omedical Pierre Novellie has a problem. As he explains at the beginning of his show Why Can’t I Just Enjoy Things? he feels that everything in life is six out of ten. Or three stars. Fortunately, there is no problem with his show, which is a whopping eight out of ten. Definitely four stars.
At first glance, this set is a standard roll call of relatable ready-made comedy pet peeves. People who use “crying laughing” emojis when they like something. Spectators chewing and crunching on too many noisy snacks in the theater. While some might say his complaint about the latter, while quite justified, is actually with the come who sell crisps and cracking plastic bags.
Novellie takes this nag and doesn’t just walk away with it, he runs an entire marathon, trying to pinpoint exactly why things like spices are getting his goat in Belgium. He investigates how a dispute breaks out over the relative merits of ketchup and mayonnaise during a romantic getaway, rather distracting him from enjoying the pleasures of Used.
As the anecdotes unfold, we begin to get a hunch that what feels like normal behavior to him might be something more important. Why is there no middle ground between overthinking and being as empty as Homer Simpson? Why is he so obsessed with tank trivia and the salinity of marine life?
Novellie has a degree in Anglo-Saxon, Norse and Celtic studies from Cambridge, so may not be as airheaded as he claims when it comes to being comically creative. One minute he’s likening his puffy eyes in the morning to spiky Ferrero Rochers, elsewhere he’s reflecting on Charles Dickens’ Christmas fixation and making jokes about those in power in North Korea.
The tightly written script ensures that the laughs keep coming, even when the subject is serious. Growing up in Johannesburg, he was stunned to learn that English children were being told to eat their fish fingers because there were starving Africans who needed them. Who were these Africans? Should he post his leftover cod to them immediately?
Novellie is the confident, well-dressed storyteller in every way. You can imagine him presenting a BBC Home Service classical music program in the 1950s, which provides a nice contrast to his lurid account of what goes on in the urinals of a renowned Berlin bondage club.
As the show reaches its final stretch, there’s a pleasing conclusion that wraps things up nicely. For a piece that’s all about the artist’s inability to enjoy things, this is a remarkably enjoyable outing. Novellie may not be a fan of it, but this clearly justifies a handful of its dreaded crying laughing emojis.
Soho Theater, until February 8; sohotheatre.com