Tony, one of New Zealand's top stand-up comedians, shares outrageous stories born from the wild situations he's put himself in. In this show, he reflects on what happens when you talk when you should be listening, offering a hilarious look at life’s most tense and unexpected moments.
In Talking When I Should Be Listening, Tony Lyall invites audiences into a chaotic, self-aware, and surprisingly clever evening of stand-up, where every missed beat and awkward silence becomes part of the show’s design. With his signature everyman charm and talent for turning the everyday into something ridiculous, Lyall offers an hour of laughter that feels part show, part social experiment.
Known for his storytelling approach, Lyall has mastered the art of shaping real-life experiences into compelling on-stage material. But these aren’t polished TED Talk narratives. Instead, they’re loose, unpredictable, and at times hilariously unimportant—mundane events retold with comic flair until they become more than the sum of their parts.
The show’s title is more than a punchline—it’s the premise. Lyall admits that many of his best material springs from moments where he probably should have stayed quiet. Whether it’s ignoring sensible advice, putting his foot in his mouth, or simply reacting instead of listening, these moments become the bedrock of his humour. And by walking us through these missteps, he taps into a kind of honest vulnerability that is as endearing as it is funny.
At Q Theatre’s Vault space in Auckland, the intimate setup suits Lyall’s conversational style perfectly. With no elevated stage and just a small space between audience and performer, the room feels less like a theatre and more like a gathering—one where anything can, and will, happen. And on this particular evening, things certainly did.
A couple left shortly before showtime to grab drinks, only to re-enter after Lyall had already taken the mic. Their mid-show interruption could have thrown off a less experienced performer, but Lyall folded it neatly into the set—mocking, joking, and turning the moment into gold. When another group arrived ten minutes late, he was ready, turning their entrance into another running gag.
But Lyall’s strength lies in knowing when to lean into these moments and when to pull back. He’s quick on his feet, but never relies on crowd work as a crutch. Instead, he uses it sparingly, always returning to his prepared material—which spans everything from parenting woes to political absurdities.
His humour doesn’t require deep cultural references or shared experiences to land. Whether he’s talking about being a dad, travelling for comedy, or getting into trouble just to have something new to talk about, Lyall’s delivery is open and accessible. There’s no barrier between him and his audience—just a willingness to be a bit silly, a bit vulnerable, and a whole lot relatable.
Still, the show doesn’t follow a strict structure. Stories and jokes can feel scattered at times, jumping from one topic to the next without a clear narrative arc. But this is intentional. Lyall’s set is carefully crafted to feel chaotic. He derails himself, questions his own jokes, mocks the very idea of having a tidy “theme.” He even jokes about visual aids, scoffing at so-called “PowerPoint comedians” while continually suggesting his own jokes would be funnier with a slide or two.
This meta-comedy—comedy about comedy—might not work for every audience, and Lyall knows it. At several points, he joke about the lukewarm reactions, pulling humour out of the audience’s reserve. This isn’t a cry for sympathy; it’s a performance choice. By confronting the discomfort in the room and leaning into the awkwardness, Lyall invites us to see what it really means to be on stage trying to connect.
The result is a slow-burning show that rewards patience. There are plenty of immediate laughs, but the real payoff comes in the final moments. When Lyall finally pulls everything together, there’s a clarity that emerges from the chaos. The ending lands hard—not just because it’s funny, but because of how well the tension has been managed along the way.
In the end, Talking When I Should Be Listening is more than a comedy set—it’s a playful critique of what we expect from stand-up. Lyall breaks the rules, calls out the crowd, and unravels his own act in real time. And it works. Not because it’s slick or seamless, but because it’s honest, unpredictable, and often hilarious.
Tony Lyall might be talking when he should be listening—but in doing so, he’s found something truly worth saying. And more importantly, something worth laughing at.
Talking When I Should Be Listening runs from 21 May - 24 May 2025 at Auckland's Q Theatre, Vault.
Tickets can be purchased here
Presented as part of the NZ International Comedy Festival with Best Foods Mayo, from 2 – 24 May 2025