Greg Fleet’s show These Things Happen is a unique and profound blend of comedy, storytelling, and being honest about how he used to be a bit of a fuckhead. This ‘director’s cut’ of his compellingly solemn book of the same name is delivered with excellent timing and just a tad of cheeky wordplay. It really moved me. Fleety’s back in full force.
I have a lot I could say about this show, but perhaps this is the best way to give you an idea of how good it was:
I don’t talk about it much, but occasionally – because my brain is an reprehensible schmuck – I’m struck by anxiety bullshit that makes me break out in a hot sweat, and leaves me very nervous, very conscious of my body, and very aware of my place among the other people in the room. It’s been getting a lot better, but tonight, I experienced it worse than I ever had before – a minute in, I felt a creeping, pseudo-menopausal hot flush; my forehead creased wetly; and I became hyperaware of the muscly, tattooed arm of the guy sitting next to me. I didn’t want to leave, because it would have been both rude and unprofessional of me. But at the same time, it was physically demanding to stay where I was. And that creeping nervous anxious hogwash never dissipated.
Yet Greg Fleet was so moving that, ironically, I didn’t move an inch. His humour and his honesty and his brilliant narrative voice held me there for another 74 minutes (he ran 15 minutes overtime, the ass-hat). The fact that I even managed to stay is a testament to the respect he commanded. But the fact that I kept enjoying myself the whole time, even while straining my body to ward off an extended mini anxiety attack, means his show must have been something bloody wonderful.
Thank you, Greg Fleet.