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.
A 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.