Whodunnit with wigs, fanfiction, Pitbull, and a suspicious number of bush jokes: Queer Revue 2025 was nothing short of a fever dream.
Directed by Mischa Bendall and Taigue Stevens, The Case of the Queer Who Did Disappear was a wild ride through murder mystery tropes, gay stereotypes, and pop culture nonsense. The show kicked off with the perfect tone-setter: a parody of Murder on the Dancefloor that not only evoked the glitzy, indulgent atmosphere of Saltburn but also introduced the whodunnit plot — a series of interviews with characters in a 1920s-style mansion, each of whom mysteriously vanished after their turn.
Hence the name. Simple. Gay. Just how things should be.
While every sketch had its moment, the undisputed highlight was a masterclass in absurdist build-up: a mother takes her son to a pet shop, hoping to patch up the emotional fallout of his father’s departure with the timeless balm of animal companionship. “I want a pitbull,” the son says, and right on cue, Pitbull himself saunters in, sunglasses on. One “Dale” was enough to have both the mother and the audience swept up in his unassailable rizz, so to speak. It was confusing and somehow completely relatable — queer or not.
The furry convention sketch also deserves a special mention: unexpected, oddly moving, and paired with a brilliant Pink Pony Club by Chappell Roan parody (Subtle? No. Effective? Absolutely).
No queer trope was left unskewered. Lesbians locked eyes and U-Hauled within seconds. Baby gays typed “am I gay” into Google with trembling fingers. Edward and Jacob battled not only bloodthirsty vampires but also the unbearable weight of their unresolved sexual tension.
Some segments also shone for their conceptual cleverness. A standout example was a piece exploring the idea that trans people gain strength every time they’re misgendered — a metaphor turned superpower, handled with such sharp wit and sincerity that whoever wrote it deserves high praise. The humour was intelligent and affirming, never punch-down.
And that was perhaps the show’s greatest strength: it delivered its messages — social, political, personal — without ever veering into patronising territory. It didn’t try to “educate” the audience or perform wokeness. Instead, it trusted that its audience understood nuance, and delivered its truths through puns, punchlines, and just the right amount of filth.
The only gripe I have is with the murder mystery I was promised — the marketing certainly made me believe I was in for a highly sophisticated queer (in both senses of the word) hour-long guessing game of deception and intrigue. What I got instead was a flimsy thread of a plot fighting to stay intact as it weaved through contradictingly energetic and hilarious performances of queerness and pop culture — perhaps the plot disappeared with the Queer.
By the time the finale rolled around, any remaining pretense of mystery had been gleefully abandoned in favour of a single, triumphant message: Be Gay, Do Crime. Whether it was pirates, parodies, or Pitbull, The Case of the Queer Who Did Disappear reminded us that plot is optional, but chaos is compulsory. Not every joke hit, and the mystery may have wandered off, but with this much charm and queer absurdity, who really cares?
