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Dating isn’t typically a team sport, but Heart Throb: The Dream Date Show plays by its own chaotic rules. Ten minutes before the show’s September edition began, audience members submitted their relationship “green flags” and “red flags” via a QR code. This edition of the monthly Kickstand Comedy performance featured a twist: The flags had to be sports-related.
What are sports-themed red flags?, I thought. Yankees fans? People who take pickleball really seriously? On stage, a rotating projector lamp flecked colored light across a backdrop of soccer ball-patterned fabric panels, lending Kickstand’s Hosford-Abernethy space a house-party charm.
Heart Throb’s sports angle was just one piece of an improv show that thrives on romantic bedlam. Loosely inspired by a hot-pink, ’80s-era Milton Bradley game, Heart Throb guides one eligible single toward the (questionable) best of three dating prospects. Hosts Aleah Liebenau and Mack Lee play referee throughout the show’s tight hour-and-change runtime.
Arriving onstage against Europe’s “The Final Countdown,” Lee appeared in a pinstripe suit styled over a Lakers jersey; Liebenau sported bedazzled eyeglasses. The rules, they explained, were simple. “If you’re polyamorous, get out!” Liebenau hollered. The hosts “don’t condone divorces,” either. Their aggressive pro-monogamy stance felt intentionally retro, laying the groundwork for Heart Throb’s ultimate goal: To find a big, all-encompassing L-O-V-E for one lonely soul.
Comic Blade Weedman played the gum-smacking bachelorette diva Brenda McDaniels, who slouched on stage with mystifying swagger. A conspicuous dribble stained her fuchsia tracksuit. Fifty-five years young and recently fired from her cheerleading coaching gig, Brenda was on the prowl for her kids’ new stepdad. “Can we call you Brend?” Lee asked.
Brend’s deal breakers included “a lack of je ne sais quoi.” Luckily, all three of her suitors had too much of it.
First came Lern (Lauren Sinner), a vampire who killed her Lyft driver on the way to the show. She stalked the stage in a black cape and fangs, encouraged Brend to “spider monkey” on her back in a less-than-subtle Twilight reference, and eventually perched on a chair, gargoylesque.
Then arrived Sat (Sat Khalsa), a more promising, if promiscuous, option. “I like your hairy purse,” Brend admitted, pointing to a crossbody bag that stood out like a faux fur sash against Sat’s tank top. A “reformed slut” (“Boo, polyamory,” shouted the crowd), Sat hoped for an uplifting relationship.
Xavier (Dylan Reiff), a self-congratulatory feminist in Reeboks and a Grizzlies jersey, hit the stage as Brend’s final heart throb. This guy “loved women”: He bragged about his female doctor, described cats as “the high feminine,” and reminded Brend that her feelings were “valid.” Reiff’s portrayal of Xavier felt the tightest of the three heart throbs, with well-developed layers of cringe.
Audience-submitted red and green flags added some spark, but varied in their ability to pull laughs. Sat brings hot dogs to tailgate parties and, for unexplained reasons, always carries psyllium husk supplements (green flag). Xavier can rattle off West Coast WNBA teams from memory, but his uncle is Andrew Tate. (“People can change,” he argued.) Lern would kill for her friends (green…?) but also yells at children, and might have eaten one (red).
In the show’s final minutes, Brend flirted with the idea of shacking up with vampire Lern, who promised to reverse her menopause symptoms. But she ultimately landed on Sat, the obvious and least offensive option. A Ring Pop engagement sealed the cutesy conclusion.
Heart Throb satirizes an ever-dismal dating pool—the intolerable love bomber, the sweetheart situationship, the straight-up goblin. It’s the kind of comedy you’ll find in your group chat, but watching Brend wade through the chaos with zero emotional stakes felt cathartic.
Still, beneath the show’s fizzy, rapid-fire energy lingered a vibe-killing question: Who gets to be desirable onstage? Heart Throb twisted expectations by casting a messy, middle-aged divorcee as the prize, but was that choice an underlying punchline?
Maybe that ambiguity is part of the show’s disheveled honesty. Heart Throb brushes up against deeper questions of who or what we find attractive, but doesn’t take itself seriously. The show’s unpolished spirit, like a drunken sleepover thrown by your funny single friends, is the whole point. Its lo-fi glitches—a faulty microphone, uneven sound levels—amplify the DIY charm.
Kickstand Comedy continues to prove itself as a solid third space, and Heart Throb offers its audience something useful: a little levity in the big sad of the dating scene.
Heart Throb: The Dream Date Show finds love monthly at Kickstand Comedy, 1006 SE Hawthorne, $12-$20, tickets and info at kickstandcomedy.org.
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Lindsay Costello
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