LASER KIWI - EVERYBODY KNOWS [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

Buckle up for a wild ride in this visual, audial and conceptual extravaganza. Armed with world-class circus skills and their signature brand of surreal sketch comedy, they'll attempt the impossible: articulating that thing we're all thinking. Laser Kiwi will make you laugh, gasp and maybe even agree on something for once.

Everybody Knows hits the stage like a controlled explosion, and Laser Kiwi wastes no time proving they are here to break your brain in the best possible way. ACC would have kittens if they knew how many people walk out of this show thinking they could give it a go. I left buzzing, inspired, and absolutely certain that if I attempted even one of their stunts, I would be in traction by morning.

Laser Kiwi has always been known for their blend of circus and comedy, but Everybody Knows feels like the most polished, most chaotic, and most joyfully unhinged version of their work yet. It is a show that hits you at full speed from the moment the lights come up. Drum and bass thunders through the room, the lighting pulses like a nightclub possessed, and the trio launches into a sequence of physical feats that make you wonder if gravity is just a suggestion.

The first thing that strikes you is the sheer energy. This is not a slow build. This is a rocket launch. The pacing is relentless in the best possible way, especially for anyone with ADHD who thrives on rapid shifts, visual stimulation, and constant novelty. There is always something happening. A juggling sequence. A lighting gag. A physical stunt. A moment of absurd comedy that comes out of nowhere. It is a sensory feast, but crafted with intention rather than chaos for chaos’s sake.

The trio behind Laser Kiwi are masters of their craft. Zane, Degge, and Imogen have a chemistry that feels effortless, the kind that only comes from years of working together and pushing each other to new creative extremes. Their credentials speak for themselves. Winners of the Overall Circus Award at FringeWorld 2023. Best Circus and Physical Theatre at Adelaide Fringe 2019. Foolers of Penn and Teller in 2025. These are not hobbyists. These are world class performers who know exactly how to build a show that feels both ridiculous and technically astonishing.

Imogen’s aerial work is a standout. She moves with a kind of controlled wildness, as if she is both defying gravity and negotiating with it. There are moments where the entire audience holds its breath, watching her twist and drop and climb with a confidence that borders on supernatural. Her sequences are woven into the show with precision, supported by lighting that turns each moment into a visual spectacle.

Zane and Degge bring a different kind of magic. Their juggling is crisp, inventive, and often used as a setup for comedic misdirection. They play with rhythm, timing, and audience expectation in ways that feel fresh even for people who have seen a lot of circus. They also lean into physical comedy with a level of commitment that makes even the simplest gag land hard. Their timing is impeccable, and their willingness to look ridiculous is one of the show’s greatest strengths.

One of the most impressive elements of Everybody Knows is the integration of audiovisual storytelling. The tech team deserves as much praise as the performers. The lighting is not just decorative. It is narrative. It shapes the mood, punctuates jokes, and elevates the physical sequences into something almost cinematic. The sound design is equally sharp, shifting from pounding drum and bass to atmospheric soundscapes that guide the emotional beats of the show.

The audience is not just watching. They are part of the experience. Laser Kiwi has always excelled at audience involvement, but this show takes it to another level. People are pulled into the narrative in ways that feel playful rather than intimidating. The performers know exactly how to read the room, choosing participants who will enhance the moment rather than derail it. The result is a sense of collective joy, a feeling that the entire room is in on the joke.

What sets Everybody Knows apart from other circus comedy shows is the underlying story. It is subtle, woven through the spectacle rather than spelled out, but it gives the show emotional weight. There is a deeper message tucked inside the chaos, something about connection, creativity, and the strange beauty of trying things that might fail. It is not heavy handed. It is simply present, like a quiet heartbeat beneath the noise.

The comedic tone is sharp and playful. Laser Kiwi leans into absurdity without ever losing control. They know exactly when to push a gag, when to pull back, and when to let the audience sit in the ridiculousness of a moment. Their humour is physical, visual, and often delightfully stupid in the smartest possible way. It is the kind of comedy that feels universal, accessible to anyone regardless of background or language.

The show is also incredibly tight. Every transition is smooth. Every beat is intentional. The pacing never drags, and even the quieter moments feel purposeful. It is clear that an enormous amount of thought has gone into crafting a show that feels spontaneous while actually being meticulously choreographed.

If there is one downside, it is that the show feels too short. Not because it lacks content, but because the energy is so infectious that you want more. When the final bow comes, the audience is buzzing, cheering, and wishing the trio would launch into one more sequence. It is rare to leave a show feeling both fully satisfied and hungry for more, but Laser Kiwi manages it.

Everybody Knows is a triumph. It is bold, inventive, hilarious, and visually stunning. It breaks the mold of what a comedy festival show can be, blending circus artistry with comedic storytelling in a way that feels fresh and exhilarating. It is a five-star experience from a team that continues to push the boundaries of their craft.

If you want a night that will leave you laughing, gasping, and maybe planning a very ill advised attempt at juggling in your backyard, this is the show to see.

The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here

Review written by Josh McNally

Edited by Alex Moulton

SASHI PERERA - PEAR TREE [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

Sashi's family name - Perera - means pear tree in Portuguese. It's a common name in Sri Lanka where Sashi was born but never lived. Till a series of pear-shaped events saw her move back to where it all began with her white Australian husband in tow. Pear Tree is a stand-up comedy show about that. It traverses family, love, legacies, homes, knives, race, cats and kids - spliced with a little geopolitics and singing. 

Every now and then, a comedy show arrives that feels different from everything else you have seen. Not louder, not wilder, not more chaotic, but sharper. More deliberate. More thoughtful. Sashi Perera’s Pear Tree is that kind of show. After weeks of festival chaos, late night crowds, and a parade of performers leaning into absurdity, slapstick, or pure silliness, walking into Sashi’s show felt like stepping into a completely different space. The audience itself signalled that shift. For the first time this festival, there was a clear demographic leaning. The room was filled with women and a strong presence of Asian audience members. It felt intentional, not because the show excludes anyone, but because Sashi speaks directly to experiences that resonate deeply with people who rarely see themselves centred in comedy.

From the moment she begins, it is clear that Pear Tree is not built on shock value or physical antics. Sashi brings a calm, grounded presence to the stage. She is warm, articulate, and incredibly precise with her words. Her comedy is not about the biggest laugh. It is about the truest one. She delivers humour with honesty, vulnerability, and a clarity of thought that makes the entire room lean in. It feels less like watching a comedian perform and more like listening to someone articulate the things you have been thinking but never quite found the words for.

The show tackles heavy themes. Racism, colonialism, power imbalances, marriage, parental expectations, fertility, and the complicated relationships between generations. These are not easy topics, and in the hands of a less skilled performer, they could feel heavy or didactic. But Sashi approaches them with humility and a gentle confidence. She does not lecture. She invites. She opens the door to her experiences and lets the audience walk through at their own pace.

Her delivery is conversational, but never casual. She knows exactly what she is doing. Every pause, every shift in tone, every moment of eye contact is intentional. She has a way of making the room feel safe enough to laugh at things that are not traditionally funny. Not because the topics are trivial, but because she frames them with such clarity that the humour becomes a release valve. A way to breathe through the discomfort.

There are cultural references woven throughout the show, particularly around Sri Lankan identity and diaspora (ethnicities being geographically scattered) experiences. Some of these may fly over the heads of audience members unfamiliar with the culture, but the emotional truth behind them is universal. The specifics may be Sri Lankan, but the themes are global. The pressure to marry. The expectation to have children. The unspoken rules of family dynamics. The quiet ache of not fitting into the mould society hands you. These are experiences that resonate far beyond any single cultural group.

What makes Pear Tree so compelling is the way Sashi balances intellect with relatability. This is easily the most highbrow show I have seen this festival, but it never feels inaccessible. She talks about systemic issues with the same ease that she talks about awkward family conversations. She moves from macro to micro without losing the thread. The result is a show that feels both deeply personal and quietly political.

One of the strongest elements of the show is the way Sashi handles tension. She builds it slowly, layering stories and observations until the room is holding its breath. Then she releases it with a perfectly timed joke, and the laughter that follows is not just amusement. It is relief. Recognition. Catharsis. This is not comedy that distracts you from your problems. This is comedy that helps you look at them from a new angle.

Her reflections on societal expectations hit particularly hard. The idea of the perfect life plan. The house. The partner. The children. The timeline that everyone is supposed to follow. Sashi dismantles these expectations with a mix of humour and honesty that feels both comforting and confronting. She speaks to the quiet grief of not meeting those milestones, the frustration of being judged for it, and the strange freedom that comes from letting go of the script entirely.

There is also a softness to the way she talks about family. She acknowledges the love, the pressure, the misunderstandings, and the cultural weight that sits between generations. She does not villainise anyone. Instead, she shows how complicated love can be when filtered through tradition, migration, and shifting identities. It is tender, thoughtful, and beautifully delivered.

Sashi’s stage presence is magnetic. She holds the room with ease, not through volume or theatrics, but through authenticity. She is a strong storyteller, a sharp thinker, and a performer who understands the power of silence as much as the power of a punchline. She sings at one point, and the room lights up. She makes eye contact with audience members in a way that feels personal rather than performative. She creates connection without forcing it.

Pear Tree is not a show built on big, explosive moments. It is a show built on accumulation. Layer by layer, story by story, idea by idea, Sashi constructs something that feels meaningful. By the end, you realise you have not just laughed. You have listened. You have reflected. You have felt something shift.

It is no surprise that she sold out her original run. This is the kind of comedy that stays with you. It lingers. It makes you think on the walk home. It makes you want to talk about it with someone. It makes you want to see what she does next.

Pear Tree is thoughtful, intelligent, and quietly powerful. It is a show that trusts the audience to keep up, to engage, and to feel. Sashi Perera has crafted something rare: comedy that is genuinely meaningful without sacrificing humour. It is a standout of the festival, and one I am grateful to have experienced.

The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here

Review written by Alex Moulton

HENRY YAN - MUM WANTS A GIRLFRIEND (FOR ME?) [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

Mumma Yang is worried about her son being single for the rest of his life, so she has told him to do a standup comedy to showcase his talent of talking continuously for an hour. If there is anything the ladies love, it is a man who will not stop talking! He will discuss topics like dating for an ‘awkward guy’, family relationships, being 30 years old and imitation crab.

Some comedians walk onstage with swagger. Henry Yan walks onstage with the energy of someone who has been sent on a mission by his mother and is still trying to figure out how he got roped into it. Mum Wants A Girlfriend (For Me?) is a show built on awkward first dates, questionable romantic decisions, and the relentless pressure of parental expectations. It is charming, chaotic, and surprisingly heartfelt.

Henry is a young comic with a bright, slightly frantic presence. He has that endearing quality where you can see the gears turning in his head as he speaks, and half the fun is watching him follow whatever thought pops up next. The show technically has a central narrative about a first date, but Henry treats structure like a polite suggestion rather than a rule. He veers off into tangents with absolute commitment, creating a sprawling tree of stories that branch in every direction. The audience gets a huge laugh every time he circles back and reminds us, almost sheepishly, that we are still talking about the conversational topics of his date.

These tangents are where Henry shines. One moment he is dissecting awkward text conversations, the next he is talking about parties, then suddenly he is deep into a horse joke that has no business being as funny as it is. He has an unshakeable love for horses, and he brings them up with the enthusiasm of someone who knows it is ridiculous but cannot help himself. It is quirky, but it works because he leans into it with sincerity.

Henry’s crowd work is another major part of the show. He loves interacting with the audience, and he pounces on latecomers with the excitement of a puppy spotting a new toy. A door opens, someone tries to slip in quietly, and Henry immediately lights up. He peppers them with questions, riffs off their answers, and folds them into the show as if they were always meant to be part of it, threatening to restart the show to catch them up on what they've missed. He is quick on his feet, and his improvisation feels natural rather than forced.

There is a youthful looseness to his set. You can tell he is maturing in his comedic voice but still figuring out which stories hit hardest and which tangents need trimming. That rawness is part of the charm. He performs with a kind of earnest vulnerability that makes the audience root for him. Even when he is laughing at his own jokes, which he does constantly, it feels genuine rather than self-indulgent. He is having fun, and that energy is contagious.

The heart of the show lies in the tension between Henry’s desire to find love and the pressure he feels from his parents. He jokes about needing to provide grandchildren, about being pushed into dating for reasons that have nothing to do with romance, and about the absurdity of trying to meet expectations that feel impossible. Beneath the humour is a quiet theme about self-worth. Henry talks openly about the need to love yourself before you can expect someone else to love you, and he does it in a way that feels honest rather than preachy.

This underlying sincerity gives the show emotional weight. While the audience laughs at the train wreck of his dating life, we also recognise the universal longing for connection. Whether it is the desire for parental approval, the hope of finding a partner, or the simple need to feel seen, Henry taps into something relatable. He makes space for vulnerability without losing the comedic momentum.

His material covers a wide range of topics. Awkward parties, strange advice from friends, the pitfalls of modern dating, and the bizarre rituals of trying to impress someone all make an appearance. He talks about being vulnerable in front of strangers, about the fear of saying the wrong thing, and about the strange comfort of oversharing when you are nervous. These moments land because Henry delivers them with a mix of self awareness and self mockery that feels authentic.

The structure of the show is loose, but the through line is clear enough to keep the audience anchored. Every tangent eventually loops back to the central story, and the payoff is always worth the detour. The laughter that erupts when he finally reconnects the dots is one of the highlights of the night. It feels like watching someone navigate a maze they built themselves, only to realise they forgot where the exit was.

Henry’s stage presence is warm and approachable. He does not posture or pretend to be cooler than he is. He leans into his awkwardness, embraces his quirks, and lets the audience see the parts of himself that many people would hide. That honesty is what makes the show work. You get the sense that he is not performing a character. He is simply being Henry, and that is enough.

There are moments where the set feels slightly scattered, where a tangent goes on a bit too long or a joke loses steam. But even in those moments, Henry’s charm carries him through. He has a natural ability to win the audience back with a quick smile, a self deprecating comment, or a sudden shift into a new story. The imperfections make the show feel alive rather than over rehearsed.

By the end of the hour, the audience feels like they have been on a journey with him. Not a polished, tightly structured journey, but a heartfelt, funny, and deeply human one. Henry Yan is a comic who is still growing, still experimenting, and still discovering the full range of his comedic voice. But the foundation is strong. He is relatable, quick witted, and unafraid to be vulnerable.

Mum Wants A Girlfriend (For Me?) is a quirky, sympathetic, and thoroughly enjoyable show. It blends awkward humour with genuine emotion, and it leaves the audience laughing while also feeling a surprising amount of affection for Henry and his chaotic search for love. It is a show that reminds you that even the messiest stories can be meaningful, and that sometimes the best comedy comes from simply being honest about who you are.

The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here

Review written by Alex Moulton

THOMAS CHAPMAN - WORK SAFE [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

Thomas Chapman is very funny. He is an Auckland-based comic who has kept punters in Tamaki Makaurau laughing for the last few years. Thomas was runner up in the Raw Competition in 2020 and won the Best Newcomer in the 2021 Comedy Guild awards. First solo show in NZ following a debut hour in Melbourne and Nelson in 2024. Known international on random open mics in other countries as “I don't know that guy but he seemed pretty good”.

Thomas Chapman walks onstage with a show titled Work Safe, but the title is more of a playful nod than an accurate description of what follows. Beyond a brief opening riff about construction work and the odd workplace mishap, the set quickly shifts into something far more familiar: Thomas talking through the everyday chaos of being young, figuring himself out, and trying to make sense of the world around him. It is classic stand up in its purest form. A mic, a glass of water, and a performer working through the strange, funny, and sometimes confusing parts of life.

Thomas has a relaxed presence onstage. He speaks with an easy rhythm, the kind of tone that makes you feel like you are listening to a friend tell stories at a flat gathering rather than watching a formal comedy show. His material jumps across a wide range of topics. The Olympics, odd jobs, university antics, drug experimentation, relationships, and the general uncertainty of early adulthood all make an appearance. It is a set built from the small, recognisable moments of day-to-day life, stitched together with a sense of curiosity about who he is becoming and what he wants to do next.

There is a youthful exuberance to the way he performs. You can feel that the set is still evolving, that he is still testing ideas, shaping them, and figuring out which parts resonate most. Some jokes land cleanly, others feel like they are still finding their final form, but the overall effect is charming. He has a natural comedic tone, a voice that suits storytelling, and a way of leaning into his own awkwardness that makes the audience warm to him.

One of the recurring elements of the show is Thomas’s tendency to focus on audience members. Sometimes it works beautifully. Other times it pulls him slightly off-track. On the night I attended, he zeroed in on a health and safety worker who happened to be in the crowd, which felt fitting given the show’s title. He also spent a fair amount of time interacting with two moustachioed guys in the front row. These moments created some fun exchanges, but they occasionally overshadowed the material itself. It is clear he enjoys bouncing off the room, but the balance between crowd work and structured content is still settling.

Where Thomas shines is in his ability to tap into nostalgia. He references moments from growing up in New Zealand that hit perfectly for anyone around his age. Childhood memories, school experiences, and the strange cultural quirks that only make sense if you were raised here all weave through the set. For audience members who share that background, the jokes land with a satisfying familiarity. For those who did not grow up in New Zealand, some references may fly past, but the charm of his delivery still carries the moment.

His takes on the Olympics are particularly strong. He has a knack for pointing out the absurdity of the specificities of certain sports and contenders that in this global event we all pretend to understand once every four years. His bit about drying agents is another highlight, delivered with a mix of confusion and confidence that makes the punchlines feel effortless. He also dives into targeted marketing, mainly in his own attempts to bring in an audience to his show. These sections feel polished and well observed, suggesting they are the backbone of the set.

The show has a gentle arc, even if it is not tightly structured. Thomas circles around themes of identity, ambition, and the things that hold him back. He talks about the pressure to choose a path, the fear of making the wrong decision, and the inability to manage time properly. It is not heavy or dramatic, but there is an undercurrent of sincerity that gives the comedy a bit more weight. You get the sense that he is genuinely working through these questions, and the audience is invited along for the ride.

There is also a confidence in the way he performs, even when the material is still finding its shape. He seems comfortable onstage, especially in front of people he knows. That familiarity gives him a boost, but it can also create a slight disconnect for those who are not part of his personal circle. Some jokes rely on shared history or inside references that land harder for his peers than for the general audience. It is a common challenge for emerging comedians, and one he will likely refine as he continues to perform for broader crowds.

Despite the occasional uneven moment, the set delivers plenty of laughs. Thomas has a likeable presence, a strong voice, and a clear sense of humour. His material is grounded in real life, relatable, and delivered with an honesty that makes even the simpler jokes feel genuine. He is not trying to be edgy or shocking. He is simply trying to make sense of the world in front of a room full of people, and there is something refreshing about that.

Work Safe may not be the most thematically cohesive show, but it does not need to be. It is a snapshot of a comedian in motion, building his craft, testing his ideas, and learning how to shape his stories. There is potential here, and plenty of room for growth. With more stage time and a bit more structural refinement, Thomas Chapman could easily develop into a strong, consistent voice in the New Zealand comedy scene.

For now, Work Safe is a fun, easygoing hour that offers a mix of nostalgia, observational humour, and youthful honesty. It is not groundbreaking, but it is enjoyable, and it leaves you curious to see where Thomas goes next.

The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here

Review written by Alex Moulton

JONJON TOLOVAE - MAN, I FEEL LIKE A WOMAN [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

In a world controlled by the man, I ponder upon one thought “Man, I feel like a woman”. A one Woman (allegedly) show about everything and anything - A journey through the rhythmic magic of taro thighs clapping and asthmatic pauses, if you don’t laugh once I’ll hang up my arts career, a 100% guarantee no batteries included. A show about Kata’s (laughter) and conundrums, the more you drink the more you enjoy the show.

The moment Jonjon Tolovae steps onstage, you know you are in for a night that refuses to behave. From the moment she steps onstage, the room shifts. There is an immediate sense of warmth, mischief, and invitation, as if she is welcoming the audience into her living room rather than onto the opening night of a festival show.

The title alone sets the tone. It hints at gender play, joy, self expression, and the kind of freedom that comes from stepping fully into who you are. Jonjon embodies all of that with ease. She commands the stage with a presence that is both grounded and electric, drawing the audience into her world with a confidence that never feels forced. She is magnetic in the way that only performers who know themselves deeply can be.

The show opens with a burst of energy that sets the pace for the hour. Jonjon moves through the space with a rhythm that feels instinctive, almost musical. Her timing is sharp, her physicality expressive, and her ability to shift between sincerity and cheekiness is seamless. She has that rare gift of making the audience feel like co conspirators rather than spectators. Every glance, every pause, every raised eyebrow feels like a shared secret.

Audience participation is not just encouraged. It is essential. The show thrives on it. Jonjon has an uncanny ability to read the room, pulling people in at exactly the right moment, teasing them, challenging them, and celebrating them all at once. It creates a sense of community that is impossible to fake. No two performances could ever be the same because the audience becomes part of the fabric of the show. Their reactions shape the rhythm, their energy fuels the momentum, and their willingness to play elevates the entire experience.

Her improvisation skills are a highlight. She takes the smallest comment, the slightest movement, or the most unexpected audience reaction and spins it into comedy gold. There is a cheeky boldness to the way she pushes boundaries, but it never feels mean spirited. Instead, it feels like she is inviting everyone to step into a space where joy is allowed to be loud, messy, and unapologetic.

The show explores dating, desire, identity, and the strange rituals of modern connection. Anyone who has ever used a dating app will recognise the familiar notification tone that becomes a recurring motif throughout the night. Jonjon uses it to great comedic effect, turning something mundane into a running gag that lands every time. Her stories about navigating the world of romance are delivered with a mix of vulnerability and bravado that makes them both hilarious and deeply relatable.

As someone who is Takatāpui and transmasc leaning, I felt an unexpected sense of recognition in the room. Jonjon’s performance is not just comedy. It is a celebration of gender euphoria, cultural pride, and the joy of taking up space in a world that often tries to shrink us. She embodies a kind of freedom that feels contagious. Watching her move through her own identity with such confidence and humour felt like a reminder that authenticity is not only powerful, it is joyful.

The cultural elements woven throughout the show add depth without ever feeling heavy. Jonjon honours her heritage with humour, affection, and a sense of play. She brings the audience into those moments with generosity, allowing them to laugh with her rather than at her. It is a delicate balance, and she handles it with ease.

Her physical comedy is another standout. She uses her body with precision, exaggeration, and a kind of rhythmic playfulness that keeps the audience laughing even before she speaks. The promoter’s description of “taro thighs clapping and asthmatic pauses” is not an exaggeration. She leans into every movement, every breath, every moment of stillness, turning them into tools for storytelling.

The show is chaotic in the best way. Scenes shift quickly, jokes spiral into unexpected places, and Jonjon’s energy never dips. There are moments of pure absurdity, moments of heartfelt honesty, and moments where the entire room dissolves into laughter at something so unexpected that you cannot help but surrender to it. The unpredictability is part of the charm. You never quite know where she is going next, but you trust her enough to follow.

One of the most memorable parts of the night is the way Jonjon plays with the audience’s expectations. She builds tension, breaks it, rebuilds it, and then twists it again. It keeps the room engaged and reactive. Even when she pushes into cheekier territory, she does it with a sense of joy that makes everyone feel included rather than targeted.

There is a moment near the end of the show where the laughter shifts into something softer. Jonjon allows a glimpse of sincerity to shine through, reminding the audience that beneath the jokes and the chaos is a performer with a deep understanding of identity, culture, and the power of being seen. It is subtle, but it lands beautifully.

By the time the final bow arrives, the room feels lighter. People are wiping tears of laughter from their eyes, smiling at strangers, and buzzing with the kind of energy that only comes from a show that hits both the heart and the funny bone. It is no surprise that an additional performance has already been added. This is the kind of show that people talk about, recommend, and return to.

Man, I Feel Like A Woman is more than a comedy show. It is a celebration. A reclamation. A joyful, glitter covered reminder that identity can be a source of laughter, connection, and pride. Jonjon Tolovae is a force onstage, and this show is a testament to her talent, her charisma, and her ability to bring people together.

The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here

Review written by Josh McNally

Edited by Alex Moulton

FUQ BOIZ (HAMIS PARKINSON & RYAN RICHARDS) - THE GREATEST SHOWBOIZ [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

The hot daddies of chuckles, Hamish Parkinson and Ryan Richards, are back! After creating what was universally hailed as “the funniest and best YouTube series of all time” (Lynette Parksion - Hamish’s Mum), they have returned to where the real money is - live theatre. The Fuq Boiz are united on one very important fact: rock bottom is not for them. So only the most epic, unhinged and gloriously silly live comedy hour will save the day. Strap the f in - this is the show you’ve been waiting for.

Hamish Parkinson and Ryan Richards waste no time setting the tone for The Greatest Showboiz, arriving in sharp suits and high‑energy choreography that immediately signals the chaos to come. The Fuq Boiz have always leaned into absurdity, but this show takes their theatrical instincts and pushes them into full spectacle. It is loud, strange, committed, and completely uninterested in being normal.

From the very first moment, it is clear that this is not a traditional stand up hour. The show is built from scenes rather than jokes, stitched together with blackouts that act like chaotic punctuation marks. The lights snap off, snap on, and suddenly the two of them are in a new world, a new argument, or a new emotional meltdown. The blackouts are not just transitions. They are part of the rhythm, part of the comedy, part of the way the show accelerates and mutates. It feels like watching a sketch show that has been fed too much sugar and left unsupervised.

The props are everywhere. They have raided every bargain bin in the city and turned the stage into a playground of nonsense. Nothing is subtle. Nothing is elegant. Everything is used with the kind of commitment that makes even the cheapest object feel like a deliberate artistic choice. They throw themselves into every prop gag with full sincerity, which is exactly why it works. The absurdity becomes the point.

There is not a strong narrative thread running through the show, and that is entirely intentional. Instead, the Fuq Boiz rely on recurring themes that pop in and out like strange little echoes. A gesture here, a phrase there, a moment that returns later in a completely different context. It creates a sense of organised chaos, where nothing makes sense but everything feels connected in a way you cannot quite explain.

One of the most effective elements of the show is the constant threat of audience participation. They never fully cross the line into dragging people onstage, but they hover close enough that the audience stays on edge. They stare into the crowd a little too long. They step forward with a glint in their eyes. They make you feel like you might be next. It is uncomfortable in the best possible way, because it keeps the room alive and reactive.

At the heart of the show is the relationship between Hamish and Ryan. Their dynamic is the engine that drives everything. One moment they are best friends, perfectly in sync, bouncing off each other with joyful chaos. The next moment they are spiralling into conflict, bickering, accusing, collapsing into emotional theatrics. The shifts are sudden and exaggerated, but they feel grounded in a weirdly relatable way. Anyone who has ever worked closely with someone creative knows that feeling of being completely aligned one minute and completely derailed the next. The Fuq Boiz take that emotional whiplash and turn it into comedy.

The randomness is part of the charm. Scenes appear out of nowhere, collide with each other, and then vanish without explanation. There is no need for red herrings or clever misdirection. They simply take two ideas, smash them together, and declare that this is the new reality. It should not work, but somehow it does. The unpredictability becomes the structure.

Despite the wildness, the show is clearly well planned. The costuming alone is a feat. They cycle through outfits with a speed that suggests military precision. The props are placed exactly where they need to be to minimise blackout time. The transitions, while chaotic, are executed with intention. It is the kind of show that looks messy but is actually held together by a huge amount of behind the scenes organisation.

The intensity can be a lot. There are moments where the energy spikes so high that you feel like you need a breather. Not every joke lands, and some scenes stretch a little longer than they need to. But even in those moments, there is something refreshing about seeing comedy that leans into theatricality rather than relying on punchline after punchline. The slower build gives the absurdity more room to bloom, and when the payoff hits, it hits hard.

One of the strengths of the Fuq Boiz is their willingness to commit fully to whatever bit they are doing, no matter how ridiculous. They throw themselves into physical comedy with no hesitation. They embrace awkwardness. They let silence sit just long enough to become funny. They trust the audience to follow them into the weird corners of their imagination.

There are scenes that feel like fever dreams, scenes that feel like emotional breakdowns, and scenes that feel like the two of them are trying to out‑weird each other in real time. The unpredictability keeps the audience leaning forward, waiting to see what direction the next blackout will take them.

What makes the show work is the chemistry between Hamish and Ryan. They know each other’s rhythms so well that even the most chaotic moments feel controlled. They can pivot instantly, recover from a dropped line, or escalate a moment into something completely unexpected. Their partnership is the anchor that keeps the show from drifting into pure nonsense.

By the end of the hour, you feel like you have witnessed something that sits somewhere between theatre, sketch comedy, and a very strange dream. The Greatest Showboiz is not tidy. It is not structured. It is not trying to be anything other than what it is. And that honesty is what makes it so entertaining.

It is a lot to take in, but it is also refreshing to see comedy that embraces performance, character, and theatricality. The Fuq Boiz are not afraid to be weird, and they are not afraid to push the audience into discomfort. They take risks, they commit to the bit, and they create a world where anything can happen.

The Greatest Showboiz is chaotic, absurd, and full of heart. It is a show that rewards audiences who are willing to let go of logic and enjoy the ride. Hamish Parkinson and Ryan Richards have created something that feels both completely unhinged and surprisingly thoughtful. It is a wild, theatrical mess, and it is absolutely worth seeing.

The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here

Review written by Alex Moulton

DAVID CORREOS - TOUCHING MY ACTIVE MIND [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

This is my new show, Touching My Active Mind. I’m leaning into all the fun stuff that makes a room feel alive. There’ll be an essay, one part that delves into the taboos of comedy, a joke that’s really wet, and one prank . Also I got a revelation I wanna talk about. I want the show to feel playful and unexpected, like we’re all in on something together. It’s comedy, but with space to muck around, be a bit janky, and try things that feel fresh. If you’re coming, you’re part of the energy and we’re going to make the night feel new, fun, and little bit dangerous. 

There is a particular kind of chaos that only David Correos can conjure, and Touching My Active Mind throws you into it before you even realise the show has begun. His show begins long before the lights officially come up. He is already darting around the room in half darkness, shifting props, whispering to audience members, and building a kind of manic anticipation that hits you before you even realise the show has started. It is chaotic, unfiltered, and unmistakably David.

Trying to describe David Correos is almost impossible. He is strange in the most committed way, a performer who leans so fully into his own oddness that it becomes magnetic. He is confident, but not in the polished, rehearsed sense. His confidence comes from a place of pure instinct, like he trusts whatever bizarre impulse arrives in his brain and follows it without hesitation. At the same time, he constantly checks in with the audience, fishing for affirmation, demanding reactions, and pulling people into his orbit whether they are ready or not. It creates a rhythm that is messy and unpredictable, but also deeply entertaining.

The energy he brings is frenetic. He moves like someone powered by a battery that is slightly too strong for the device it is in. Before the show even begins, he is sprinting across the stage, adjusting things, muttering to himself, and interacting with people in the front rows. It is impossible not to get swept up in it. The audience is buzzing before the first official line is spoken.

One of the most delightful parts of the show is his use of props. It is clear he has raided the cheapest shops he could find, grabbing whatever odd items caught his eye. None of it matches. None of it makes sense. And that is exactly why it works. He treats every object like a puzzle he is determined to solve in the most ridiculous way possible. Watching him figure out how to use a prop is often funnier than the bit itself. There is a childlike curiosity in the way he handles things, as if he is discovering them for the first time right in front of you.

Then there are the outfits. Layers upon layers of clothing, each reveal more absurd than the last. You never know how many costumes he has on, or what direction the next transformation will take. Every time he peels off a layer, the audience erupts. It becomes a running gag that never loses its charm because he commits to each reveal with absolute seriousness, even when the outfit underneath is completely unhinged.

David is at his best when he is making fun of himself. He talks about his own mishaps, his travel disasters, the strange situations he finds himself in, and the way his own body seems to betray him at the worst possible moments. There is something incredibly endearing about a comedian who uses himself as the punchline. It makes the audience feel like he is laughing with them, not performing at them. That sense of shared ridiculousness is one of the reasons people connect with him so strongly.

An effective element of the show is the way he plays with lighting and sound. There are moments where the lights shift, the audio warps, and suddenly the entire tone of the room changes. He will stop mid‑bit, question what just happened, and then redo the moment with slight variations. It creates a looping effect that feels improvised but is clearly crafted with intention. It keeps the audience on their toes, wondering whether the moment is planned or if David has genuinely derailed himself. That uncertainty is part of the fun.

One of the most memorable scenes of the night is the restaurant sequence. It is absurd, chaotic, and has almost no connection to anything else in the show, which somehow makes it even better. It is the kind of bit that feels like it should not work, yet it becomes one of the highlights because of how fully he commits to the madness. It is a perfect example of David’s ability to take something simple and push it into a realm of pure silliness.

There are moments where the show dips into repetition, where a bit stretches slightly longer than it needs to. But even then, David has a way of pulling it back. Just when you think a joke has run its course, he pivots, loops back to something from earlier, or twists the moment into a new direction. Those unexpected payoffs are some of the biggest laughs of the night. He creates these strange narrative circles that only make sense in hindsight, and when the pieces click together, the audience cracks up.

What makes Touching My Active Mind so compelling is how organic it feels. Even though the show is clearly structured, it never feels rigid. David leaves space for chaos, for audience reactions, for things to go wrong in the best possible way. He thrives in that unpredictability. It gives the show a rawness that feels alive, like anything could happen at any moment.

By the end of the night, the audience feels like they have been through something together. Not a tidy, polished comedy set, but a shared fever dream guided by a performer who is equal parts genius and gremlin. David Correos is a force of nature. Strange, chaotic, endlessly creative, and completely himself. Touching My Active Mind is a wild ride, but one that leaves you laughing long after you leave the venue.

David is not for everyone, and he does not try to be. That is part of his brilliance. He knows exactly what he is doing, even when it looks like he has no idea at all. He is a performer who thrives in the unexpected, who finds comedy in the mess, and who brings an energy that is impossible to replicate. Touching My Active Mind is David Correos at full power, and it is an experience worth having.

The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here

Review written by Alex Moulton

JOEL VINSEN - RENAISSANCE MAN [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

Renaissance man (noun): a person with many talents or areas of knowledge. Joel Vinsen has a few talents, none of which are particularly useful. How do you navigate a midlife crisis without the income to pull it off?

Some comedy shows feel like discoveries, and Joel Vinsen’s “Renaissance Man” is one of them. Before the show even begins, the experience feels different. I had no idea The Classic had an upstairs venue, and stepping into that space felt like uncovering a hidden room in a familiar building. The exposed brick, the low ceiling, the sense of history in the air. It creates the perfect atmosphere for a performer who thrives in intimacy, where the smallest shift in tone can ripple through the room.

Joel opens the night with soft jazz on his guitar, played with a level of ease and musicality that immediately hushes the space. He is one of those rare performers whose instrument feels like an extension of himself. The room settles into a quiet hum as he plays, and it becomes clear that this is not going to be a typical stand up set. Joel is not the loud, spotlight hungry type. He does not arrive with a big persona or a prebuilt identity. Instead, he steps into the room with a gentle confidence that makes you lean in.

One of the most intriguing things about Joel is how little of him exists online. His digital footprint is almost nonexistent, and that scarcity feels intentional. In a world where comedians often rely on constant content to stay visible, Joel’s absence becomes part of his charm. There is no algorithmic version of him to prepare you for what you are about to see. No viral clip to set expectations. He arrives as himself, unfiltered and unboxed, and that alone makes the experience refreshing.

His comedy style is difficult to categorise, which is exactly why it works. It is subtle, a little dark, and quietly theatrical. There are layers to what he does, and those layers are crafted with precision. He builds narratives that feel simple on the surface, but underneath there is structure, intention, and a sense of play. He leaves space for the audience to breathe, to think, to catch the shift in tone before he pivots again. There is a confidence in that restraint. A trust that the audience will follow him wherever he chooses to go.

What makes Joel particularly compelling is the way he balances craft with spontaneity. His material is clearly shaped and considered, but he leaves enough room to improvise, to respond to the room, to let the moment guide him. Watching him feels like being let in on a secret. The kind of secret you might hear whispered at a house in Blockhouse Bay, unexpected and oddly intimate. He draws you into his world without ever forcing it. The humour lands because it feels genuine, not because he is chasing a reaction.

There is also a vulnerability to Joel’s performance that sets him apart. Many comedians wear their personas like armour, leaning on volume or shock or bravado to create distance. Joel does the opposite. He lets the audience see the edges of who he is. He leans into the awkwardness, the quiet moments, the strange corners of his own mind. It is a kind of honesty that feels rare in comedy, and it gives his show a texture that lingers long after the final applause.

His guitar work is woven throughout the performance, not as a gimmick but as part of the storytelling. The music becomes a character in its own right, shifting the mood, softening transitions, or heightening the tension before a reveal. It is a reminder that Joel is not just a comedian. He is a musician, a storyteller, and something harder to define. A performer who is not trying to please everyone, and is stronger for it.

The intimacy of the venue amplifies everything. You can feel the room leaning in, listening closely, waiting for the next shift. Joel has a way of making silence work for him. He lets moments hang just long enough to build anticipation, then breaks them with a line or a gesture that sends the room into laughter. It is a delicate balance, and he handles it with the ease of someone who understands timing on a deeper level.

What stands out most is how authentically Joel occupies his own space. He is not trying to fit into a trend or chase a particular audience. He is carving out something that feels thoughtful, strange, and quietly brilliant. His comedy may not be for everyone, but that is exactly what makes it special. It has a distinct flavour, one that lingers.

There is a sense of craft in everything he does. The way he shapes a story. The way he uses music to shift the emotional temperature of the room. The way he plays with expectations without ever relying on shock value. His humour is clever rather than crude. Suggestive rather than explicit. He trusts the audience to meet him halfway, and that trust pays off.

By the end of the show, I found myself thinking about how rare performers like Joel are. He is unapologetic about who he is and what he is passionate about. He is not trying to be the next big thing. He is simply trying to be himself, and that honesty is what makes him compelling. Renaissance Man is a show that rewards attention, invites reflection, and offers a kind of comedy that stays with you.

The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here

Review written by Josh McNally

Edited by Alex Moulton

JOE DAYMOND'S COMEDY MIXTAPE [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

Hosted and curated by Joe Daymond, Comedy Mixtape is a high-energy stand-up showcase built like a perfect set list: comedians you already rate, comedians you’re about to start recommending, and a few moments that remind you why live comedy is undefeated.

Joe Daymond’s Comedy Mixtape is one of those rare festival nights where you feel the energy shift the moment you walk in. There is a buzz that sits somewhere between a family gathering and a block party, and by the time Joe steps onto the stage, the room is already humming. He has always had a gift for connection, but this show feels like something more. It feels like a celebration of community, of voice, of humour that comes straight from the heart of Aotearoa.

The show is genuinely hard to review because every comedian brought a completely different flavour to the stage. The lineup moved from bold storytelling to chaotic confessionals to the kind of filthy humour that spirals into unexpected territory. One performer launched into a story about her first intimate encounter with such enthusiasm that I found myself glancing sideways, convinced her whānau were sitting right next to me. It was outrageous, joyful, and delivered with the kind of confidence that makes you forget to breathe between laughs. The whole night was loose, fast, and wildly entertaining.

Jonjon Tolovae

What made the evening feel so refreshing was the absence of Pākehā comedians. That one detail shifted the entire dynamic. The room felt freer. The performers felt freer. The audience felt like they were part of the show rather than spectators. The heckling was not just tolerated; it became part of the rhythm. At one point, the audience started heckling another audience member, and the comedians simply let it unfold. It was fluid, natural, and genuinely one of the funniest moments of the night. It felt like being at a family event where everyone is roasting each other, but with stage lights and a camera crew.

Joe’s hosting was a masterclass in warmth and timing. His banter with Randy at the start wrapped the room in a sense of comfort, the kind that makes you feel like you are in safe hands, even when the jokes are heading into unhinged territory. They touched on heavy themes too, especially the way men talk, or avoid talking, about depression. The statistics are brutal, but somehow they turned that weight into a space where dark humour could breathe. It was raw and honest, the kind of laughter that sits in your chest long after the moment passes.

Uce Gang

Each comedian had five minutes under the red light, and every single one of them made it count. Ama, Bubbah, Jonjon, Richie Faavesi, Tesi Naufahu, and Uce Gang each brought something bold and unapologetic. Pure, queer, Pasifika, Māori, and delightfully naughty. For many of them, this was the biggest audience they had ever performed for, but you would never have known. If nerves were there, they were buried under presence, charisma, and absolute commitment to the bit.

The variety was one of the show’s greatest strengths. One performer leaned into sharp observational humour. Another delivered a story so chaotic it felt like a fever dream. Another brought a softness that caught the room off guard. The shifts in tone never felt jarring. Instead, they created a rhythm that kept the audience leaning forward, waiting to see what would happen next. It was a mixtape in the truest sense. A curated blend of voices that somehow fit together perfectly.

Bubbah

By the halfway point, the show no longer felt like a showcase. It felt like whānau. A room full of people who understood each other, even if they had never met. There were moments that made people double over, moments that made people gasp, and moments that felt almost too wholesome for a night filled with such unfiltered humour.

One of the most memorable parts of the night came courtesy of a group of Americans from Tennessee who had landed in Aotearoa that very day. Their first New Zealand experience was being given tourist recommendations by the entire audience. It was chaos. It was beautiful. And I genuinely fear for their itinerary now that they believe Rewa is a must‑see destination. They were taking notes. Actual notes. I hope someone intervenes before they end up on an unexpected suburban adventure.

Richie Fa'avesi

The show was filmed, so I will tread carefully, but when it is released, it will be unmissable. There is something special about seeing a community lift each other up, especially in an industry where Māori and Pasifika voices have had to carve out their own space. Joe’s influence was visible in every moment. His support for the next generation of comedians is not performative. It is real, grounded, and deeply felt. You could see the gratitude in the way the comedians spoke about him, the way they looked at him, the way they stepped onto that stage knowing he had their back.

What struck me most was the overwhelming sense of love in the room. Not the soft, sentimental kind, but the loud, rowdy, teasing kind that comes from people who genuinely care about each other. The kind that fills a space with warmth even when the jokes are filthy. The kind that makes you feel like you have been invited into something special.

Comedy Mixtape is more than a show. It is a movement. A celebration of heart, hope, and community. A reminder that live comedy is undefeated when it is rooted in authenticity. I walked out feeling lighter, happier, and genuinely honoured to have been there. Five stars, without hesitation.

The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here

Review written by Josh McNally

Edited by Alex Moulton

BARNIE DUNCAN AND ELLA HOPE-HIGGINSON - TWO PEOPLE ON A STAGE, SET IN A KITCHEN BUT THERE'S NO COOKING AND WE'RE BOTH DRESSED IN EVENING WEAR [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

Sketch. Sketches that unravel into scenes. That unravel into Absurdism. Character.

Clown. Grocery shopping. Ahhhhh the sweet mundanity of adult life. It's all part of it. That's showbiz baby.

Some comedy shows begin with a gentle welcome. Some ease the audience into the world they are about to enter. Barnie Duncan and Ella Hope Higginson do the opposite. Their show opens in complete darkness, with the audience sitting in silence until two figures stumble out with torches, shrieking and fumbling as if they have wandered into the wrong venue entirely. It feels like a parody of a horror film audition, all exaggerated panic and frantic searching. It is silly, chaotic, and instantly funny. It also sets the tone for everything that follows.

When the lights finally come up, the contrast is striking. Barnie and Ella stand in long-tailed tuxedos, dressed as if they are about to host a black-tie gala rather than perform a series of absurd sketches in a kitchen. The kitchen itself is little more than a sign on the back wall and a few scattered props, but the simplicity is intentional. This is a show built on physicality, imagination, and the kind of visual comedy that thrives when the audience is allowed to fill in the gaps.

What follows is a collection of sketches that feel like a modern tribute to the greats of physical comedy. There are shades of the Three Stooges, Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and Laurel and Hardy. There is even a hint of Fawlty Towers in the way Barnie and Ella escalate simple misunderstandings into full-blown chaos. It is a style of comedy that has become rare in the adult comedy space, which makes it feel refreshing. There is something instinctive about physical humour. It bypasses logic and lands directly in the part of the brain that responds to movement, timing, and surprise.

The sketches themselves range from restaurant scenes, to crossing a busy road, to feeding each other dinner, to a karaoke moment that spirals into something wonderfully ridiculous. One of the most memorable recurring props is a single Tupperware container. It appears in multiple sketches, sometimes as the focus, sometimes as a background detail, but always with a sense of purpose. It becomes the thread that loosely ties the show together, and its presence is likely the reason the entire performance is set in a kitchen.

Barnie and Ella use audio in clever ways to expand the world of each sketch. Sound effects create environments that the audience cannot see, adding layers to the physical action. A simple gesture becomes funnier when paired with an unexpected noise. A silent moment becomes tense when underscored by the rumble of traffic or the clatter of imaginary dishes. The audio design lifts the performance beyond what is physically on stage, allowing the duo to play with scale and perspective.

The physicality of the show is impressive. Both performers throw themselves into each sketch with commitment and precision. They climb, crawl, slide, and contort their bodies in ways that make even mundane actions entertaining. Their chemistry is strong, and their timing is sharp. They know exactly when to push a moment further and when to let the audience catch up.

That said, not every sketch lands perfectly. Some pieces run a little long, stretching a single joke past its ideal breaking point. Others are ambiguous, especially if you do not have a clear line of sight to the action. Physical comedy relies heavily on visibility, and a few moments lose impact simply because the angle makes it difficult to see what is happening. These dips do not derail the show, but they do create small pockets where the energy softens before picking up again.

Even so, every sketch gets laughs. Some earn big, immediate reactions. Others build slowly, rewarding the audience for paying attention to the details. The humour is never mean-spirited. It is playful, inventive, and rooted in the joy of watching two performers commit fully to the bit. There is a sense of childlike imagination running through the entire show. A willingness to be silly. A willingness to embrace the ridiculous. A willingness to let the audience laugh without needing to think too hard.

What makes the show work is the balance between chaos and control. Barnie and Ella appear loose and spontaneous, but there is a clear structure beneath the surface. Their movements are choreographed with care. Their transitions are smooth. Their use of props is deliberate. Even the moments that feel messy are anchored by strong comedic instincts.

The kitchen setting, though minimal, becomes a playground. The tuxedos add a layer of absurdity. The Tupperware container becomes a character in its own right. The torches in the opening scene create a sense of mystery that dissolves into laughter. Everything is designed to keep the audience slightly off balance, unsure of what will happen next but eager to find out.

By the end of the hour, the audience has been taken through a whirlwind of physical gags, mime sequences, prop-based chaos, and moments of pure absurdity. It is a show that celebrates the roots of comedy while giving it a contemporary twist. It is not perfect, but it is joyful. It is inventive. It is a reminder that sometimes the simplest ideas can be the funniest when executed with commitment and creativity.

Two People On A Stage, Set In A Kitchen But There’s No Cooking And We’re Both Dressed In Evening Wear is a charming, chaotic, and delightfully strange piece of physical theatre. It may not appeal to everyone, especially those who prefer verbal comedy or tight narrative structure, but for those who enjoy imaginative slapstick and visual humour, it is a treat. Barnie Duncan and Ella Hope Higginson bring a rare energy to the stage, and their willingness to embrace absurdity makes the show feel alive.

The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here

Review written by Alex Moulton