I'm sure I am in the minority here. And I guess it is easier to be in the minority when you know your opinion will have little or no impact on the subject. But here it goes, anyway. All three of the other Tony nominees for Best Musical 2005 – Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, The Light in the Piazza and The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee – were better than the winner, Spamalot. There, I said it.
There is much to applaud about Monty Python's Spamalot, which opened last night at Baltimore's Hippodrome Theatre. The costumes, the scenery and the cast (for the most part, anyway) are top-notch. To look at it, you can see why it was named best musical – the costumes, scenery (both by Tim Hatley) and lighting (by Hugh Vanstone) are a traditional Broadway style feast for the eyes. Then, too, is the delightful choreography by Casey Nicholaw. And this cast (for the most part, anyway) is truly gifted – they can sing and dance like you wouldn't believe. And they all pull off multiple characters with such skill that you truly cannot tell the same person is playing different roles; in that respect, they are amazing. What makes me cringe, though, is the inane material with which they are forced to work. Interestingly enough, neither the sets nor the costumes won the Tony, but the direction, by Mike Nichols, did. 
Far be it from me to dispute the quality of work by a Tony and Oscar winner, but there is such a thing as over directing. Every single minute of the show is so stagy, so set that not a second of it comes off as even remotely spontaneous. I wondered aloud (much to the annoyance of the critic seated next to me), "Would they know what to do if even one small thing happened that wasn't planned?" I fear, the show would grind to a halt.
Ok, so you'll tell me that Monty Python-esque humor is an acquired taste. Maybe it is. I like a good fart joke as much as the next Neanderthal – I've even told a few at inappropriate times, but nearly two hours of jokes about knights with flatulence issues, fecal issues, and obvious boob jokes? I felt like I was at a frat row talent show, and I was the only one there not drunk. Then, of course, there are also the British/French jokes, the Jew jokes and gay jokes. None are remotely insulting, none are particularly political, and very few are original. No harm, no foul.
I suppose now would be a good time to admit I had exactly the same reaction to The Producers, even with the original cast. Everyone around me was howling with laughter, and I sat stone faced, giggling exactly twice. With The Producers, my biggest laugh came from the "Springtime for Hitler" number; with Spamalot, it was the "You Won't Succeed on Broadway" number, which tells of certain disaster when a show hits the Great White Way without Jews at the helm. Hmm… Nazis and Jews make me laugh… I'll bring it up to my shrink. As the subtitle of the show says, it was "lovingly ripped off" of the film version. Suffice it to say, Spamalot has ripped off The Producers (and again with the homage to "Keep It Gay" in "His Name Is Lancelot" – my other prolonged giggle).
It is when the show sends up other traditions of Broadway that it shows any level of smarts, though Urinetown did it much better a few years ago. When one of the characters leads the male chorus in a Fiddler on the Roof bottle dance (substitute the Holy Grail for the wine bottles), or in "The Song That Goes Like This" goes all out Phantom of the Opera (despite pleas from the cast to avoid all things Andrew Lloyd Webber – my third giggle) that the show really burns on all cylinders. It'll be up to you to see what else they've ripped off, but their subtle tribute to Les Miserables (my fourth and final laugh) points out what this all could have been. Instead, the "book" settles for one shticky routine after another – an extended sequence about coconuts and one about a father who all but ignores his obviously gay son both seem to be ripping off the old "Who's on First?" bit, but both left me cold, and to be honest, kept the audience quiet both times, as well. Again, if you love this kind of humor in huge doses, go with my blessing. But if you need some heart and even a glimmer of plot with your fluff, go see Mamma Mia! again.
