She’s used to being the only wāhine Māori on the lineup whenever she performs stand-up comedy. But that’s all about to change.

An hour-long run time feels like the perfect length for what comedian Janaye Henry (Ngāti Kahu ki Whangaroa) reckons could be the first ever all-wāhine Māori stand-up comedy lineup. Curated and emceed by Henry, the show will run for five nights across Te Wiki o Te Reo Māori, and she’s hoping to leave audiences wanting more.

Part of Auckland Fringe Festival, Shoes Off (at the door) features five wāhine Māori comedians, with Henry joined by Courtney Dawson (Ngāti Kuri, Waikato-Tainui), Kura Turuwhenua (Ngāti Porou, Kāi Tahu, Tūhoe, Moriori), Chardé Heremaia (Ngāti Kahungunu, Ngāi Tahu) and Aunty Lianne (Ngāti Kahungunu).

I met up with Henry to discuss the upcoming show, why the stand-up comedy stage has been so rarely filled with wāhine Māori and why now is the perfect time to change that.

Firstly, why did you decide to call the show Shoes Off (at the door)?

It wasn’t me who came up with it, but we wanted a title that let people know that we’re Māori without calling it something like “Māori Comedy”. It’s got that “if you know you know” kind of energy. And if you don’t know, maybe you’ll be a bit confused. I’ve had a lot of people being like, “do we actually take our shoes off when we get to the theatre?”

Should they?

They can if they want, but I’m also really conscious of the smell of fresh feet in a space. So, you can, but I don’t know if I want to do comedy smelling feet the whole time.

How did the concept for the show come about?

I’ve done comedy for six years and this year is the first time I’ve ever gigged with another Māori who’s a woman. When I came to Auckland, I was excited because there’s more of us and I felt like we were ready for a lineup show. When it came to putting this together I was like we are ready, but if anyone gets sick, I’m gonna have to be dragging an auntie out for her debut.

Was the timing within Te Wiki o te reo Māori a deliberate choice?

The first week we got offered was Matariki, but it was too soon for me. I wanted the process to be as long and as slow as it needed to be. Because we wanted to be able to have time to actually think instead of just shoving some comedians up on a stage. So we pushed it out to the Fringe Festival, which also happens to be Māori language week. 

I’m really passionate about things that are Māori existing outside of Matariki and te reo Māori language week, because it’s kind of like those are the two weeks that people are like we’re all gonna embrace te ao Māori as a country, whereas I think we should be doing it all the time. In saying that, it’s a cool week to be in – a lot of people have fought for that week.

Why do you think an entirely wāhine Māori standup line-up hasn’t happened before?

We know aunties are the funniest, always. The kitchen at the marae is where you’ll laugh the most. And so it’s bizarre to me that we then look at the stand-up stage and that humour isn’t there. Part of me wonders if it’s the whole “you can’t be what you can’t see” thing, and there haven’t been heaps of Māori wāhine comedians before. In saying that, I always think of people like Anika Moa, who’s so funny. So there have been people, but specifically in that stand-up circuit, there hasn’t been heaps. 

I don’t know if other people realised that we were missing, which is kind of a haunting thing. I think this is the start of something that’s ongoing, but for the first one we’re really just trying to establish that there’s enough of us now to do this. And maybe other industry people should be a little bit nervous about it. Because we are here now and we are going to do it. 

Does it seem weird to you that we’re not up there far more considering our oral traditions like pūrākau?

Indigenous people all over the world have always been the original storytellers. So it’s wild to me that we don’t look to more indigenous people to tell stories on stage that are funny. And we’re pretty good at it, we’ve been doing it for centuries. That’s how we know our history, through storytelling. 

I think about the duality of life all the time. A tangi is often where you cry the most, but you also laugh the most. We’re really good at balancing those two things. Sometimes, when people see both of those things on stage, especially in comedy, they think it should just be pure comedy, but I think we understand that things are actually both all the time. Something can be really deep and meaningful, sad and quite tragic, but also so funny that you’re crying with laughter. I’m not promising anyone that experience – I’m just saying that it could happen.

What difference does it make having a group of wāhine Māori with you, rather than performing individually? 

We all have very different comedy styles. We all have very different experiences of the world, of being Māori and of living in Aotearoa. For ages, I was the only Māori in lineups, and so I always worried that audiences thought Māori were a monolith and that everything I said represented everyone. I was 19 and really stressed that everything I said could reflect on every Māori person ever. I know it doesn’t, but I’m not sure if the audience knows that. 

It’s so exciting to say to an audience, look, we’re different Māori people and we have such different comedic styles and voices and we talk about different things – and yet we’re all Māori. For example, I was a theatre baby, Kura just finished film school, Aunty Lianne started at 60 and is incredible, Courtney started comedy when she was 30, she’s a mum and she started in a comedy duo with her dad. And then we’ve got Chardé, she’s prolific on her Instagram and Facebook called Memoirs of a Māori. We’re all really coming from different places which is cool. We’re like the Māori comedy Avengers. 

Has that had any impact on your own approach to your comedy?

It feels completely different than anything else I’ve ever done. For me, comedy is political. And I know a lot of comedians disagree with that and think it shouldn’t be, but for me it is. I think if I’m on an all-Pākehā lineup I know that the chances of someone else talking about anything in te ao Māori is small. They’re probably not going to talk about te reo revitalisation. So I know that if I’m in that space, if I want my comedy propaganda to be out there, it’s gonna have to be me who does it. 

I’m not always picking just the straight funniest stuff that I have. I’m always thinking about what the audience is not gonna get. So the fact that we’re all wāhine Māori, and I’m not the only queer person on the lineup, it’s ticking all the boxes for me. I can talk about anything, which in a way has actually made it a little bit harder now because it could be anything, I could do anything.

What is it about the world we’re living in that has meant a show like this can finally happen?

I’m very aware that our generation is like a changing tide. I’m riding that wave and trying to change tides too. But I also am so hyper-aware that the only reason that I can stand on stage as like a queer Māori wāhine is because of every single fight that people have had to have for me to even do something as simple as that. That’s why comedy always feels political to me, because every time I stand on stage and hold that microphone, I can feel the sacrifices that were made. It wasn’t that long ago that people actively tried to suppress our stories. And so even to be able to tell a silly little story about a silly little date I went on – the reasons I can do that are so deep, and really resonant. And I’m really aware of it the whole time I’m on stage. 

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Shoes Off (at the door) runs from September 13-17 at Basement Theatre in Auckland and is supported by Poutama Trust, Auckland Council and the Rule Foundation. You can book tickets here.