Heartfelt and hilarious, with a few songs thrown in! Don’t miss this award-winning comedy from Robyn Reynolds. An emotional rollercoaster which ends in pure joy. Plus, a song about MILFs.
Robyn Reynolds’ What Doesn’t Kill You is a fast-paced sprint through a childhood that should have come with hazard lights and an adulthood that has not exactly been a gentle upgrade. It is a show built on trauma, but delivered with such energy, charm and comedic force that the audience never sinks into sympathy. Instead, Robyn pulls everyone into her world with a grin, a raised eyebrow, and the kind of self-awareness that turns pain into punchlines.
Robyn is originally from the UK but based in Australia, and she sits comfortably within the LGBTQ community, though she never treats any of these labels as the headline. They are part of her identity, but the show is not a checklist of identity markers. It is a deeply personal hour that relies on who she is, where she came from, and how she has learned to survive the chaos that shaped her. The entire performance is built around vulnerability, but she never lets it feel heavy. She uses self-deprecation as a tool, laughing at the pain, reframing the trauma, and showing the audience what it looks like to come out the other side with humour intact.
The scope of topics she covers is enormous. Narcissism. Alcoholism. Cougars. Medical neglect. Autoimmune diseases. Cancer. Family dysfunction. Romantic disasters. All of it is woven into one continuous story that is Robyn’s life, told with the speed of someone who has lived through so much that slowing down would only make it hurt more. The pacing is relentless, but intentionally so. She barrels through the material because that is how she lived it. The comedy becomes a coping mechanism, a way to keep the darkness at bay by outrunning it.
Robyn also incorporates musical comedy, offering three original songs throughout the show. They are silly, sharp, and surprisingly catchy, each one paired with small bursts of choreography that add to the chaotic charm. The songs act as emotional punctuation marks, breaking up the heavier stories with moments of theatrical absurdity. They also show off another side of her performance style, one that blends sincerity with silliness in a way that feels effortless.
Audience interaction is a big part of the show, though not in a way that demands much from the crowd. Robyn will ask questions, direct comments at specific people, and check in on reactions. She relies on the audience as a sounding board, using their responses to shape the rhythm of the set. But participation is minimal. You are more likely to be used as a prop than a collaborator. She reads the room well, calling out when someone pulls back, leaning in when someone leans forward, and adjusting her delivery to keep the energy high. It is a delicate balance, and she handles it with confidence.
What makes the show work is the way Robyn frames her trauma. She is not asking for pity. She is not wallowing. She is showing the audience the absurdity of the situations she survived. The medical system that failed her. The parents who were present in body (well, at least one of them) but not in function. The relationships that left scars. The illnesses that shaped her adulthood. She can laugh at these things because she lived through them, and she invites the audience to laugh with her because the alternative would be to sit in sadness. Comedy becomes a form of reclamation.
There is a rawness to the show that feels intentional. Robyn does not polish the edges. She does not soften the blows. She tells the stories as they are, but with enough theatrical flair to keep the room buoyant. The contrast between the content and the delivery creates a tension that makes the humour land harder. You laugh because she is laughing, and because she gives you permission to find the absurdity in the pain.
Her style is a blend of high-energy storytelling, sharp observational humour, and emotional honesty. She moves quickly, shifting between characters, accents, and tones with ease. The speed keeps the audience alert, and the constant movement mirrors the instability of the life she is describing. It is a performance that feels alive, unpredictable, and deeply personal.
The show also touches on the idea of inherited trauma, the patterns passed down through families, and the ways people learn to cope with dysfunction. Robyn approaches these themes with a mix of humour and insight, never letting the material become too heavy but never trivialising it either. She acknowledges the damage while celebrating the resilience that came from it.
By the end of the hour, the audience has been taken through a whirlwind of stories, songs, and emotional beats. Robyn stands on stage as someone who has survived more than most people experience in a lifetime, yet she presents it with a lightness that makes the show feel hopeful rather than bleak. She is proof that trauma does not have to define you. It can be reshaped, reframed, and turned into something that brings people together.
What Doesn’t Kill You is a chaotic, heartfelt, and very funny show. It is a celebration of survival, a critique of the systems that fail people, and a reminder that humour can be a powerful tool for healing. Robyn Reynolds delivers an hour that is both entertaining and emotionally resonant, filled with energy, honesty, and a refusal to let the past win.
The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here
Review written by Alex Moulton