Watching Lucille MacKellar Has Boy Problems felt like getting front-row seats to someone’s gloriously unfiltered, high-speed identity spiral — complete with PowerPoint slides, graphs, and a projector clicker that feels like a weapon of gay chaos.
The premise is simple: Lucille wants a boyfriend. But within minutes, the show revealed itself as a brilliantly layered, high-octane exploration of queerness, gender, desire, and the terrifying absurdity of trying to want the “right” things. It’s part stand-up, part theatre, part unhinged lecture — and entirely Lucille. She paces the stage like someone trying to outrun their own thoughts, and somehow, she brings you along for every second of it.
The jokes came fast. The energy never dipped (well, almost never — there’s a fleeting lull during a tech-focused detour, the kind that threatens to lose the room, but Lucille yanked us back with a well-timed quip before you can even glance at your phone). She’s sharp in the way only someone who’s thought about this stuff way too much can be. Every line is delivered with a mix of theatrical flair, and the kind of self-deprecating honesty that makes you laugh a little harder because you know she means it. There’s a diagram for every emotional collapse. A metaphor for every terrible situationship. A punchline curled up right behind each existential spiral.
The absolute highlight? Her breakdown of the masc lesbian attraction conundrum. You know the one where you line up all the types of men (the evil ones, the artsy ones, the ones who are fine, technically) and realise the only people you’re actually attracted to… are masc lesbians. Not men. Just women who carry themselves like softboy baristas with commitment issues. Lucille delivers this moment with such clarity and comedic precision it felt like a universal queer truth being spoken aloud for the first time. For a second, you forget you’re in an audience. You feel like she’s talking directly to your 2am self, the one who’s spiralling on FaceTime, trying to explain that no, actually, it’s not gender confusion — it’s just that masc lesbians are hot.
Boy Problems shines because it doesn’t beg to be universally understood. It has no interest in sanding down its weirdness or packaging queerness into something polite. It’s specific, chaotic, and ferociously self-aware. It’s a show that knows exactly who it’s for — probably queer, probably burnt out, probably overanalysing their third situationship of the year — and it refuses to apologise for that.
There’s no tidy resolution, no moral takeaway wrapped in a bow. Instead, Lucille hands us a whirlwind: of gender panic, mid-show pivots, cultural references that hit too close, and jokes that sound like they were whispered by your gay subconscious. It teeters on the edge of collapse in the best way — like a late-night conversation that keeps looping but never gets old. It’s weirdly comforting, deeply funny, and genuinely thrilling to watch someone perform queerness without apology, without translation, without trying to make it palatable.
Lucille MacKellar might not have boy problems. But what she really has is a damn good show, a chaotic slide deck, and the uncanny ability to make an entire room scream-laugh in mutual recognition. We don’t just watch her. We see ourselves.
Who needs a boyfriend when you’ve got this much range?
