Corey Spence
Matthewson has always been a relaxed and friendly performer. He’s never abrasive in his jokes or his demeanour, and he catches himself out when he drops a joke that he himself thinks goes a little too far, using the moment to pivot into a larger jab that generates immensely more attention and cheering from the crowd. He’s never mean-spirited, sometimes low-hanging fruit for comics, and if he punches down, there’s someone or some scenario arguably worse (and more befitting) that also ends up with a stronger punch down. His political comedy comes to mind here. Even when he doesn’t call on the audience to participate, like in the later moments of the set, he’s welcoming and familiar enough for his comedy to feel conversational. It’s almost like we’re catching up after a bit of time apart, old friends moving back into orbit and divulging gossip we think the other will appreciate. It’s a bit of a treat.
In terms of his set, Matthewson serves a diverse supper, ranging from politics and anecdotal tales about his home having been burgled four times since installing cameras to the so-called attempt on his life and ‘unforgettable biscuits’ (not that I want to go into much more detail there). I am certainly his target audience – a politically left queer millennial – but there’s real skill here in how the set is broad but never disconnected and no one in the audience ever seemed to lose their place in Matthewson's comedy journey. Each section of the show streamlines seamlessly into the next, making for a very enjoyable experience and something I would expect from a professional, well-practised comedian. A joke about his new TV that kind-of-but-not-really looks like a large framed artwork when not in use feels a little removed from the ‘squeezed-middle’ experience he discusses early on in the set, but the conflict that comes from his child-aged neighbour alongside it brings the audience back on his side. He knows who the target of the job should be (us, himself, another) and when, which makes for some hilarious jabs. It’s a great blend of specific, yet exaggerated.
This brings me to another of his strengths: misdirection. I have always been impressed and captivated by how effortlessly Matthewson pivots and subverts expectations. Whenever I imagine where his punchline will land, it becomes an unexpected sucker-punch. It speaks to a special and particular control over structure that having a politician’s phone number can so magically segue into the unwillingness of the Auckland Community Facebook page in supporting them to hunt down lost garden ornaments (ostentatious flamingos, by the way) without losing a beat.
He also knows both how to work a crowd and when to stretch his jokes when the laughter is particularly uproarious. He receives the same answer from the entire audience as he discusses how couples claim sides of the bed, and surprised given previous performances have always had someone sit contrarily, he milks it as much as he can before closing the joke with his observations about the commonalities of audience members from previous shows who have. He waits for precisely the right moment until we’ve forgotten a punchline or imagined it to be something completely different.
Some of the jokes might have terrifying origins but Night Terror is a terrific display of Matthewson’s talent. Clever and engaging, he had me on the edge of my seat for the entire hour-long set, always eagerly awaiting the next punchline. His run in the Comedy Festival was short, especially his Wellington season, but I can promise you, he is a comic not to miss. Catch him next time he’s around.