Naomi van den Broek reviews Dear Stalker, written and performed by Harriet Moir, at Little Andromeda, Friday 24 July 2026.
Dear Stalker is a tight, frank, and riotously hilarious stand up hour about the trials and tribulations of looking for love, from comedian Harriet Moir.
It opens with a David Attenborough-esque voice over introducing us to our “aging doe” as Moir enters, stumbling tipsily, holding a bottle of Lindauer Brut and enacting a number of mating rituals for an identified “buck” in the audience, including the rarely seen in public “slut drop”. It’s a great trope for a show opener, and a good set up for the near-perfect hour of comedy that follows.
In its essence this show is about the search for love, from Moir’s early sexual explorations in Hamilton as a teen, to her first experience of stalking in her uni days spending half her student loan on skim flat whites because a man she dubs the ‘Silver Stag’ says hello to her in a queue for coffee, to her now mostly contented single motherhood with two teenage daughters and a cat. It’s familiar and relatable territory explored in a really personal and incredibly revealing way. She covers bad dates with boys who don’t own sheets, the six types of photos used by men on the apps, perimenopause, and what she really needs out of a man now: two hours on the weekend, half an hour for chores, and 90 minutes for cunnilingus. Add to this vaginal cysts, thrush, wetting yourself on your own doorstep, and a sash for Miss STI Hamilton and there’s barely a dry eye in the house by the end, we’re all laugh-crying.
Moir has the audience in the palm of her hand from the outset. The immediate audience reaction is such that at about 10 minutes in a woman sitting next to me laugh-sprays a mouthful of chardonnay over herself. The audience are clapping, snapping and roaring with laughter for the duration, and it’s a delight to watch a show that grabs the audience so immediately and never lets up.
While there are a lot of (cis)gender stereotypes at play, Moir’s delivery doesn’t alienate the male members of the audience as she generously thanks them for taking time out of their busy schedule of avoiding their share of the housework to be here tonight. It’s perfectly pitched, definitely laughing with not at, and the men love it too. And while some of the gendered jokes are set up in such a way as punch lines are anticipated almost before they land, they don’t feel at all tired or hackneyed.
Moir’s audience work is utterly fantastic. We know we’re in safe hands, and Moir involves and responds to the audience, pausing mid bit, and then weaving it in or picking up where she’s left off without any seeming effort. Possibly the funniest and most spontaneous part of the evening is when after a long joke about a Dutch cellist she had dated, Moir notices something happening in the front row, and the next moment a chap stands up and says, “Actually I am Dutch!” This is hilarious to both the audience and to Moir who exploits it to full advantage – but particularly so to me (a person married to a Dutch man) as it’s about the most Dutch thing I’ve ever seen happen at a live performance!
Performing arts are so often seen (and presented) as a young person’s game, but boy is there a lot to be said for experience. Moir is a seasoned pro at the top of her game. She has the ability to craft a bloody funny joke, structure a great narrative, weave in multimedia elements, and work the audience like a pleasure device. If I have one small critique it would be that the ending could hit a bit harder and tighter.
This is not for the squeamish, prudish or faint of heart, but if you have a sense of humour, and have ever been on a date you’ll love this show. Swipe right immediately!
Dear Stalker runs at Little Andromeda until Saturday 25 July.
Flat City Field Notes 