Matt rife’s show received an absolute crushing review by national Norwegian broadcaster

His show on Saturday got a 1/6 rating. The article, translated in full:

Total Disaster
How Matt Rife manages to make a living off comedy is a mystery on par with Agatha Christie’s best.

On my way to Unity Arena on Saturday, I was a curious man in a good mood. I wondered how a man no one I spoke to had heard of could fill Norway’s largest indoor arena.

And how would stand-up fare in a venue usually reserved for Elton John?

19,000 people flocked from all over the country to see Matt Rife—the 30-year-old American with 20 million followers on TikTok.

BIG ONLINE: Matt Rife (b. 1995) is an American stand-up comedian and actor who has achieved enormous popularity, particularly through viral clips on TikTok and Instagram.
I really liked the first clips he posted; this guy had a quick wit that many other crowd-work specialists lack. The years went by, and Matt Rife gained more and more followers and contracts with Netflix; he went on world tours and sold merch—and eventually ended up in Fornebu.

Unfortunately, I ended up there at the same time.

Everything is big in America
For me, stand-up is best when it’s just the right amount of intimate. The smaller the room, the closer you get to the comedian’s message. The sense of community that comes from laughing, listening, and experiencing things together with other people is half the fun.

When I entered Unity Arena, I was practically blown away by a gigantic, quintessentially American marketing machine in a venue that would have been better suited for a monster truck show with the world’s longest hot dog grill running down the aisle.

This is not a stand-up venue.

There are people of all ages here, and when the first opener, Cam Bertrand, takes the stage, I’m reminded once again that the raw, intimate humor is completely lost. The roar of the crowd is on par with Brann Stadium. The audience dynamic shifts instantly.

The intimacy and vulnerability also vanish when the material is nothing but boobs and dicks, but after all, Bertrand isn’t the main attraction tonight.

After the second opener, Jackson McQueen, turns out to be the night’s only highlight, Matt Rife takes the stage—about 45 minutes after the scheduled show start.

Anti-woke conference
It quickly becomes painfully clear that I’m about to watch a guy with the substance and empathy of a post-party gathering on Bygdøy stand there rambling about guys’ trips to Amsterdam and how strange it is to have sex.

Fair enough, I’m not the target audience for this material. This guy has, after all, drawn a crowd of 19,000, and I have laughed at a few bits. Maybe the technical execution can save one of the world’s flattest sets?

The answer is, unsurprisingly, a resounding no.

Matt Rife’s material is so uninspired that he can’t get it off the ground. Everything is completely stripped of rhythm, structure, timing, and passion. The delivery of this garbage is also done with the confidence of a Wall Street broker on cocaine, which makes it even more provocative.

At one point, he touches on something slightly personal: sleep deprivation. Unfortunately, this segment fizzles out into a joke about how much he masturbates to fall asleep. The audience laughs, but they aren’t beside themselves with excitement.

But then it dawns on me what I’m watching. This is a comedian who has specialized in targeting a specific group of people. People who aren’t necessarily that interested in humor. The craft doesn’t seem to be the top priority.

Instead, the focus is on the frustration with the “offense-prone society” and political correctness.

Because as soon as the first transphobic joke pops up, this overgrown party tent really lets loose. Next, overweight women are the target, also with great success. The audience is asked to suggest which “fat A-list celebrities” are out there, and names fly from all directions.

Now it starts to dawn on you: This is, after all, an anti-woke conference.

You’re tricked into thinking you’re listening to humor, as Matt Rife chuckles and laughs at his own terrible material. But what you’re really experiencing is an outlet for the frustration of feeling silenced by the inclusion-obsessed society.

The material could just as easily have been written by sixteen-year-olds who think boobs are the sickest thing in the whole world. The rhythm is on par with a dead-drunk Uncle Arild at a summer party.

Lucky with the audience
After a 40-minute set consisting of three different “guys, guys, guys” stories, the audience finally gets to interact with their beloved American brand.

Things do pick up a bit here, though; Matt Rife is good with the audience. But that’s also one of the biggest problems—did you really pay to come and help the comedian with his set? 40 minutes of self-written material followed by an hour and a half of improvised conversations with the audience?

At Unity, he got lucky with the people he found; here in Norway, we seem to have funny people in the front row. A group, including politician and social commentator Torstein Lerhol, charmed the audience to pieces, but they could have done that just fine without Matt Rife.

Gradually, the audience interaction turns into an awkward Christmas party where we Norwegians just sit there shouting “brown cheese” and “smalahove” at the exotic tourist. Apparently, it’s worth 800 kroner to get a laugh out of the fact that Americans think brown cheese is strange.

By all means, I think there were many in the audience who genuinely enjoyed themselves. But about halfway through, I noticed the seats around me emptying. I’ve never envied anyone more—had I not been at work, I would’ve been the first out the door after ten minutes. But after 2.5 hours of dismal humor, my worst night in years is finally over.

I’m left sitting here as a battered shell of the person I was when I arrived. If people like Matt Rife can make it to the top of the stand-up food chain, we’re in a sorry state.

So now it’s just a matter of getting on the bus with 19,000 others.