JONJON TOLOVAE - MAN, I FEEL LIKE A WOMAN [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

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

FUQ BOIZ (HAMIS PARKINSON & RYAN RICHARDS) - THE GREATEST SHOWBOIZ [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

The hot daddies of chuckles, Hamish Parkinson and Ryan Richards, are back! After creating what was universally hailed as “the funniest and best YouTube series of all time” (Lynette Parksion - Hamish’s Mum), they have returned to where the real money is - live theatre. The Fuq Boiz are united on one very important fact: rock bottom is not for them. So only the most epic, unhinged and gloriously silly live comedy hour will save the day. Strap the f in - this is the show you’ve been waiting for.

Hamish Parkinson and Ryan Richards waste no time setting the tone for The Greatest Showboiz, arriving in sharp suits and high‑energy choreography that immediately signals the chaos to come. The Fuq Boiz have always leaned into absurdity, but this show takes their theatrical instincts and pushes them into full spectacle. It is loud, strange, committed, and completely uninterested in being normal.

From the very first moment, it is clear that this is not a traditional stand up hour. The show is built from scenes rather than jokes, stitched together with blackouts that act like chaotic punctuation marks. The lights snap off, snap on, and suddenly the two of them are in a new world, a new argument, or a new emotional meltdown. The blackouts are not just transitions. They are part of the rhythm, part of the comedy, part of the way the show accelerates and mutates. It feels like watching a sketch show that has been fed too much sugar and left unsupervised.

The props are everywhere. They have raided every bargain bin in the city and turned the stage into a playground of nonsense. Nothing is subtle. Nothing is elegant. Everything is used with the kind of commitment that makes even the cheapest object feel like a deliberate artistic choice. They throw themselves into every prop gag with full sincerity, which is exactly why it works. The absurdity becomes the point.

There is not a strong narrative thread running through the show, and that is entirely intentional. Instead, the Fuq Boiz rely on recurring themes that pop in and out like strange little echoes. A gesture here, a phrase there, a moment that returns later in a completely different context. It creates a sense of organised chaos, where nothing makes sense but everything feels connected in a way you cannot quite explain.

One of the most effective elements of the show is the constant threat of audience participation. They never fully cross the line into dragging people onstage, but they hover close enough that the audience stays on edge. They stare into the crowd a little too long. They step forward with a glint in their eyes. They make you feel like you might be next. It is uncomfortable in the best possible way, because it keeps the room alive and reactive.

At the heart of the show is the relationship between Hamish and Ryan. Their dynamic is the engine that drives everything. One moment they are best friends, perfectly in sync, bouncing off each other with joyful chaos. The next moment they are spiralling into conflict, bickering, accusing, collapsing into emotional theatrics. The shifts are sudden and exaggerated, but they feel grounded in a weirdly relatable way. Anyone who has ever worked closely with someone creative knows that feeling of being completely aligned one minute and completely derailed the next. The Fuq Boiz take that emotional whiplash and turn it into comedy.

The randomness is part of the charm. Scenes appear out of nowhere, collide with each other, and then vanish without explanation. There is no need for red herrings or clever misdirection. They simply take two ideas, smash them together, and declare that this is the new reality. It should not work, but somehow it does. The unpredictability becomes the structure.

Despite the wildness, the show is clearly well planned. The costuming alone is a feat. They cycle through outfits with a speed that suggests military precision. The props are placed exactly where they need to be to minimise blackout time. The transitions, while chaotic, are executed with intention. It is the kind of show that looks messy but is actually held together by a huge amount of behind the scenes organisation.

The intensity can be a lot. There are moments where the energy spikes so high that you feel like you need a breather. Not every joke lands, and some scenes stretch a little longer than they need to. But even in those moments, there is something refreshing about seeing comedy that leans into theatricality rather than relying on punchline after punchline. The slower build gives the absurdity more room to bloom, and when the payoff hits, it hits hard.

One of the strengths of the Fuq Boiz is their willingness to commit fully to whatever bit they are doing, no matter how ridiculous. They throw themselves into physical comedy with no hesitation. They embrace awkwardness. They let silence sit just long enough to become funny. They trust the audience to follow them into the weird corners of their imagination.

There are scenes that feel like fever dreams, scenes that feel like emotional breakdowns, and scenes that feel like the two of them are trying to out‑weird each other in real time. The unpredictability keeps the audience leaning forward, waiting to see what direction the next blackout will take them.

What makes the show work is the chemistry between Hamish and Ryan. They know each other’s rhythms so well that even the most chaotic moments feel controlled. They can pivot instantly, recover from a dropped line, or escalate a moment into something completely unexpected. Their partnership is the anchor that keeps the show from drifting into pure nonsense.

By the end of the hour, you feel like you have witnessed something that sits somewhere between theatre, sketch comedy, and a very strange dream. The Greatest Showboiz is not tidy. It is not structured. It is not trying to be anything other than what it is. And that honesty is what makes it so entertaining.

It is a lot to take in, but it is also refreshing to see comedy that embraces performance, character, and theatricality. The Fuq Boiz are not afraid to be weird, and they are not afraid to push the audience into discomfort. They take risks, they commit to the bit, and they create a world where anything can happen.

The Greatest Showboiz is chaotic, absurd, and full of heart. It is a show that rewards audiences who are willing to let go of logic and enjoy the ride. Hamish Parkinson and Ryan Richards have created something that feels both completely unhinged and surprisingly thoughtful. It is a wild, theatrical mess, and it is absolutely worth seeing.

The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here

Review written by Alex Moulton

DAVID CORREOS - TOUCHING MY ACTIVE MIND [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

This is my new show, Touching My Active Mind. I’m leaning into all the fun stuff that makes a room feel alive. There’ll be an essay, one part that delves into the taboos of comedy, a joke that’s really wet, and one prank . Also I got a revelation I wanna talk about. I want the show to feel playful and unexpected, like we’re all in on something together. It’s comedy, but with space to muck around, be a bit janky, and try things that feel fresh. If you’re coming, you’re part of the energy and we’re going to make the night feel new, fun, and little bit dangerous. 

There is a particular kind of chaos that only David Correos can conjure, and Touching My Active Mind throws you into it before you even realise the show has begun. His show begins long before the lights officially come up. He is already darting around the room in half darkness, shifting props, whispering to audience members, and building a kind of manic anticipation that hits you before you even realise the show has started. It is chaotic, unfiltered, and unmistakably David.

Trying to describe David Correos is almost impossible. He is strange in the most committed way, a performer who leans so fully into his own oddness that it becomes magnetic. He is confident, but not in the polished, rehearsed sense. His confidence comes from a place of pure instinct, like he trusts whatever bizarre impulse arrives in his brain and follows it without hesitation. At the same time, he constantly checks in with the audience, fishing for affirmation, demanding reactions, and pulling people into his orbit whether they are ready or not. It creates a rhythm that is messy and unpredictable, but also deeply entertaining.

The energy he brings is frenetic. He moves like someone powered by a battery that is slightly too strong for the device it is in. Before the show even begins, he is sprinting across the stage, adjusting things, muttering to himself, and interacting with people in the front rows. It is impossible not to get swept up in it. The audience is buzzing before the first official line is spoken.

One of the most delightful parts of the show is his use of props. It is clear he has raided the cheapest shops he could find, grabbing whatever odd items caught his eye. None of it matches. None of it makes sense. And that is exactly why it works. He treats every object like a puzzle he is determined to solve in the most ridiculous way possible. Watching him figure out how to use a prop is often funnier than the bit itself. There is a childlike curiosity in the way he handles things, as if he is discovering them for the first time right in front of you.

Then there are the outfits. Layers upon layers of clothing, each reveal more absurd than the last. You never know how many costumes he has on, or what direction the next transformation will take. Every time he peels off a layer, the audience erupts. It becomes a running gag that never loses its charm because he commits to each reveal with absolute seriousness, even when the outfit underneath is completely unhinged.

David is at his best when he is making fun of himself. He talks about his own mishaps, his travel disasters, the strange situations he finds himself in, and the way his own body seems to betray him at the worst possible moments. There is something incredibly endearing about a comedian who uses himself as the punchline. It makes the audience feel like he is laughing with them, not performing at them. That sense of shared ridiculousness is one of the reasons people connect with him so strongly.

An effective element of the show is the way he plays with lighting and sound. There are moments where the lights shift, the audio warps, and suddenly the entire tone of the room changes. He will stop mid‑bit, question what just happened, and then redo the moment with slight variations. It creates a looping effect that feels improvised but is clearly crafted with intention. It keeps the audience on their toes, wondering whether the moment is planned or if David has genuinely derailed himself. That uncertainty is part of the fun.

One of the most memorable scenes of the night is the restaurant sequence. It is absurd, chaotic, and has almost no connection to anything else in the show, which somehow makes it even better. It is the kind of bit that feels like it should not work, yet it becomes one of the highlights because of how fully he commits to the madness. It is a perfect example of David’s ability to take something simple and push it into a realm of pure silliness.

There are moments where the show dips into repetition, where a bit stretches slightly longer than it needs to. But even then, David has a way of pulling it back. Just when you think a joke has run its course, he pivots, loops back to something from earlier, or twists the moment into a new direction. Those unexpected payoffs are some of the biggest laughs of the night. He creates these strange narrative circles that only make sense in hindsight, and when the pieces click together, the audience cracks up.

What makes Touching My Active Mind so compelling is how organic it feels. Even though the show is clearly structured, it never feels rigid. David leaves space for chaos, for audience reactions, for things to go wrong in the best possible way. He thrives in that unpredictability. It gives the show a rawness that feels alive, like anything could happen at any moment.

By the end of the night, the audience feels like they have been through something together. Not a tidy, polished comedy set, but a shared fever dream guided by a performer who is equal parts genius and gremlin. David Correos is a force of nature. Strange, chaotic, endlessly creative, and completely himself. Touching My Active Mind is a wild ride, but one that leaves you laughing long after you leave the venue.

David is not for everyone, and he does not try to be. That is part of his brilliance. He knows exactly what he is doing, even when it looks like he has no idea at all. He is a performer who thrives in the unexpected, who finds comedy in the mess, and who brings an energy that is impossible to replicate. Touching My Active Mind is David Correos at full power, and it is an experience worth having.

The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here

Review written by Alex Moulton

JOEL VINSEN - RENAISSANCE MAN [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

Renaissance man (noun): a person with many talents or areas of knowledge. Joel Vinsen has a few talents, none of which are particularly useful. How do you navigate a midlife crisis without the income to pull it off?

Some comedy shows feel like discoveries, and Joel Vinsen’s “Renaissance Man” is one of them. Before the show even begins, the experience feels different. I had no idea The Classic had an upstairs venue, and stepping into that space felt like uncovering a hidden room in a familiar building. The exposed brick, the low ceiling, the sense of history in the air. It creates the perfect atmosphere for a performer who thrives in intimacy, where the smallest shift in tone can ripple through the room.

Joel opens the night with soft jazz on his guitar, played with a level of ease and musicality that immediately hushes the space. He is one of those rare performers whose instrument feels like an extension of himself. The room settles into a quiet hum as he plays, and it becomes clear that this is not going to be a typical stand up set. Joel is not the loud, spotlight hungry type. He does not arrive with a big persona or a prebuilt identity. Instead, he steps into the room with a gentle confidence that makes you lean in.

One of the most intriguing things about Joel is how little of him exists online. His digital footprint is almost nonexistent, and that scarcity feels intentional. In a world where comedians often rely on constant content to stay visible, Joel’s absence becomes part of his charm. There is no algorithmic version of him to prepare you for what you are about to see. No viral clip to set expectations. He arrives as himself, unfiltered and unboxed, and that alone makes the experience refreshing.

His comedy style is difficult to categorise, which is exactly why it works. It is subtle, a little dark, and quietly theatrical. There are layers to what he does, and those layers are crafted with precision. He builds narratives that feel simple on the surface, but underneath there is structure, intention, and a sense of play. He leaves space for the audience to breathe, to think, to catch the shift in tone before he pivots again. There is a confidence in that restraint. A trust that the audience will follow him wherever he chooses to go.

What makes Joel particularly compelling is the way he balances craft with spontaneity. His material is clearly shaped and considered, but he leaves enough room to improvise, to respond to the room, to let the moment guide him. Watching him feels like being let in on a secret. The kind of secret you might hear whispered at a house in Blockhouse Bay, unexpected and oddly intimate. He draws you into his world without ever forcing it. The humour lands because it feels genuine, not because he is chasing a reaction.

There is also a vulnerability to Joel’s performance that sets him apart. Many comedians wear their personas like armour, leaning on volume or shock or bravado to create distance. Joel does the opposite. He lets the audience see the edges of who he is. He leans into the awkwardness, the quiet moments, the strange corners of his own mind. It is a kind of honesty that feels rare in comedy, and it gives his show a texture that lingers long after the final applause.

His guitar work is woven throughout the performance, not as a gimmick but as part of the storytelling. The music becomes a character in its own right, shifting the mood, softening transitions, or heightening the tension before a reveal. It is a reminder that Joel is not just a comedian. He is a musician, a storyteller, and something harder to define. A performer who is not trying to please everyone, and is stronger for it.

The intimacy of the venue amplifies everything. You can feel the room leaning in, listening closely, waiting for the next shift. Joel has a way of making silence work for him. He lets moments hang just long enough to build anticipation, then breaks them with a line or a gesture that sends the room into laughter. It is a delicate balance, and he handles it with the ease of someone who understands timing on a deeper level.

What stands out most is how authentically Joel occupies his own space. He is not trying to fit into a trend or chase a particular audience. He is carving out something that feels thoughtful, strange, and quietly brilliant. His comedy may not be for everyone, but that is exactly what makes it special. It has a distinct flavour, one that lingers.

There is a sense of craft in everything he does. The way he shapes a story. The way he uses music to shift the emotional temperature of the room. The way he plays with expectations without ever relying on shock value. His humour is clever rather than crude. Suggestive rather than explicit. He trusts the audience to meet him halfway, and that trust pays off.

By the end of the show, I found myself thinking about how rare performers like Joel are. He is unapologetic about who he is and what he is passionate about. He is not trying to be the next big thing. He is simply trying to be himself, and that honesty is what makes him compelling. Renaissance Man is a show that rewards attention, invites reflection, and offers a kind of comedy that stays with you.

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

JOE DAYMOND'S COMEDY MIXTAPE [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

Hosted and curated by Joe Daymond, Comedy Mixtape is a high-energy stand-up showcase built like a perfect set list: comedians you already rate, comedians you’re about to start recommending, and a few moments that remind you why live comedy is undefeated.

Joe Daymond’s Comedy Mixtape is one of those rare festival nights where you feel the energy shift the moment you walk in. There is a buzz that sits somewhere between a family gathering and a block party, and by the time Joe steps onto the stage, the room is already humming. He has always had a gift for connection, but this show feels like something more. It feels like a celebration of community, of voice, of humour that comes straight from the heart of Aotearoa.

The show is genuinely hard to review because every comedian brought a completely different flavour to the stage. The lineup moved from bold storytelling to chaotic confessionals to the kind of filthy humour that spirals into unexpected territory. One performer launched into a story about her first intimate encounter with such enthusiasm that I found myself glancing sideways, convinced her whānau were sitting right next to me. It was outrageous, joyful, and delivered with the kind of confidence that makes you forget to breathe between laughs. The whole night was loose, fast, and wildly entertaining.

Jonjon Tolovae

What made the evening feel so refreshing was the absence of Pākehā comedians. That one detail shifted the entire dynamic. The room felt freer. The performers felt freer. The audience felt like they were part of the show rather than spectators. The heckling was not just tolerated; it became part of the rhythm. At one point, the audience started heckling another audience member, and the comedians simply let it unfold. It was fluid, natural, and genuinely one of the funniest moments of the night. It felt like being at a family event where everyone is roasting each other, but with stage lights and a camera crew.

Joe’s hosting was a masterclass in warmth and timing. His banter with Randy at the start wrapped the room in a sense of comfort, the kind that makes you feel like you are in safe hands, even when the jokes are heading into unhinged territory. They touched on heavy themes too, especially the way men talk, or avoid talking, about depression. The statistics are brutal, but somehow they turned that weight into a space where dark humour could breathe. It was raw and honest, the kind of laughter that sits in your chest long after the moment passes.

Uce Gang

Each comedian had five minutes under the red light, and every single one of them made it count. Ama, Bubbah, Jonjon, Richie Faavesi, Tesi Naufahu, and Uce Gang each brought something bold and unapologetic. Pure, queer, Pasifika, Māori, and delightfully naughty. For many of them, this was the biggest audience they had ever performed for, but you would never have known. If nerves were there, they were buried under presence, charisma, and absolute commitment to the bit.

The variety was one of the show’s greatest strengths. One performer leaned into sharp observational humour. Another delivered a story so chaotic it felt like a fever dream. Another brought a softness that caught the room off guard. The shifts in tone never felt jarring. Instead, they created a rhythm that kept the audience leaning forward, waiting to see what would happen next. It was a mixtape in the truest sense. A curated blend of voices that somehow fit together perfectly.

Bubbah

By the halfway point, the show no longer felt like a showcase. It felt like whānau. A room full of people who understood each other, even if they had never met. There were moments that made people double over, moments that made people gasp, and moments that felt almost too wholesome for a night filled with such unfiltered humour.

One of the most memorable parts of the night came courtesy of a group of Americans from Tennessee who had landed in Aotearoa that very day. Their first New Zealand experience was being given tourist recommendations by the entire audience. It was chaos. It was beautiful. And I genuinely fear for their itinerary now that they believe Rewa is a must‑see destination. They were taking notes. Actual notes. I hope someone intervenes before they end up on an unexpected suburban adventure.

Richie Fa'avesi

The show was filmed, so I will tread carefully, but when it is released, it will be unmissable. There is something special about seeing a community lift each other up, especially in an industry where Māori and Pasifika voices have had to carve out their own space. Joe’s influence was visible in every moment. His support for the next generation of comedians is not performative. It is real, grounded, and deeply felt. You could see the gratitude in the way the comedians spoke about him, the way they looked at him, the way they stepped onto that stage knowing he had their back.

What struck me most was the overwhelming sense of love in the room. Not the soft, sentimental kind, but the loud, rowdy, teasing kind that comes from people who genuinely care about each other. The kind that fills a space with warmth even when the jokes are filthy. The kind that makes you feel like you have been invited into something special.

Comedy Mixtape is more than a show. It is a movement. A celebration of heart, hope, and community. A reminder that live comedy is undefeated when it is rooted in authenticity. I walked out feeling lighter, happier, and genuinely honoured to have been there. Five stars, without hesitation.

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

BARNIE DUNCAN AND ELLA HOPE-HIGGINSON - TWO PEOPLE ON A STAGE, SET IN A KITCHEN BUT THERE'S NO COOKING AND WE'RE BOTH DRESSED IN EVENING WEAR [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

Sketch. Sketches that unravel into scenes. That unravel into Absurdism. Character.

Clown. Grocery shopping. Ahhhhh the sweet mundanity of adult life. It's all part of it. That's showbiz baby.

Some comedy shows begin with a gentle welcome. Some ease the audience into the world they are about to enter. Barnie Duncan and Ella Hope Higginson do the opposite. Their show opens in complete darkness, with the audience sitting in silence until two figures stumble out with torches, shrieking and fumbling as if they have wandered into the wrong venue entirely. It feels like a parody of a horror film audition, all exaggerated panic and frantic searching. It is silly, chaotic, and instantly funny. It also sets the tone for everything that follows.

When the lights finally come up, the contrast is striking. Barnie and Ella stand in long-tailed tuxedos, dressed as if they are about to host a black-tie gala rather than perform a series of absurd sketches in a kitchen. The kitchen itself is little more than a sign on the back wall and a few scattered props, but the simplicity is intentional. This is a show built on physicality, imagination, and the kind of visual comedy that thrives when the audience is allowed to fill in the gaps.

What follows is a collection of sketches that feel like a modern tribute to the greats of physical comedy. There are shades of the Three Stooges, Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and Laurel and Hardy. There is even a hint of Fawlty Towers in the way Barnie and Ella escalate simple misunderstandings into full-blown chaos. It is a style of comedy that has become rare in the adult comedy space, which makes it feel refreshing. There is something instinctive about physical humour. It bypasses logic and lands directly in the part of the brain that responds to movement, timing, and surprise.

The sketches themselves range from restaurant scenes, to crossing a busy road, to feeding each other dinner, to a karaoke moment that spirals into something wonderfully ridiculous. One of the most memorable recurring props is a single Tupperware container. It appears in multiple sketches, sometimes as the focus, sometimes as a background detail, but always with a sense of purpose. It becomes the thread that loosely ties the show together, and its presence is likely the reason the entire performance is set in a kitchen.

Barnie and Ella use audio in clever ways to expand the world of each sketch. Sound effects create environments that the audience cannot see, adding layers to the physical action. A simple gesture becomes funnier when paired with an unexpected noise. A silent moment becomes tense when underscored by the rumble of traffic or the clatter of imaginary dishes. The audio design lifts the performance beyond what is physically on stage, allowing the duo to play with scale and perspective.

The physicality of the show is impressive. Both performers throw themselves into each sketch with commitment and precision. They climb, crawl, slide, and contort their bodies in ways that make even mundane actions entertaining. Their chemistry is strong, and their timing is sharp. They know exactly when to push a moment further and when to let the audience catch up.

That said, not every sketch lands perfectly. Some pieces run a little long, stretching a single joke past its ideal breaking point. Others are ambiguous, especially if you do not have a clear line of sight to the action. Physical comedy relies heavily on visibility, and a few moments lose impact simply because the angle makes it difficult to see what is happening. These dips do not derail the show, but they do create small pockets where the energy softens before picking up again.

Even so, every sketch gets laughs. Some earn big, immediate reactions. Others build slowly, rewarding the audience for paying attention to the details. The humour is never mean-spirited. It is playful, inventive, and rooted in the joy of watching two performers commit fully to the bit. There is a sense of childlike imagination running through the entire show. A willingness to be silly. A willingness to embrace the ridiculous. A willingness to let the audience laugh without needing to think too hard.

What makes the show work is the balance between chaos and control. Barnie and Ella appear loose and spontaneous, but there is a clear structure beneath the surface. Their movements are choreographed with care. Their transitions are smooth. Their use of props is deliberate. Even the moments that feel messy are anchored by strong comedic instincts.

The kitchen setting, though minimal, becomes a playground. The tuxedos add a layer of absurdity. The Tupperware container becomes a character in its own right. The torches in the opening scene create a sense of mystery that dissolves into laughter. Everything is designed to keep the audience slightly off balance, unsure of what will happen next but eager to find out.

By the end of the hour, the audience has been taken through a whirlwind of physical gags, mime sequences, prop-based chaos, and moments of pure absurdity. It is a show that celebrates the roots of comedy while giving it a contemporary twist. It is not perfect, but it is joyful. It is inventive. It is a reminder that sometimes the simplest ideas can be the funniest when executed with commitment and creativity.

Two People On A Stage, Set In A Kitchen But There’s No Cooking And We’re Both Dressed In Evening Wear is a charming, chaotic, and delightfully strange piece of physical theatre. It may not appeal to everyone, especially those who prefer verbal comedy or tight narrative structure, but for those who enjoy imaginative slapstick and visual humour, it is a treat. Barnie Duncan and Ella Hope Higginson bring a rare energy to the stage, and their willingness to embrace absurdity makes the show feel alive.

The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here

Review written by Alex Moulton

STAMPTOWN [2026 NZ INTL COMEDY FEST]

This is not a “sit nicely and chuckle” comedy show. Stamptown is a raunchy, chaotic, 90-minute spectacle featuring the most exciting alternative performance from around the world. 

There are comedy shows that aim to entertain, and then there are shows that seem determined to create complete and glorious chaos. Stamptown sits firmly in the second category. Part stand-up showcase, part absurdist theatre, part audience endurance test, the show has built a reputation for being unlike almost anything else in live comedy. Whether you leave absolutely loving it or wondering what on earth you just witnessed, one thing is guaranteed: you will remember it.

From the moment the lights go down, Stamptown makes it clear that traditional comedy rules are being thrown out the window. There is no polished “welcome” easing the crowd into the experience. Instead, the audience is dropped straight into a strange and unpredictable world where awkwardness, discomfort, spontaneity, and brilliance all collide. The atmosphere feels less like attending a standard comedy night and more like becoming part of an underground performance experiment that somehow escaped into mainstream popularity.

The first thing that stands out about Stamptown is its energy. The pacing is relentless. Segments arrive one after another with almost no warning, bouncing wildly between stand-up routines, bizarre audience participation, surreal characters, music, improvisation, and moments that seem intentionally designed to test how far the audience is willing to go along with the joke. At times, it feels chaotic to the point of collapse, but somehow that chaos is exactly what gives the show its identity.

A major strength of Stamptown is its refusal to play safe. Modern comedy can sometimes feel overly rehearsed or overly careful, but this show thrives on risk. Not every joke lands, not every segment works perfectly, and occasionally the room collectively groans in confusion. Yet that unpredictability becomes part of the appeal. The failures are often just as funny as the successes because the audience can sense that anything could happen at any moment. There is a genuine tension in the room that keeps people engaged throughout.

Audience participation is central to the Stamptown experience, and this aspect will largely determine whether someone loves or hates the show. If you enjoy interactive comedy and don’t mind a bit of discomfort, the crowd work can be hilarious. Volunteers are often dragged into absurd games, awkward interviews, or completely ridiculous challenges that blur the line between comedy and social experiment. Some audience members become unexpected stars of the night simply because of how they react under pressure.

However, this interactive style also means Stamptown is not for everyone. People expecting a straightforward stand-up performance may find parts of the show exhausting or overly self-indulgent. There are moments where the comedy deliberately leans into discomfort, silence, or confusion rather than punchlines. For some viewers, that unpredictability is exhilarating. For others, it may feel frustrating or chaotic without purpose. The show demands patience and a willingness to surrender to its strange rhythm.

One of the most impressive aspects of Stamptown is how effectively it captures the spirit of fringe comedy while still attracting large crowds. It feels rebellious in a way many modern entertainment productions no longer do. In an era where live events are often carefully managed and polished to perfection, Stamptown embraces messiness. It celebrates awkwardness, weirdness, and failure as essential parts of comedy rather than problems to avoid. That philosophy gives the show an authenticity that is difficult to fake.

The performers themselves deserve enormous credit. Hosting a show this unpredictable requires quick thinking, confidence, and strong improvisational instincts. The hosts maintain control even when things appear to spiral out of control. That balancing act is one of the reasons the show works as well as it does. Underneath the apparent madness is a surprisingly disciplined understanding of pacing and audience psychology.

Visually, the production often feels intentionally rough around the edges, which suits the overall style perfectly. Rather than relying on expensive staging or flashy effects, Stamptown creates atmosphere through personality and unpredictability. The focus is entirely on the performers and the strange situations they create. This stripped-back approach makes the experience feel immediate and intimate, even in larger venues.

What truly separates Stamptown from most comedy shows is its ability to create collective unpredictability. In many stand-up gigs, the audience simply observes. Here, the crowd becomes part of the performance itself. Reactions, interruptions, awkward silences, and spontaneous moments all shape the evening in real time. No two performances feel identical, and that uniqueness gives the show a sense of occasion.

That said, the show’s commitment to chaos can occasionally become its weakness. Some segments run longer than necessary, and there are moments where the energy dips before recovering again. Because the format is intentionally loose, the quality can vary significantly depending on the crowd, venue, and performers involved on a particular night. When it works, it feels electric. When it misfires, it can feel awkward in a less entertaining way.

Still, even its weaker moments contribute to the overall identity of Stamptown. The show is not trying to deliver a perfectly polished comedy product. It is trying to create an experience. In that sense, it succeeds brilliantly. Watching Stamptown feels like participating in something slightly dangerous, slightly ridiculous, and completely unpredictable. Few live comedy events manage to generate that kind of atmosphere.

For comedy fans tired of formulaic stand-up and predictable punchlines, Stamptown offers something refreshingly different. It captures the anarchic spirit that made live comedy exciting in the first place. The show embraces risk, celebrates absurdity, and constantly keeps the audience off balance. While it may not appeal to everyone, those willing to embrace the madness are likely to have an unforgettable night.

Ultimately, Stamptown is best described as controlled chaos. It is messy, loud, awkward, experimental, and often hilarious. It refuses to conform to traditional expectations of what a comedy show should be, and that rebellious attitude is exactly why it has developed such a loyal following. Whether you leave laughing uncontrollably or simply stunned by what you witnessed, the show achieves something increasingly rare in entertainment it feels genuinely alive.

The show is part of the NZ International Comedy Festival. Find tickets to a show near you here

Review written by Jack Kemp