Review: Millicent Sarre is Too Tired to Smash (Patriarchy) The Kingfisher, Gluttony

‘Funny, furious and quietly tender – Too Tired to Smash (Patriarchy) is the show for anyone who cares deeply and is absolutely exhausted by it’

‘Millicent Sarre turns modern exhaustion into sharp, disarming comedy – equal parts manifesto, meltdown and much-needed exhale.’

There’s something deeply comforting about a show that doesn’t pretend to have all the answers and Millicent Sarre’s Too Tired to Smash (Patriarchy) wears that uncertainty proudly. This is comedy-cabaret for the quietly furious, the chronically online, the politically aware but emotionally spent. And honestly? It hits right where it hurts.

Presented as part of the Adelaide Fringe, Sarre’s show unfolds like a late-night voice memo sent to the group chat; candid, clever, and slightly unhinged in the best way.

The premise is refreshingly simple: the patriarchy is still standing, dismantling it feels overwhelming, and sometimes you’re just… tired. From there, Sarre builds a tightly structured, emotionally intelligent hour that balances satire, sincerity, and a surprising amount of heart.

Musically, the show is smart, sharp, and deliberately off-kilter, mirroring the experience of moving through the world as a woman who thinks deeply, feels intensely, and is permanently online. My Highest Self opens with glossy self-belief that almost immediately unravels, while Existential Crisis in B Major pairs buoyant melody with the spiralling internal monologue we all know too well.

$14.99 is one of the show’s most disarming moments. A wry, endearing account of meeting her now partner online, complete with paywalls, algorithms, and the quiet absurdity of realising that intimacy now sometimes arrives via a monthly subscription.

It’s funny, vulnerable, and sneakily romantic.

The Final Frontier of Feminism follows with manifesto energy and meltdown honesty, asking big questions without pretending there are neat answers.

One of the most striking tonal shifts comes with Urgency and Tragedy and Advertising, where Sarre strips the show back to rhythm and rhetoric for this beat poem. It’s messy, confronting, and intentionally uncomfortable, a reminder that beneath the jokes sits very real frustration with a world that commodifies everything, including outrage.

Threaded throughout the show, particularly in Numb and Too Sensitive, is a recurring tension that gives the work its emotional weight: is our sensitivity making us more susceptible to burnout? Are we simply too sensitive for the world we’re living in?

Sarre doesn’t position sensitivity as weakness, nor does she romanticise it as a superpower. Instead, she lets it exist as both, a source of empathy and exhaustion, and trusts the audience to recognise themselves in that contradiction.

By the time we reach My Highest Self (reprise), the sing-a-long Slow Bloomer, and the quietly devastating Nobody Has Their Shit Together, the show softens into something almost tender. These final moments feel less like punchlines and more like shared exhalations, reassurance wrapped in humour, solidarity disguised as a laugh.

This is a show that understands its audience.

It’s not flashy, it’s not trying to shout the loudest, and it doesn’t claim to solve anything.

Too Tired to Smash (Patriarchy) simply sits with the chaos, finds the funny, and reminds us that feeling deeply in a hard world isn’t failure, it’s humanity.

And sometimes, that’s more than enough.

5 stars

Lia Loves.