-home presents (yep, every audience member receives a special handmade gift). 

This is feel-good humour with a hefty helping of homegrown trivia – what’s not to love?

 M is for Melbourne: The World’s Mostly* Liveable City, and it’s playing at DoubleTree By Hilton until April 21 – find out more here. 

Want more? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

Stickybeak is a physical comedy show set on a street all Melburnians are sure to find familiar. After earning four stars from Time Out at the 2023 Melbourne Fringe Festival, The Beaks are bringing the show back for another laugh-out-loud run for this year’s Melbourne International Comedy Festival from April 16-21 at Malthouse, with tickets available here. Keep reading for our 2023 review of Stickybeak.

The spectacles you’ll witness as an audience member at Melbourne Fringe Festival are unlimited by the bounds of imagination. So while you probably wouldn't expect to observe four people performing uncannily realistic imitations of snails, it should also come as no surprise. Snail impressions are a small part of Stickybeak, a hilariously accurate snapshot of Aussie suburbia, complete with rotting fruit, dog poo and a rogue chicken.

This raucous physical comedy show is set in the front yards of three houses and depicts the daily interactions between nosy neighbours that we all recognise – you know, bin night discussions, marvelling in jealousy at front yard roses and grimacing about unruly dogs. The cast of four masterfully shapeshift between dozens of classic archetype characters: the elderly European man who’s obsessed with his fruit trees; his wife who spies on the rest of the street; the young family whose kids won’t stop screaming; and the gaggle of perky women in their weekly jogging group.

Performers Kimberley Twiner, Jessie Ngaio, Laura Trenerry and Patrick Dwyer nail every single one, down to the minute details. The dialogue is sparse – it’s not needed to signpost which character is on stage (although some simple costume changes help with that) or even what’s transpiring between them, because the impressively nuanced physicality of each actor does most of the talking. A sequence between two pre-pubescent teenagers where the dialogue is little more than “‘sup?” has the audience in stitches. The chuckling from the sold-out crowd is a constant throughout the show, and it’s a testament to the foursome's comedic expertise. It’s incredible to watch how the same performer, in a matter of seconds, transitions seamlessly from playing a dribbling toddler to a grumpy old woman, sparking laughter with both characters. 

Despite the show’s recreation of life’s ordinary moments, the scenes that make up this performance are far from ordinary. Highlights include an epileptic dog named Psycho, brawling cats and dog shit wiped on a white picket fence (and a yuppy mother’s musical moment after breaking her nail while cleaning it up). It sounds very silly – and it is, but the silliness works and the audience laps it up. It’s classic Aussie humour, but reinvented – if you took parts of Kath and Kim and The Castle and turned it into a physical comedy show, you've essentially got Stickybeak.

The best bit is that the audience feels like they’re part of the neighbourhood, too, with cheeky aside glances from the performers breaking the fourth wall and bringing them in on the jokes. 

Want more? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

Nick White is not in the building. Well, he clearly is, but he’s currently pretending to be his alter ego, Carli Furplam, aka the dullest co-worker. She’s warming up for him and is super-keen, only she has put exactly one hour on the meter, is parked half an hour away because driving in the city is too stressful, and so she’s on a tight deadline to get the show going and get gone. 

Her nervous stream of hair-tugging consciousness, replete with robotic “What’s your name and occupation?” crowd work, makes for a gently gigglish entry to this sophomore show from the architect-turned-TikTok star who racks up hundreds of thousands of views on each of his posts. She’ll be back, later on, in an aside that may or may not be a bit, because the relaxed and reliably likeable, handsomely moustachioed White makes a virtue of appearing as if everything is off the cuff. And that’s not easy to do, especially if you’re prone to social anxiety, a situation that White has harnessed to great effect in his delightfully silly show. 

Rolling along amiably, much of his deftly delivered asides are aided by a well-judged eyebrow raise or a spot of imagined banter with the family pup. Teenage Dreams is a fun insight into his foundational years and the bridge into so-called adulthood, having recently settled in Melbourne. 

There’s a fun bit about the cutest form of (accidental) self-harm imaginable, via a Malcolm in the Middle dream gone wrong that only gets more hilarious when his mum suggests an inexplicably daft cover story to explain away the injury at school. This far fetched faux pas only exacerbated the situation with his more boisterously nosy schoolmates. The less said about his artistic endeavours, including a nightmare-scape of malformed Michael Jackson sketches and fan art dedicated to America’s Next Top Model that channels the power of The Sims, the better.

A saucier wish fulfilment spot involving the Bondi Vet sets up a mic drop call-back. There’s a sassy sidestep into why September is the perfect time of year to visit New York, no matter what might have gone down in the fairly recent past, and one of the best jokes of the night belongs to White’s dad, on the poolside hint that tipped him off his son might be gay. A whip-smart comeback to a prodding dentist who enquired if the steadfastly single White grinds his teeth in his sleep brings a bit more bite to what is a very sweet night.

Borrowing a trick from Carly’s micromanaged book, all of this is assisted by a point-and-click PowerPoint slideshow that draws a lot of guffaws from its marvellously deployed mundanity. A dab hand at accent work with amusingly Australian specificity, White’s comedy is wryly observant without being too snarky, all too rare these days. Teenage Dreams makes for a soul-hugging, if not revelatory, set that’s incredibly wholesome. There’s much to be said for that in these wildly unnerving days of daily doom and disaster.

Want more? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

Anne Edmonds is one of the country's most fearless and revered stand-up comedians. She is no stranger to accolades, and they include five Most Outstanding Show Award nominations, the Director’s Choice and the peer-voted Piece Of Wood Award at Melbourne International Comedy Festival as well as a Best Comedy Performer nomination at the Helpmann Awards. Now, she's bringing her acclaimed show Why Is My Bag All Wet back for another season for the 2024 edition of MICF. Keep reading for our 2023 review.

Is there anything better, more life-affirming even, than seeing a comedian who is at the absolute top of their game? After seeing Anne Edmonds in full flight at the Comedy Theatre as part of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, probably not.

The much-loved entertainer (perhaps best known for her alter ego, the slightly unhinged, sarong-wearing Helen Bidou) dances on stage with a swagger and a smile that is instantly infectious. She’s already laughing at the fact that so many of us would be here at 4pm on a Saturday arvo: “Ooh, the matinee crowd”. 

There’s the obligatory warm-up chat that touches on Covid (“did you know there are still anti-vaxxers around – it’s cute!”), before she launches into the main premise of her show: why is her bag all wet? Thanks to a show of hands, it’s clear this is a universally shared phenomenon, and Edmonds labels the few who have never had the misfortune of a leaky water bottle dripping in their bag as “sociopaths” who must be in cahoots with Frank Green.

From there, Edmonds dives into her life as an older mum (or a late-in-life mum aka a LILM, which she repeats over and over in an increasingly hysterical voice) and jokes about “trapping” her partner – fellow comedian and Welshman Lloyd Langford – in the country during the pandemic, then conveniently falling pregnant. 

The trials and tribulations of motherhood are an ongoing theme across the hour-long set, with Edmonds regaling us with a horror story about destroying her daughter Gwen’s birth certificate via – you guessed it – a leaky water bottle in her bag. She also talks about filling Gwen’s head with parental propaganda (“you’ve got the hottest mum in Australia”), close mother-daughter relationships giving her the ick (“no thank you, not for me”) and the intoxicating allure of the indoor play centre – where the inevitable bout of gastro is worth it just to score “ten minutes of beautiful, uninterrupted scrolling”.

But it’s when Edmonds (quite literally) throws herself into more physical skits or adopts different personas that she transcends from highly amusing to hilariously deranged in the best way possible. Her reenactment of one of her favourite pastimes – “sliding down the wall crying” – hits a little too close to home for many in the crowd, who by this stage are cry-laughing at its accuracy. Then a story about the time she travelled to Edinburgh for the Fringe Festival and needed to buy a high chair off Facebook Marketplace, only to be confronted by a hag-like Scottish woman screaming, “I canae find the tray” is enough to keep those waterworks flowing.

But the show reaches its crescendo when Edmonds divulges the time she shit her pants (yes, really) in a two-storey Coles Local. The unfortunate tale is a gold medal-worthy finish by any standards. Still, after an audience member dares question Edmonds’ claim that only a city like Sydney would be home to a split-level supermarket, she savagely shut him down by yelling, “don’t mansplain Coles to me”. Chef’s kiss, no notes – let that be a lesson for hecklers.

The juxtaposition of Edmonds is intriguing: she’s as relatable as she is outrageous, and her particular brand of comedy swings from almost sincere to full-blown acts of insanity. But above all, she’s just really, really funny – what more could you want than that?

Love to laugh? Check out these regular comedy nights in Melbourne.

Reuben Kaye is bringing his loose late-night show back to Forum Melbourne for two queer, messy, fast and furious nights. We went along to one of last year's shows at the same venue – keep reading for our 2023 review of The Kaye Hole.

An irresistible cocktail of spicy, sweet and sexy, Reuben Kaye’s variety extravaganza, The Kaye Hole, had us addicted from the first hit. We were welcomed into the holy church of Reuben Kaye with open arms and naked butts. It was a delayed service, with the audience on the edge of their seats, frothing with anticipation. However, we all know good things come to those who wait (and that we queer folk are fashionably never on time). 

Smiling with a devilish grin, Kaye was hauled onto the Forum stage by “the tail of Satan”. The tail, in this instance, was a rope hooked under a man’s penis, and not the tail tucked into the back of Posie Parker’s pants. Dressed head-to-toe in a ravishing red, Kaye extended the official welcome to “his hole” with a sinfully-charged rendition of 'Celebrity Skin', met with symphonic praise. 

Unlike many religious/cult leaders, Kaye’s moments were laced with candid self-awareness. Addressing his recent controversial appearance on The Project, he lamented that his longing for an illustrious television career was cut short. He cooed with exposed chapless cheeks, “baby did a boo boo”, and shamed the media for “crucifying a Jew this publicly so close to Easter”. 

The Kaye Hole was a variety show true to its name, as all the acts were deliciously ripe with diversity. The first cab off the rank was the comedian Michelle Brasier. In her performance of the 4 Non-Blonde’s classic, “What’s Up”, her vocals were powerful, and her adlibs playful.

The comic Jay Wymarra was then pulled in on a kiddie’s tricycle by “two white sluts” and referred to Kaye as the world’s “gayest reptile”, perhaps explaining his need to live under bright stage lights. Touching upon his Torres Strait Islander heritage throughout, Mymarra strummed out a fabulous rendition of 'I Wan’na Be Like You' from the Jungle Book, ukulele in hand and affectations aplenty. 

The guest appearances didn’t stop there. Dressed as a scantily clad superhero, Bettie Bombshell showed she is as flexible as many inner-north ‘vegans’ and shimmied not only titty tassels but tooshie tassels too. Afterwards, Malia Walsh mimed a performance piece to Nick Cave’s ‘Red Right Hand’, splattering a white dress in tomato sauce in her comical take on menstrual mayhem.

Next up, was it a bird? Was it a plane? Was it one of Kaye’s lost bags? No, it was the MICF best show nominee. Jordan Gray (read our five-star review here). Gray gave us a taster of her electric show with an original song that sparked a constant current of laughter. 

After being stunned into silence by the aerialist Leopold Pentland’s gravity-defying act, we snapped, crackled and popped into a frenzy over an X-rated performance to ‘Popcorn.’ The hula hooper spurted popcorn like artillery from her head before she lathered up her naked body with butter and plucked a SAXA salt shaker from her netherregions – hmm, salty and sweet. 

It was a show with golden nuggets of hilarity that, in Kaye’s own terms, could be misunderstood by those unfamiliar with arsehole politics. But listen up octogenarians, the great news is, you’re never too old to learn. In and amongst all the sordid sin, Kaye left us with a very important message. “Go and see art from people that don’t look like you and don’t think like you,” he said. 

In a less important message, I will be ordering bags galore and horses to boot because I never want to crawl out of this Kaye Hole.

Want to kick-on afterwards? Check out the best nightclubs in Melbourne.

In her first stand-up hour since 2018, Celia Pacquola serves up a hilarious whirlwind tour of the past five years: lockdowns, a new relationship, a haunted house, butt-masks (yes, things got weird during covid), and the arrival of her daughter. With the regal Comedy Theatre in Melbourne as her backdrop, Pacquola kicks off with a “you’re welcome” for the early 6.30pm start time; she’s in her 40s now and in genial Celia fashion, appreciates that people prefer to be in pyjamas by 9pm.  

The show picks up from where her 2018 set (All Talk) left off, with a palpable sense of urgency as Pacquola swiftly revisits the #MeToo movement and her personal mental health issues – both thankfully now “solved.” She rewinds to 2020, a year that Pacquola anticipated as “her year,” only to be marked by the global pandemic and, in her opinion, an equally newsworthy story: the year she won Dancing with the Stars. Thus begins the prelude of her adventures as a self-proclaimed “fun mum.” 

Here, Pacquola flaunts her trademark candour and quirkiness, regaling the crowd with flawed logic like a kicking system that dictates her meat consumption and the finding and returning of a lost cat. The decisively delirious tone of the set underscores her ill-preparedness for navigating parent groups, arguments with her smart home, and the moral quandaries of parenting.

There’s a begrudging yet good-humoured intertwining of Pacquola’s dismissal from Bluey, having been initially offered the role of Chilli, now famously voiced by Melanie Zanetti, prompting raucous laughter from the audience. Pacquola’s adept interaction with her audience arrives in all of the right places with jests about “walk outs” following a series of birthing anecdotes, and the allocation of laugh-based gold stars.

While the energy and laughs taper towards the end, Pacquola reels the audience back in with clever callbacks to earlier jokes. The climax arrives with a comical showdown against Google Home, set to Vengaboys’ ‘Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!!’ This leads to a protracted conclusion where Pacquola shares the difficulty of wrapping this particular set, ultimately offering a wholesome reflection on beginnings rather than endings. Despite the slightly clumsy finale, a couple of surprises in the ‘post-credits’ almost make up for it.  

Pacquola effortlessly blends freudenfreude, self-deprecating silliness, and genuine warmth (despite what the Bluey team said), to create an intimacy hard to achieve in large venues. I’m As Surprised as You Are truly feels like a long overdue catch-up with friends – a delightful pre-dinner treat that will keep you smiling until bedtime. 

I'm As Surprised As You Are is playing at the Comedy Theatre until April 7 – find out more and get tickets here.

Want more? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

If you don’t know Aurelia St Clair from their previous Melbourne International Comedy Festival shows, you’ll surely know her from her TikTok presence. St Clair specialises in biting (yet extremely accurate) critiques of Melbourne’s ‘hip’ inner north and all its quirks. 

After her 2023 show Non-Dairy Presenting explored what qualities spiritually align you with either moo juice or plant milk drinkers, skewering suburban stereotypes in the process, this year’s show is all about St Clair’s mean girl origin story. “Are you ready to be mean for a minute?”, they ask, and the audience surely is.

What follows is a series of games for the crowd, musings on meanness and even a song on ukulele bouncing through the Chinese Museum’s Silk Room. St Clair asks us to play the ‘put a finger down’ challenge (a game that’s become a staple on TikTok, for those unfamiliar) to help us figure out whether or not we’re mean. From the looks of it, most of us are, at least a little. 

Can I Be Mean For a Minute? digs into everything from St Clair’s experience growing up in the Jehovah’s Witness church (door-knocking is like exposure therapy for rejection, which sounds like solid preparation for stand-up), to being ‘gay married’ and non-binary. 

A bit about the gender wage gap is especially on point – work is mean – as is the picture they paint of their ideal first date. A spirited game of ‘Am I the asshole?’ had one audience member fired up, which was handled with grace by St Clair.

St Clair’s set is entertaining, often enlightening and at times spot on. They punch up, not down (which is actually the subject of one of their well-received zingers) and keep things moving by swapping between bits and games. However, it felt like there was room to add more material into the show, which was on the shorter side. 

Overall, St Clair has clearly built a keen eye for observation and a knack for being giggle-inducingly mean without ever crossing over to cruelty. Can I Be Mean For a Minute? is a set fit for a fun night out – especially if you’re a fan of their TikTok content – that could perhaps benefit from a hint more gusto to help the material razzle dazzle.

Aurelia St Clair might have beef with us for ranking High Street as the coolest street in the world, but we just wanna be frenemies, or maybe even mates.  

Want more? Check out who else is performing at the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.