Theater review: 'Young Frankenstein'

Frankenstein’s monster is a universal figure of terror — and Universal Studios jealously guarded intellectual property. Before zombies walked the earth, Dr. Victor Frankenstein brought the dead to life with the aid of a few volts.

Who knew nightmares could be so simple?

Mary Shelley saw the monster in a lightning flash in her window and wrote her famous book. Boris Karloff’s depiction of the creature had a similar effect on the minds, hearts — and sometimes bladders — of millions of terrified kids. The archetype is burned in memory, which made Mel Brooks’ 1974 comedy such a hoot. He kept the scary look, even used some of the original props and shot in black and white. But he turned the archetype inside out and made the mad scientist an immigrant to America, ashamed of his family name. And the monster was a sophisticated man about town — and ultimately a ladies’ man.

It’s a great movie, with a script co-written by Gene Wilder. (The monstrous rendition of “Puttin' on the Ritz” was his idea.) Despite some collaboration with Thomas Meehan on the script, Mel Brooks’ Broadway musical adaptation was strictly his baby — and it wasn’t a monster hit. The movie was in black-and-white. The musical shines with the colors of the real world, and already, some of the magic is lost. The songs don’t so much add to the story as stretch it out. And they don’t stay with you once you’ve heard them. Lightning doesn’t always strike twice.

That’s not to say I didn’t laugh my head off. Which makes it hard to judge this musical critically. Like “Blazing Saddles” and “Monty Python and the Holy Grail,” this is one of those films I’ve pretty much memorized. I laugh at the jokes before the actors say them. Including some of the jokes Brooks cut.

“Did you make a yummy sound?”

No. That’s not in there.

The plot. Everybody remembers the plot, right? Young Dr. Frederick Frankenstein repudiates the legacy of his grandfather, Dr. Victor Frankenstein. Inherits castle in Transylvania. Joins family business, makes monster. Comedy ensues. That’s the plot.

As to the actors …

Mark Athridge animates but doesn’t imitate as the young Dr. Frederick Frankenstein. Not a rehash of Wilder, but an original take. Ross Boehringer’s Igor is more of an homage to Marty Feldman’s characterization—but a tad more campy. Jessica Tasetano’s Inga exudes the perfect combination of innocence, prurience  and peasant pulchritude. Jolie Cannon is very funny as the dour Frau Blücher, still carrying a torch (or an unlit candelabra) for the original Dr. Frankenstein after all these years. Tom Palazzo’s Monster is more of a towering fall guy. He gets burned (literally, by Tony Boothby’s blind hermit) and scorned—but finally finds his voice, thanks to a pseudo-scientific brain swap with the good Doctor. Melissa Ingrisano’s portrayal of Elizabeth (the young Doctor’s fiancée) has a nice screwball comedy note. As in the movie, it’s never entirely clear if she’s sexually repressed—or simply withholding her affections from the young Doctor.

Jared E. Walker’s direction is as snappy as the material will allow. Musical director Rick Bogner keeps up the song and dance with choreography by Eric Berkel and Kay Siebold. A few numbers feel like filler and overlong—“Roll in the Hay,” for example. Roll, roll, roll in the hay. Roll, roll … Yeah, I get it. Move on. But the “Puttin on the Ritz” number is a flashy highlight. (Though the sequence was originally a parody of “King Kong.” At song’s end, the movie Monster flees in terror at the flashbulbs of reporters’ cameras just like Kong. The musical Monster runs for no good reason. Why?)

The good news: Mel Brooks never met a dirty joke he didn’t like — and he wrote the lyrics. It’s definitely his abnormal mind at work. Even the overlong songs will make you snicker for all the wrong reasons.

Don’t expect to recapture the movie magic. But if that magic never left you, the musical works, even when it shouldn’t.