Review: ‘The Drowsy Chaperone’ lovingly parodies the musical genre

“The Drowsy Chaperone” is a musical of preposterous delights. The five-time Tony-winning show’s entire raison d’etre? Providing an escape from — per the script — the endless “dreary horrors” of reality. That escape is a rollicking good time at Theo Ubique’s raucous, intimate staging of a musical that’s both a spoof of the genre and a love letter to it.

The score (music and lyrics by Lisa Lambert and Greg Morrison) is pleasant but largely forgettable; the characters and dialogue (book by Bob Martin and Dan McKellar) are about as nuanced as Looney Tunes cartoons. None of that matters much. “The Drowsy Chaperone” is so stupid it’s smart.

Directed by L. Walter Stearns with music direction by Eugene Dizon, “The Drowsy Chaperone” is gloriously bonkers. What else to call a show that features a conga line of prancing rabbits and blindfolded roller-skating?

Stearns puts the audience squarely in the alternate universe of musicalandia, a place where all endings are happy and all problems can be solved in the space of an eight-bar refrain or a tap-happy dance break.

The plot includes a play-within-the-play. Our 21st-century hero is the otherwise nameless Man in Chair (Steve McDonagh). He’s our guide to the (fictional) 1928 musical, “The Drowsy Chaperone.” As he drops the vinyl cast recording onto an actual record player, the stage becomes populated by the stock characters from the roaring twenties who make the screwball musical come to life.

In that musical, leading lady Janet Van De Graaf (Kelsey MacDonald) is giving up the stage to be married to George (Kevin Chlapecka). Her gimlet-guzzling Chaperone (Colette Todd) is charged with keeping Janet and the groom separated until the wedding. Hijinks ensue.

The Man in Chair stays in the present, providing commentary about show gossip: The lothario Aldolpho (Darian Goulding) will be tragically eaten by poodles. Best man Robert (Trey Plutnicki) sold cocaine-laced toothpaste. Janet was known as the “Oops Girl” because her sexual energy was so strong she caused men to spill their — wait for it — drinks.

There’s endless comedic irony to Man in Chair. His repellent distaste for shows that break the fourth wall will leave untold theatergoers feeling seen. Yet Man’s every line is directed straight at the audience, the fourth wall demolished. McDonagh makes it work and makes it hilarious. He is the show’s anchor, grounding the musical in vulnerability and a withering humor that contrasts nicely with the farcical bombast and slapstick of the show he’s ruminating on.

Stearns’ cast keeps the energy high. As Janet, MacDonald is a luminous bombshell with a belting soprano and a gift for Busby Berkeley-adjacent production numbers. “Show Off” lets her showcase everything from 180-degree splits to Hula-Hooping, all making it abundantly clear that Janet certainly does want to show off, impending nuptials or no.

Chlapecka spins comedy from the wafer-thin base of fiance George. He’s at his best in motion, making the treacherous roller-skating in “Accident Waiting to Happen” look easy. Ditto “Cold Feets,” a riveting tap duet with best man Plutnicki. You can practically see sparks flying from their shoes.

As the titular character, Todd brings the thunder to the show’s biggest showstopper, belting out the anthem “As We Stumble Along” with ferocious intensity. Think Evita on the balcony, galvanizing her people, but after a vodka gimlet or six. And watch for Trix the Aviatrix (a memorable, authoritative Lena Simone), who flies in at the last moment — deus ex machina style — to take everyone to Rio.

The show moves at a rapid-fire pace, with Jenna Schoppe’s choreography running the gamut from Charleston to ballet to acrobatics and back.

Nick Cochran’s costume designs have some tailoring issues (Janet’s wedding dress had a hole in the back opening night). The “fancy dress” the oft-befuddled Mrs. Tottendale (a droll Jenny Rudnick) sports throughout is more bedraggled than fancy. But Cochran also creates some smashing flapper gowns along with a wonderful four-reveal ensemble that Janet peels off while insisting she doesn’t like showing off.

Theo Ubique’s space has the audience on couches and at tables around the stage. No matter where you’re seated, it’s close enough to see the sweat.

Bob Knuth’s adequate set design has Dizon’s talented micro-orchestra (percussion, reed, trumpet and keys) tucked offstage behind a window, making room on stage for both Man’s tiny kitchen and a space open enough to handle all-ensemble dance numbers.

“The Drowsy Chaperone” is a fizzy, flapperific journey to the good ‘20s, the ones of a century ago. It’s a show that makes it easy to leave your troubles at the door. That’s the magic of musicals done right. From overture to curtain call, the dreary horrors vanish.