For someone with a massive fan following, Ashley Gavin’s My Therapist is Dying was truly an unexpected disappointment. She unquestionably has a seasoned stage presence and radiates confidence that can only come from years of experience performing (or, perhaps, from years of therapy?) Armed with a box of tissues and her iconic backwards-facing cap, she launches the audience into a whirlwind of trauma dumping and discussions of relationship types modeled on her two cats’ personalities—but I found myself feeling quickly unamused and maybe even a bit on edge as she seemed equally as disappointed in us as we were in her from the get-go.
Ashley begins the show by stating that she “has not been nominated for any awards this year,” which set a sour tone for the rest of the performance—like she was setting herself up for failure and preparing us for a minimal effort show. She also felt compelled to tell us that her material was very well-refined as she has dedicated hours inputting recordings from her past shows into spreadsheets to collect data on which jokes were well received, which was the most technical approach to comedy I have ever encountered. There was no shortage of self-deprecating humor in this show which can be funny in small doses coupled with the right context and timing. Things get very vulnerable as she delves into her family and relationship trauma, but I suppose you could expect nothing less from a stand-up show about a dying therapist. And yes, sadly this was not a metaphorical title as Ashley thrusts us into her tragic past of losing not one, but two important parental figures in her life to cancer.
There was more than one joke about 9/11 and pedophilia that were irrelevant to the content she was covering and added nothing to the show. These jokes felt lazy and banked solely on shock value which was the weakest link in an already mediocre routine. She clearly used these jokes as ice breakers when the laughter wasn’t as prominent as she wanted which I feel was unnecessary considering how naturally funny she can be when she isn’t forcing the comedy, such as on her popular podcast We’re Having Gay Sex. Whenever her jokes were met with silence she would say things like “this is the strangest crowd I’ve had,” and “this is such a weird show,” in an attempt to shift the blame to the audience for her lack of solid material.
Ashley came across as being entitled to her audience’s laughter and their tears without earning either. At one point she even ushered a tissue into an audience member’s hand who was not crying at all. We could all sympathise with the difficult things she has been through, but all in all this was a very uncomfortable viewing experience and both me and Ashley weren’t hiding the fact that neither of us wanted to be in that room.
My Therapist is Dying is running until the 24th of August in the Pleasance Courtyard at 18:50.
Images provided to The Student as press material.