Set in an impressively high-ceilinged, converted church, the Carnival des Phenomenes needed lofty performances to fill it.

Mercifully, compere Rob Broderick, a hyperactive Irishman, could have filled an aircraft hangar on sheer, twitchy, relentless energy. He kicked things off with some traditional front-row-abusing, leavened with an unshakeable Jack Nicholson grin.

The first act proper in the gig came from the Oxford Imps, who - as the name suggests - are a gaggle of seven students (Becca Gibson, Rachel Parris, Amy Cooke-Hodgson, John Gethin, Paul Barker, Joe Morpurgo and Robert Hemmens) whose fresh-faced, bright-eyed youthfulness was bound to offend all right-thinking people.

Any distrust of these talented, good-looking young things was soon dissipated, however, as it became clear that they were spectacularly good at their jobs. A virtuoso performance of improvisational comedy followed, as they took their cues from the audience (cues which, improbably, were “asylum”, “milkshake”, and “it’s well milky”) to construct a madcap ad-lib musical from nowhere.

While they might occasionally be accused of being more impressive than they were funny, this was largely because they were so damn impressive rather than because they weren’t funny.

The Imps were unafraid to be clever with their comedy, assuming that the audience would follow, which - by and large - it did. The wildly varying singing abilities between the cast members added, rather than detracted, from the fun.and the line “put down that shotgun - that’s not how we do things in the RSPCA” got one of the best audience responses of the night.

Up next were Super Troop, another improv group of six girls (Charlie Covell, Charlotte Gittins, Jessica Barker-Wren, Cassandra Harwood, Jules Morrish and Laura Power) who also used audience participation well. A meandering diatribe about the Toaster of Utopia - look, it made sense at the time - was excellent, and I don’t think I’m alone in saying you can’t beat a good mastication joke.

The highlight of their set was undoubtedly the “monologue game”, in which - again starting from an audience suggestion - one of their number chatted away aimlessly on a given topic until one of her colleagues would tap her on the shoulder with a new direction for her to go in. Somehow they managed to get on to the ever-important topic of Helen Daniels’ third stroke - you just don’t get enough talk about the Neighbours 1989 - 1992 golden years these days, so that was refreshing, as was a willingness to use words like “triptych” just because they could.

After another stint from the frantic Mr Broderick - one of those people who make you tired on his behalf - was followed by a surrealist sci-fi homage to Star Trek, all spangly lycra one-pieces and heroic postures from the three performers (Charlie Partridge, Alexis Gallagher and Jim Grant).

It was pleasing that they, like all the acts, felt no need to talk down to the audience, throwing in jokes about string theory in the confident assumption that we’d know what they were talking about.

If I were to make a criticism it is that the sci-fi thing felt more like it should have been a short sketch within the act rather than the act itself - it sometimes felt that the material was being stretched further than it wanted to go, much like the lycra trousers - but it was so lovingly done that for the overwhelming majority of the time they carried the audience with them.

The final act came from Vassili and Dmitri - Vassili the Russian and Dmitri, “who is obviously from Georgia - sparks will fly!”, two ex-Soviet TV presenters (played by David Reed and Humphrey Ker, of the Penny Dreadfuls) who had spotted that an absence of talent need not mean an absence of success, and who comfortably lived up to their headline billing.

Their series of interviews reminded you of Pete and Dud - a particularly brilliant one involved Niccolo Macchiavelli (“So Niccolo - do you feel you are responsible for government intrusion into the private lives of its citizens?” “Fuck off! You will soon die under my hobnailed boot”), but discussions with and about Britney Spears (“Winner of the VMA awards. What? The Virgin Music Awards Awards? That makes no sense”), June Sarpong and a pitch-perfect Michael Parkinson were all also highlights. Plus any comedian who references Toby from the West Wing clearly knows his cultural touchstones.

As a whole the night was excellent. With highbrow comedy - as all of this, unashamedly, was - it is a fine line to walk between trusting the audience and being oh-so-pleased-with-yourself clever-clever. Thankfully, the young and gifted performers showcased at the Carnival des Phenomenes managed, almost without exception, to walk that line skilfully.

Tom Chivers