by Laura Ferguson
“You got it? I don’t want to see this on Twitter. I don’t want to see this on Facebook. No Instagram. Nothing. Unfollow me, actually, block me.” Acaster hilariously drills into us, pointing a finger to exaggerate his point. The room erupts with laughter. My neighbour slaps his knee, the woman behind me guffaws until she wheezes and I’m trying not to buckle too much with giggles. And that concludes the first half of Acaster’s show.
Cold Lasagne Hate Myself 1999 is a show in which Acaster talks about the worst year of his life and a large section of this discusses a year that was not the worst, but created the funniest set of circumstances he has ever personally had the privilege to experience. Which I am not allowed to talk about. Acaster is absolutely correct though, it is a comedic gold mine that Acaster has been hoarding and perfecting for years before unleashing on the world.
Acaster is an incredible artist. He makes us laugh then analyses our laughter and compares it with other countries. He speaks about the truths of our culture and of the cultures of other places. He shish kabobs New Zealanders with a spooky accuracy and ribs us about our affinity for being humble throughout the night. We laugh a lot since we know it is true and I’ve never thought about it really but Acaster shows how prevalent this particular trait is ingrained in us. From our relationship with New Zealand’s perception in the world to what we recommend most at Te Papa, Acaster shows he knows his audience well and capitalises on it in a remarkable fashion.
To be honest, Acaster veers off course from what Cold Lasagne Hate Myself 1999 usually is, but I love this quality. Acaster is a comic that is funny on the fly, not just through careful scripting, though both variations are side-splittingly hilarious. He brings up subjects that should be talked about more, like the state of his mental health during his worst year and through a prank illustrates examples of how not to act when someone is in a dark space. It is wonderful, and I love every second.
The show ends a bit late but who cares! More minutes of Acaster is time well spent and although his show is sold out for the rest of his time here, I can always watch his Netflix special again.
James Acaster’s Cold Lasagne Hate Myself 1999 is unfortunately sold out for the rest of the Comedy Festival.