Review: I'm Not Being Funny (Bush Theatre)

Review by Lily Melhuish

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Stand-up comedy is, to most people, a terrifying concept. It demands honesty; a rawness that is inherently risky. And yet humour can also act as a shield, a clever tool for distraction and disguise. I’m Not Being Funny sits directly within that pesky pendulum. Protagonists Billie and Peter insist they’re not being funny, but the play understands that laughter is often a reflex, even in the most inappropriate spaces. You can tell a lot about a person by what they find funny: the jokes they tell, and, more importantly, the TikToks they choose to share.

The play opens with Peter under a spotlight, microphone in hand, working through a string of dad jokes delivered with buh-dum-tss enthusiasm. The response is polite rather than warm - awkward, but not yet uncomfortable. Jerome Yates leans into Peter’s Geordie charm, keeping the audience on side even as the material intentionally falls flat, until his wife eventually interrupts. Billie’s signed them both up for an upcoming mic night, and the following 90 minutes largely consists of them practicing their respective ‘tight five’ routines in an exercise of thinly disguised couples therapy.

Neither of them are comedians by trade, and the imbalance in confidence is clear. Peter clings to structure, with rhythmic set-ups and predictable punchlines that largely rely on wordplay, while Billie is more interested in storytelling, drawing directly from their shared life. They lock themselves in their living room to mine their relationship for material, and what follows is a gradual excavation of that relationship through a series of “firsts”: first meeting, first kiss, first holiday. The framing is unique and effective, allowing the play to move fluidly between present-day rehearsal and re-enactments of the past, revealing piece-by-piece why this task matters so much, to Billie in particular.

The presence of Ruby, their three-year-old daughter, is felt rather than seen, with a baby monitor placed on the coffee table acting as a constant visual reminder, and an eerily silent audience (tough crowd!). Scattered around the squat living room set are various children’s toys, creating a simple but recognisable domestic space for a young couple who have seemingly hit a roadblock, although the source of the congestion is not yet clear.

Black’s writing balances its tonal shifts carefully. The transitions between humour and something more serious are frequent but rarely jarring. The play never fully commits to either mode, instead allowing them to coexist. Billie and Peter feel real: bound together by a long history, but not without friction. Their differing approaches to parenting provide one of the more grounded points of conflict, with Peter as the more cautious, rule-oriented parent, Billie more instinctive and permissive. They are childhood sweethearts, and the longevity of that relationship model carries its own tensions; a constant undercurrent “what if” bubbles below even as wholesome memories are reenacted in front of us.

Structurally, the script works best as a slow burn. It withholds just enough information to keep the audience engaged, gradually revealing the reasons behind the urgency of their task. There’s a clear sense that this isn’t simply an exercise in writing stand-up; something more significant is driving their need to articulate these memories. The play doesn’t rush to explain this, but there’s an urgency underneath - an awareness of time, of choices, and of an unstable future pressing at the edges

That said, not every element lands with equal effectiveness. The show is steeped in 90s nostalgia, filtered through characters who admit they barely experienced it. While that idea has thematic resonance, some of those segments drag. When combined with intentionally weak stand-up, the joke can wear thin. In the spirit of writing a ‘tight five’, there are moments where the script could benefit from trimming the fat.

The success of the piece rests heavily on the chemistry between Bannon and Yates, and they absolutely deliver. There is a clear sense of familiarity between them, conveyed through physical ease and an immediacy in their interactions. Yates captures Peter’s self-consciousness with appropriate brashness, particularly in the way he undercuts his own jokes or retreats from vulnerability. Bannon’s Billie provides a strong contrast. Her approach to humour, anecdotal and direct, translates well on stage, and she handles audience addresses with ample confidence. There is an intensity to her performance that offsets the character’s outward brightness, giving Billie a sense of purpose that drives the narrative forward.

The pacing of their exchanges is particularly well managed by Bryony Shanahan’s meticulous direction. The play moves quickly between humour, argument, and reconciliation, and both actors maintain control of these shifts. Their arguments feel rooted in something genuine rather than performative conflict, and the ease with which they return to each other reinforces the depth of their connection; whether that’s a lone finger resting on a forearm, a secret handshake, or a well-wrung term of endearment.

The final section of the play is where everything coheres. Having spent much of its runtime beating around the bush (buh-dum-tss), I’m Not Being Funny lands on an ending that is both emotionally precise and structurally satisfying. It manages to deliver a moment that functions as both a theatrical climax and an emotional closer. As Peter and Billie imagine the future, it’s an onslaught of feeling without tipping into sentimentality, balancing humour and pain with precision. It’s a testament to Black’s writing, but equally to Yates and Bannon’s control of tone.

At its core, this is a play concerned with communication: what is said, what is avoided, and what is lost in translation. It interrogates the usefulness of humour as both a tool and a defence, asking whether it brings people closer or simply delays more difficult conversations, and still manages to make you laugh while doing so.

A slow build that rewards patience, I’m Not Being Funny lands on something both honest and generous: a story about resilience, about partnership, and about finding just enough light, even in the form of a dad joke, to keep moving forward.

I'm Not Being Funny plays at the Bush Theatre until 13th June. For tickets and information visit https://www.bushtheatre.co.uk/event/im-not-being-funny/

Photos by Richard Lakos