In the dark, mystical room of The Vault, I clinked an $8 house wine as I perched myself on the very front row seat of Sweeney Preston’s show, Australia’s Worst Journalist. It was hot and stuffy, and things only got hotter once he stepped onto the stage.

The show leaned heavily into his undeniable fuckboy energy, but with an earnestness and slight cringiness that was rather charming. Much of the material circled around his dating life and his time working at Pedestrian TV, giving the whole thing a kind of Carrie-Bradshaw-in-the-Australian-media vibe.

There were definitely moments where the edgy humour landed, but I kept waiting for him to push things a little further. This shtick about the “worst journalist” didn’t completely fit the vibe of the show, although the concept of it  is genuinely funny. Much of the time he shared anecdotes about the kinds of pisstake articles he wrote while working at Channel 9, which were enjoyable, though I found myself curious to see that idea pushed into slightly wilder territory. It feels like he could squeeze a lot more chaos and satire out of it. Instead, the show often settled into safer, family-cruise-humour territory: pleasant, easy to laugh at, but not quite leaving a mark.

That said, Preston is incredibly likeable. He’s authentic, quirky and confident, and you can tell he put his whole heart into the show. There’s something very disarming about how openly he shares his dating life, and the audience clearly warmed to him. You can’t help but root for the guy.

Overall, it’s a fun show that feels like it’s on the cusp of being sharper and weirder. Leaning harder into the “worst journalist” bit and taking a few more risks would make it a lot more memorable, and honestly, a lot more chaotic in the best way.