Akmal - My Family and Other Criminals (MICF 2026)

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https://www.comedyfestival.com.au/browse-shows/akmal-my-family-and-other-criminals/

Date Reviewed: 02/04/2026

There’s something instantly familiar about sitting down to an Akmal Saleh show. 

My Family and Other Criminals at times feels like being cornered at a family gathering—some cousin or brother insisting, “You’ll never believe this one,” before unravelling a tale so outrageous you’re not entirely sure where the truth ends and the embellishment begins. Akmal, of course, assures us he’s telling the truth.

Having been raised Catholic, I found myself especially attuned to some of the threads he weaves throughout the show. When he dips into religion—whether it’s his one-time altar boy gig or his reworkings of biblical stories into comedy sketches—there’s a layer of recognition that adds an extra chuckle. If you’ve grown up with Bible stories, confession, and the slightly theatrical side of faith, there’s something deeply relatable in the way he pokes at it all. Never cruel, just knowingly irreverent.

Akmal also drops a few well-placed bombs on past—and ever-present—issues in the Middle East. It feels earned, coming from a performer born in Egypt and raised in a Lebanese family in what he describes as a “shithole town” here in Australia—leaving us to quietly wonder which is worse.

Unregistered family doctors, local gardeners, and gambling all come to the fore. There’s a particularly strong bit about casinos—their stubbornly ‘70s-inspired décor and the elaborate, faintly ridiculous names of pokie machine games (Habibi ;-)). 

Pokie machines, it seems, are nothing if not inclusive, inviting everyone in—and this is clearly a stone in Akmal’s shoe.

He offers some sharp, observant commentary on smoking culture over the years, which resonated with me, having grown up in an era when British American Tobacco seemed to sponsor just about everything—sport, fashion, families, and now through to the age of dreary cigarette packets advising these fun sticks are toxic. Shock.

Akmal shares his stories with the ease of someone who’s been doing this for a while. He’s extremely comfortable on stage—almost nonchalant—equally content performing to a full house, a handful, or as the story goes just the one. You get the sense he’d still crack himself up even if alone, and be perfectly happy doing so. There’s a quiet confidence in simply telling a good story well, and trusting the audience to come along for the ride.

On this particular night, though, the audience felt slightly off. A few odd outbursts didn’t add anything—save for the lovely gentle giant in the front row, who proved to be a very good sport.

There’s an undercurrent of warmth running through it all. For all the talk of “criminals” and chaos, these are clearly people he holds genuine affection for. It’s a reminder that every family has its own mythology—its own slightly dodgy characters and stories that grow richer (or more questionable) with every retelling.

By the end of My Family and Other Criminals, you’re left feeling like you’ve been let in on a particularly entertaining slice of someone else’s life—one that, in some strange way, feels familiar to your own.

Akmal has an unpretentious, unbothered way of making you feel at home.

Reviewed by Vivien Lynch