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