Dir. Tom Meltzer. OFS 7.30pm Tues-Sat; 2.30pm Sat; 7th Week
I’ve spent a lot of time laughing lately, and my face hurts. Further, the realisation that I’m going to have to write 15 words for every minute I saw of the Oxford Revue’s preview show was hardly likely to bring a smile to my face. Given these circumstances the Revue should be commended for having produced any flicker of amusement in my dead eyes. The fact that they actually made me laugh should earn them some sort of award. ‘Write what you know’ might be the dictum of serious novelists, but if anything it’s more applicable to comedy. Anyone who signed up for something unfamiliar at Freshers’ Fair can relate to Jack Bernhardt’s discomfort as he is shown by Sensei Joe Markham how to ‘absorb the impact’ in a martial arts lesson which includes defence-against-assailants-armed-with-a-paddle. Far and away the best sketches are ones which play off situations we’re all uncomfortably familiar with. Matt Lacey got the loudest applause of the afternoon for a monologue, delivered into a mobile and punctuated with “yah” and “nah”, detailing his adventures on his gap year (“ye-ahr”?). Ethno-rahs might be an easy target, but Lacey does his bit with relish and unerring accuracy, including sudden lapses into articulacy and humanity.
The show fails when it aims for targets which aren’t so familiar: when unable to draw out details from personal experience, they’re left exploiting old stereotypes of pushy parents, schizoid psychiatrists and pathetic first-time authors. That said, when they broaden their range of fire beyond Oxford to take out George Galloway, they succeed roundly. What’s special about this sketch is its original approach – he’s an easy target, but they’ve chosen to excoriate him for one of his less-noted faults. The Revue turns its sharp gaze on reality, and shows it to be completely ridiculous: the apotheosis of comedy because it’s utterly uncontrived and completely true.
Laughter is contagious, and an abbreviated preview of a sketch show is more like a vaccination. It’s hard to tell you what the Revue do, without telling you what they did: it’s really tempting to just fill this review by documenting their jokes. But this would be a disservice to you and them both, because I don’t think I can describe how well Joe Markham shrinks his frame and intellect to become Harry Potter, or how Michael Doherty’s song about sexual perversion will make you want to sing along inappropriately.
The Revue has problem in wrapping up sketches – in TV you can cut to something else immediately, but on stage you literally have to leave them laughing, at least for long enough to allow time for minions to scuttle on and move chairs. That said, the cast’s greatest asset is their confidence: even when jokes fall flat, they seem utterly self-possessed and so we aren’t left squirming with embarrassment or, worse, feeling obliged to laugh. However, for reasons unknown, they have adopted costumes and sets of deep purple and mustard yellow: not so good if your eyes hurt. So if you have, for instance, visual migraines or a wicked hangover you probably won’t enjoy the show. Everyone else will though, and you’ll be gutted you missed it.
by Emma Butterfield
