Melbourne International Comedy Festival 2025 reviews

If you’ve ever seen stand-up and wondered if the comedian’s perfectly timed quirky anecdotes are too good to be true, then Lou Wall's Breaking the Fifth Wall will validate your suspicions, but also probably give you trust issues. Even though Wall clearly warns they’ll lie throughout the show, they gleefully manage to dupe their audience over and over, aided by a rapidly paced powerpoint laden with sneaky photoshop and AI. Wall’s performance is equally slick, witty and unhinged – and always hilarious. As they reveal more and more of their deceit, it becomes apparent that Wall isn’t simply delighting in the audience’s gullibility, but making a point that the truth never gets in the way of a good story. 

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“If you know anyone who likes weird shit, send them along,” Garry Starr says as he closes his show Classic Penguins. Weird is an understatement. In fact, this is a night of theatrical firsts: watching a man cram as many Penguin Classics into one performance – all while fighting grapes, chugging a bottle of tomato juice and bodyboarding through the crowd. Oh, and he’s naked the whole time. It’s chaotic brilliance: tightly choreographed, wildly original and relentlessly funny.
For fans of absurdist theatre, it’s unmissable. And if you're in it for the literary references – well, you’ll probably still love it.

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Seroquel is a wonder drug, or as non-binary comic Scout Boxall describes it: “the kind of prescription which gets you off a murder charge”. In God’s Favourite, Boxall proves they truly are a divinity among Australia’s comedy industry. Sharp, witty and biting – this is a sinfully good hour of comedy which transcends the regular tropes to deliver a poignant mediation on themes of mental health and queer identity. On what was one of their most harrowing nights in recent memory, Boxall found themselves stuck in regional Victoria without medication, sliding further down a slippery slope of psychosis. Dark material, but in the hands of this comic, it's turned into lightness, joy and pure gold. To call God’s Favorite purely comedy though would be reductive. It works with all the machinations of theatre, to elevate Boxall’s clearly natural ability to spin yarns and speak truth to power. 

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Gillian Cosgriff has a lot of worries. That's the general consensus of the award-winning comedian's show Fresh New Worries – an hour of hilarity that effortlessly weaves crowd participation, cheeky tunes and niche Millennial-coded references (listen out for mentions of Bardot and Clippy from Microsoft that genuinely had me gasping). Cosgriff uses a Pandora's Box of concerns – filled with the audience's genuine anxieties written on pieces of paper – to launch into spiels and songs covering everything from billionaires, the dangers of the algorithm and Big Mouth Billy Bass. (Yes, really. And yes, it all makes sense by the end.) As someone who loves a good spiral sesh, the set was reassuring, validating and uplifting all at once. And at least worrying about the state of Aussie comedy is not something I have to stress about anymore – not with Cosgriff leading the charge.

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She’s a feminist, fembot and fully fledged superstar. Elouise Eftos’ show Australia’s First Attractive Comedian packs a punch thanks to her phenomenal stage presence. A trailblazer in her own right, Eftos is a popstar of a comedian. She showcases acting training (did somebody say WAAPA?), dazzling dance routines and a litany of outrageous characters, culminating with a final choreographed routine that is Superbowl ready. Her confidence is palpable, and she has the audience in the palm of her hand from the minute she walks out in a Sharon Stone-inspired cold open. A grin after every joke lets you know it’s all tongue in cheek.

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Geraldine Quinn first performed as part of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival 20 years ago. To mark the milestone, she serves up a show which is nothing short of an occasion. Bastard Joy details the highs and lows of being a festival artist, and there’s so much to love about this tight 45-minute show. Part cabaret and part spoof documentary, Quinn takes no prisoners here – each joke packs a powerful punch. Her vocals, dynamite as ever, are matched by the intimate setting, which results in a spectacle that raised the roof off the Motley Bauhaus. Certainly not short on the absurd, Quinn channels her inner club kid with masterful arrangements further elevated by costumes created by Florian Wild. A wild ride for these darkest of times led by a performer at the top of her game.

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“Adopt a horse, kick a jockey," says Elf Lyons in Horses – aka the newest mantra we as an audience will take as we gallop through life. Horses is utterly captivating. The precision with which Lyons embodies each moment of the show is remarkable. More than comedy, this show is a moving experience through the art of theatre, mime and clowning – all direct from the horse's mouth. That's right, an entire show performed by a horse. “Howww?” we hear you neigh. Well, this show truly must be seen to be understood. Featuring everything from raucous laughter to soft tears, Horses is a warm invitation to embrace the sense of play we lose as adults.

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Desiree Burch may have retired her dominatrix boots, but she’s still cracking the (comedy) whip – this time, on perimenopause, middle age and the myth of having it together. Equal parts TED Talk and stand-up, Burch delivers rapid-fire insights that will both terrify and thrill Gen Z and Millennials about what’s to come. There’s chatter about bad knees and hormone swings, but with her ferocious wit and energetic stage presence, the material hits home no matter your age (or pelvic floor situation). Fans of her earlier work will find her gloriously evolved: raw, clever and unapologetically loud. Being forty-something has never looked so chaotic – or so funny.

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As far as comedy show openings go, it's hard to beat Charlene Kaye's grand entrance: an epic electric guitar solo standing atop the seats in the front row. It sets the pace for a deeply revealing and darkly funny hour of laughs, during which Kaye explores the complex relationship she has with her mother, Lily (aka a "tiger mother" and "unintentional gay icon"). Kaye is a powerhouse storyteller, using music and a Powerpoint presentation to share how despite her huge success as an actual rockstar (seriously, her resume is epic), her mother remains unimpressed. There are so many genuine, laugh-out-loud moments in this set – the many Photoshopped images of Lily are truly iconic – but it's the emotional sucker-punch reveal at the end that leaves a lingering impact, long after the last recorder notes of 'My Heart Will Go On' finish.

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Airports are navy blue and Ellen DeGeneres wishes she was yellow. I might be colour blind, but I know these statements are true. I also know that only Julio Torres, the mastermind behind the absurdist HBO series Fantasmas, could pull off an hour-long comedy show by stringing together eclectic colour-based assessments like these. In his conversational deadpan tone, Torres finds a theory for everything from public nudity to Real Housewives in the colour spectrum. Think of it as anthropological synaesthesia; an academic treatise pulled from an acid trip. It’s not as slick as 2019's The Cruelty of Shapes, or as stylish, but it’ll only get better over the course of its short run. And Torres’s self-aware genius shines just as bright in his mistakes. I can say, having witnessed his rainbow insanity, that it’s ultimately a pretty green experience.

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While effortlessly belting riffs in cleverly written original songs, Jude Perl manages to walk the precarious tightrope of speaking out without actually saying much at all. At first, Jude Perl Tries To Finish A Sentence seems like a fun, quirky show about the comedian’s battle with indecisiveness, peppered with intermittent anecdotes about the perils of being a wedding singer. But each time she sits down at the piano to play another witty, Minchin-esque tune, Perl unfurls a deeper meaning behind her inability to make a definitive statement. But so subtle is her messaging that you’d be forgiven for simply enjoying the catchy comedic tunes – with highlights like ‘Nobody Loves You When You Love Everybody Loves Raymond’. In spite of a more serious undertone, Perl’s goofy, self-deprecating humor keeps the laughs coming. Her ultimate statement is a timely one, and the musical arc of the show finishes in a place that offers a small beacon of hope.

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A critic has two fears: stable income and being asked to participate in a show. So, when the award-winning Josh Glanc turned to me as the go-to ‘victim’ throughout his subversive 55-minute set, it suddenly transformed from stand-up to personalised exposure therapy. Fresh off the back of a near-worldwide tour, Glanc lands in his home city armed with a pre-set soundboard and a midriff so high it reads like a necklace. Glanc's set isn’t about telling jokes, per se. With a collection of loosely connected sketches, stories and musical interludes, he turns in on the very formula of comedy itself. He’ll reprimand you (or me, as it turns out) for not wearing a lanyard and kick you out of the theatre. Or he’ll hold you hostage until you find the best deals for a Domino pizza underscored by music you’d find in a '60s neo-noir. It’s confusing – and for some in the audience, maddening – but utterly enthralling. Though a bit rattled by a noticeably dry audience, Glanc’s anti-comedy comedy is fine-tuned, creative, and always self-aware. Every bomb, mishap, failed bit or ad lib is perfectly curated and expertly delivered. Sit in the front row, I dare you.

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One of Australia’s most unlikely celebrities, Geraldine Hickey loves a good meander. Those who have been following her meteoric rise to fame will be pleased to know that her recent sojourn in the South African jungle hasn’t changed her too much. She still has a fear of big hairy spiders and her wit is as dry and acerbic as ever. Meander takes many twists and turns, landing on successive points of reflection. It never delves too deeply, but makes its point all the same. It’s a delightful show and it’s great to see Hickey claim her rightful place at the top of the pecking order. This show is like a big warm hug from your favourite (undeniably queer) aunty, with Hickey breaking down doors one at a time via her undeniable stage presence, unique physical language and talent as a born storyteller. 

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In Amy Gledhill's Aussie debut, Make Me Look Fit On The Poster, the Yorkshire comedian will have you chucking undies on stage in the first five minutes and crying in the last. But that’s putting things too dramatically. We definitely begin Gledhill's award-winning show by showering her in knickers. It’s the perfect introduction to a show packed to the brim with bawdy anecdotes and tongue-in-cheek self-reflections. Fans of Gledhill will be unsurprised by her warmth and charm. Her rich storytelling, easy charisma and expert physical control make every moment – whether horny nail salon trip or failed flirtation on a high ropes course – magnetic. When she ends with a simple but insightful reflection on self-esteem, you’re with her: simultaneously crying and grinning ear-to-ear. It’s confessional comedy at its light-hearted best. 

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If you’re brave enough to sit in the front couple of rows at a show called The Splash Zone, be aware – in this instance, you won’t be sprayed with water, but there’s a high chance you’ll be subject to audience participation. Zoë Coombs Marr reckons this isn’t something to fear though – she thinks we should all be talking to each other a whole lot more. Coombs Marr puts her own spin on crowd work, smoothly incorporating audience input around off-the-cuff clever quips. The rest of her slot is what could only be described as stream of consciousness stand-up – fittingly, she does flag her ADHD diagnosis early on. She ducks and weaves through rambling tangents, linking hilarious anecdotes from her own life, interspersed with sharp musings on misinformation and the current political climate. At the end of an hour filled with laughter, a sincere ending leaves us with an understanding of why it’s now more important than ever to keep talking. 

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Ever wondered what the secret to happiness is? So has Tom Cashman. In 2 Truths, 1 Lie and 17 Slight Exaggerations, the co-host of Taskmaster Australia shares how he's been focused on "optimising my life" after becoming "obsessed with happiness". There's wholesome heckling (early on in the set, someone yells out "you're worthy!", much to Cashman's delighted surprise); hilarious anecdotes about embarrassing sauna sessions with the New Zealand All Blacks, pelvic pain and using the Coles self-serve check-out to snap a free passport photo; and sneaky Wordle reveals (consider this your reminder to complete it beforehand). Cashman is endearingly awkward and charming – this is an hour of silly comedy that is guaranteed to boost your happiness levels.

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From the moment Jessica Barton aka Mary Floppins skated onto stage and busted out choreography worthy of an arena spectacular, she had the audience mesmerised. With a natural stage presence and charisma, she didn't even need to say anything to have everyone in stitches. No one is spared from helping with the literal dirty laundry sprawled around the stage, but it feels more like a collective piece of fun than any type of audience prodding or poking. Plus, Barton's weaving of a touching story of personal triumph in amongst the clowny comedy of the set elevates this show to a knock-out. If this is how dirty laundry feels, we don't want to be clean.

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Coming from sketch comedy trio Aunty Donna, a group that has amassed a fervent cult following, it would’ve been easy for Broden Kelly to fill his first foray into solo work with references to old sketches and inside jokes. But instead, Kelly’s debut show proves his comedy chops in his own right, with sprinklings of the signature silliness that he’s known for. Yabusele explains his origin story through four hilarious tales from his formative years, from being practically raised by Northland Shopping Centre to starring in a Coles ad. It’s packed with Aussie references that might seem a bit niche – unless you grew up in the early 2000s – in which case they’ll have you bent over cackling. With extra shows added onto a sold-out season, it seems like this could be the start of an exciting new chapter for Kelly.

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This is the trash the world needs. Melbourne-based comedy trio Sugar Bits seamlessly blend ridiculous characters, musical numbers and sharp comedy in a show that is as bitingly satirical as it is silly. The three sketch comedians keep up an incredible level of energy and absurdism through the set, with each of them adding such specific facial expressions and movements to every character that it makes it difficult to know where to look. We vote to keep Sugar Bits out of the bin. Embrace the weird and check it out at Motley Bauhaus, hosting some of the greatest clown comedy of the festival.

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Before Adam Kay’s 2017 memoir, This Is Going To Hurt, sold 5.4 million copies and became a critically acclaimed BBC series, it was a one-man show at London’s Soho Theatre. Eight years later, and it arrives in Melbourne still as poignant and funny as ever. For an hour it’s just Kay, a podium transformed into a pillbox, a keyboard sitting on two pill bottles and nine years’ worth of hilariously heartbreaking anecdotes from his time as an obstetrician. Kay reads out stories from the book in-between musical interludes: an ode to menopause or a Beatles hit transformed into an anthem for bleeding bladders. He’s charming and quick-witted, but at the end of the show you feel him scrambling to make a poignant anecdote into a teachable moment relevant for an Australian audience. It’s a fun night, but not painless. 

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Guy Williams takes aim at free speech warriors with a sharp premise and a very funny title, but the show doesn't always follow through. Big themes like privilege, mental health and public backlash are touched on briefly, but a juicy real-life story gets a little lost in the structure. Still, there are highlights: a hilarious voice recording with his parents and a clever bit about stolen land hint at a tighter, bolder show beneath the surface. With charm and self-deprecation, Williams remains engaging throughout – like hanging out with your most blunt friend. It’s fun, if not quite the takedown it could be.

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