show me the funny
What with global warming/ the polar ice-caps/ el Niño causing a global weather cock-up, these days Oxford seems more like a Gulag forced labour camp than the constantly sundrenched retreat we’ve come to expect from ITV dramas. Thank God, then, for The Oxford Revue, as well-worn and familiar as a snugly old blanket. The formula is familiar, though not tired: simply sketches, skits and songs performed and written entirely by students.
It helps that the writing in this latest incarnation is almost uniformly hilarious, with the exception of a few obscure references, which solicit merely a few nervous titters. There’s really not much to challenge here; while often gloriously entertaining, the sketches often feel like a wellformulated build-up to the inevitable punch line. They may seem too wellcrafted compared with the spontaneous genius of the Revue’s local rivals, The Oxford Imps.
Along the way, however, the talented performers provide much mirth to brighten even the most misanthropic audience member. Tom Williams is a clear stand-out, his rendition of a certain over-exposed rock star with a ‘skinny girlfriend’ who ‘spent three hours dreaming of sand’, showcasing exactly what the Revue does best.
Excellently observed, with strong, unexpected rhyming couplets, performed with great insight into the machinations of a delinquent smackhead, the song is a sharp dissection of modern celebrity mores, exposing the truth behind the Maily Telegraph headlines: that the sex-drugs-and-rockand- roll lifestyle may be slightly, well, dull.
The Revue deserves points for providing fresh jokes from well-explored scenarios, such as the inevitable awkward fi rst-date between gorgeous blonde and computer programmer. Charles Gerstrom performs with gawky, wideeyed aplomb: his assertions that he is a ‘not-gay man’ prove gems of verbal tomfoolery. I still reserve frustration for the fact that the Revue scripts provide little for female performers, of which there is, admittedly, only one.
Perhaps the other auditionees weren’t up to the task; more likely, the predominantly male writing team have failed to formulate striking parts for women. Nemira Gasiunas, talented though she might be, is left in the shadow of the rest of the male-dominated cast.
Surely, wildly successful shows such as Smack the Pony have proved the comic charms of the female of the species? Armed only with a notepad, a hangover and what felt like bird-fl u, I must admit that I wasn’t looking forward to 45 minutes of a cast trying to squeeze laughs out of me like an empty ketchup bottle; but The Oxford Revue left me with a warm glow inside. This is one of the most shamelessly pleasurable distractions on offer in these cold and unwelcoming climes.
Sit back, and let the Revuers slowly fellate you with their collective comic genius.
23rd Feb 2006