THERE ARE PEOPLE in this world who make a living out of stereotypes and labels. Many of us feel more secure about things when we can hang labels on them--preppie, jock, pre-med and so on. Many people pooh-pooh musicals by dubbing them escapist" and "silly." But Pippin, while providing a pleasant diversion from blizzards and bombastic politicos, stands out from cliched musicals with its own resilience. Much more than a fantasy, Pippin deals with a very central and poignant dilemma in our lives--our existence, and what the hell to do with it.

From the moment the curtain rises, it is obvious why director Bob Fosse's interpretation of this 1972 hit musical comedy won five Tony awards. Fosse (Lenny, the screen versions of Cabaret, Damn Yankees, and more) directs a flawless set of Broadway dramatists; the choreography is tight, the vocals searing, and the action both amusing and touching. This production is comical, profound and very sexy--quite a unique combination of qualities for any stage production.

Pippin is the story of Charlemagne and his two sons, Pippin and Louis. Louis is his mother Fastrada's dearest, strong and mighty in battle, but very dumb. Pippin is his father's favorite--educated, benevolent, unlike his brother. Michael Rupert's Pippin, with his dingledodly, flaky normality, steals the crowd's empathy from his brother. While Louis sends ripples through his biceps, Pippin catechizes the dilemmas of his life--something most theater buffs can better relate to.

Pippin proves to be a very relevant story for any college student. After finishing his education, Pippin doesn't know what to do with his life. While Louis flaunts his shiny new armor and jabs his sword at the air, Pippin sits cross-legged on the stage, pondering where fate will lead him.

King Charles, a big barrel of a king and self-acclaimed "giant in the bedroom," snorts that his son need not do anything--Pippin is much too intelligent to be a soldier. "But Louis is such a good boy," snickers Fastrada, "so considerate and brave."

Pippin eventually decides to match his brother's bravado and joins his father's army. He cannot seem to take army life any more seriously than a game of Risk, and becomes deeply disillusioned when he sees his father and his men look forward to the Visigoth war. To top off the victory, his father announces, "We can rape the women!" Pippin is left somewhat aghast.

It all seems a bit much to bear until Pippin's grandmother, Berthe, provides the necessary comic relief. Berthe, played brilliantly by Thelam Carpenter, is a vivacious, sassy old lady who gets up to sing her jazzy number after excoriating the men's war games. "Men and their wars! Sometimes I think men raise flags when they can't get anything else up."

IT IS THIS INTERPLAY of tension and relief that saves Pippin time after time just after the viewer thinks the players have gone too far. The magic of Pippin is that--while confronting you with war, sex, disillusionment, love and politics--the play has the perspective to remind its audience that, "after all, this is only a musical comedy."

It is Berthe who rings in the theme of the story. "No Time At All" is a spicy song, sung on the shoulders of "Berthe's Boys," a coterie of male dancers. A giant scroll bearing the lyrics is dropped from the roof of the theater, and Berthe waves briskly to the crowd, "Sing along now, one more time":

It's time to start livin'

Time to take a little from the world we're givin'

Time to take time

For spring will turn to fall

In just no time at all

Sure enough, the staid and stodgy crowd sang along--coat-and-tied respectables and young hipsters alike. The kind of involvement and interest Pippin demands from its audience is a credit to the play's success.

But young Pippin still remains unfulfilled, undecided about his future. "Time is what I'm worrying about," he intimates. Then he discovers sex.

Suddenly confronted by one of the production's skimpily-clothed, sumptuous dancerettes who struts up to Pippin and pinches his nipple, Pippin giggles the red-faced giggle of a boy about to lose his innocence.

The cast then breaks into a frantic and sensuous rock 'n roll dance featuring a scorching electric guitar lead, a funky organ and a pulsating and quickening beat. The dance typifies the effective manner in which Fosse handles the elements of sex and slang in his production. With gaining speed, the dancers throw one another around the stage, while throwing Pippin into breasts and behinds. In one part of the dance, the dancers lower Pippin on and off a series of female dancers who somersault on the stage floor to lie flat beneath him. Right in synch with the dancing, the music accelerates, then climaxes, leaving Pippin alone on the stage with a very drained look on his face.

So much for sex; Pippin now seeks fulfillment in politics. When the oppression and tyranny of his father's rule is brought to his attention, he becomes outraged and swears to foment a revolution. With a jarring suddenness, Pippin stabs his father in the back and sings to a new day, turning the comedy into a melodrama for the moment.

When Pippin the idealist realizes that running the Holy Roman Empire isn't quite as easy as he had originally imagined, he rues the murder. Again, the play refuses to take itself too seriously. "You got it," a character tells Pippin, and Charles gets up off the floor, pulling the dagger from his back.

"I'm sorry father," Pippin says.

"That's o.k. son," Charles says nonchalantly, "just don't let it happen again."

Thrown out into the woods again, Pippin this time takes up with Catherine, a widow played by Alexandra Borrie, who owns a large estate. Eventually, Pippin becomes her lover and a father figure to Theo, her little boy. But Pippin even spurns love, leaving Catherine because, of all things, there must be something more to his life.

Which brings us to the finale. Suddenly, Pippin is surrounded by all the players and dancers. They implore him to achieve perfection in life through a flaming death. Just as they are about to persuade Pippin to take his life, Catherine comes back into the scene with Theo, and Pippin's search for meaning comes to an end.

OUTRAGED that the saga of Pippin's life did not end in an egoistic suicide, the players curse Pippin and Catherine and Theo, who stand in the middle of the stage, hand in hand. They remove all the props, the makeup, the costumes, the lights, and leave the trio standing squarely in the center of a bare Shubert stage. Without revealing the finale, as Pippin himself says, "What a way to end a musical comedy.

There is really nothing bad to say about Pippin. This is one musical that keeps you guessing--and thinking. This Tony-winner will have you contemplating and singing at the same time as you climb the frozen snowbanks of your life--which is a lot more than you will get from Sartre and Camus.