Act One of the The Producers is as near-perfect an act of musical theater as I've ever seen. Top-notch performers, inventive music, witty lyrics, colorful sets, vivid costumes — this is an act that has everything, including Mel Brooks' ridiculously winning dialogue and unfailing instinct for what's ludicrous in human aspirations.
There's no group that Brooks isn't willing to offend for the sake of a joke. There are comic, unregenerate Nazis to offend the Jews in the audience, an entire panoply of flaming queens to insult the gays and, in flagrant contempt for the National Organization of Blondes, the dumbest buxom blonde ever produced by a brainless Scandinavia.
There are opinionated pigeons, an accountant who carries a security blanket, elderly ladies hot to trot (and to tap-dance with their walkers), and a cross-dressing theater director whose view of theatrical technique is summed up in his song, "Keep It Gay." This is an act that begins with a failed take on Hamlet titled Funny Boy and ends with an elderly matron demanding the right to experience "the hairless Chihuahua and the well-hung Great Dane." I defy anyone to sit through this hour-and-a-quarter without laughing.
But then Act Two starts, and, strange to say, the show just doesn't keep tickling the ivory of our funny bones. At this point, The Producers seems to be coasting on the power of its earlier jokes, and introduces little that's new to keep us attentive. The dumb blonde doesn't come up with any novel variations on her insipidity, the comic Nazis begin to remind us of some not-at-all-comic historical facts, and a sequence in a prison seems perfunctory and uninspired.
Yes, there are still some reasons for mirth, among them a bevy of showgirls with kitschy Germanic symbols on their headdresses (a large sausage, a beer tankard), and an attempt by a failure-seeker to fall victim to theatrical superstition (as singers intone, "You Never Say 'Good Luck' on Opening Night"). But nothing in this act has the sheer power of surprise that marked so much of Act One, which kept us chuckling or chortling at every unpredictable plot turn. Oh well, at least we had the pleasure of unbridled merriment when things started. And even with a drop-off, we've still had one of our very best evenings in the theater.
Credit for that success has to be shared by a lot of contributors. First, there's Brooks and Thomas Meehan, whose very funny script is based on Brooks' 1968 film of the same name. The story concerns Max Bialystock, a once-successful Broadway producer who recently has staged one flop after another. These days, Bialystock raises money for his ventures by having sex with wealthy elderly ladies; he then tells them to write a check out to a show named "Cash." Enter accountant Leo Bloom, a lily-livered wallflower who happens to mention that Bialystock could possibly make more money with a flop than with a success. Bialystock loves the idea: He decides to raise $2 million for a show so execrably bad that it'll close after one night, leaving all the excess financing in his capacious pockets.
He entices Bloom to join him as co-producer, and they set out to discover the worst script ever written. They find it in Springtime for Hitler, a musical penned by a sentimental German who wants to redeem old Adolf's reputation. They further attempt to secure their dismal failure by hiring the world's worst director, Roger DeBris, and some really terrible actors, including the Swedish un-phenomenon Ulla.
You probably know what happens next — that is, if you've seen the film — but just in case you don't, I'll only say that events don't exactly fall into place, and Bialystock and Bloom have a future different from the one they envisioned. On Broadway, it seems, there are no sure things.
There's nothing unsure about the acting in the show, though — it's first-class all the way. Best of all is Lewis J. Stadlen, whose Bialystock is so entertaining you won't regret missing Nathan Lane in the Broadway original. Stadlen plays Bialystock as a gruff, ironic con man descended from Groucho Marx. He's 100 percent corrupt, unafraid of every indignity, and possesses a wonderful growl of a singing voice.
As Bloom, Alan Ruck is a likeable foil — neurotically straitlaced, against pre-marital sex (with Ulla!), and living, nervously, his dream of a life in the theater (his voice is, truth be told, a little on the thin side, though). Charley Izzbella King's Ulla is wonderfully stereotypical (and has an explanatory song, "When You Got It, Flaunt It"), and Lee Roy Reams as Roger DeBris is a hilariously flagrant caricature of a gay male. And speaking of gay caricatures, one of the most successful gambits of Act One is to place in Roger's apartment every stereotype of gay manhood, including several fugitives from The Village People.
Other standouts in the large cast are Fred Applegate as Teutonic playwright Franz Liebkind, Harry Bouvy as Roger's associate Carmen Ghia, and Michael Thomas Holmes as ill-tempered CPA Mr. Marks.
Robin Wagner's scenery is one of the stars of the show — Bialystock's rundown office, on the street in the theater district, in Bloom's stifling accounting factory, or in a fantasy "Little Old Lady Land." William Ivey Long's costumes are always impressive, ranging from the simple and credible to the most ridiculously emblematic. It's no surprise that The Producers won every Tony award in sight; this is about as well-put together a confection as you might ever hope to come across.
I had a pleasant feeling about The Producers about 20 minutes into Act One: This, I found myself thinking, is what every Broadway musical should be — imaginative, invigorating, verbally unpredictable and musically effervescent. I didn't have the same feeling about Act Two — but I'm almost willing to overlook that. The first 75 minutes of The Producers are pure pleasure; if you can handle that much delight, this show's for you.
See it and you'll be singing, along with Max and Leo, "Where Did We Go Right?"
Contact Performance Critic Mark E. Leib at 813-248-888, ext. 305, or mark.leib@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in Apr 29 – May 5, 2004.