Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

Entirely distinctive, with bizarrely conceived and executed shows, Laser Kiwi continue to forge an inexplicably successful path, balancing dazzling circus skills and so-so knockabout sketches.

In an ideal canvas venue, with more tech bells and whistles than in previous years, brothers Degge and Zane Jarvie and Zane's partner Imogen Stone have an attuned chemistry. Stone is the showstopping acrobatic talent, tolerant of her boyfriend's juvenile tendencies, while Degge is the once-removed oddball and third wheel. However, the trio perhaps don't explore their unbalanced, slightly incestuous relationship enough.

With the catch-all, meaningless pledge to be a celebration of ‘ideas, good and bad’, the show opens with Stone balancing precariously upon a pair of DJ turntables, less a gymnastic flex than an introduction to the throbbing dance tunes accompanying many of Laser Kiwi's set pieces. Whether snaking up and down a rope in elegant contortions or twirling at high speed in the air, her interludes are invariably the highlights of the New Zealanders' shows, injecting a bit of pizzazz whenever a sketch has failed to catch fire.

The Jarvies prove themselves excellent jugglers, adding the mild peril of Degge moving up and backward through the room, in the aisle between the audience. Elsewhere, he shows supreme balance on a dangerous bicycle stunt too. And yet a PG-variation on the kind of ping pong ball trick spoken of as infamous in Bangkok is repeatedly fluffed.

Never approaching the absurdist comic rhythms of Tim Vine's pen-behind-the-ear failures, it prompts the question of how many low-stakes mistakes are permissible for circus performers, while being emblematic of the unresolved issue at the heart of Laser Kiwi. Can slick, highly skilful and conditioned athletes performing showy, ta-da moments also nail being bumbling, self-deprecating clods?

Certainly, a recurring charades skit in which Degge affects frustration with the prompted audience is laboured in the extreme. His brother's unrepentant habit of quoting a particular meme ad infinitum, against the repeated wishes of his colleagues, tips from faux-irritating to genuinely testing. And a deliberately anti-climatic routine that pays off later casts doubt on the wisdom of the money spent on it.

The trio barely follow through with their giant lie detector wheeze. And what to make of an ending that nods to Leonard Cohen, that most dryly witty of songwriters, but then delivers a saccharine take-home message of the most sentimental whimsicality?

As a production, with upbeat visuals, music, physical dexterity and exertion, it's hard to dispute that Everybody Knows offers something for everyone. Purely judged as comedy, however, it's underwhelming, with the sketches damned by comparison to the circus feats.

Review date: 13 Aug 2025
Reviewed by: Jay Richardson
Reviewed at: Assembly George Square