Look, I’m not gonna lie to you. It may have been a dozen years since the TV show Lost slithered miserably from our screens but I am still cross. I put years of dedicated viewing into that series, even the weaker moments and endless prevarication. It seemed so compelling – all mysterious hatches, impossible polar bears and monsters made out of smoke. It was enough to keep me going. Until that final, dreadful season – with its vague New-Age-meets-Catholicism conjecture – crawling towards a conclusion that satisfied nobody.

What does that have to do with anything – let alone this show, entitled Them Fatale (a non-binary subversion of that pervasive Noir archetype: the femme fatale – a seductive, dangerous woman)? 

Well, in their press release, James Penwarden specifically mentions the time that Lost truly became lost and asks if anyone out there is still angry about it. I am, clearly. But, going into this performance, I’m not sure how it can be segued into a glorious celebration of queer humour that spans the breadth of non-binary experience and addresses how a bisexual, former-Catholic finds a new spiritual niche for themself.

How does a once-believer fill the emptiness of a departed God? Or – as the religious would apparently have it – of their ‘God-shaped holes’ (a phrase that – as Penwarden points out, entirely accurately – sounds very anatomical). Sexual orientation, gender identity, religion and a rather dated TV show from the soulless void that was the 2000s… How does all that come together?

A previous performance-piece of Penwarden’s was The Loneliest Whale in the World. In that work, Penwarden examined loneliness with humour and grace, using the parable of a mysterious marine-dwelling mammal whose song – at 52HZ – was possibly inaudible to other whales. Thus, they drifted through the currents alone, forever calling for company that never knew to come. Now, Penwarden turns their attention to other themes and to a slightly different medium – stand-up comedy.

The time of the patriarchy has passed. Now is the era of the theytriarchy. Penwarden – themself – has shucked off their assigned-at-birth gender and escaped the binary boundaries. 

James takes the stage, dressed in an outfit so sharp you could shave with it, fedora cocked upon their head. Off to one side of the small stage, an electric guitar awaits – promising that, yes, there will be musical numbers.  

They have the audience under their spell from the outset, and not once do they lose the crowd. All it takes is an opening skit, barely a couple of minutes long, and Penwarden serves a precise, perfectly-pitched blow to all those who challenge the use of non-gendered (they/them) pronouns as singular. Even better – James then salts, spices and sasses their point with a delightful song.

Penwarden is a magnificent performer, at once self-aggrandising (delivered charmingly and with tongue firmly in cheek) and self-deprecating. Wonderful, vinegary turns of phrase and left-field interpretations abound, vaulting from the confessional to the heretical. Who could resist a set that covers bisexuality, trust issues, polyamory, the seductive lure of Jesus Christ (reimagined as a lesbian icon, obviously) and the horrors of a shared toothbrush?  

I don’t wish to splash out spoilers for any of Penwarden’s wonderful wordplay, but I feel it remiss not to mention that the words ‘anal spelunking’ feature in this show. You should probably know that, going in… There’s also a whole bit likening cunnilingus to paying via a glitch-riddled EFTPOS terminal. It’s brilliant.

There is nothing mean-spirited in this performance – although lackluster lovers and deceitful ex-boyfriends do earn some well-judged savaging. There is pathos too, tenderness and self-reflection. James integrates powerful statements about what it is to be gender-queer and makes it emphatically clear that these matters deserve respect and recognition. Strands of loneliness glimmer here and there, recalling the theme of Penwarden’s earlier production. A sense of yearning emerges late in the performance: a moment of unexpected awareness expressed via the gifting of a vegan butter-substitute.

As the show builds towards its conclusion, Penwarden incorporates callbacks to previous set-ups and gags – ultimately culminating in a song that brings those earlier Lost references back into play as a profound and moving parable – one that somehow manages to be both emotional and funny as hell.

The lighting by Zoë Higgins is cleverly-designed and skillfully employed – with shifting shadings in hue adorning the stage throughout. And the Ivy Bar & Cabaret provides the perfect context with its stone walls and draped curtains – an intimate venue well-suited to the gig.

James Penwarden is a sublime comedian and performer, with excellent stage presence and delivery. Their work is unique, bawdy, wonderfully humane and consistently captivating. Them Fatale is one heck of a show.

As an aside, the nods to Noir inherent in this show’s title and publicity photo (costume designed by Amira El Orfi) are inspired. Noir fiction is one of the most gendered of genres. The men are always jaded, grim creatures – scowling through cigarette smoke – with violence in their pasts but nobility in their hearts. Women, on the other hand, are mythologised to the point of fetishism: mysterious, vulnerable and possibly filled with ill-intent, forever pouting in soft focus. These are deep-rooted dynamics, exhausted from over-use; black and white as the film stock these flicks are typically shot on.  

It is enjoyable to watch these tropes be toyed-with, even if that isn’t really the intent. Penwarden gives a different reason for the show’s title – one that will linger with you… 

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