Elsa Couvreur stands at a lectern at Gryphon Theatre with a laptop and a calm, almost academic composure. The title is doing a lot of work. It is blunt. It is searchable. It reads like a forum tag.

The show begins as a lecture. It stays a lecture. But it is also something stranger.

Couvreur tells us that during the first Covid lockdown she made her solo work The Sensemaker available online. A short nude section from that performance was clipped and redistributed, recontextualised and dehumanised, without her consent. It spread through corners of the internet that specialise in women who appear embarrassed. The title of this new piece is deliberately pointed in that direction. She knows exactly who it might attract. That tension hums in the background all night.

The comments are read aloud by text-to-speech software. The robotic voices are eerily neutral, almost polite, as it delivers fetishised commentary and unsolicited analysis. It becomes a co-star in the room. There is something grimly comic about it. The mechanical tone strips the words of bravado and exposes how repetitive and small they are.

In The Sensemaker, an automated voice also features prominently. Here, other synthetic voices intrudes.

The humour carries the show. Couvreur is dry and precise. She knows when to let the absurdity breathe and when to cut it short. She involves the audience lightly, drawing us into the rhythm of her investigation. There are moments where the room laughs loudly at something that, on paper, is deeply uncomfortable. That shared laughter feels less like mockery and more like recognition.

She speaks about the endless process of filing takedown notices. About the strange cycle of searching for copies of her own body online. The tone is measured. The effect is sharp.

There is also playfulness. At one point she hints that perhaps, just perhaps, it might be satisfying to tempt those who have taken and recontextualised her work to try the same trick again. To let the algorithms do their thing. To lay a trap in plain sight. The audience catches on. It is a small, mischievous spark. The internet is its own folklore. We are no strangers to love, Couvreur knows the rules and so do I.

What makes the piece land is its restraint. It does not dramatise the harm for spectacle. It does not overexplain. It trusts the audience to understand what is at stake. The title promises something explicit. The show delivers something smart.

Embarrassed Naked Female (this show contains nudity) is part of NZ Fringe at Gryphon Theatre. It is darkly funny and sharply aware of how visibility works online. If you are drawn in by the title, you might want to ask yourself why. If you are drawn in by the ideas, you will leave thinking about them.

Either way, she is several steps ahead.

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