Watching Shitegeist feels less like seeing a polished comedy set and more like being let into Sean Collier’s brain for an hour while he pokes around to see what works. There’s a rough, almost reckless quality to the show that suits the material perfectly. Collier leans hard into crude obscurity; jokes that come out sideways, ideas that feel half-formed on purpose, and moments where he seems to be testing the audience just as much as the jokes themselves.

That “trying it out” attitude is a big part of the charm. Some bits feel deliberately stretched or awkward, as if Collier is seeing how long he can sit in the discomfort before pulling the punchline. Not everything lands cleanly, but when it does, it does because of the risk he’s taken getting there. The humour is blunt, sometimes grubby, and often confrontational, but never lazy.

There’s an underlying intelligence to the chaos. Beneath the crudeness is a sharp awareness of cultural nonsense and social hypocrisy, even if it’s delivered in a way that feels messy and improvised. 

Shitegeist feels intentionally loose and a bit rough around the edges. Throwing ideas out, seeing what sticks, and leaning into the discomfort when it doesn’t. That risk-taking gives the show its edge. It’s messy, crude, and unpredictable, but that’s exactly what makes it feel honest and very Fringe.