New Zealand International Comedy Festival 2025 reviews

Who, until this show, had considered that child abuse might run in the opposite direction? That these tiny tyrants who decline to eat what they’re given, follow instruction or get dressed on demand might actually be exploiting their parents’ goodwill?

“If I had a boyfriend who behaved like that…” Lexx observed before agreeing that smacking is bad parenting while wishing that it wasn’t also illegal, so that the threat could be just that little more believable.

These experiences were all in aid of becoming the kind of mother you’d always wanted to be, and discovering that “the kind of mother you want to be is an aunty”.

She suggests the peak parenting mode, judged across the spread of human history, is “1981 Dad”, although I can’t quite remember exactly how she came to that conclusion.

She has some true and haunting things to say about the people who seek to prove their humanity by insisting on their pets being “rescue” dogs rather than ones that came with things like an invoice or a pedigree.

The humour is gentle and for this older, wiser audience member, a pleasant departure from the angst-ridden 20-something singleton schtick that makes up so much of standard stand-up fare.

There’s even a little bit of sly politics thrown in.

This is a professional comedian worth seeing. Wellingtonians – make it worth her while for coming all this way.

Laura Lexx - Slinky is on at Wellington’s Bats Theatre until May 24. Reviewed by Pattrick Smellie.

Hoani Hotene - It’s Getting Hot-ene, So Tell Me All Your Jokes

At the end of Hoani Hotene’s first show in Auckland on Tuesday night, a woman near the back of The Basement Theatre yells that she has her cowboy hat with her just for the show, and wants Hotene to “do a Rawiri” before he gets off stage.

It’s a telling sign of just how viral the young comedian went last year. Several of his clips garnered millions of views in 2024, well before the Billy T nomination came his way. It’s a good basis for someone vying for one of the country’s top comedy prizes, and afforded him a full theatre for his first show.

A few clips don’t make a full 60-minute show though, and plenty of comedians have struggled to justify the attention that comes with going viral. Thankfully, Hotene quickly proves he is worthy of this audience.

While he has a subtle, slightly quiet delivery, Hotene is a natural on stage. It’s Got Hot-ene, So Tell Me All Your Jokes doesn’t have a clear theme or storyline to it, but Hotene thrives without one.

His jokes are constant, and flow nicely into each other. He covers everything from being a ginger Māori to What Now cameos, through to the angry questions you can ask in an argument when you’ve been in a long-term relationship. It’s broad topics with a specific world view and he is willing to gently make fun of himself for our benefit.

The crowdwork was minimal but he showed a quick wit when it did come up, displayed best at the end of a show when he performed a song in honour of someone in the front row, a build-up from a few jokes earlier in the hour.

While there’s nothing flashy or loud about this hour, Hotene has crafted a sharp and funny show, with a comfortable stage presence that eases you into his world. It’s clear big things - and plenty more viral moments - are on the horizon for him.

Hoani Hotene - It’s Getting Hot-ene, So Tell Me All Your Jokes is on at Auckland’s Basement Theatre until May 24. Reviewed by Ethan Sills.

Abby Howells - Welcome to My Dream

Billy T Award winner Abby Howells has made a name for herself with shows that blend stand-up with theatrical elements, such as re-enacting her childhood fan-fiction, or structuring them around a celebration of female comedians.

Her latest hour, Welcome to My Dream, sees Howells go all-in on stand-up, with no other plot devices to utilise this time. It’s a welcome development from a comic who has a sharp sense of timing and a great arsenal of jokes to pull from.

The show is named about a song by Tiny Tim, a novelty act from the 60s who rose quickly and then struggled to hold on to his popularity. Howells uses that as a jumping-off point into her newfound fame, and dealing with negative comments online – though less the direct insults and more the subtle shade that sticks with her.

It leads into a broad look at fame and performance, from how an appearance on The Project led to a feud with Puzzling World in Wanaka, to her clashes with members of her improv troupe from when she was in Dunedin.

Howells has a strong presence on stage, and often excels at finding unexpected punch lines to her jokes, and doubling down on bits that might not work well, which helps make them land.

She builds up to a great story about breaking up with her ex-partner and how her first steps out of that life went spectacularly wrong, and pivots into finding love over the last two years.

While a sweet way to wrap things up, it doesn’t quite mesh with the fame and entertainment focus of the rest of the hour, and the Tiny Tim theming at the top of the show doesn’t quite come back around at the end.

Despite this, it is always a pleasure to spend an hour in Howells’ company. One of the most unique voices in New Zealand comedy, Welcome to My Dream is a strong hour of stand-up, and proof that Howells can excel with just herself and a microphone.

Abby Howells - Welcome to My Dream was on at Auckland’s Basement Theatre. Reviewed by Ethan Sills.

Surblibor - Season 3

Having never seen a full episode of Survivor (I’m more of an Amazing Race fan) it was perhaps an odd choice to spend a large chunk of Saturday watching 10 Kiwi comedians living out their Survivor fantasies for three hours.

But the word-of-mouth buzz around Surblibor, Rhys Mathewon’s parody extravangza, has grown so strong in just two years that it has become one of the hottest tickets at the Comedy Festival, and something that as a reasonably seasoned comedy review I simply had to check out.

For the uninitiated, Surblibor is literally a three-hour speed run through a season of Survivor. Ten comedians take to the stage, initially in two separate teams, and must compete in Survivor-esque challenges in order to win immunity and avoid being voted out, with the sole “Surblibor” winning $1000 at the end of the show.

If you’ve seen Survivor or Celebrity Treasure Island, the general conceit is the same as those shows, and it has been recreated with surprising attention to detail in the relatively confined space of Q’s Loft theatre. The effort behind the scenes is on full display, and it was impressive how varied each game was.

As a piece of pure entertainment, Surblibor does not require that prior knowledge in order to be enjoyable. The cast makeup had a good variety that allowed with different personalities to shine through. Becky Umbers in particular became an audience favourite through the sole fact that she did not seem to understand what was happening, and Leon Wadham was my personal highlight after successfully playing not one but two immunity idols and making it to the final.

Alas, Johanna Cosgrove won on the day after a tense tribal council that required a tie-breaking vote from fellow finalist Tom Sainsbury. A worthy winner, but the entire cast played their roles well, delivering equal parts comedy and legitimate tension.

Mathewson and his production company, The Push, have crafted a faithful parody that succeeds on all levels, even when the chaos felt like it was taking over. It was clear as day why this has so quickly become a fan favourite, and I can easily see this growing to become the must see event of the Comedy Festival.

Surblibor - Season 3 was on May 17 at Q Theatre. Reviewed by Ethan Sills.

Anisa Nandaula - You Can’t Say That

Would you put your parents in a care home?

Anisa Nandaula would. Except she’s doing the opposite – she’s living under the same roof as her mum. In her hilariously funny, skilfully seamless performance, Anisa Nandaula confronts the cultural differences that have outlined her life as a Ugandan living in Australia. She recounts her reality of being a black woman in the world – particularly as a young girl growing up in rural Queensland. In a sort of “don’t meet your heroes” way, she makes like of otherwise painful moments she had when her expectations of the country, and white people, had a fall from grace.

Maybe the best type of comedy show is one that feels like a conversation between you and the performer. If it is, Nandaula’s perfected it. Right off the bat she works with the audience, aligning herself with any similarities and making observations about who people have come to the show with, or what their background might be. These introductions are weaved in throughout the show, creating a strong rapport with us and her.

Honest in a way that could be uncomfortable is not expertly nurtured, Nandaula’s confidence is the backbone of her performance, which shouldn’t be a surprise given the show’s title, You Can’t Say That. Her captivating anecdotes of cultural and religious imbalances keep the audience hanging off every word. I for one had proper, laugh-out-loud, tears-in-my-eyes, moments during Anisa Nandaula’s entire show.

Anisa Nandaula - You Can’t Say That was on at Auckland’s Q Theatre. Reviewed by Mary O’Sullivan.

Johanna Cosgrove - Sweetie

Whether you’ve seen her on TV or been lucky enough to catch a show during her time over the ditch, Johanna Cosgrove’s Sweetie is a treat for those introspective yearners as well as those still mad at their situationship half a decade ago. Johanna is unapologetically herself, is as unhinged as she is reflective, and very relatable.

Cosgrove is able to craft her jokes in a way which feels as though I’m listening to a mate, like I know her already. I think that’s a testament to just how skilled she is when it comes to connecting to her audience. Johanna is always able to keep crowd engaged, just when I thought I wasn’t following – BAM! She’s begun a theatrical reenactment. The contents of Sweetie ranged from love and loss, navigating queerness, a rough directorial debut of a play by Polish preteens, her military father discovering her sex toy, as well as plenty more unadulterated experiences which kept the crowd hysterical.

Cosgrove’s own self-reflection makes her as relatable as ever, and not just for a pre-conceived target audience. Whether it was the pop-culture references or shared experiences in our love lives, regardless of age or occupation, you were able to empathise with her when she mentioned that she locked her crush in the bedroom of her Wellington flat. Sometimes we just want to be loved, and Johanna reassures us that despite horrific breakups, consulting the bog woman or moving into an off the grid hut with your new lover

Johanna Cosgrove’s Sweetie is filled with unhinged authenticity, sobering self-reflection, and genuinely well-crafted comedy. I’m excited to see what the future brings.

Johanna Cosgrove - Sweetie was on at Auckland’s Basement Theatre. Reviewed by Joseph Wickins.

Bubbah - Pure Mature

I’ve been to a lot of solo comedy shows in the past where the comic has made a grand point of trying to create a one-off experience with their hour, or repeatedly tells the audience about how authentic and honest they are being.

Seeing Bubbah perform at Q Theatre last night was the first time those two things felt true, and she never once made a point that this was her intention. Instead, masking her true intentions behind a veil of disorganisation, she slowly builds towards one of the most shocking and powerful moments I’ve ever seen at a comedy show.

The show comes in the wake of Bubbah - best known to many as “Tina from Turners” - telling the Herald this week that she is leaving New Zealand to move back to Samoa. It’s an important context for the end of the show, but it’s not an obvious backbone for the full show.

After an opening set from Courtney Dawson – always a strong performer – Bubbah arrives in the theatre, walking through the crowd with a hype crew, and then gets a woman in the audience to do a body shot. It’s loud, chaotic, and seems unplanned, but that energy feeds into the show itself.

Bubbah tells the audience that she is going to freestyle the show, but she slips into a fairly well-constructed set, touching on her family, childhood, and life in the public eye. She is effortlessly funny, on full display when she interacts with the audience and delivers some of her best jokes.

There are bits where it does seem a little under-rehearsed rather than unplanned, but Bubbah’s infectious energy and natural talent hold it all together. She is blunt and honest in her stories, and at one point, discusses how being part of the entertainment industry now means that her authentic life growing up in South Auckland is no longer desirable to share.

Speaking to her active imagination and love of acting, Bubbah pivots from stand-up to a three-part skit she wrote especially for the show, with some of her friends from South Auckland filling the roles.

Telling the story of a princess from South Auckland who must be sold off to Central Auckland to feed her people, it’s equally as chaotic and silly as the rest of the show but slowly builds to Bubbah’s grand point.

When it becomes clear the show is running long, they rush into the third part, with Bubbah’s Princess rejecting the idea of moving away and choosing her own love instead.

It then leads to a dramatic, shocking, powerful moment, where Bubbah’s ponytail is cut off on stage, before she is handed a razor and starts shaving her hair off.

It’s a moment I’m still processing 12 hours later, writing this review. The energy in the theatre - already electric from the moment Bubbah came on stage - only intensified as the audience realised what was happening, and we all lapped it up.

While it references a Samoan practice used to punish women that Bubbah mentioned earlier in the show, as she walks off stage to Beyoncé’s “Freedom,” this feels more like her taking back control of her story and her persona, after being unexpectedly thrust into the public eye.

While I have seen more neatly constructed shows, Pure Mature was an experience unlike any other, the type of show that is going to become legendary in years to come, and the lucky few who saw it recount what it was like.

Bubbah consistently showed throughout her hour what a natural, charming, and hilarious presence she’s on stage, and smart and thoughtful on top of that. The show proves she could dominate the entertainment industry here if she wanted to, but there’s nothing stronger than deciding that isn’t for you.

Bubbah - Pure Mature was on at Q Theatre, May 16th. Reviewed by Ethan Sills.

James Mustapic - All Good If Not

Anyone who has followed James Mustapic’s career so far knows it has been one dominated by pop culture. From Shortland Street to Drew Ne’emia to reality TV, Mustapic has based entire stand-up shows and web series around his entertainment obsessions.

Yet his 2024 show – You Mustapicked The Wrong Guy to Mess With – felt like a conclusion to that side of his comedy. That show wrapped up a lot of his long-running feuds and storylines that have crisscrossed from the stage to screen in such a way that it would be difficult for this year’s show to retread that same ground.

Thankfully for Mustapic, he has done enough TV shows now to make him firmly a part of New Zealand pop culture, and there’s plenty of his on-screen antics to draw from.

And at least that’s how his latest show, All Good If Not, begins. Having forced his mum, Janet, into a number of dates for his TVNZ show, James Must-a-pic His Mum a Man, Mustapic digs into some of the behind-the-scenes tea from filming that and the fallout from it.

That show led to his estranged father making a Broadcasting Standards Complaint against Mustapic, and the bizarre nature of that family feud gives Mustapic plenty of material to work with.

But that story only serves to enhance the true theme of the show, which is all about celebrating the “loopy women” in Mustapic’s life, and what a rock they have been to him in recent years.

It’s a sweeter and more sincere show than Mustapic has made before, which also touches on some of his insecurities that were aired through the show.

Yet his trademark humour and caustic sarcasm are still on full display, and there are some great bits on Air New Zealand being worse than Jetstar and awkward encounters with members of the public.

This feels like Mustapic at his most refined – even his trusted PowerPoint felt more pared back this year, an addition rather than the focal point. All Good If Not proves Mustapic can flourish when focusing just on himself – and shows he has a long future ahead of him.

James Mustapic - All Good If Not is on at Auckland’s Q Theatre until May 16th. Reviewed by Ethan Sills.

Brynley Stent – Bonetown

Panel shows have been the backbone of comedy for decades – just look at 7 Days here, currently marking 17 seasons – but it’s rare that you get to experience a new one live in person.

Brynley Stent is changing that with her latest Comedy Festival show, Bonetown. After touching on topics of horniness, sex, and being “frigid” in previous solo shows, Stent’s latest show challenges a panel of comedians, as well as the audience, to examine what makes them horny.

In the role of gamesmaster, or “That Bitch” as she asks to be called, each night involves Stent bringing on five comedians, who have written a series of “bones” – or things they “want to f***”.

Pulling two at random from a cauldron, the comedians then have to pick one they’d most want to “bone” and place it back in the cauldron, and sacrifice the other one to an ominously glowing cauldron. Eventually, two will remain, and whoever writes the final choice wins the game.

Friday night’s performance, with Laura Daniel, Joseph Moore, Hamish Parkinson, Emma Golland and Adam King as guests, included debates over Beast from Beauty and the Beast, KFC chip seasoning, barbecue sauce and Chris O’Dowd in Bridesmaids. The crown was eventually won by Parkinson for the Neat 3B Action cream ad (original version), with a joint win from Daniel thanks to a mini-game challenge throughout.

Look, it’s a little complicated to explain easily the rules of the game – particularly within the standards of this newspaper – and given this is its debut season, there are some kinks (no pun intended) to iron out around timings, the role of the mini-games, and incorporating the audience submissions in more.

But in person, Bonetown is a riotous experience, and you are happy to sit back and go along for the ride – the perfect “cucks”, as Stent calls the audience multiple times. Some of the match-ups of the “bones” are completely ridiculous to comprehend together, and there was a good variety in comedic voices on stage so nothing ever felt the same.

Stent has the makings of an incredible concept here, one I’d happily come back to see again as it’s clear no two shows will ever be the same, and once the structure has been finessed, Bonetown has all the potential to be a Friday night staple going forward.

Brynley Stent – Bonetown is on at Auckland’s Basement Theatre until May 10, and in Wellington at Te Auaha on May 17. Reviewed by Ethan Sills.

Donna Brookbanks – Green Fingered

An acrostatic poem is an interesting way to start a comedy show, but it’s a fitting way for Donna Brookbanks to quickly highlight a decades-long character shift in her latest comedy creation, Desiree Green.

Desiree’s optimistic, if simplistic, poem to mark the first day of filming for her new gardening show, Green Fingered, is contrasted immediately by a more mournful, serious ode to womanhood and nature as we fast-forward to the taping of the 500th episode several decades later.

Here, we find Green still a little naive about the world around her, but now a lot more worn down after a lifetime spent in the public eye. It doesn’t help that her landmark taping coincides with her marital breakdown, and that her long-time producer is sick, leaving his enthusiastic son Murchison – also played by Brookbanks – to try to hold it all together.

Throughout this one-woman show, Brookbanks convincingly brings a series of Kiwi caricatures to life, as Green tries to keep her show and her various special guests going as her life rapidly crashes around her.

Green is where Brookbanks flourishes, creating a flawless parody of a particular type of middle-aged, well-to-do woman we’ve all encountered before. Green’s opening monologue to kickstart the taping of her show is hysterical and sharply written, capturing a particular point of view to perfection.

Brookbanks breathes life into all her characters, and her improv background allows for some fast interactions with the audience. At 55 minutes, some of the thematic development is a little rushed – I could see this returning as a 90-minute play at some point, to flesh out these interactions more – but Brookbanks has created a central character that you leave wanting to see more of.

Donna Brookbanks – Green Fingered is on at Auckland’s Q Theatre until May 10. Reviewed by Ethan Sills.

Hayley Sproull – The Baroness

Hayley Sproull bounds on stage and, early on, declares that she was one of the naughty kids at school.

It’s not hard to imagine.

The extrovert energy and eye-popping that made her such a great host for The Great Kiwi Bake-Off is here in spades. An early electronic piano accordion riff seems to promise the possibility of some Bill Bailey-style musical comedy, but like much of this show, it sort of never quite happens.

An Eastbourne kid vibing Lower Hutt, she’s playing to a home crowd, heavily skewed to an enthusiastic demographic that she identifies as “office bitches”, who keep it together during the week in their sensible flats and go mad at the weekend.

Cue obligatory Jagermeister reference.

They whoop in recognition and the laughter and shared recollection of the best “bits” is still going strong as the audience spills on to the street after another hour with a comedian whose stock in trade is “negging myself a bit”.

There are tales of drinking too much, sleeping with the wrong people on uncomfortable furniture and, in this case, a Millennial exploration of loving parents’ failure to provide anything sufficiently traumatic to justify all the therapy, although she did get a drum kit.

“The Baroness” title is bit of a mystery, but not one to be dwelt on.

It’s a funny show. But what does it say that this, my second Comedy Festival show of the 2025 season, is also the second show in which somehow the subject of hair care for the most intimate of the nether regions is such a significant feature? Please don’t let this be a trend.

Hayley Sproull – The Baroness is on in Wellington at Te Auaha until May 10, and in Auckland at the SkyCity Theatre on May 16. Reviewed by Pattrick Smellie.

Olga Koch – Comes From Money

Starting off the show coming from the back of the theatre, clambering over the seats and shaking various audience members’ hands, Olga Koch starts her 2025 show with a strong bang.

When she finally – breathlessly – gets to the microphone, Koch says that she can’t possibly maintain that energy for the rest of the show. But for the hour that follows, Koch delivers a fast-paced, tightly woven, high-volume show, and keeps her foot on the accelerator the entire time.

Comes From Money is perhaps the most fitting name for a comedy show you’ll come across this year. The Russian-born, American-accented comic grew up in wealth, thanks to her father making money quickly after the collapse of the Soviet Union.

It has led to a life with a unique relationship to money and privilege. She jokes about being too rich for the state school she first went to, but then not quite rich enough for boarding school.

Moving to the US for university, and later Britain, where she now lives, her experiences in both countries contrast to her life as one of the “lucky” ones in Russia. With her formative years spent in the 00s and 10s, the references and tone of the show are very Millennial coded in a way I loved, but may limit the audience to a younger demographic.

Koch’s life has been a privileged one, a fact she never shies away from in the show – she repeatedly yells, “Is this relatable?!” after some of the more ostentatious stories – but she strikes a good balance of never apologising or feeling shameful of her past.

Rather, with an infectious charm and an arsenal of jokes that feels like a well-structured stream of consciousness, Koch pokes fun at herself, her family, and her situation, ultimately succeeding in making a unique and fortunate bit of privilege feel relatable.

Olga Koch – Comes From Money was on in Auckland at The Basement Theatre, and is in Wellington May 10 at The Fringe Bar. Reviewed by Ethan Sills.

Takashi Wakasugi – Comedy Samurai

Takashi Wakasugi speaks occasional profound truths in his hour up on the stand-up stage.

One is that he has a really cool name. Try saying it with flair and you’ll see what he means.

Try martial arts hand movements as well. It becomes even clearer.

“Thanks Mum,” he says, before moving on to the kind of observational stand-up routine that makes an entertaining hour, is occasionally in slightly questionable taste, and ultimately good for a few serious laughs on the way.

But with one extraordinary difference. This guy is Japanese, has lived in Australia for six years, and his English is heavily accented and idiosyncratic.

His idiomatic surprises are often at the core of his best humour.

He veers occasionally into unnecessary unpatriotic self-deprecation, for example, his opening shtick about how the Japanese never invented anything, they just improved it.

While he is Japanese and we are New Zealanders, so unpatriotic self-deprecation is a shared national trait, Wakasugi is funnier when he talks about the importance of “being samurai”: take a road and do not stray from it. Total commitment!

This yields unexpectedly welcome advice for people who keep recommending their favourite podcast. No spoilers. You’ll have to see the show to find out what that’s about. Same goes for air fryers. Slyly funny stuff.

Maybe I’m getting old. Even though the lines are delivered with some panache – he got a good laugh for describing masturbation as important personal “happy time” – sometimes enough with the porn and the shampoo. The line between humour and cheap scatology is very thin.

And as the comic himself would say: “don’t be on the line”.

Choose one side or the other. Be amused. Be samurai.

Takashi Wakasugi – Comedy Samurai is on in Wellington at The Fringe Bar until May 10, and in Auckland at The Basement Theatre May 13-17. Reviewed by Pattrick Smellie.

Henry Yan – Dancing is Just Physical Talking, So Let’s Make a Podcast

Before an award-winning performance at Australia’s national comedy competition in Melbourne, Henry Yan hadn’t ever told his parents he loved them. So, knowing they weren’t in the audience, he told them through his show. Back home he watched the televised performance with his friends and family, including his parents - maybe the more awkward way to say those words for the first time.

But awkwardness might just be the through line of Yan’s life, and work.

“I recently found out I’m awkward,” Yan said not long after taking to the stage in the opening night of his ‘Dancing is Just Physical Talking, So Let’s Make a Podcast’ at Auckland’s Basement Theatre.

He entered shyly, although grinning incessantly. You quickly learn this is part of his comedic persona, but if you didn’t know he was an award-winning comedian, you might think he’s lost a bet. He’s the friend with the perplexingly good one-liners, delivering them like the one who cracks a joke in tragic situations.

Except it’s all too sharp to be an accident. Seamlessly, Yan takes the show through some of life’s inherently uncomfortable moments.

He leans on self-deprecation and a dry, quick humour when recounting his experiences with dating, unemployment and getting older. The audience is held in a space that feels casual and friendly, a feeling helped by his natural interaction with the crowd and likely built by shaking the hands – awkwardly – of the front row when he came on.

One day, you’re 17 and Alphaville’s Forever Young is a romantic celebration of where you are. The next, you’re closer to 30 and it’s a desperate plea.

Yan is able to merge the insecurities that come with getting older, with down-to-earth, stripped-back comedy. His touching expression of how comedy ends up connecting him with his parents is the perfect way to round off a show that highlights the disappointing moments we’ve all come across as we age.

Henry Yan – Dancing is Just Physical Talking, So Let’s Make a Podcast is in Auckland at The Basement Theatre until May 10, and in Wellington at Te Auaha May 15-17. Reviewed by Mary O’Sullivan.