Someone behind me at The Butterfly Club let out an exasperated sigh and said, “My sister left me to grab a drink!”

“Your sister left you for alcohol?” someone else said, “if she’s not bringing you alcohol, she’s in deep shit.” 

I suppose it was wrong of me to eavesdrop, but it set a good precedent for the rest of the night, which was, essentially, an extended eavesdropping of a relatable, human conundrum. A couple sits on the couch and tries to decide what to have for dinner for a grueling 50 minutes. The process is a winding road down multiple avenues that ultimately uncovers the most wonderful part of being human: sharing your humanity with someone you love.

I believe the writer and director of A Couple Decides What To Have For Dinner, James Hazelden, understood this, hence why so many of his creative decisions were strong ones. The setting, for instance, was a small, dimly lit basement-theatre, with fold down close to one another. It was intimate, maybe overly so, but ensured the audience were close to the scene, peering intently through a metaphorical window. Through this window were only two set pieces: a couch and a small coffee table on which to place the phone. This worked well; the focus remained on the actors and the sparse props were used deliberately. We inched closer and closer, truly infringing on some personal boundaries, becoming implicit witnesses who just wanted to yell out, “ORDER THE PIZZA!” The eavesdropping aspect was also drawn from the fact that the actors looked above our heads, staring only at the back wall or at each other. Suddenly, we transform from an audience to stalkers, witnessing an existential crisis drenched in humour. 

Here’s the thing, though: “You can’t eat a thought exercise,” as they say early in the show. I’ll explain. 

Aptly marketed as “Waiting for Godot meets When Harry Met Sally,” this show adopted the most mundane parts of both the play and the film and injected hilarity. Whilst they do succeed—and they did get a good couple of laughs—I think the true value of this show is in its philosophical value, its depth and consideration for the human condition. It’s a bit unusual for a comedy show to get all existential, but weirdly, they do it to almost perfection. Maybe it’s the intimacy of the space, maybe it’s the low-lighting that spotlights them, maybe it’s the lack of props—whatever it is, the show is driven solely by the expanse of the couple’s conversation. They talk about everything, from having children (or lack thereof) to an unnamed, difficult illness. It's a comedy not limited by its genre or concept, and it’s fascinating to watch unfold.

It indulges that philosophical side frequently, as well. Commenting on life’s repetition, “we don’t get a certificate [that says] congratulations, that’s the last time you’ll ever wash dishes,” one character posits, and fair enough, we don’t, but it’s confronting to hear in a comedy show. It’s jarring. And for a show that is otherwise paired with some genuine laughs, that is not the lasting aftertaste. I suppose that’s what makes this show worth seeing, though. Yes, we are stuck in “life… never ending, it just goes on and on,” but sometimes life’s cyclical foundation is genuinely so absurd it becomes funny. Sometimes those in-between moments, conversations that fly under the radar, are the most valuable.

Sure, “You can’t eat a thought exercise,” but you can laugh at this one.