If the only two certainties in this life are death and taxes, then <em>The Man</em> is a grim reminder that they are more glued together than we could possibly understand. Lola Kate Carlton reviews JB Theatre Co's Australian premiere of Olivier-winning writer James Graham's one-man show, directed by Jo Bradley and starring Mike Howlett, at Pottery Lane Performance Space for Sydney Fringe 2026.
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What is our alien modern experience if not the human growing around the parasitic commercial, and the commercial infecting, laying eggs in, and growing back around the human? And if that is so, as the ATO seems convinced it is, how much can we learn about someone through their purchases? If the only two certainties in this life are death and taxes, then The Man is our grim reminder that they are more glued together than we could possibly understand. JB Theatre Co's Australian premiere of Olivier-winning writer James Graham's one-man show, directed by Jo Bradley, is a bite-sized exploration of the elder millennial experience — trapped in a world that demands the rituals of being a grown-up with none of the help or benefits.
The Man, set in Lane Cove's odd little darling — Pottery Lane Performance Space — is a bite-sized exploration of the 2000s millennial experience: attempting to make something of yourself and being overwhelmed by what it takes to be an adult. Sydney Fringe is its premiere in Australia: written by Olivier-winning writer James Graham, also known for Dear England, Ink, and Quiz — and directed by Jo Bradley, whose production of Gia Ophelia is back for another successful year in Sydney.
JB Theatre Co specialises in the interrogation of the minute. A singular family dinner, a singular character, or a singular concept. Gia Ophelia asks what it means to "age out" of a role without growing into another. So it's fitting that The Man is a close up shot on what it means to be overwhelmed by the task of growing up into a "real adult."
It's the cornerstone of the elder millennial experience, trapped in a world that demanded you to participate in the rituals of being a grown-up with none of the help or benefits. The terror of growing up and the degradation of not doing it right. What it means to look back on one's life through the ordinary. Although it underplayed its gimmick, its Fleabag-esque lead performer and its wit left the audience gratified by curtain call.
Ben (Mike Howlett) hates doing his taxes (relatable). As a young entrepreneur, tax season serves only as a grim reminder of his lack of accomplishments throughout the financial year. So, faced with an intellectual brain-freeze, and too poor to book an accountant to help, he enlists the assistance of Lisa (Claudia Leon) to help him comb through his life and decide what is and isn't a write off. Through a series of short vignettes about his family, his work, and his dating life, we begin to uncover the man underneath the receipts.
The stage is almost bare: a singular desk and seat, covered in bags of receipts and two boxes labelled "expenses" and "not expenses" for Ben to sort his life into. Pottery Lane as a venue does not offer a sympathetic hand to your local lighting designer, so JB Theatre has responded by stripping back their story into what they can put right in front of you. An actor, some receipts, and a naturalistic warm wash.
As we are seated, we are offered the very object that will drive the full show experience. Tax receipts — either real or very well copied — are passed out into the audience. As Howlett joins us, we understand what makes this show so special. Every one of our little slips of paper tells a story, and because he doesn't know which one of us has what receipt, the stories stay the same, but their order, and what that does to the overarching narrative, changes shape every night.
To this regard, I must say either we got lucky, or what is probably more likely, the script was very clever, lending itself to get mushed around but the overarching story still made sense. Perhaps, on another night, when the order changed, this may not have been as effective, but for us, most narrative points felt sufficiently stable by the time they reached their dramatic climax.
One man shows, in many ways, press themselves hard into actors, demanding them to stay at a constant 110% to make up for the lack of support the structure provides. The script itself demanded even more flexibility, demanding Howlett to leap across the emotional scale at a moment's notice.
Howlett thrived in the script's dry comedy. His subtler delivery served the text at large and was both intimate and an obvious shield against vulnerability in a distinctively English way. It's also an accurate snapshot of its time, flinging us backwards into the world of being "quirky", a world where anxiety was just out of its social taboo teenage phase.
His character work was incredibly strong, both physically and vocally — leaning fully into the nervous ticks of a neurotic sole-trader. His intellectualisation of his emotions felt both frustrating and justified — reinforcing the thesis of the show as the humiliation of exposing what you're willing to pay for.
This did, however, let him down as the show built up towards its crescendo; the script relieved the tragic moments of Ben's life, Howlett himself did not. This was especially important as the script steered towards conversations around death and serious disability. I was also left wanting in a legitimate build of tension. Something I imagine would be quite difficult for a show which randomises itself like this one does is the slow build up of discomfort and release into catharsis. Each receipt being a new story, the moments of crossovers tended to get a little awkward, which meant suspense and momentum got dropped and had to be built up from scratch.
I also struggled with his moments of sincerity. Because of the ever-avoidant comedic presence we were initially presented with, anything too honest sat as more of a performance than the humour did. However, Howlett is clearly capable of this more naked performance. His snippets with Lisa which did have a structured story and continuation, also had his most believable moments of tragedy and real emotion. Their final moment, although set up a bit strangely, was awkwardly romantic in a very endearing way. I also loved Julian Dunne's choice to shock us into a cold wash when we were seeing Ben at his most real.
On form, I understood what the piece was juggling with, and I found the uniqueness of the experience interesting — but I did think they missed an opportunity to lean further into the concept they had created. Either through deeper and more embarrassing exploration of the nature of our relationship to our purchases, or by finding more satire in being able to define one's entire life through goods and services, The Man peeks its head into a topical argument, and seems to sit idly in it rather than relish in it.
Director Jo Bradley's choice, which was noble in its own right, was to instead lean in on an exploration of a single man, his mental health, his choices, his regrets, following the work she's done in the past. This created a solid and interesting production, but a production I felt that could've been done through any medium, and didn't necessarily require the gimmick of randomness.
Thus, The Man tells us that death becomes taxes, taxes become death, and going back and forth between the two is really all adult life is in the twenty-first century. As a one man show, it thrives in its dark, dry comedy and its invitation into the world of a single person. The design elements were strong in their limitations, and Bradley has done well to create something personal in what can be the often chaotic world of Sydney Fringe. As I left Lane Cove, I was struck with one final thought: shit, I have to do my taxes.
The Man transfers to The Old Fitz from Monday and runs through to 2 October, so there's still time to grab a receipt.
Reviewed by Lola Kate Carlton.
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