Juliet Meyers: Raised By Fridge Magnets

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One of the first things Juliet Meyers does to make the audience laugh is ask us to consider the trouble that can be caused by having a Shakespearean reference as a first name. It is one of many subjects, though apparently pedestrian, that Meyers encourages us to look at from a charmingly askew angle, often finding an understated surrealism in mundanity.

Her exploration of the social implications of fridge magnets—certain kinds of which she was banned from having as a child, and which therefore fired her imagination towards elaborate flights of magnet-themed fancy—is actually one of the show's weaker segments, and does not provide the best structure. Meyers is at her funniest when she abandons the confines of that structure and wanders from one topic to another seemingly at random, giving her material a welcome sense of variety. Her best humour is anecdotal, and in her hour-long set, she covers her own experiences with unemployment (utterly relatable), feminism (non-confrontational but sardonically resolute), S&M (entertainingly embarrassing) and daytime radio (quietly enraged).

Unfortunately, few of these promising veins of humour are explored at sufficient length, and while Meyers wins us over on personality alone, so manic and friendly that we're happy to wait for her to reach the punchline, there are numerous lags between the comedic high points. Also, her attempt to find a message to end on feels forced. Nonetheless, Meyers is a spiky, whimsical wit whose natural talent shines through those few quiet patches.