BROADWAY SNAP-SHOT, 2 May 2001
by Russell Bouthiller

The Producers

THE PRODUCERS is an all-conquering, adorable hit of Teutonic proportions. Starring the rubber-faced Nathan Lane as Max Bialystock, theatrical producer, and Matthew Broderick as his milksop neophyte, Leo Bloom, THE PRODUCERS has the stuff that producers’ dreams are made of. From costumes to choreography, from book to bit player, each carefully blended ingredient makes this zany singspiel taste like warm schnitzel and cold beer.

After the failure of his latest production, FUNNY BOY, a musical version of HAMLET, Bialystock has wrung dry nearly every one of his seasoned investors. Not until a not-yet-certified public accountant named Leo Bloom comes along does Max realize that, with just the right cooking of the books, there’s a great future in a Broadway flop. Tempted away from his day job, Leo signs on as junior partner and the two set out to produce the biggest disaster since the Hindenburg.

Success for Bialystock & Bloom rests on finding the worst of all possible shows, one that’s certain to close on opening night. They hit pay dirt with a revisionist wartime musical called SPRINGTIME FOR HITLER written by a neo-Nazi with an Aryan aviary. Guaranteed to insult at least half the audience, namely the Jews, this surefire bomb should finance a comfy retirement in Rio de Janeiro.

What makes THE PRODUCERS so outrageously funny is its nothing-sacred approach to just about everything. Tweaking flaming queens and voluptuous vixens, no one is spared. There’s even a poke at the Black Irish: a brogue-heavy African American with a hankering for corned beef and cabbage. Refreshingly, THE PRODUCERS offers a reprieve from the sanctimony of the terminally aggrieved politically correct.

From the moment the ingeniously silly Nathan Lane sweeps across the stage of the St. James Theatre in “The King of Broadway” number, this lovable rogue has the entire audience eating out of his hand. He’s the bottom of the barrel, stealing from sex-starved widows, yet we’d gladly hand over our grandmothers.

Matthew Broderick’s nebbish persona offers the perfect complement to Lane’s spiced ham. “You’ve mistaken me for someone with a spine,” he informs Bialystock as their fraud unfurls. With every jittery whimper and befuddled aside, his Bloom blossoms like a hearty weed. Next to a performer of Lane’s magnitude, another actor might fade into the footlights. But, Broderick shines brilliantly.

Among the supporting characters, there’s not a shrinking edelweiss to be found. Brad Oscar flourishes as the Fascist playwright Franz Liebkind. Gary Beach as the flamboyant director Roger De Bris and Roger Bart as his “common law assistant” dazzle as a pair of limp-leafed pansies. Along with some rather queer co-workers, their “Keep it Gay” ditty should have the GLAAD gang picketing at the stage door.

As the Swedish sex-pot Ulla, Cady Huffman is worth every pfennig. Long-limbed and bleached blonde, Huffman has more turns than a Bavarian bobsled. Max sums it up best after her rousing “When You Got It, Flaunt It” number. “I want you to know that, even though we’re sitting down, we’re giving you a standing ovation.”

Adapted from his Oscar-winning screenplay, Mel Brooks has delivered a new musical comedy so tightly wrapped and impeccably timed, you’d think he had spent all of his two thousand years ironing out the wrinkles. Though his music may not reach Valhalla, it’s bright and buoyant throughout. And, with his waggish lyrics and crisp book, co-written by Thomas Meehan, Brooks elevates bad taste to Zeppelin heights.

Brooks has been truly blessed by the choreography and direction of Susan Stroman. As goose-steeping chorines fall into Berkeley-esque swastikas during the outlandish “Springtime For Hitler” extravaganza, she soars to the apex of irreverence. Following her hits of last year, THE MUSIC MAN and CONTACT, Stroman has proved herself the unassailable Broadway blitzkrieg.

Costumes by William Ivey Long display oversized pretzels and sausage-swinging panniers to liven up the sauerbraten. Set designs by Robin Wagner and lighting designs by Peter Kaczorowski demonstrate a triumph of the will. With Stroman’s creative brawn and Brooks’ twisted brain, THE PRODUCERS is a show well worth its three figure ticket price; that is if you can get one.