Some 25 years ago, The Wharf Revue began as a post-show, cabaret-esque satire act in the Sydney Theatre Company’s Theatre Bar at the End of the Wharf. It soon became obvious that it deserved a place on the main stage, and it quickly became one of STC’s most sold-out shows for the Sydney Theatre Company. I first attended this annual comedic roasting of (mostly) Australian politicians back when I was 21. Cut to 20 years on (yikes) and I’m here at the Seymour Centre (it eventually moved here and into the hands of indie producers, Soft Tread) for their last ever show. It’s the end of an era for the revue’s long-term writers and performers – Phil Scott, Jonathan Biggins and Drew Forsythe; all now in their 60s and 70s – and the end of an era for staunch audience members like me. I start to wonder if, perhaps, this is also the end of an era for satire like this.
For a quarter-century no one in the public eye has been safe from mimicry. The End of the Wharf as We Know It opens with Paul Keating (portrayed by Biggins) expressing his relief at the extinguishment of this “satirical blowtorch”, which he compares to being “thrashed with overcooked broccolini”.
The musicality of the revue has always been one of its most charming aspects. Scott is a talented composer, pianist and lyricist, having written and composed musicals and cabarets over the years. The others jump on guitar, bass and drums now and then as support, and everyone sings LOL-inducing lyrics, including new lyrics set to well-known tunes.
On opening night, the cast warmed up as the show unwound, the veteran players slipping deeper into their characters as it went on. A young “Antonio Albanese” (Biggins), Julia Gillard (Mandy Bishop), Kevin Rudd (Scott) and Bob Hawke (Forsythe) bop together at a Labor Youth disco to the tune of ‘Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again’. Adam Bandt (Biggins) breakdances in a green Adidas tracksuit, à la Raygun, to the tune of Michael Jackson’s ‘I’m Bad’ – except it’s “I’m Bandt”. And farting “old lesbian” Miriam Margoyles (Scott) duets with Joanna Lumley (Bishop) in the Australian outback.
So yes, truly no one is safe – but the likes of Pauline Hanson (played by Forsythe), Tony Abbott (Biggins) and Jacqui Lambie (Bishop) are a bit less safe. Their “big personalities”, shall we say, easily lend themselves to mimicry, and in the final edition of the Wharf Revue, they are indeed the stand-out performances of the night.
A special mention must be made for the sixth star on stage: Biggins’ long, slender legs. We get overly acquainted with his upper thighs during portrayals of everyone from his ‘Angus Taylor Swift’ (in a silver sequinned, fringed bodysuit) to his netball-playing Democrat who’s trying to get on the Teal bandwagon. The costume design (by Hazel and Scott Fisher) is sophisticated and always on-point.
This show certainly is fast-paced – the ensemble moves quickly through characters, which is good for those with short attention spans, however some personalities are disposed of in mere seconds, and then it’s onto the next, as if they’re in a rush to tick off every significant player from the last 25 years.
After dozens of skits where old men (and Mandy Bishop) make fun of other old men, the video screen at the rear of the stage switches to scenes from the United States. We see black and white images that signify times of hope, gradually turning to scenes of destruction (the storming of the US Capitol, the attempted shooting of Trump at one of his rallies, bombs, fire, etc). No one is laughing. This part of the show is simply depressing.
Indeed, it’s impossible not to think that the end of the Wharf Revue is reflective of the end of an era more generally. When reality is more absurd than fiction, it becomes hard to laugh.
As the final chords of satire fade and the stage lights dim, I’m left marinating in a mix of nostalgia and laughter-induced aches. While the closing of this chapter is unavoidably sad, The End of the Wharf As We Know It also celebrates a legacy of fearless, clever comedy that held up a mirror to our political and social landscape. Surely new generations somewhere (YouTube? TikTok?) are carrying the torch, skewering our leaders with quick-witted sketches and punchy parodies. Hopefully, satire will live on in the hands of a whole new cast. It’s the end of the Revue as we know it, but maybe, just maybe, we’ll be fine?
The End Of The Wharf As We Know It is on at the Seymour Centre from November 11, all the way through until December 23, 2024. Book tickets over here.
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