Phoebe Robertson
Declarations of Love (And Other Useless Things) describes itself as “15+ sketches about love, sex, queerness and rom-coms in 55 minutes.” First shortlisted for the Playwrights b4 25 award in 2020, the show returns to BATS Theatre five years later. For a first-time sketch comedy attendee, the experience was both exhilarating and perplexing—an evening of sharp wit, sincere moments, and occasional narrative whiplash.
The show opens on a film set, where we meet Star Shine, a superhero unfrozen by the fictional ‘Misney’ Corporation. Her dilemma? Choose between being a feminist icon or a brooding anti-heroine. The satire is direct, and the arrival of three male counterparts—each parodying a different heroic archetype—added texture.
But as the sketches unfold, the connective tissue between them begins to fray. The show jumps from genre parodies—a Scottish war monologue, a spy spoof, a hospital drama—to recurring scenes set in a shared flat, where two roommates navigate the banal and the profound. The transitions are abrupt, and the thematic throughline—if there is one—is elusive. With over 15 sketches packed into under an hour, the pacing often feels breathless, leaving little room for reflection.
In 2025, is satire still sufficient when confronting entrenched cultural tropes? A spoof of Fifty Shades of Grey ends not with resolution, but repetition—the billionaire simply calls in the next woman. The show gestures toward critique, but rarely dwells long enough to interrogate or subvert the very stereotypes it lampoons. Is it enough to point and laugh, or should we be imagining what theatre looks like beyond these tropes?
Still, there are moments of real emotional clarity. Emma Maguire and Hamish Boyle, the show’s leads, shine in their physicality and timing. Boyle’s ‘Nice Guy’ monologue and spy antics are particularly well-executed, while Maguire brings nuance to quieter scenes. Their chemistry is most palpable in the flatmate sketches, especially one where they mock the ‘36 Questions to Fall in Love’ experiment. Here, the satire softens, and the sincerity takes center stage.
One scene, set during a staged power outage, is a standout. Lighting designer Ezra Jones-Moki orchestrates a full blackout, followed by a gentle wash of orange and blue light that casts the actors in a dreamy, intimate glow. What we end up with is a hazy, beautiful moment—two flatmates connecting over a powercut. This made for a beautiful, sincere scene that felt fully lived-in. The line “You won’t survive out there,” followed by “Are we surviving here?” lingers long after the lights come up. These quieter scenes offer a glimpse of what the show might have been, had it leaned more into its emotional core.
Ultimately, Declarations of Love (And Other Useless Things) is a mixed bag. It’s clever, funny, and performed with verve, but its structural looseness and thematic scatter leave the viewer grasping for coherence. Perhaps that’s the point. Or perhaps, like love itself, it’s meant to be messy, contradictory, and occasionally difficult to understand.
Either way, it’s a show that leaves you thinking—even if you’re not quite sure what about.
The show opens on a film set, where we meet Star Shine, a superhero unfrozen by the fictional ‘Misney’ Corporation. Her dilemma? Choose between being a feminist icon or a brooding anti-heroine. The satire is direct, and the arrival of three male counterparts—each parodying a different heroic archetype—added texture.
But as the sketches unfold, the connective tissue between them begins to fray. The show jumps from genre parodies—a Scottish war monologue, a spy spoof, a hospital drama—to recurring scenes set in a shared flat, where two roommates navigate the banal and the profound. The transitions are abrupt, and the thematic throughline—if there is one—is elusive. With over 15 sketches packed into under an hour, the pacing often feels breathless, leaving little room for reflection.
In 2025, is satire still sufficient when confronting entrenched cultural tropes? A spoof of Fifty Shades of Grey ends not with resolution, but repetition—the billionaire simply calls in the next woman. The show gestures toward critique, but rarely dwells long enough to interrogate or subvert the very stereotypes it lampoons. Is it enough to point and laugh, or should we be imagining what theatre looks like beyond these tropes?
Still, there are moments of real emotional clarity. Emma Maguire and Hamish Boyle, the show’s leads, shine in their physicality and timing. Boyle’s ‘Nice Guy’ monologue and spy antics are particularly well-executed, while Maguire brings nuance to quieter scenes. Their chemistry is most palpable in the flatmate sketches, especially one where they mock the ‘36 Questions to Fall in Love’ experiment. Here, the satire softens, and the sincerity takes center stage.
One scene, set during a staged power outage, is a standout. Lighting designer Ezra Jones-Moki orchestrates a full blackout, followed by a gentle wash of orange and blue light that casts the actors in a dreamy, intimate glow. What we end up with is a hazy, beautiful moment—two flatmates connecting over a powercut. This made for a beautiful, sincere scene that felt fully lived-in. The line “You won’t survive out there,” followed by “Are we surviving here?” lingers long after the lights come up. These quieter scenes offer a glimpse of what the show might have been, had it leaned more into its emotional core.
Ultimately, Declarations of Love (And Other Useless Things) is a mixed bag. It’s clever, funny, and performed with verve, but its structural looseness and thematic scatter leave the viewer grasping for coherence. Perhaps that’s the point. Or perhaps, like love itself, it’s meant to be messy, contradictory, and occasionally difficult to understand.
Either way, it’s a show that leaves you thinking—even if you’re not quite sure what about.
Phoebe Robertson is a Pākehā writer and editor based in Te Whanganui-a-Tara. She holds a Master of Arts in Creative Writing from Te Herenga Waka — Victoria University of Wellington, where she also completed a BA in Sociology and Theatre. Her work has appeared in Landfall, Takahē, Mayhem, SWAMP, Turbine, and Poetry New Zealand and her nonfiction has been recognised in essay competitions such as the Charles Brasch Young Writers’ Essay Competition.