Though one target of Gerard Alessandrini's satire in this latest edition of his long-running revue is the proliferation of 'brand-name' midtown shows, the Forbidden Broadway title, for 25 years (and counting), has represented the cream of musical theater parody. Fast and fearless, the "Dancing with the Stars" FoBro is 90 minutes of sheer irreverent, exhilarating, take-no-prisoners glee concluding with a sucker-punching reminder of why we love that Great White Way, warts and all.
After the introductory song, we proceed straight to a diatribe on self-proclaimed theater fans who prefer backstage gossip to the actual experience of seeing a play ("All That Chat") - a theme later reprised as a bored Eponine, concealed by the huge Les Miz barricade, swaps progress reports with colleagues ("On My Phone").
The Disney empire also makes an easy target: The star of The Little Mermaid laments making her B-Way debut in a role rendering legs unnecessary, Lion King cast members groan under the weight of their 40-pound masks, and a cheery Mary Poppins warbles, "Stupid careless fictional nonsensical verbocious/So damn cute you choke on all the sappy sweet glucoseness."
The indie musicals don't escape the lampoons, however: Latinos in In The Heights sprinkle barriospeak with Yiddish to accommodate their post-Tony audience demographic. Non-musical attractions take their hits, too - literally, in the case of Chicago's own August: Osage County, represented by a boxing match between mother Violet and daughter Barbara. ("I'm in charge here!" trumpets the latter, prompting the referee to declare, "That's a great curtain line!."(And a shy Dan Radcliffe does a nervous striptease to "Let Me/Enter Naked," assisted by his faithful wire-sculpture pony.
It should go without saying that replicating the signature styles of so many and so varied a roster places demands on the performers far beyond those of their source personalities (a rabbit-toothed Sarah Brightman, for example, or an ultra-histrionic Mandy Patinkin). But Leisa Mather, Kevin B. McGlynn, Valerie Fagan and Mark David Kaplan sprint through their agenda with nary a missed note or step. Even when the jokes are a bit mossy ("Walk like a man/Sing like a girl" has been around since the original song hit the airwaves), the dazzling delivery makes repeated viewings advisable. As swiftly as these lyrics zip by us, we want to hear them again.
