There’s a degree of apprehension that comes with approaching a comedy show entitled My Fat/Sad. I definitely feel it. So does the young woman I overhear on the stairs up to BATS’ Dome, telling her friend, “I hope it’s not a pity party.”

My Fat/Sad has been so named for a reason, and there seems to be a tinge of nervousness amongst the opening night audience in anticipation of a show that, if only through its title, has set out its wares slightly differently from the standard New Zealand Comedy Festival fare. We have little to worry about. My Fat/Sad has all the ingredients for a ‘pity party’ – there’s music, people and moments that are specifically crafted to be pitiable – but the work generally treads the line well, and the whole experience is a hell of a party as a result.

I’m always wary of giving too much content away with comedy shows, so I’ll say only that Uther Dean – My Fat/Sad’s author and performer – covers a huge amount of ground in an hour. He’s proud to profess that “structure is his thing” and to be fair to him there is very little mentioned that isn’t repurposed or reimagined to the enjoyment of his audience.

The show’s main structural device largely works, and although it clearly trips Dean up a couple of times, there is a real pleasure in watching him dig himself out of the holes he has dropped himself in.  

My Fat/Sad is not flawless – one large joke in particular goes down with a bit of a whimper – but it’s clever, its tone is earnest and humble, and it feels like it is nudging at some really important stuff.  Dean’s charm compensates for the risks that his show is clearly taking, guiding us expertly through some pretty personal waters. He’s demonstrably quick-witted enough to reclaim any ground that he loses when the risks that he takes don’t pay off; a quick look around the crowd confirms that the vast majority of people in the room – myself included – are having a fantastic time. 

There’s a telling moment two-thirds of the way into the show, in which Dean speaks directly to its kaupapa as being a chance to demonstrate what his sadness feels like. Against this more rigorous self-imposed metric, My Fat/Sad is only partially successful, although I can only applaud the bravery of a comedy show that has a genuinely empathetic exploration of what sadness feels like as its mission.

Against more generic comedy festival criteria, My Fat/Sad scores highly. It rollicks along with a huge amount of heart, dexterity and risk, and is well worth booking in to see. 

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