From the word “Greetings”, Paul Foot had us eating out of the palm of his hand – no small feat, as he was offstage when he said it. His opening gambit only leaned further into the striking eccentricity that his quivering, teste-pop-prone voice established – running amok around the raked seating bank while laying the foundations of a brilliantly laboured metaphor, because otherwise “critics will complain there wasn’t enough metaphor”.

A uniquely personal show for Foot, Dissolve details the comedian’s successful search for enlightenment after a 30-year battle with depression. At times, the show is as dark and earnest as this sounds. And at other times, it’s a blissfully light but shockingly thorough excavation of the tennis-themed romantic-comedy cinema genre, which peaked with a surprising number of releases – two – in the year 2004.

Foot balances Nanette-level gravity against Boosh-comparable abstraction while somehow doing away with the emotional rollercoaster’s usual queasiness. He has the confidence and calm of someone utterly relieved of anxiety and uses them to deliver a pitch-perfect show.

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Mark Watson’s Before It Overtakes Us covers everything from relationship regrets to fear of airplane travel – and still finds time to explore the seedy underbelly of the corporate comedy gig economy. Typical of Waston’s “neurotic and breathless” style – his words, not mine – he flits erratically between subjects and about the stage. Peppering the show with meta-analyses, Watson externalises his concerns that the jokes might be too personally revealing or anglocentric to strike a chord with Australian audiences to amusing, self-deprecating effect.

Watson is at his best when working the crowd. His efforts to prove that any given audience member has a job more noble than a comedian may not have borne the fruit he expected – after he unwittingly plucked a 51-year old retiree from the front row – but it did provide the quip-happy comic with a wonderfully guiltless punching bag.

Mark Watson’s Before It Overtakes Us covers everything from relationship regrets to fear of airplane travel – and still finds time to explore the seedy underbelly of the corporate comedy gig economy. Typical of Waston’s “neurotic and breathless” style – his words, not mine – he flits erratically between subjects and about the stage. Peppering the show with meta-analyses, Watson externalises his concerns that the jokes might be too personally revealing or anglocentric to strike a chord with Australian audiences to amusing, self-deprecating effect.

Watson is at his best when working the crowd. His efforts to prove that any given audience member has a job more noble than a comedian may not have borne the fruit he expected – after he unwittingly plucked a 51-year old retiree from the front row – but it did provide the quip-happy comic with a wonderfully guiltless punching bag.

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The second thing you hear in Ruby Wax’s I’m Not As Well As I Thought I Was – besides thunderous applause in a standing ovation she mischievously suggests the audience give her – sounds like a Gatling gun. As she stood on stage in her characteristically kaleidoscopic pantsuit, I thought to myself, what a perfect metaphor for Wax’s frenetic and unfiltered mode of self-expression.

Unfortunately, the magnetism of Wax’s personality was massively restricted by the parameters of her one-person show. I’m Not As Well As I Thought I Was attempts to fit the introspective-comedy mould seen in shows like Fleabag, but does so at the expense of its subject’s supreme talents. While Wax replicates the stringent blocking she has clearly been assigned by a third party, she looks uncomfortable, hellbent on perfecting the coming choreography.

Wax’s charm does shine through occasionally and her decision to document the trials and tribulations of maintaining mental wellness is a noble one. But this show falls short of Wax’s usual vibrance.

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In sparkling contradiction, Scout Boxall's new show God’s Favourite sets out to prove that you're only the main character in your own story. The show follows Boxall through a haunting brush with antidepressant withdrawal, on what was supposed to be a very special day for them – performing an integral role at a LARP wedding.

Boxall is relatable and revealing in their exploration of how medieval times – despite being an inarguably cruel period, particularly for the AFAB community – hold a certain je ne sais quoi in their aura of simplicity for those alive in 2025.

Beyond Boxall’s immaculate performance, which somehow straddles deadpan and operatic vocal registers simultaneously, the show’s sound design was equally brilliant. From The Doors to cathedral organs, this soundtrack had it all – and it went a long way towards creating the eerie confession booth-atmosphere that so enhances this show.

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In Horses, Elf Lyons charts the journey of her eponymous creatures through myth, legend and war in a series of gory sketches. Her equine protagonist Treacle provides ample opportunity for the clown to put her liquid physicality to use, from a birth scene to one about meat-grinding, plus plenty of other prancing in between.

This show includes so much blood it is eye watering, yet somehow it also contains none at all. So visceral is Lyons’ mime work, and so brutal is the torture of her characters, that the audience was constantly vocalising their repulsion. Horses reminded me of the way grotesquerie meets fantasy in Pan’s Labyrinth, only it wants you to laugh rather than cry.

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Within the first five minutes of What I’m Going For, Hannah Camilleri had fully dealt with the elephant in the room; the rampant success of her Most Outstanding Show-nominated and Pinder prize-winning show Lolly Bag (2023).

So how can she live up to the hype?! How can she address the – inaccurate – suggestion that Lolly Bag was over-hyped (too strange, too reliant on audience participation, too prone to breaking the fourth wall)?!

Camilleri confronts all these queries through a clever conceit which, for the sake of enjoyment, best be kept secret. Suffice it to say, she had the audience in fits of incredulous and hysterical laughter from the off. To her usual cast of sketch characters, Camilleri has added a new persona of unusual realism, whose grounded nature only exaggerates the hilarity of the demands she makes of the audience members she interacts with. Lolly Bag die-hards will be thrilled to know that Camilleri also revives certain moustache-toting, baseball cap-toting mechanics.

Camilleri and her director Dylan Murphy have achieved something very special with this show!

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If the Melbourne International Comedy Festival gave awards for best use of metaphor and simile, there would no competition for Desiree Burch. Literary devices flow out of Burch so rapidly that they appear casual, even ad-hoc. But improvising symbolism this good just isn’t possible. There’s something so perfect about recasting the womb as a nightclub, with a sellout party once a month, and grungy happy hours to keep the business ticking over until the next cycle begins.

Imagery as colourful as this abounds in Burch’s The Golden Wrath, an hour of revealing and personal observational comedy about the unexpectedly menopause-like experience of perimenopause. The analogies Burch draws are not only extremely funny but also illuminating, rendering a subject with the potential to alienate a significant swathe of the audience far more accessible.

There’s plenty beyond perimenopause for the blessedly uninitiated to sink their teeth into. From Baby Boomers to Generation Alpha, ABBA to Tupac, baldness to hair care, Burch addresses both sides of many a black-and-white issue, giving every audience member the chance to laugh uncontrollably while revelling in the feeling of being seen.

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Hot Department’s new show pulsates with self-aware rage. These are sketches so high in energy, so drenched in horniness that it's possible to enjoy them without digging into their subtext. But for every riff on man flu, every bit about manic pixie dream girls and every jab at Liberal voters, there is an undercurrent of political and social commentary.

Sometimes, it's more subtle, like at the show’s opening when Hot Department force the audience to sing along to the slow-motion marching band sounds of the Hot Department national anthem. But at other times, like when an alien morphs into a sex-crazed step-mother having learnt through Pornhub that this is one of the most revered human archetypes, their harsh critique of the state of the world smacks you in the face.

Yes, there are plenty of stabs at lower hanging fruit. For example, their impressions of people named “Sarah” and “Tristan”, whose respective predilections for ketamine and “being chill”, can only have been based on subjective superficial experience. But the way Hot Department brings the language of memes, nudity and slapstick into conversations with the malaise of the modern world will one day be written about in university theses.

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Emmanuel Sonubi opened this three-act bill with a highly interactive set about the woes of parenting. As a Disney musical-loving former bouncer, Sonubi’s vibe is a little hard to put your finger on – and certain jokes he made, at the expense of teacher’s aides, fell flat. But he made good with the goldmine he discovered in the front row – a couple on their second date – and got the show off to a positive start.

Amy Annette is the kind of person for whom words like “chique” roll effortlessly off the tongue. Annette brought her cheeky side-ways glances and extravagantly French pronunciations to discussions of body shaming, British idiosyncrasies and collective nouns. She was up against it from the beginning after stumbling upon a cohort of wanna-be-comedian audience members during her crowd work. It made me wonder what the collective noun for annoying smart alecs was. 

In the show’s final twenty minutes, Paddy Young gave a masterclass in misdirection. He knew only too well that the Melbourne crowd would fall into empathetic line when he expressed outrage at his landlady owning eight properties. He also knew we’d be shocked to hear him re-contextualise this as an equal rights issue: “If she were a man, she’d have twelve!” Young’s confidence on-stage and embrace of silence made for a strong conclusion to this showcase of British talent.

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Watching Grace Jarvis do stand-up is like catching up with an old friend after a long time apart – it's laidback, conversational – and there’s a lot to catch up on. Importantly, this particular old friend has spent the last year living overseas, falling in love for the first time, and working in a sex shop – so that last bit really can’t be overstated.

As an autistic person, Jarvis describes her ability to remain unphased in unusual situations as one of her strengths, and it's a skill that extends to her storytelling. Her unflappable composure is so infectious that she breezes through anecdotes of increasing bizarreness without you even batting an eyelid. It's only when the shop concludes that you start to wonder how the same person could possibly have had so many strange things happen to them.

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Abby Howells’ show begins with a song choice that’s as eccentric as she is: Tiny Tims’ ‘Welcome to My Dream’. Yes, the song shares its name with Howells’ show, but as she herself acknowledges, sombre falsetto and twinkling ukulele are an unusual combination to start comedy show with. Yet, the tune sets the scene perfectly for the hour of idiosyncratic whimsy that’s about to unfold. 

Welcome to My Dream follows Howells through a surprising number of personal controversies and feuds – from the catastrophic breakdown of her improv troupe to her miscasting as a mere chorus member in an amateur theatre production of Grease. Howells invites you to laugh along with her as she expresses her genuine sense of injustice at the world around her.

Throughout the show, Howells crafts an impressive network of callbacks. Rather than having them all come home to roost in one stacked denouement, she spaces them out across the show, allowing each of them to have their own well-deserved moment in the sun. It makes for an incredibly consistent show that had the crowd exhausted from laughter by its end.

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Jordan Barr’s Dog why interrogates the full scope of human experience and considers one of its most vexing questions right out of the gate: What does it mean to be a girl?

Barr loves being a girl, even when it means lying awake at 3am and pondering the prose of Sylvia Plath. Through discussions of massage, plastic surgery and nicknames for the vagina, Barr uses a comic sans-laden Powerpoint Presentation to support her amusing, if evidentially questionable, findings. 

Don’t worry boys, there’s another section just for you. Barr’s case study of the actor (and racist) Mark Wahlberg makes for an intriguing picture of what it means to be male!

The show then devolves into an unusual in memoriam tribute, featuring people who – according to Barr – are either dead, aren’t dead but should be, or supposedly dead but potentially still alive. If that sounds brutal to you, then consider if there’s any other context where you’d rather see the face of Harvey Weinstein. The crowd certainly didn’t let a thing like that bother them, lapping up Barr’s solid hour of multimedia comedy.

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Two Hearts’ Laura Daniel and Joseph Moore have perfected the musical comedy formula. Between extravagant costume changes, interactive prop work and multimedia experimentation, they offer a collection of faultless comedy songs. 

Each one begins with an amusing and familiar premise, like the daunting tick of the biologiocal clock or the tropey desirability of a European holiday. Once milked, these premises are flipped on their head, with twists that I won’t spoil here, but are as unpredictable as they are dead-on in their indictment of our privileged modern existence. Their song about vegetarian evangelism had me, a pescetarian, questioning my own moral compass while gagged with laughter. 

Beyond impeccable songwriting, Daniel and Moore deliver beautifully moderated performances, that are musically impressive without being overly virtuosic. Unlike some of their peers, Two Hearts never fall into the trap of seeking recognition for musical talent over laughter. Daniels, in particular, demonstrates considerable vocal skill, but always prioritises humour. The result is a fantastically boisterous show with an unrivalled number of laughs per minute. 

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David Correos’ Noise Zealand careens out of control faster than a runaway train – in a good way. This is a show that redefines the boundaries of comedy by merging stand-up with a rave. As you enter the room, Correos is onstage making the most of a skill he began honing just two months prior; DJing. As you leave, you’re sweaty, smiling and probably still slightly bewildered by the whole thing. 

Noise Zealand asks a lot of its audience. When Correos began transforming the Greek Centre’s mezzanine from conference space to warehouse party, there were many concerned glances between friends. The only way to get past this is to completely surrender to the experience. And if you can find a way to do that, then there is so much to be gained from this comedic experiment. 

This is a show unlike any other at the festival. Go if you’ve got the guts!

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Make Me Look Fit on the Poster is ostensibly about the two embarrassing memories that keep Amy Gledhill awake at night. But in reality, these are just two of many seamlessly interwoven anecdotes exploring Gledhill’s chosen theme of self-esteem. 

Self-esteem is different from confidence, Gledhill assures the audience early in her show. And it's a good thing she does, because the performer we are watching does not suffer from lack of confidence – and neither should she. Gledhill’s acting is brilliant.  From the vh-vhh of a vibrating iPhone to dangling by a bungee in a high-ropes course, Gledhill’s impressive vocal imitations and astonishing physical comedy imbues her stand-up with an uncommon liveliness.

On the back of her Edinburgh Comedy Award win, Gledhill has brought a captivating and visceral show to the Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

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In recent years, Guy Montgomery’s Guy-Mont Spelling Bee has undergone an impressive metamorphosis. The larva that began developing in the cavernous depths of the Melbourne Town Hall is now a beautiful queen bee, with an ABC television show to prove it. 

Monday night’s live iteration in the art-deco grandeur of the Palais Theatre harkened back to the Spelling Bee’s youth, ditching the game show plinths that each contestant stands behind on the TV show and instead parking them – and host Guy Montgomery – in five chairs side-by-side. The simplicity of this set-up, with very little to reinforce Montgomery’s authority as quizmaster, makes  the fact that he subjects fully-grown adults to something as juvenile as a spelling bee all the more hysterical. 

Contestants Nish Kumar, Julia Morris, Jack Ansett and Desiree Burch brought the ideal level of spelling talent – mixed – with Kumar taking home the top prize and Burch crowned dunce. The “Spell the name of the audience member” round was the night’s highlight, with Montgomery’s twin assistants Tom Cashman and Paul Williams roving the crowd to the delight of Taskmaster – and Spelling Bee – fans across the Tasman.

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Chris Parker was dancing to George Michael’s ‘Baby I’m Your Man’ when we entered the room. Remembering how utterly drenched Parker had become by the end of his MICF show last year, I was impressed by his willingness to court the danger of sweat once more. Parker is famous for his high-energy performances and his new show, Stop Being So Dramatic! does more than keep pace.

Parker ploughs through anxiety-inducing anecdotes in an earnest attempt to undermine the power of cringe. From learning ballet as a child to dancing with friends on a night out, there’s a lot that Parker has cut himself off from due to the cringing reaction of a third party. He also unpacks the source of his star-complex, eviscerates his former dance teachers and revels in imaginings of a simpler life, rearing children and brewing vegetable stock. 

This is a show about the mid-30s condition that’s as relatable as it is hilarious.

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Comedy Zone emcee Nathan Chin delved into the Asian-Australian experience in his opening minutes. His jokes were astute and clever, but the audience might need more warming up to appreciate his edgier material. There was little surprise when an audience member refused to answer his provocation, “What colour am I?”

Tarsh Jago’s deadpan delivery only accentuated the humour in her tales of relationship woes. Dotted with one-liners that help situate Jago’s anecdotes within her personal context as lesbian-identifying Palawa woman, her stories of the mundane are elevated by her skilled storytelling.

Omar Gad really let the audience come to him. Through silence and a semi-permanent frown, Gad instilled a distance between himself and the crowd that makes his presence all the more alluring. While endearing when a smile shone through, his frequent breaking undid some of his impressive mood-making. 

It was Stella Kappos’ set which split the crowd. Kappos flauts the conventions of standup comedy with enchanting irreverance. She zips quickly between topics, never resting on one idea long enough for the audience to get their bearings. This set was utterly batshit and I loved it.

Rachael Hornbuckle closed the night with a stunningly polished set. Hornbuckle couples an absorbing stage presence with politically-charged quips to lustrous effect. Her final joke about a dermatological patient she once had  – which I’ll refrain from spoiling – will certainly be in contention for best one-liner at this year’s festival.

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Casey Rocket’s first ten minutes are electric. Hurtling from one side of the stage to the other, moving his mic stand, moving his stool, moving his mic stand again. He only breaks his manic back-and-forth to sing brief excerpts from ‘Lips of an Angel’ by Hinder or perform his iconic Crab-man shuffle. It’s frantic. 

When it becomes clear that Rocket is going to attempt to sustain this level of energy throughout the show, problems arise. From this strong opening, the show plateaus. Each joke is a mere blip, all too easily forgotten when he moves on to the next utterly disconnected idea. Maybe if, individually, these were funny enough to function like abstracted one-liners, all would be forgiven – but they aren't.

Rocket’s determination to resist the tropes of standup has led to the creation of a show entirely without structure. There is no sense of building towards something, not so much as a crescendo of laughter. In place of call-backs, he has throw-away lines, repeated up to ten times with diminishing effect. Ultimately, Rocket pursues shock-value over humour, and once you adjust to the shock, there is little else to enjoy.

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Nish Kumar whacks you in the face with his professionalism. Not to say there aren’t some brilliantly silly moments in his show – like when he walks onstage to a version of Kendrick Lamar’s ‘Bitch Don’t Kill My Vibe’ that substitutes "Nish" for "Bitch". But the audience knows they’re in the hands of a consummate comedian from the moment his mile-a-minute monologue begins.

Kumar is impressively well-versed in all things Australian. He is not merely paying lip service to our politics when he talks election with us, he understands the history that created our current context. Beyond politics, he knows that the name “Bryan Johnson” – different spelling notwithstanding – will make most Australians think of ACDC rather than the anti-aging American entrepreneur to whom Kumar is actually referring. 

These details reveal the empathy underscoring Kumar’s furious tirades. Covering the inexcusably bad behaviour of figures like Jordan Peterson, Ricky Gervais and Boris Johnson, Kumar maintains an angered frenzy throughout the show, but his determination to make everything relatable demonstrates considerable care for his audience amid thought-provoking and hilarious political commentary.

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In a show as intricately crafted as a Babushka doll, Chloe Petts proves she is a comedian at the height of her powers. Within the story of a lifelong friendship, forged in the fires of an all girls state school, is the tale of Petts’ troubling encounter with online trolls – and within that is an intimate consideration of identity labels and who best they serve. 

Each layer cracks open to reveal something even more personal than the previous, but Petts’ disarmingly relaxed demeanor keeps the atmosphere light. Through expert crowd work and an entertaining attempt at a Liverpudlian accent, Petts softens the tension around the meaty subjects she contemplates, welcoming the audience into the calm that she herself exudes.

How You See Me, How You Don’t is an emotionally dynamic show from one of the most exciting talents in British comedy.

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Backyard Stories is an event unlike any other on the Festival Club circuit. Every year, host Claudia Nankervis supplies five comedians with a theme and invites them each to tell a story. Historically, the theme’s presence within these stories has ranged between present and barely there. But this, year Nankervis must’ve been cracking her whip behind the scenes because her talent delivered five excellent stories, each exploring the night’s theme of “challenge”.

Lou Wall applied the word to themselves, with a listicle of the ways that their personality and manner have challenged others over the years. Amy Annette considered the culture of body shaming that pervaded her adolescence in the 2000s, reflecting on how it challenged some and left others unscathed. Takashi Wakasugi expressed his deep regret at never having conquered the challenge most important to him; growing a mustache. Anisa Nandaula explained the strange and unjust impact that working at Bunnings had on her love life. Paul Foot spoke about the legal challenge his father mounted against his mother in a childhood-defining custody battle.

Backyard Stories is the one of the festival’s best offerings for seeing comedians outside their comfort zone, in a context where humour and sincerity are given equal footing. 

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The title of Olga Koch’s show is a provocation. The words “Olga Koch Comes From Money” are daring you not to like them. They radiate the same standoffishness as Koch does herself on the show’s poster – shades on, smoking a cigar. 

But once you’re through Koch’s doors, she is anything but standoffish. From the moment she enters the room, trampling on empty seats in order to shake as many hands in the audience as possible, she does her due diligence to connect with the people she’s about to share the next hour with, eliminating any possibility that her show be read as a lecture or, worse, a boast.  

Koch is a born storyteller whose tales are inflected with the political and historical knowledge her wealthy upbringing afforded her. The way she reckons with her privilege is never self-congratulatory but neither – as she well knows – is it relatable. She never misses an opportunity to ridicule herself for having a lived experience that resonates with no one and it’s this self-awareness that makes Koch’s show brilliantly funny. 

Koch demonstrates the greatest care for the audience’s experience of any comedian I’ve seen at this year’s festival. Those with their hackles up will have them firmly brought down by Koch’s hilarious, introspective and evocative storytelling.

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Laura Daniel emerges Stanley Cup-first, declaring upfront the exact kind of femme-centric millennial comedy she has in store for us. Daniel is all sparkles, eyeliner and immaculate hair in her new show – Can You Smell That? Must Be a Queen Going Off! – which, unbelievably, is her debut solo act at MICF. As a member of the beloved musical comedy duo, Two Hearts, Daniel has long been a stalwart of the scene, but this solo hour offers a fascinating glimpse into the comedian’s personal life. 

Daniel begins by sharing her net worth according to Google; a stratospheric figure that she assures us is no reflection of the reality she’s living. Now in her mid-30s, its a discovery that’s sparked some understandable soul-searching. So, throughout the remainder of the show, Daniel evaluates her assets. From her work in New Zealand showbiz to the physique she cuts, Daniel leaves no stone unturned. 

Using everything at her disposal – a backing track, a beautiful singing voice and the ability to first shamelessly with audience members – Daniel has created a wonderfully lively hour of comedy.

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