If you know Dylan Moran from his turn as the drunken and grumpy bookseller Bernard Black from the early-naughts British comedy Black Books, you might’ve wondered how similar the comedian is to his character. If Moran’s latest show is anything to go by, the answer is very; his 80-minute set is packed with nihilism, self-loathing and sharp observations.
The show may be titled We Got This, but that’s not because the Irish misanthrope has turned a new leaf to tour with motivational material. In fact, it’s quite the opposite: after ambling onto the stage ten minutes past showtime, it’s immediately clear that Moran has been in a bit of a dark place in his life lately. He highlights a few contributing factors, namely a recent divorce from his wife of 22 years, turning 50, the ups and downs of the pandemic and his choice to get back on the sauce after a few years of being a teetotaler.
Moran doesn’t dwell on these personal struggles for long, though. Instead, he pivots to crowd work and probes audience members about where they live, if they like it, if it’s where they want to be and - if not - if their ideal suburb is at least in view. In the vastness of Hamer Hall, it’s difficult to hear what the interrogated subject is saying. Still, Moran’s rapid-fire line of questioning is hilarious and demonstrative of the quick-wittedness he’s known for.
He deftly works his way through bits on topics like gender (proclaiming he doesn’t give a f*** about what’s in anyone’s pants and it’s weird if you do), Brexit, his disdain for Peter Dutton and jests about how hard it is to be a white, middle-class and middle-aged man. It’s an intelligent and insightful mix of the mundane and absurd, peaking with a surreal sketch about a hypothetical road trip between a few European countries.
At one point, he finally addresses the keyboard that’s been on stage with him the whole time, but not to confess that he’s spent the last few years becoming a piano prodigy. Instead, in what feels like a fever dream, he turns on a pre-programmed bass line, begins singing and plunks a jazzy tune.
Unfortunately, there’s a marked lack of cohesion and energy throughout the two-part set, especially compared to Moran’s other shows from the last decade. The first half of the show felt far more polished than the second, and as time went on, Moran got seemingly more distracted, often losing his train of thought or struggling to make his way through a story. These factors lent the show an unfinished quality, but when he did get through his prepared material, it was well worth the wait, and there is plenty here to laugh at.
Before sodding off, he continues his tradition of trying a new Australian snack upon his visits here. From beneath a silver cloche, he unveils the signature treat hidden under a silver platter: a vanilla slice. Sadly, he absolutely hated it and agreed that the nickname ‘snot block’ is fitting, but it remains a surprisingly sweet show of affection to his audiences Down Under.