A comedian who was once popular as a lovable goofball suddenly finds himself angry at everyone. Duncan Greive observes the highs and lows of a 70-year-old icon.

One of the many nuggets of gold in the flawless ’90s comedy Clueless is when Alicia Silverstone’s Cher turns down a boy with the perfect kiss: “He listens to complaint rock,” referring to grunge music that was already in decline. The film came out in 1995, around the time Jerry Seinfeld was at the height of his cultural power. In his wildly original, self-titled “show about nothing,” he and his friends were usually the villains—the complaints were rightly aimed at them.

Thirty years later, Seinfeld is onstage at a not-quite-full Spark Arena, and his complaints are about the outside world. His style has changed from the laconic, relaxed delivery familiar from the show’s intros to a hoarse half-scream that lasts for the first 20 minutes. It’s almost all complaints.

He starts by complaining about phones because he doesn’t like people showing him theirs, or the state of their cases. Next comes news, well, TV news, because it’s not “new.” Then artificial intelligence, because it makes people even dumber. Then streaming, because it saves him from being indecisive, because what was wrong with TV before? So far, despite the occasional flash, it’s pretty much crap.

Things get a little more exciting in some longer things about vacations, with a grumpy, affected personality. The best lines come when he lets some self-confidence flow in: “I don’t know where I went. Some fancy place, as you can probably imagine.” That he what Bloomberg called The Last Billionaire on TV is extremely well-known, but its attempts at relatability - such as a joke about how people talk about TV shows at work (which office is this, Jerry?) - ring profoundly hollow in comparison.

He’s much better when his unreal existence is the focus. One of the best gags from Mario Joyner’s opening act was him looking longingly at the water on a very bare stage. “That’s Jerry’s water, I can’t touch it,” he joked, then looked at his watch. “He doesn’t like it when you go on too long - he gives you a penalty.” Seinfeld himself acknowledged this with a lengthy bit about all the new furniture that came into his house, which he has learned never to comment on.

The business of arena comedy is a strange one – three of its biggest stars, all of whom created iconic and still brilliant shows in the ’90s and 2000s, seem to find the passage of time and changing values ​​so irritating that they can’t resist ponderous, heavy-handed commentary. Ricky Gervais and Dave Chappelle fixated on trans issues in the most consistently leaden parts of the final sets, while Seinfeld spoke wistfully of missing a “dominant masculinity” and “the extreme left and politically correct crap and people who worry so much about offending other people.”

Since the October 7 massacre and subsequent war in Gaza, he has also made his support for Israel and the Jewish people clear, visiting Israel in December in solidarity. Unlike previous dates in the US and Australia, the show was not interrupted by pro-Palestinian protests (although these were held outside and carried special Zionist leaflets), but the tension, the possibility, was in the air. At other shows, he responded to hecklers, calling their protests anti-Semitic.

As a 70-year-old Jew born less than a decade after the end of the atrocities of World War II, it is not surprising that his attitude toward Israel differs from that of many young progressive Jews and non-Jews.

In the room, that background and his recent turn to an anti-correct perspective was less present in the material, especially as the show progressed. There was a funny, guileless nod to why Frankenstein wore a sport coat, and it really worked during a long section written from the horses’ point of view in which he pointed out how rude it was to show up in an SUV and wondered why we keep measuring in horsepower only to make them seem weak.

It’s gentle observational material, much like the comedy club work that preceded the Seinfeld show itself. Rewatching it recently, I was surprised by how rarely the show actually violates contemporary mores, which is striking given the number of episodes and the time it was made. It suggests that his criticism of the modern limits of comedy may be overblown — perhaps he’s just not trying as hard today as he did back then.

When he tries, it’s still extremely good. The final third of the show is the strongest material of the hour. It’s anchored in what he really knows - the experience of being a husband and father a little later in life than most. Some truths remain universal, no matter how rich you are. He’s not a fan of current parenting - “when did we get to this point?” - and describes what sounds like a mini wedding ceremony for his child every night. Most parents can relate. He expresses disdain for the end of gutter balls for kids at bowling - which is fair.

These are complaints about the changing world, but they are based on legitimate debates and are not aimed at anyone in particular, apart from a culture with which he acknowledges complicity. This works better when he admits that much of his current joy comes simply from complaining. “I’m a very happy person who hates everything he does my whole life,” he says.

This self-deprecation is a much better attitude for him than just yelling about mundane aspects of modern life that he doesn’t seem particularly interested in. Cultural references include Shelley Duvall, the Titanic, Friends and a lengthy section on graveyards. Maybe that’s what this is really about. A once-great comedian realizing that his time is mostly over. Ironically, the best moments of this patchy but nonetheless very funny show show him retreating into an earlier and more innocent stance.

He jokes about jet skis and visors (“Get your hat ready!”) and describes the inside of his relationship. Close your eyes and it could be 1995. Then he stomps off the stage and it’s 2024 and there’s something new to complain about.