A seemingly endless flow of people poured into the Wheatsheaf on Tuesday night, and I eventually found myself wedged in a sweaty spot somewhere between the audience and the stage. Thankfully I had emerged victorious from a small battle with the barman over the purchase of a cider: the pub has evolved a high-tech driving-licence scanning machine to ward off any shifty underage comedy-goers. However, once my drink and I were happily jammed in place, I eagerly waited to see if the Revue would triumph in the seemingly impossible feat of coming up with original material on a fortnightly basis. There is penchant for the bizarre in the scripting that echoes the recent stream of TV sketch shows, which Brits seem to have taken to with enthusiasm. Coupled with this is a distinct whiff of the writers’ Oxford degrees: references to an Anglo-Saxon heritage, the Divine Right of Kings and extended metaphors all make an appearance and create a comfortably esoteric relationship between the performers and the audience. Joe Markham was fantastic as a slightly disturbing, entirely insane victim of alien invasion. Unfortunately, his fellow Revue members also found him particularly hilarious. There were tendencies for them to lose grip on that slick timing and precision that makes for great comedy and descend into giggling. Nevertheless, there were moments of brilliance: President Kieran Hodgson didn’t disappoint; his interpretation of Oliver Cromwell as an angry south Londoner was, in my opinion, a sensitive portrayal given the understandably irritating situation of Charles I making your-mum jokes. Audience members glanced sideways at one another to see if others shared the sophisticated understanding needed to appreciate a sketch entirely in French, happily forgetting that ‘mon hamster est mort’ was clearly one of the first sentences we all learnt at GCSE. The Revue isn’t a polished performance, but given the task at hand it’s hardly surprising. A sparkling script and peppering of real talent make the Revue a must-see. Just don’t forget your ID. by Harriet Stewart
The Oxford Revue Review
