Spring arrived in Tauranga with a full house, plenty of laughter and one rather unfortunate broken bell.

On Saturday 5th September, Honest Liars returned to the 16th Ave Theatre for another evening of improvised comedy, and this time the theatre wasn’t just full—it was filled to capacity. Even better, for the first time, more tickets had been sold in advance than there were walk-ins on the night.

Perhaps people are learning that leaving an Honest Liars ticket until the last minute is becoming a risky business!

It was also lovely to see so many familiar faces among the audience. People who had been to previous shows were returning for another dose of unscripted silliness, alongside newcomers who were about to discover that at an Honest Liars show, nobody—not even the performers—knows what’s going to happen next.

And what better way to herald the arrival of spring?

The evening opened with ‘Objections’, the fast-moving game where players must argue their case until somebody objects and takes over the floor. The audience suggestion was one of life’s great domestic controversies: should the toilet seat be left up or down?

What followed was hardly a sensible discussion of bathroom etiquette.

The arguments wandered through household toilets, bidets, toilets on planes and even criminal activities before someone pointed out that toilet seats are, apparently, binary—they can exist anywhere within the range of fully up to fully down.

We’re not entirely convinced that’s what binary means, but this is improv. Facts are occasionally sacrificed in the pursuit of a good laugh.

The enthusiasm wasn’t confined to the players, either. At the end of one game, our MC brought proceedings to a close by hitting the bell with such gusto that he broke it.

That’s commitment.

‘Pocket Note’, a regular Honest Liars favourite, transported everyone to a maternity ward, where a soon-to-be father appeared rather more concerned about playing Candy Crush and getting to the game than the imminent arrival of his child. His helpful suggestion to the mother was, essentially, that she hurry things along because he had tickets.

Enter the doctor, who was apparently willing to assist in speeding up the baby’s arrival so Dad could make it to his game.

Into this already questionable medical situation came the audience-written pocket notes. “The apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” “It’s raining me,” “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for,” and “It’s running a lot better” all appeared at beautifully timed moments.

That’s the joy of ‘Pocket Note’. The performers have no idea what they’re about to pull from their pockets, yet somehow the most random phrases can sound as though they were written specifically for the scene.

Next came ‘The Dating Game’, bringing with it the usual collection of people you probably wouldn’t find on your average dating app.

The contestant, gloriously named Toyota Caravan, had three potential dates to choose from: a sewer diver, someone convinced they were the Tooth Fairy, and someone who believed they were a magic carpet capable of transforming into a submarine.

You know—the usual Saturday-night dating pool.

By asking each potential date three questions, Toyota managed to work out their peculiar identities. Whether any of them were considered suitable long-term relationship material is perhaps another matter entirely.

Then came ‘Civil War Letters’, and a simple audience suggestion—taking out the night basket—provided the starting point for a correspondence between Colonel Joshua Humperdink and his beloved Marianne.

In his first letter, the Colonel assured Marianne that he was surviving the war but had made an unfortunate discovery: wicker isn’t waterproof. Tired of wet feet, he had solved the problem by inventing a porcelain chamber pot.

A touching wartime innovation.

Unfortunately for Colonel Humperdink, Marianne’s reply revealed that she had a similar chamber pot back home. Even more unfortunately, Farmer Timothy had been visiting and showing her how to use it.

As the letters travelled back and forth, Farmer Timothy seemed to be spending an alarming amount of time with Marianne. The Colonel’s suspicions grew, the correspondence became increasingly fraught, and romance finally gave way to divorce.

From wicker baskets to marital collapse in a matter of minutes. Improv really does know how to move a story along.

Here’s a snippet of the story of the night basket.

There were plenty more games and laughs throughout the evening, helped enormously by an audience willing to throw out excellent suggestions and to become part of the fun. That’s one of the things that makes live improv so different from other forms of comedy. The audience isn’t simply watching the show—it helps create it.

The night finished on a high with ‘Puppets’, where two audience members came on stage to physically control the players’ movements. Judging by the fun they were having, being handed temporary control of an Honest Liar is possibly more entertaining than it ought to be.

Finally came ‘Twitch’, bringing the evening’s high jinks to a suitably energetic conclusion.

And then it was over.

Another Honest Liars show, another theatre full of laughter and another collection of completely ridiculous stories that had never existed before that evening—and will never happen in quite the same way again.

That’s the magic of improv. You can arrive knowing absolutely nothing about what you’re going to see and leave having witnessed toilet-seat philosophy, maternity-ward mayhem, a submarine masquerading as a magic carpet, and the sad collapse of a Civil War romance over a porcelain chamber pot.

Spring has officially arrived in Tauranga.

And apparently, it’s slightly unhinged.
Thanks to:

Book your tickets for the next show and join the players for loads of laughs.

1^st Saturday of every month.
16th Ave Theatre.
16th Avenue, Tauranga.
Show Starts: 7.30 p.m.
Licenced bar available.