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