Quadruple Entendre is a comedic delight, showcasing four of Wellington’s top comic talents. The four comics – Lesa Macleod-Whiting, Mary Little, Sandy Burton and Zach Mandeville – complement one another perfectly.  

MC Tui Lou Christie is also a great pairing. She’s an energetic 20-year-old with bags of confidence coupled with the irreverence of Generation Z. As the acts finish, Christie’s return to the stage is welcomed each time – she’s not like any of the other comics, who, in turn, are not like each other.

Quadruple Entendre has a running bit about each comic being like a course of a meal. Christie reads out a statement containing a humorous description of what dish the comics would be and why. There’s some weight to this device as the selection of individuals is perfect, like any good meal.

Macleod-Whiting brings zany, high-energy punch in a slot that covers motherhood, the modern female experience and remarkably astute observations – at times bordering on the hilariously grotesque. Her act is polished, but also has the spontaneity of someone well-versed in working a room.

This is then countered by Little (on second) whose bits about self-loathing, actualised through mundane acts like jogging and painful marketing workshop icebreaker sessions, bring about delayed laughs. The immediate hilarity of Macleod-Whiting gives way to the blunt, biting self-deprecation of Little. It’s a perfect pairing. Fast-paced and buoyant passes the baton to slow, dark introspection, impeccably delivered to maximise shock factor. Laughs mix with groans, which is always the hallmark of excellent dark comedy.

Burton comes on next – lanky, sporting a mullet and dungarees. He starts with a few bits about having quasi-alcoholism, which can’t really misfire in a bar setting at the Fringe on a Saturday night. He starts off funny but not entirely unique. His main stage time, however, is devoted to online recipes and their vast preamble, often the handiwork of wannabe food writers lacking in discernible ability. It’s an old-school meme he makes work by taking the concept into the abstract.

His own versions of ‘recipe preambles’ allow him to showcase his bizarre sense of humour and remarkably well-written material. These mainly comprise him getting wasted and smoking cigarettes with his cat, all delivered in the tone of someone abusing their platform on a recipe website to make clichéd references to Italian summers, when they really should be talking about how, exactly, to make ragout. It’s hilarious and lampoons these food writers perfectly.

Burton is followed by Mandeville, calling himself Wesley Daniels for this show. The final act, he walks on the stage in a tight shirt wearing two ties. He looks pretty funny to begin with, then reveals an American accent with which he delivers deadpan hilarity. His oddball persona is quickly strengthened by excellent delivery and well-written material. Like Burton, he relies on longer sections that are funny for their wording, rather than their production of punchlines.

After a few minutes, he reveals he was the songwriter for Dutch Eurodance outfit Vengaboys. What ensues is an exposition of the song ‘We Like To Party’, a bizarre, nostalgic staple of any Gen-X or Millennial childhood. Mandeville falls in love with a girl, losing her to lung cancer in an earnest description of passionate romance, juxtaposed with inane tidbits from the early 2000s Eurodance scene. It’s totally unique and builds to a very funny finale where he plays the song and mumbles heartfelt interjections over the top.

Throughout his act, he brings about funny realisations. And you think – about how weird the 2000s were, about how the millennium basically ushered in the faceless cultural void of late-stage capitalism, about what Francis Fukuyama called “the end of history” – but you also almost pee your pants. Mandeville kills it, but so do the other three.

Quadruple Entendre is a great meal with perfect pairings. And like all great meals, you remember it as a whole, not for the individual dishes.

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