The first thing working in Bad Bard Bar Show’s favour is the venue. Ivy Bar and Cabaret, with its low ceilings and exposed wooden beams, already looks like somewhere where you half expect someone to spill mead on your shoes. That is, of course, if you ignore the disco balls and the Ricky Martin classic playing. Artificers, a new theatre company making their Fringe debut, lean into this immediately. The room is ready for world-building with them. All they have to do is walk in and start singing about maidens.

And they do.

The show pitches itself as a night of myth, music, mischief and light treason against the king. What it actually becomes is a gleeful exercise in camp. It is a love letter to exaggeration, to performance, to things being ‘too much’ in exactly the right way.

At times it feels like all five performers are in entirely different shows. One is delivering tragedy. Another is deep in absurdist comedy. Someone else appears ready for a fantasy epic. Meanwhile, a genuinely impressive acoustic guitar set is happening like we have wandered into a secret folk concert.

Strangely, it works. The contrast becomes the joke. The performance lives in that refusal to pick a single tone.

Lizzy Burton-Wood keeps the whole thing moving with the confidence of someone who knows that if you commit hard enough, the audience will follow. She shifts the room from chaos to sincerity without making it awkward. When they make the time to create a moment of remembrance for the people of Palestine, it is handled with care and intention. It lands because the show has already made its case that art should speak to what matters. Ngarongonui Mareikura-Ellery reinforces this with a call of Toitū Te Tiriti that is grounded in the whenua.

Speaking of Mareikura-Ellery, I am serenaded and declared a beautiful maiden! It is only the beginning of a night heavy on audience interaction. Mareikura-Ellery has the kind of quick charm that makes people lean forward in their seats. The crowd, especially this beautiful maiden, is visibly smitten, and for good reason.

Damian Tjiptono quietly becomes the glue of the evening. While everyone else embraces theatrical chaos, his musicianship keeps the show from floating off into the void. It is the difference between a party and a very organised party.

Lydia Sainsbury commits fully to the comedy, often choosing a high melody and absolutely nailing it without the safety net of a handheld mic. It becomes a running delight. Her physical comedy is equally sharp. Nothing is half-done.

Viki Moananu plays the jester with a dry confidence that teaches the audience exactly when to cheer and then makes us laugh at ourselves for doing so. There is a musical moment with Sainsbury that is unexpectedly lovely. Just when you think the show is all jokes, it slips you something genuinely melodic.

What makes the night enjoyable is its understanding that camp is not about perfection. It is about commitment. The show knows it is theatrical. It knows it is a little ridiculous. It invites you to enjoy that rather than resist it.

Underneath the medieval jokes and bard energy is something distinctly grounded in Aotearoa. These are performers making work about community, about whenua, about using art to gather people into the same room for a shared bit of nonsense and meaning.

Is it tidy? No. Is it polished to a mirror shine? Also no. But Fringe is often at its best when artists are building something in front of you, when the joy of performance outweighs the need for slickness.

By the end of the night, the room feels less like a bar and more like a very enthusiastic village hall.

Bad Bard Bar Show is funny, a little chaotic, musically strong and proudly theatrical. If you enjoy audience interaction, bold performances and a show that understands the power of being delightfully over the top, it is well worth gathering your party and heading down.

Just be prepared. You may leave with a new title.

Beautiful maiden is mine, but you’re all welcome to try and get one for yourself!

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