“Thanks for being here during such a scary time,” American comedian Lee Minora welcomes us as Baby, a hyper-anxious, doomscrolling protagonist drowning in modern existential dread. Handing out everyday props—a comb, a toothbrush, a newspaper—Baby attempts to stage the “perfect day.” Naturally, the illusion instantly shatters the moment she picks up her phone.
When Minora leans into pure absurdity, the show hits its funniest strides. A manic parody of short-form video feeds leaps wildly from pasta recipes to tap water panics, while a medical check-up sees audience members awkwardly wielding tiny plastic hands on long sticks. Yet, as the show darts between guided meditations, lists of modern progress that past generations lacked like penicillin, indoor plumbing, and Apple Pay, then a sudden jump to 1945 Italy, the relentless pace can leave the performance feeling somewhat fragmented.
Underneath the chaos, Minora touches on an intriguing modern paradox: why do we feel so miserable when living in the most technically advanced, literate era in human history? She poses sharp, uncomfortable questions about our addiction to dread, but the rapid-fire structure rarely allows these weightier ideas enough room to breathe.
By the time Baby leads the room in a quiet affirmation “I have everything” only to immediately reset the loop with another glance at her screen, the point is clear. Baby Everything is a relatable, high-energy mirror of our collective anxiety, even if its chaotic structure occasionally gets lost in its own feed.
Runs until 31 August 2026 | Image: Contributed
