There's no business like show business, and there's nobody who knows that better than Bridie and Rebecca; Tāmaki’s hottest new queer comedic duo! But, what happens when you want to take your Funny Business to the next level? What happens when one half of the duo starts getting lost in the world of Adult Responsibilities? What does it take to find your whimsy again?
There is a particular kind of comedy that thrives on looseness, unpredictability, and the willingness of an audience to surrender to whatever happens next. The Bridie and Rebecca Variety Show (But It’s Just Rebecca and Bridie) sits squarely in that territory. It is a show that asks you to play, to remember what it felt like when entertainment was simple, and to embrace the silliness that adults often forget they are allowed to enjoy. For me, it landed at a solid three stars, not because it lacked heart or effort, but because its style of humour is one that hits or misses in a big way depending on your personal appetite for chaos and crowd involvement.
From the moment the duo stepped onstage, there was an undeniable spark. They opened with a confidence that instantly set the tone, the kind of strong start that makes you sit up a little straighter and think, alright, they have something to say. Their energy was not just present; it was infectious. They dove straight into the show with a level of enthusiasm that made it clear they were not interested in easing anyone in. They wanted to pull the audience into their world immediately, and for the most part, they succeeded.
What stood out early on was the chemistry between them. Bridie and Rebecca have the kind of natural rapport that cannot be manufactured. It is the sort of connection that comes from genuine friendship, and it shows in the way they bounce ideas off each other, interrupt each other, and build on each other’s jokes without ever stepping on the other’s momentum. Their backstory, meeting at an open mic while wearing the same outfit, feels almost too perfect, but watching them together, it makes complete sense. They feel like two people who were always meant to find each other, and that sense of camaraderie is one of the strongest elements of the show.
The structure of the performance leans heavily into games, audience participation, and nostalgic activities. Pass the parcel, statues, egg and spoon races, sound effect prompts. It is a lot. For some, this will be the highlight. For others, it may feel like being pulled back into a primary school hall against your will. For me, it sat somewhere in the middle. There were moments where the room lit up with genuine joy, and moments where the pacing wobbled because the game itself became the focus rather than the comedy surrounding it.
Still, there is something undeniably charming about being invited to step back into a simpler time. A time when technology was not the centre of every interaction, when entertainment was physical and communal, when the stakes were low, and the fun was high. The show taps into that feeling with sincerity. It never feels cynical or calculated. It feels like two performers who genuinely love to play, and want to share that love with a room full of strangers.
Their comedic style is particular. It is not a polished stand-up, nor is it a fully structured sketch. It sits in a liminal space where improvisation, character work, and spontaneous audience chaos all blend together. When it works, it really works. When it misses, it misses loudly. But even in the misses, there is something admirable about the commitment. They never retreat. They never apologise. They lean into the awkwardness with full force, and that confidence alone earns them a level of respect.
Throughout the show, their passion is unmistakable. They speak, move, and perform with a sense of purpose that makes the audience feel included in the experience rather than simply observing it. They do not talk at you. They talk with you. They invite you to think, to play, to reflect, and occasionally to question why you are suddenly holding a spoon and pretending it is a microphone. It is all part of the charm.
There were moments where the show felt like it was still finding its shape. That is not a criticism so much as an observation of two performers who are clearly in the process of developing something bigger. They have the raw ingredients: chemistry, confidence, creativity, and a willingness to take risks. As they continue to refine their pacing and tighten the transitions between segments, there is no doubt they will elevate the show to the next level.
It is worth noting that both performers have already been recognised within the comedy community. Rebecca’s win for Best Producer at the NZ Comedy Guild Awards 2025 and their shared win for Best Live Show with Femmes and Thems speak to the talent and dedication behind the scenes. These are not performers stumbling blindly through a concept. They know what they are doing, even when the show itself leans into the illusion of chaos.
By the end of the night, the overall feeling in the room was warm. People laughed, people played, people let themselves be a little ridiculous. It was a feel-good show, even if not every moment landed perfectly. And honestly, that is part of its identity. It is not trying to be flawless. It is trying to be fun.
Bridie and Rebecca are absolutely a duo to keep an eye on. Their potential is obvious, their passion is genuine, and their willingness to experiment is refreshing. As they continue to mould and refine their work, I have no doubt they will carve out a unique space in the comedy landscape. I walked away curious about what they will create next, and that curiosity is often the best sign that a show has done something right.
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