THE WHARF REVUE - OPEN FOR BUSINESS
THE WHARF REVUE - OPEN FOR BUSINESS, Wharf 1, Sydney Theatre Company to 1 December 2014. Photography by Brett Boardman: Doug Hansell, Phil Scott, front centre Amanda Bishop, Jonathan Biggins; right: Doug Hansell.
At a time when political reality is more extreme and hilariously awful than the imagination or aspirations of most satirists, this year’s Wharf Revue has been firmly in the “much anticipated” basket since it began its regional tour. Now, finally at home in Wharf 1, it’s “open for business” and the goods are on display. And what goods they are!
Every year since time immemorial – or the past decade and a bit anyway – it’s most often been said, as the applause finally dies away, “Well, this is the best yet.” And each year, give or take the inevitable dips, lulls and occasional oops, that’s been true. This year is different though because the year itself and the times are different; unless you live in and never leave the bounds of Tony Abbott’s electorate, it’s been pretty obvious that in many ways these are dark times.
But of course, that’s what satire, music and theatre are all about: Brecht knew that:
In the dark times
Will there also be singing?
Yes, there will also be singing
About the dark times.
And the creative team of Phil Scott, Jonathan Biggins and Drew Forsythe has come up with some dazzling singing and other stuff to light the times. As has now become customary, one of the trio is on (physical) sabbatical and this year it’s the turn of the rubbery figure himself, Drew Forsythe. But he opens the show via video screen and a blonde steel-helmeted turn as Bronwyn Bishop in her role as Speaker. Uncanny and discomfiting – is this really what Parliament has become? Sadly, yes.
As well as absurdity, nonsense and fabulously juvenile depictions of the awful people who’ve stumbled and clawed their way to Canberra, this year’s Revue – subtitled for one of the Prime Minister’s many cringeworthy platitudes – features some brilliant writing. It’s like Gilbert and Sullivan on speed: stratospheric rhyming, tongue-twisting versifying and all the while, humour so acerbic it would strip the skin from ordinary mortals.
Another custom being adhered to this year is the introduction of fresh blood in place of the one taking a spell. For this outing, Doug Hansell has stepped into enormous shoes and, by golly, they fit. He is an excruciating Christopher Pyne (saying his prayers a la Christopher Robin) and is also a mean tickler of the ivories and can sing and dance too; while his Scott Morrison in Inbedded with the Morrisons makes the flesh creep while the doubles entendre are snort-worthy as the minister and his wife are joined in bed by the military.
Amanda Bishop gets a fairer suck of the sauce bottle this year and reminds us that not only is she an evil mimic (Jacquie Lambie’s bee-stung moue is a classic) but also, a remarkably versatile singer. She can authentically channel Peta Credlin as a Wagnerian soprano, while Julie Bishop rejigged as Offenbach’s wind-up doll from The Tales of Hoffmann is vocally and physically a highlight.
More physical humour and great performances from Bishop and Biggins as Christine Milne and Bob Brown in hip-hop disharmony with Take Back Your Green Thing. Virtuosic versatility too from Biggins as he morphs from the tall and skinny father of the Greens to sire of PUP, Clive Palmer in fat suit and obnoxious attitude. To (Senator) Glenn Lazarus: “You block, dummy, play the man and be as offensive as possible.” Ouch.
While cheap and easy laughs are, um, cheap and easily come by thanks to this government and opposition, the Revue team hasn’t shied away from the genuinely darker side. Miserere, is a musically lovely, subtle and powerful swipe at the Catholic Church and child abuse. It’s not remotely funny and its inclusion is a bold and successful change of pace and style.
Giving them time to get on and off stage, change costumes and shove props around is a filmed running gag of a Bunning’s commercial – Abbott’s Budget Warehouse – “where lowest welfare is just the beginning” and so it goes.
Poignant – especially because of the timing – references to Gough are balanced by the best/worst joke about Malaysian Airlines and a glorious return in monologue for the Biggins channelling of PJ Keating. It’s a masterpiece of observation, mimicry and writing and adored by the Wharf audience.
All in all, a fabulous night of nonsense and brilliance, played out on a bowdlerised Monopoly board. It’s heavier on the government than the opposition because this government just keeps on giving and sadly, Blinky Bill Shorten just doesn’t. It’s also a “selling fast” situation so don’t delay if you want your annual fix of acid-dipped laughs.
