Jayne Steer - Addickted (MICF 2026)

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https://www.comedyfestival.com.au/browse-shows/addickted-2/

Date Reviewed: 11/04/2026

Most comedy shows start with a few warnings—but rarely all of them. Jayne Steer’s, however, does exactly that: losing her mum, her fiancé, and her mind, all while dealing with several forms of addiction, within the space of just two weeks, and just before her Melbourne International Comedy Festival debut.

What follows is an unconventional stand-up hour—an introspective exploration of grief, trauma, and recovery. After a psychotic episode on her 35th birthday led to a PTSD diagnosis, Steer walks the audience through the pros and cons of heading to Switzerland or Thailand to process her trauma as quickly as possible. One option quicker than the other. The audience becomes part of this retrospective decision-making, actively engaging.

Fortunately, Steer opts for the audience’s preference and relocates to a luxury rehabilitation facility in Thailand. It’s here—surrounded by extreme wealth and the quietly surreal rituals of smoothie cleanses and breathwork—that the show finds its central tension.

There’s an inherent contrast at play: deeply personal suffering set against a backdrop of curated, almost absurd privilege. It gives the material a tonal duality that feels both heightened and strangely grounded. Comparisons to The White Lotus aren’t unfounded, we sit with this as Steer’s show leans more directly into the psychological.

Steer subtly interrogates addiction, though not in the most obvious sense. Rather than substances or self-destruction, Steer positions love itself as the central dependency—an idea that gives the narrative a more universal entry point. While the circumstances may be extraordinary, the emotional undercurrent remains recognisable: grief, longing, and the complicated process of confronting both.

Not everyone has experienced severe trauma, particularly at the hands of a parent. Although Steer is very funny—her delivery supported by visuals and a game-show-like structure— serves a persistent tinge of sadness regarding her relationship with her Mother that draws the audience into a more empathetic space.

Most audiences will recognise some version of the emotional terrain being mapped. The challenge—and likely the success—of the show lies in how Steer navigates that gap. At the outset, processing trauma in a high-end Thai facility may seem unexpected, but it’s here that many of the show’s biggest laughs are found.

There is a clear awareness of the responsibility that comes with this kind of storytelling. Writing about rehab, particularly one populated by real people with their own stories, carries ethical weight. Steer’s process—developing much of the material during her time in treatment and continuing to refine it—suggests a careful balance between honesty and respect.

Like much contemporary comedy rooted in personal narrative, the show sits within a lineage shaped by performers such as Hannah Gadsby, where vulnerability and structure work hand in hand. Steer’s approach similarly leans on building trust with the audience, especially given the darker subject matter. The intent is not just to share, but to create space—allowing audiences to laugh at experiences often left unspoken.

Ultimately, the show positions itself as both confessional and connective. Deeply personal upheaval evolves into something communal. The balance between darkness and levity is carefully maintained, resting on the foundations of a story that is as confronting as it is inviting.

Review dedicated to my Mother, who has always protected me.

Reviewed by Vivien Lynch.