The year is 2030. Humanity’s nearly gone, wiped out by self-diagnosing whingers and 37 kinds of milk. For too long, we thought ‘gentle parenting’ and ‘paper straws’ would save us — they didn’t. Now, from the ashes of the Softcockalypse, one hard bastard rises. Chopper’s back, and he’s here to show us how to live. Strap in.
Clad in aviator sunglasses, a powder-blue shirt, tattoo sleeves, and sporting his trademark handlebar moustache, Heath Franklin bounds onto the stage in full Chopper mode, reviving his legendary comedy persona to deliver a much-needed dose of uncensored satire. With a booming voice, foul-mouthed bravado, and a commanding presence, Franklin embodies “the last hard bastard on Earth” as he warns us of the incoming “Softcockalypse”—a fictional apocalypse brought on by society’s over-sensitivity and emotional fragility.
What unfolds over the next hour is a gleeful and pointed take on modern life, where Chopper delivers his blistering social commentary disguised as comedy gold. From vegan diets and emotional support animals to yoga, adult colouring books, and e-scooters, nothing is spared in his fast-paced litany of absurdities. But while the humour is abrasive, the satire is deliberate, clear, and artfully constructed. Franklin, now two decades into the Chopper routine, has refined his delivery into something that feels both chaotic and carefully crafted. He knows exactly how far to push a joke, and when to pivot, riff, or reign things in. The show may be bold, but it never feels cruel.
For those unfamiliar, Heath Franklin’s “Chopper” is a comedic homage to the real-life Australian criminal Mark “Chopper” Read. While the original Read was a violent and controversial figure, Franklin’s version is a satirical caricature—less gangster and more wise-cracking uncle who says the things no one else dares to. It’s a mask that allows Franklin to explore taboo topics without sounding mean-spirited. As Chopper, he gets to mock everyone and everything, from baby boomers and Gen Zs to gender politics and milk alternatives, while keeping the mood light and the laughs rolling.
One of the show’s cleverest tricks is how it reflects society back at itself. Franklin skewers the overly earnest, the perpetually offended, and the trend-obsessed in a way that manages to unify the audience. Whether they’re boomers nodding in agreement or millennials laughing at themselves, the jokes don’t divide—they bring people together. There’s a shared sense of release in laughing at the silliness of modern life, and Franklin taps into this with skill.
Even when delving into deeper territory—like mental health terminology, masculinity, or generational divides—Franklin’s delivery is always accessible. He throws in offbeat phrases like “ADADHD” (Attention Deficit Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) and draws unlikely connections between autism and blunt honesty, challenging the audience to think while still keeping the tone comically absurd. His take on men not picking up social cues? Apparently, it’s not a fault—it’s a feature.
Through Chopper, Heath Franklin manages to sneak in thoughtful critiques dressed up in tough-guy language, appealing to the crowd’s humour while gently broadening their perspectives. There’s a kind of Trojan horse logic at work—beneath all the swearing and yelling is a sharp commentary on how we talk to one another, how we judge each other, and how easily we take offence.
It’s this balance of brashness and subtlety that makes the show work. Yes, Chopper makes fun of “soft” things—like alternative milks, yoga retreats, and picnic etiquette—but he also turns the lens on his own absurdity. He doesn’t just laugh at vegans; he laughs at traditional masculinity too. One minute he’s ranting about the uselessness of handbags, the next he’s confessing that sometimes he just wants to eat his food warm without sharing it with someone (and the ants) on a picnic rug after a 3 hour hike. The self-deprecating tone lets him punch in all directions—up, down, and sideways.
On the night we attended, the crowd was particularly lively—possibly a little too much so. Several audience members were clearly a few drinks in and shouted out random interjections. These were mostly indecipherable from the back of the venue, but Franklin took them in stride, ignoring some, subtly roasting others, and never letting the interruptions derail the show, unless he wants it to. His professionalism in handling the rowdier parts of the crowd was impressive, maintaining momentum and delivering his set with precision.
One moment that stood out was when Franklin invited audience participation—asking them to name a group to mock next. It backfired slightly, as the room fell silent and no one seemed willing to be the one to point the finger, instead naming fishing rods and religion. This unexpected pause actually created one of the most interesting moments in the show. It highlighted how people are often happy to laugh along when others take the lead, but much less comfortable when required to initiate the joke themselves. Franklin handled it gracefully, pivoting with humour and moving the show forward without making anyone feel awkward.
The structure of the performance is more free-flowing than rigid, jumping from topic to topic like a stand-up stream of consciousness. This approach suits the Chopper persona perfectly, as he barrels through his frustrations with the modern world, occasionally pausing to go off-script and banter with the audience. There’s a looseness to the format, but it never feels unpolished. If anything, it adds a sense of spontaneity and immediacy.
Franklin also makes a deliberate effort to include Kiwi-specific references—shouting out places like Kerikeri and Queen Street, riffing on the differences between American and New Zealand breakfast foods, and having a laugh at the quirks of our culture. It’s a reminder that despite the character’s Aussie roots, the show is being tailored for Aotearoa. That local connection adds another layer of relevance and relatability for the audience.
In the end, what The Last Hard Bastard on Earth offers is not just laughs—it’s a comedic mirror. Franklin’s Chopper allows us to laugh at ourselves, our neighbours, and the strange quirks of the world we live in, all while making space for thought and reflection. Beneath the swearing, the shouting, and the outrageous opinions is a surprisingly nuanced performer who understands the value of comedy as both entertainment and critique.
What makes Franklin’s show work so well is not just his jokes, but the permission he gives his audience to stop taking everything so seriously—even if just for an hour. It’s a pressure release valve, a place where people from different backgrounds and beliefs can laugh together at the same madness. It’s not always tidy, it’s not always polite, but it is always clever. And in today’s world, that feels like a rare thing.
Health Franklin's Chopper: The Last Hard Man on Earth continues it's NZ tour with Shows in Hamilton (31 May), Nelson, (12 June), Christchurch (13 June), Dunedin (14 June) and Invercargill (June 15).
You can find tickets here