In 2021, the pekapeka-tou-roa (long-tailed bat) won New Zealand’s Bird of the Year – despite being a mammal, and not at all a bird. In this absurdist storytelling show, Brynley Stent dissects how this furry underdog pulled off the greatest con of the century.
Brynley Stent’s Bird of the Year is one of those rare comedy shows where you walk out thinking two things at once. First, that you have just watched a performer with absolute command of her craft. Second, that you have no idea how she managed to pull it off when everything around her seemed determined to fall apart. It is a show that thrives in chaos, and Brynley turns that chaos into something unforgettable.
Brynley is already well known to New Zealand audiences. She has appeared on Taskmaster NZ, 7 Days, Viva La Dirt League, and Guy Montgomery’s Guy Mont Spelling Bee. She won the Billy T Award in 2021, and Bird of the Year is a reminder of why. She has a comedic voice that is unmistakably her own. A mix of theatrical absurdity, razor sharp timing, and a kind of joyful unhinged energy that makes you feel like you are on an adventure with your most chaotic friend.
The show begins with what appears to be a simple PowerPoint presentation. Within minutes, it becomes clear that nothing about this presentation is simple. Slides misbehave. Cues go missing. Buttons refuse to cooperate. What unfolds feels like watching a first year uni student flail through a group project presentation in front of over one hundred paying assessors. Except Brynley is not flailing. She is flying.
Whether the technical meltdown was planned or genuinely cursed by the gods of theatre, Brynley handles it with such confidence and improvisational skill that the audience never doubts her. When she says, “this is totally off the rails,” it is not an apology. It is an invitation. She takes every glitch, every delay, every unexpected moment and folds it into the comedy. The result is a show that feels alive, unpredictable, and completely in her control even when everything else is not.
The content itself is a delightful mix of suspense, drama, questionable food choices, and an alarming number of bat facts. And yes, she is absolutely correct. A bat is not a bird. The way she commits to this fact, repeating it with increasing exasperation, becomes one of the running jokes of the night. It is silly, it is specific, and it is exactly the kind of detail that makes her comedy so distinctive.
Brynley’s storytelling is where she shines. She paints vivid pictures with her words, pulling the audience into each scenario with ease. Her stories feel like memories you share with her, not just anecdotes she is performing. She has a way of making you feel like you are in on the joke, part of the chaos, part of the journey. It is the same quality that makes her television appearances so memorable. She brings a sense of play to everything she does.
The show’s structure is loose, but intentionally so. It gives her room to improvise, to react, to build on the energy in the room. When something goes wrong, she does not hide it. She amplifies it. She turns technical failure into comedic fuel. It is a masterclass in resilience and quick thinking, and it keeps the audience laughing from start to finish.
There is also a surprising amount of heart in the show. Beneath the absurdity and the chaos, there is a performer who genuinely loves what she does. You can feel it in the way she interacts with the audience, the way she commits to every bit, the way she embraces the unpredictability of live performance. She is not just telling jokes. She is creating an experience.
The questionable food choices become their own subplot, adding to the sense that anything could happen at any moment. The bat facts become a kind of comedic anchor, grounding the show in something delightfully ridiculous. The suspense and drama come not from narrative twists, but from the sheer unpredictability of the technical environment. It is theatre on hard mode, and Brynley makes it look easy.
What makes Bird of the Year so impressive is the balance between chaos and craft. Brynley is a highly skilled performer, and even when the show appears to be falling apart, she is never lost. She knows exactly how to steer the moment, how to build tension, how to release it, how to keep the audience with her. It is a rare skill, and she uses it beautifully.
Her comedic style is warm, eccentric, and deeply human. She feels like the friend who convinces you to go on a spontaneous adventure, and even when everything goes wrong, you still have the best night of your life. That is the energy she brings to the stage. It is infectious.
By the end of the show, the audience is fully invested. They are laughing, cheering, and completely on board with whatever Brynley throws at them. It is the kind of performance that lifts your entire week. A midweek pick me up that becomes a highlight of the festival.
Bird of the Year is a triumph. A chaotic, clever, heartfelt, and wildly funny hour that showcases Brynley Stent at her best. Whether the technical disasters were planned or accidental, she turns them into gold. She proves that great comedy is not about perfection. It is about connection, creativity, and the ability to turn disaster into delight.
I walked out of the theatre tempted to see it again. And honestly, I probably will.
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