Lily Catastrophe is scared she might be kind of basic. Trans comedian Lily Catastrophe brings her signature puckish energy and high femme aesthetic to her anxieties from growing up queer to life in her 30s. Lily tackles the questions that have plagued her surprisingly long existence: how do baseball innings work, what even is a Cool Girl, and can she ever step out of the role of the perennial Little Sister?
By the time I reached Basement Theatre for Lily Catastrophe’s Little Sister, my brain felt like it had been through a spin cycle. After weeks of festival shows and too many late nights, a 9.30pm slot suddenly felt like a personal attack. I must be getting old. But even in my slightly fried state, it was clear that a lot of the audience was buzzing for this one. And to be fair, this is a show that speaks directly to a particular crowd. If you are trans femme, queer, or have ever tried to navigate the world while figuring out your own identity, Lily’s work hits with a level of relatability that is hard to ignore.
Little Sister marks Lily Catastrophe’s return to the Comedy Festival after the success of her debut, Bottom Surgery, and she arrives with the same high femme aesthetic and puckish energy that made her stand out in the first place. This new show digs into her anxieties, her frustrations, and the strange mix of joy and chaos that comes with growing up queer and reaching your thirties with more questions than answers.
The opening of the show is one of its strongest moments. Lily taps into the current emotional climate for trans people with a sharpness that feels both cathartic and necessary. There is a collective exhale in the room as she names feelings many have been carrying quietly. It is not heavy, but it is honest, and that honesty becomes the backbone of the entire hour.
From there, Lily guides the audience through a series of transitions. Not just gender transitions, but the transitions that shape a life. High school to adulthood. Son to daughter. Social expectations to self acceptance. And, of course, the side quests that come with all of that. She has a knack for layering punchlines so that they land differently depending on where you sit in your own journey. Some jokes hit with recognition, others with surprise, and some with the kind of delayed resonance that makes you laugh and then think.
Her reflections on sexuality are delivered with nuance and a refreshing lack of pretence. Lily is not trying to present herself as a polished authority on queer identity. Instead, she speaks from the messy middle, where labels shift, desires evolve, and self-understanding is a moving target. She talks about relationships with a mix of vulnerability and sharp observation, capturing the awkwardness, the confusion, and the joy of figuring out who you are attracted to and why.
One of the funniest parts of the show is her commentary on body image, particularly her reflections on boob sizes. Even as someone who is not trans femme, I found myself nodding along. Double D really is too much boob and too much flesh. Lily’s ability to make these moments accessible without diluting their specificity is one of her strengths. She knows how to bring the room in without flattening her own experience.
The show’s title, Little Sister, becomes a recurring theme. Lily explores what it means to be seen as the perpetual younger sibling, the one who is always catching up, always trying to prove something, always trying to be taken seriously. She ties this into her broader anxieties about adulthood, queerness, and the pressure to present as a Cool Girl when she is not entirely sure what that even means. The result is a narrative that feels both personal and widely relatable.
Lily’s stage presence is confident but never overbearing. She has a conversational rhythm that makes the audience feel like they are being let in on something private. Her vulnerability is not performative. It is simply part of how she communicates. She is candid about her fears, her frustrations, and her insecurities, but she never lets the show sink into self-pity. Instead, she uses humour as a way to navigate those feelings, inviting the audience to laugh with her rather than at her.
Her comedic timing is sharp, and she knows how to build tension before releasing it with a perfectly placed punchline. There are moments where she leans into absurdity, moments where she leans into sincerity, and moments where she blends the two so seamlessly that the audience is laughing before they realise the emotional weight behind the joke.
The show is not without its imperfections. There are sections where the pacing dips slightly, particularly when Lily dives into longer stories that take a while to reach their comedic payoff. But even in those slower moments, her charm carries the room. She has a natural ability to keep people engaged, even when the narrative meanders.
What stands out most about Little Sister is the connection Lily builds with her audience. She speaks to a community that often feels unseen or misunderstood, and she does it with warmth, humour, and a refreshing lack of pretence. For trans femme audience members, the show feels like a mirror. For everyone else, it offers insight into experiences that are rarely explored with this level of nuance on a comedy stage.
The promoter’s description frames Lily as someone who is scared she might be kind of basic, and she plays with that idea throughout the show. She pokes fun at her own anxieties, her own contradictions, and her own attempts to fit into roles she never asked for. It is self-aware without being self-indulgent.
By the end of the hour, Little Sister feels like a thoughtful, funny, and emotionally grounded exploration of identity. It is not the kind of comedy that relies on big physical gags or rapid-fire punchlines. It is comedy built from introspection, from lived experience, and from the strange, often hilarious process of becoming yourself.
For me, it was not the most personally resonant show of the festival. But the audience around me loved it, and it is easy to see why. Lily Catastrophe has crafted a work that speaks directly to the people who need it most, and she does it with intelligence, vulnerability, and a wicked sense of humour.
Little Sister earns a solid four out of five. It is heartfelt, insightful, and delivered with a voice that feels both distinct and necessary.
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