'REEFER MADNESS' DOPEY BUT FUN

NEW YORK -- When Mayor Rudy Giuliani let on that it's OK to be funny, I
don't think this was quite what he had in mind.

A musical comedy tracing the wacky misadventures of dope-smoking teenagers
and the lascivious adults who stoke their habits is not, I suspect, one
that Hizzoner would prescribe as comic relief for grief-stricken New
Yorkers. Throw in a lounge-lizard Jesus and similarly irreverent
caricatures of Uncle Sam and Lady Liberty, and you have a show with the
potential to tick off political leaders across the country, especially at
this sensitive juncture.

But for the laughing, cheering theatergoers who attended a preview last
week of the new off-Broadway musical Reefer Madness ( * * * out of four),
which opened Sunday at the Variety Arts Theatre, these shenanigans were
clearly just what the doctor ordered.

Based on the anti-drug-propaganda-film-turned-camp-classic of the same
name, Madness is the brainchild of Kevin Murphy and Dan Studney, whose
songs and script carry the nothing-is-sacred philosophy espoused by current
musicals such as The Producers and Urinetown to a new level. There is
something here to offend everyone, even those who share the creators' view
that the legal prohibition of marijuana is a sure step on the path to
totalitarian oppression.

On the other hand, I doubt that even the staunchest opponent of
mind-altering substances could resist entirely the effects of this
delirious romp, which at its best reaches highs of intoxicating goofiness.

Though set in 1936, the year of the film's release, Madness cannily
incorporates musical styles ranging from jazz and doo-wop to rock and
disco, and it provides characters that are accessible to young audiences
even as they parody old-fashioned stereotypes. The show's virginal
sweethearts, Jimmy and Mary -- played by Christian Campbell and Kristen
Bell with a swell mix of squeaky innocence and snarky knowing -- could have
been lifted out of a '50s TV series; Gregg Edelman's stern, oafish narrator
is just as drolly anachronistic. As the dastardly drug dealer Jack and his
"junked-up chippie," Mae, Robert Torti and Michele Pawk infuse sleazy
cliches with winking irony.

And Erin Matthews deftly plays Sally, the buxom blonde who lures Jimmy into
Jack and Mae's clutches, as the missing link between Mae West and Reese
Witherspoon.

1980s pop star Paula Abdul's choreography draws similarly on classic and
contemporary influences, veering from giddy swing-era routines to a brash,
MTV-esque mock orgy. In an especially cheeky moment, Mary gets stoned and
turns into a gyrating dominatrix, rhapsodizing about phone cords and candle
wax.

Periodically, a leggy hoofer sails by, waving placards emblazoned with such
dire warnings as "Reefer makes you giggle -- for NO GOOD REASON!"

Not all of the giggles in Madness are so readily digestible. When an actor
dressed as Sally's baby sings about how Mommy sold him "to get her daily
fix," it's enough to make the most ardent black-comedy enthusiast squirm.
And some of the more violent bits of shtick, from Jack's frequent beatings
of Mae to a skit depicting the accidental murder of an old man, simply
aren't funny enough to justify their tastelessness.

But as this generally entertaining show should help remind us, the freedom
to be controversial, troubling or silly in artistic expression is part of
what distinguishes us from those who wish to end our laughter permanently.