I always have to scrounge around on the floor looking for my jaw after watching Wet Soup.

The brainchild of Wellington legend, Joel Luscombe, the show is set up as a variety of different acts, each no longer than ten minutes, most no longer than five. They are all completely mental. In one scene, you’re watching a pretty clean Armando based off an online review, and the next, you’re pulling your legs away from the floor as a wave of water floods off the stage and into the audience. Even with the prepared menu of nonsense provided, you’re never quite sure what to expect.

And that’s Wet Soup’s biggest strength.

There’s a spectrum in improv that starts at grounded, truthful realism and ends at seeing how many bites of a lasagna topper a performer can eat before she inevitably guffaws it onto the stage in pieces. Wet Soup somehows yo-yos between the two extremes, without ever making the audience feel the whiplash that this sort of movement would be expected to beget. You’re never prepared for what’s next, but when it arrives, you’re too busy laughing to notice the shift in tone.

The cast is a delight, fourteen people strong if you include the tech (and you should, they’re excellent). With a cast this size, it’s difficult to fit everyone in and give each performer a solid block of minutes, but by the end of it, you’re familiar with all of them and you’re begging to see more.

Aaron Douglas brings his signature noisy energy, words launching from inside him as if he’s purging his darkest thoughts from his soul. Dianne Pulham grasps each role she takes on and never lets go, resulting in a committed, captivating series of performances that draw you into the scene and hold you there. Jenae Ryan seeks delight in her shyness, an endearing posture that always makes the audience root for her.

When it comes to classic comedy gaffs, Kipling Davies-Colley is always there to deliver a one-liner that punches straight through the core of the scene. Karl Crofskey digs deep into some incredibly absurd offers, opting to say something hilarious now, and maybe justify it later if he’s got time. For the music-lovers, Matt Jaden Carroll aims to ruin your day with a mischievous cutting of beloved pieces by one note. It’s the opposite of ASMR.

Mo Munn is phenomenal as both a performer and a janitor, cleaning up both scenes and the stage with quick thinking and large towels. Rachel Anastasi-Marais is criminally underused but is always a bubbly, supportive improvisor when she’s on-stage. As if to carry the entire LGBTQ+ agenda on his back, Ralph Hilaga detonates an atomic bomb of queer humour in every scene he’s in, even bringing his beautiful singing to the grand finale.

Look no further than Theresa Curtis-Smith for your physical humour content as she convincingly weaves her toes and heels to fully convince us of a sock puppet’s humanity. Tristram Domican takes control of his scenes, guiding his fellow performers into the abyss of insanity he’s always got prepared for them. Torben Klausen’s deadpan delivery of every single line gets me with its content; I’ve never seen a version of Hitler so blasé. His long-term improv partner, Zed Moore rounds out the on-stage performers with an electric stage presence that captivates our focus in a flurry of loud, proud roles.

Finally, the tech, Felix Uallach, is a blessing in the corner at the back of the room, expertly transitioning between each scene, and keeping hype up every time there’s an empty stage.

Oh my god, that is so many people.

A production like Wet Soup takes the minds of many in a regular show. In the Best of Wet Soup, everyone should be here. Everyone deserves to be here. Each one of these performers is owed kudos for the fluidity of their sets and the electricity in their chemistry. They’re all up there, having the time of their lives and we, the audience, are lucky enough to see it. If it were an empty room, they’d still be enjoying themselves just as much and it’s that camaraderie between the cast that causes them to sell out.

It’s a reminder of what performance is.

Every scene is perfectly curated and directed to the extent that each one belongs to someone. These bits could only have been conceived by the people playing them on-stage. Wet Soup have essentially designed and built a list of games and they’re the ones who get to play them. Nobody else can replicate what they do. It’s categorically and euphorically theirs.

A third season has been promised. I can’t wait to drop my jaw again.

Disclosure: As a somewhat active member of the Wellington performing arts community, I am quite familiar with some of the performers in this show.
Having said that, I am not a liar, and there is zero bias in my reviews, shut up.

Also, tickets were provided to me for free by the production. Literally changes nothing, though.