I'll probably do you a favor if I don't rave overlong about the new musical version of The Producers, which I saw last Wednesday evening. Is it good? Yes. Is it a wonderful evening in the theatre? Again, yes. Is it as spectacularly earth-shattering wonderful as the reviews, buzz, Tony Awards and wait for tickets would lead you to believe? No…but what could be? "The new Mel Brooks musical" — as all the blurbs call it, presumably to distinguish it from all the old Mel Brooks musicals — is funny, clever and never for one moment dull, and Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick are both sensational.
I laughed a lot — more so at the new lines, than those recycled from the film, which so many of us know by heart and incorporate in our everyday speech. A lot of the old dialogue isn't quite as wonderful in the new, faster-paced, leading-up-to-the-next song context, plus Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder are hard acts to follow. On the other hand, I suspect at least a passing familiarity with the movie is required to fully appreciate the stage version, which hustles past some of the plot points as if you already know them. [NOTE: If you haven't already heard about the screen-to-stage plot changes and don't want to, stop reading now.] L.S.D., the role played by Dick Shawn in the movie, is gone. Instead, author Franz Liebkind is cast as Hitler but, thirty minutes before curtain on opening night, he breaks a leg and the appallingly-gay director Roger DeBris goes on in his place. If the idea is that the cast substitution is what causes Springtime for Hitler to turn into a successful comedy romp, it's a pretty illogical notion, as DeBris is perfectly cast in the campy production they've doubtlessly been prepping for weeks. Makes you wonder what fuhrer-lover Liebkind was doing during rehearsals.
So that makes no sense and you know what? It doesn't matter. Because by the time we get to that scene, the audience is hopelessly in love with Nathan Lane, Matthew Broderick, The Producers, everything. We forgive it and certain other leaps o' logic — or perhaps mentally transpose them from the movie — because we're having too good a time to stop and quibble. Some of the songs are funny but quickly-forgettable, and the newly-injected romantic subplot between Leo Bloom (Broderick) and Swedish secretary Ulla (Cady Huffman) comes close to slowing up the proceedings. But through it all, we're having way too good a time to care.
Lane is, as always, very funny. He has that star quality of insistence. Something about him insists you watch his every move and gesture, for all are amusing. Broderick has the harder task and his version of Bloom starts out a bit too cartoony, squeaky voice and all, but soon wins you over. The whole cast is pretty good but I would single out Brad Oscar, who plays the Nazi playwright, for special praise. This is because he genuinely stops the show with one of his numbers, "Haben Sie Gehoert Das Deutsche Band?", not because he arranged for me to get house seats. (Thank you again, Brad!)
Getting to see The Producers is, of course, the current great sign of status. Everywhere we went in Manhattan, folks were asking us, "How'd you get tickets?" as if we'd just booked passage on the Space Shuttle. I'm told that if one calls TeleCharge, they're talking May of 2002 as the next availability for good seats…which is amazing, if true. Lane and Broderick have only announced their intent to stay through March, so some purchasers are gambling they'll stay longer or — less likely — be replaced by someone equally wonderful. And of course, it's become a huge guessing game to speculate on who that might be, either on Broadway or in the countless touring companies and regional productions yet to come. I have a feeling it'll wind up being like The Odd Couple or The Sunshine Boys which, eventually, provided work for every single actor in America who could read a funny line. And I still think it would be terrific if Mel Brooks goes to prison because he expected the whole enterprise to fail and secretly sold 25,000% of the play to investors. Wouldn't that be wonderful?