Long before Olivia Colman became an Oscar-winning international star, long before The Favourite, The Crown and the prestige dramas that turned her into one of Britain’s most celebrated actresses, she was already quietly demonstrating one of her greatest talents: the ability to make an apparently ordinary character completely impossible to ignore.

And few shows capture that particular magic better than Rev.

The BBC comedy-drama may initially appear to belong entirely to Tom Hollander, who plays the increasingly exhausted Reverend Adam Smallbone. But spend a little time in Adam’s chaotic London parish and another character rapidly becomes indispensable: his wife, Alex, played with gloriously dry precision by Colman.

Forget palaces, crowns and aristocratic scheming.

This is Colman operating in a very different world.

Alex is intelligent, impatient, funny, loving and frequently exasperated by the bizarre collection of people who drift through her husband’s life. She can destroy pretension with a look. She can turn irritation into comedy without raising her voice. And whenever Adam disappears too deeply into the impossible demands of his vocation, Alex has a habit of dragging both him — and the audience — back toward reality.

It is a performance that feels startlingly fresh even years later.

BEFORE THE OSCAR, THERE WAS ALEX SMALLBONE

When people discuss Olivia Colman’s career today, the conversation naturally gravitates toward the enormous performances.

Queen Anne in The Favourite.

Queen Elizabeth II in The Crown.

Her devastating work in The Lost Daughter.

Her dramatic transformation from beloved British comedy performer into one of the most acclaimed actresses of her generation has become such a familiar story that it is easy to forget just how much of her brilliance was visible much earlier.

Rev. is one of those reminders.

Created by Tom Hollander and James Wood, the series follows Adam Smallbone, an Anglican priest who moves from a rural parish to St Saviour’s, a struggling inner-city church in East London.

Adam arrives with good intentions.

London responds with chaos.

His congregation is unpredictable. His finances are precarious. His church is struggling. His superiors have expectations. His faith is repeatedly tested by bureaucracy, disappointment and the uncomfortable compromises of modern life.

And waiting at home is Alex.

She loves her husband.

She does not necessarily love everything that comes attached to being married to a vicar.

That distinction gives Colman an extraordinary amount to work with.

Alex is not written merely as the endlessly supportive spouse standing quietly behind the protagonist. She has her own career, her own frustrations and her own limits.

Most importantly, she possesses a formidable ability to recognize nonsense.

And Rev. contains plenty of it.

COLMAN DOESN’T NEED TO SHOUT TO STEAL A SCENE

There is something wonderfully dangerous about watching Olivia Colman react.

Other performers may require a monologue.

Colman sometimes requires half a second.

A tightened smile.

A raised eyebrow.

A glance across a room.

A tiny pause before answering.

That is often enough.

Her performance as Alex thrives on these microscopic moments because the character spends much of her life watching Adam become entangled in situations that are simultaneously ridiculous and deeply serious.

Adam desperately wants to help everyone.

Unfortunately, everyone appears to want something from Adam.

Some need genuine spiritual guidance.

Some need money.

Some need access to the church.

Some need favors.

Some simply seem determined to consume whatever remains of his time and patience.

Alex watches this parade enter their lives and responds like somebody who understands exactly what is happening but knows she cannot simply drag her husband away from it.

The result is deliciously awkward.

Colman makes Alex’s frustration feel authentic without turning her cruel. She can be furious with Adam and still clearly adore him.

That balance matters.

Without it, Alex could easily have become the stereotypical television spouse whose primary function is complaining whenever the protagonist goes off to do something important.

Colman refuses to let that happen.

Instead, Alex feels like an actual person married to somebody whose job does not end when he comes home.

The parish follows Adam through the front door.

Its problems enter their marriage.

Its eccentric personalities interrupt their privacy.

And its crises frequently become Alex’s crises whether she volunteered for them or not.

Watching her navigate that reality is one of the show’s greatest pleasures.

TOM HOLLANDER AND OLIVIA COLMAN ARE A PERFECTLY IMPERFECT COUPLE

At the center of Rev. is a marriage that feels unusually believable.

Adam and Alex love each other, but television romance has rarely looked less polished.

They bicker.

They irritate each other.

They become exhausted.

They say the wrong thing.

They occasionally appear capable of driving one another completely mad.

Then, often when the show becomes darkest, the depth of their relationship reveals itself.

Hollander and Colman make the marriage work because neither performer seems interested in making it sentimental.

Their chemistry comes from familiarity.

These are two people who know exactly which buttons to press.

Alex knows Adam’s weaknesses.

Adam knows Alex’s temper.

There are moments when one expression from Colman suggests an entire argument that the couple has probably had several times before.

That lived-in quality gives Rev. an emotional foundation beneath the comedy.

The show may be filled with eccentric characters and painfully awkward encounters, but the Smallbones’ relationship gives the story something solid to return to.

And Colman is essential to that stability.

THIS ISN’T THE OLIVIA COLMAN SOME VIEWERS EXPECT

Anyone discovering Rev. after watching The Crown could experience a mild shock.

The carefully controlled royal demeanor is gone.

There are no grand corridors or elaborate ceremonies.

Alex Smallbone exists in a far messier universe.

And Colman seems liberated by it.

Her comedy has an extraordinary looseness. She appears capable of allowing a scene to become chaotic without ever losing control of her character.

One minute Alex is composed.

The next she is exasperated.

Then amused.

Then angry.

Then suddenly vulnerable.

Those shifts rarely feel announced.

They simply happen.

That unpredictability would later become one of Colman’s greatest dramatic weapons.

In The Favourite, audiences watched her jump between childishness, cruelty, loneliness and devastating emotional fragility.

In Rev., you can already see the foundations of that technique.

Colman understands contradiction.

People are rarely one thing.

Alex can support Adam while resenting what his vocation does to their life.

She can find his congregation infuriating while understanding why he refuses to abandon them.

She can mock the absurdities surrounding religion while respecting the sincerity of her husband’s faith.

She can be practical without becoming cynical.

That complexity elevates what could have been a straightforward supporting role.

THE COMEDY HIDES SOMETHING MUCH DARKER

Perhaps the biggest surprise for viewers approaching Rev. expecting a gentle British sitcom is how emotionally serious it becomes.

The early episodes establish a wonderfully uncomfortable comedy built around parish life, institutional politics and Adam’s attempts to reconcile Christian ideals with messy human reality.

But the series gradually asks more difficult questions.

What happens when somebody whose identity depends upon helping others discovers that he cannot fix everything?

What happens when faith offers no immediate answer?

What happens when the person everyone turns to begins to collapse himself?

Those questions push Rev. beyond ordinary sitcom territory.

And as Adam’s struggles deepen, Alex becomes increasingly important.

Colman is exceptionally good when comedy begins bleeding into pain.

She never appears to signal to the audience that a Serious Acting Moment has arrived.

Instead, humor simply disappears from her expression.

Suddenly the woman who has spent episodes firing off dry observations is looking at her husband and realizing something is genuinely wrong.

Those scenes hit harder precisely because Alex has been so funny.

The laughter has made us comfortable around her.

Then Colman removes it.

A SUPPORTING PERFORMANCE THAT NEVER FEELS SECONDARY

One of the remarkable things about Colman’s work here is how little she needs to dominate the story in order to dominate your memory of it.

Alex isn’t the central figure.

Adam is.

Yet whenever she appears, the emotional temperature changes.

Part of this comes from the character’s relationship with reality.

Adam is constantly negotiating between ideals and practicality.

Alex usually sees the practical consequences immediately.

She understands bills.

Time.

Work.

Marriage.

Fatigue.

Boundaries.

Adam sees somebody who needs help.

Alex sees somebody who needs help — and also notices that her husband hasn’t slept properly and that their evening together has just disappeared.

Neither perspective is entirely wrong.

That tension prevents Rev. from becoming simplistic.

It would be easy to portray Adam as an uncomplicated saint surrounded by selfish people.

The series doesn’t.

His desire to help can be admirable.

It can also be exhausting.

His dedication can be inspiring.

It can also damage his personal life.

Alex exists partly to expose those contradictions.

But Colman never turns her into a mouthpiece.

She makes them personal.

THEN THE SERIES PULLS THE RUG FROM UNDER YOU

The later stages of Rev. become significantly more emotionally ambitious.

Without spoiling every development, Adam’s confidence begins to fracture under accumulated pressure.

Professional disappointment collides with personal uncertainty.

The man accustomed to offering reassurance to others finds himself desperately searching for reassurance of his own.

And suddenly the comedy that once seemed almost effortless begins carrying enormous emotional weight.

This is where Hollander delivers some of his strongest work.

But watch Colman.

Watch what she does when Alex realizes that ordinary sarcasm cannot solve the problem.

Her performance becomes quieter.

The impatience remains, but beneath it is fear.

Not melodramatic fear.

The recognizable fear of watching someone you love disappear into something you cannot immediately understand or repair.

Colman excels at that kind of emotional helplessness.

She doesn’t oversell it.

She lets it sit behind the dialogue.

And because Alex has previously been such a forceful presence, seeing her uncertain is genuinely unsettling.

WHY REV. STILL FEELS SO DIFFERENT

British television has produced countless comedies about institutions.

Schools.

Hospitals.

Government departments.

Families.

Workplaces.

Religion, however, is harder.

Make the clergy too ridiculous and the story becomes mockery.

Make them too virtuous and it becomes preaching.

Rev. walks directly through that minefield.

Adam is neither a fool nor a saint.

He is a man attempting to live according to principles that reality repeatedly complicates.

The show allows religious belief to be sincere while also finding enormous comedy in the structures surrounding it.

It allows believers to be flawed.

It allows skeptics to be compassionate.

It allows church bureaucracy to become absurd without suggesting that faith itself must therefore be meaningless.

And Alex is crucial to that tonal balance.

She stands partly inside Adam’s world and partly outside it.

Through her, viewers can question what is happening without the series needing to ridicule Adam.

She can look at a ridiculous situation and acknowledge that yes, it is ridiculous.

Then she can recognize that it still matters to her husband.

That is a surprisingly sophisticated role.

Colman makes it look effortless.

THE STAR WE KNOW TODAY WAS ALREADY THERE

Looking back at older performances by famous actors can sometimes feel like archaeological work.

You search for tiny glimpses of what they would eventually become.

With Olivia Colman in Rev., you barely have to search.

It is all there.

The comic timing.

The emotional transparency.

The willingness to look foolish.

The sudden switches in mood.

The ability to make anger funny and sadness devastating.

Most importantly, there is the quality that has followed Colman through almost every stage of her career: accessibility.

Even when playing royalty, Colman has an unusual ability to make characters feel human.

Alex requires no such transformation.

She is already profoundly ordinary — and that is precisely why the performance works.

Colman never tries to make her glamorous.

She makes her recognizable.

Alex is tired.

Busy.

Loving.

Irritated.

Sometimes selfish.

Sometimes generous.

Sometimes furious with the person she loves most.

She feels alive.

AND THAT MAY BE THE SECRET OF THE WHOLE SHOW

For all its jokes about church politics and modern religion, Rev. ultimately succeeds because its characters are allowed to be contradictory.

Nobody has all the answers.

Certainly not Adam.

Certainly not Alex.

That uncertainty gives the series its warmth.

It also gives Olivia Colman room to deliver a performance that deserves to be rediscovered by viewers who know her primarily from her later dramatic work.

There is no crown here.

No palace.

No Oscar-bait transformation.

Just an actress with extraordinary instincts taking what might have been a conventional supporting role and filling every corner of it with personality.

Tom Hollander remains the show’s central force, delivering a wonderfully vulnerable portrait of a man repeatedly discovering how difficult it is to practice what he preaches.

But Colman is his perfect counterweight.

When Adam floats toward idealism, Alex pulls him toward earth.

When he becomes ridiculous, she sees it.

When he becomes vulnerable, she protects him.

And when his world begins falling apart, the jokes between them suddenly reveal what they have been hiding all along: a marriage with genuine emotional depth.

That is why revisiting Rev. after Colman’s extraordinary rise is such a pleasure.

You aren’t watching an actress waiting to become great.

You’re watching an actress who already was.

The rest of the world simply hadn’t caught up yet.

And perhaps that is the most satisfying revelation of all.

Before Queen Anne.

Before Queen Elizabeth II.

Before the Oscars, Emmys and global acclaim.

There was Alex Smallbone — standing beside an overwhelmed East London vicar, surveying the latest disaster with an expression capable of saying more than an entire page of dialogue.

And once Olivia Colman walks into the scene, good luck watching anybody else.