IT TAKES A LOT of brilliant people to make a show as seductively idiotic as the Dunster House production of Anything Goes. The cast and company seem determined to sweep the audience away on the Good Ship Cole Porter, the decks awash with tap-dancing sailors, happy-go-lucky heroes wooing smitten but duty-bound heiresses, evangelists turned nightclub singers, and lovable gangsters on the lam, accompanied by accommodating molls. If you're human, you might be tempted to stuff the damn diploma and sail off with them, paired up with an attractive dancing partner and immersed in some of the best show music this side of heaven.

A large share of the credit must go to the show, one of those sure-fire hits in high-school, college and amateur theaters. An old-fashioned revival long before Nanette made them commonplace, the already sumptuously scored Anything Goes was packed with still more memorable melodies from Cole Porter's mind-boggling output. Now, in one show, we have the title song, "You're the Top," "It's DeLovely," "Friendship," "I Get a Kick Out of You," "Blow, Gabriel, Blow," "Take Me Back to Manhattan," and lesser known though equally delightful gems like, "Let's Misbehave," and "Heaven Hop." Whew. This production adds still another number, a bit of Porter patter called, "The Physician," specifically for Virginia Pasay (and on the basis of her screamingly elegant rendition, I might have given her a few more.) Over the years, the numerous contributors to the book have crammed it with great old gags and one-liners, and they come at you so fast that you can't fight them off; come in determined not to laugh, and they break down your defenses.

Director Diana Carpenter and choreographer Amy Ragsdale appear to have staged every word, polishing gestures and blocking to the point of stylization. Invention tops invention, and the tempo never falters; the quieter numbers seem to roll gracefully out of the frenetic moments, picking up speed and then tossing us back into the razzle-dazzle. Ragsdale choreographs persons and not feet; every limb has its moment in the spotlight, bobbing bodies trade steps from one corner of the stage to another--and when all that fascinating business converges into a single group motion, the effect is exhilarating. The chorus slides into the dancing with an ease and assurance that makes it seem like an extension of their everyday movements--and how nice it is to see the leads plunged wholeheartedly into the chorus numbers instead of the usual segregation. One has the feeling that everyone wants to be in every number, that they would feel cheated if left out.

Because every element of this production sizzles, from maestro/pianist Dan Ullman's orchestra to Phyllis Zinicola's tasteful, evocative costumes, individual details are harder to cite than they would be in a lesser show: What is outstanding in a production in which everything stands out? Cindy Ruskin's multi-level set is a model of attractive, well-balanced simplicity (and of course it only seems simple; a set like this must have required tremendous work to devise and build), with carry-on pieces of furniture kept to a minimum. This, combined with highly efficient stagehands, results in scene changes that frequently finish well ahead of the ovations for a previous scene's show-stopper. Andrew Dorsey's lighting is extremely well-defined, further illuminating the depth of director Carpenter's compositions, and someone handles the moving spotlight very adeptly. Little flourishes spice the proceedings; when Diane Nabatoff mounts the stairs to a perch on the top deck while singing "I Get A Kick Out of You," the spotlight catches the side of the Dunster Dining Hall chandelier, casting its shadow on the piece of set below her. Intentional? Maybe, maybe not, but one thing is clear: the angles are on the side of this show.

SOMEWHERE IN THE second act, during a revival scene, a frightening thought occurred to me: could this be the apotheosis of American musical comedy? No, God no, of course not. And yet, on its own lightweight, escapist terms, Anything Goes is 100 per cent successful--from moment-to-moment as enjoyable, if ultimately nowhere near as satisfying, as any show in our musical repertoire. Makes you think. Poor Stephen Sondheim.

Once again, no stand-outs in the cast: everyone shines so brightly that when they merge, it's blinding. Diane Nabatoff has a voice that cuts through the air like a siren until it laps lullingly against your ear. Her Reno Sweeny has that extra dimension of depth that you find in the best torch singers--mature, at times slightly removed, a little scared of aging, but always supremely poised. Brick Bushman's engaging Billy never lets the character become plastic, and as his beloved, Ellen Burkhardt is a wonderfully pert ingenue, an island of sanity at sea. Kevin Usher as the gangster Moonface gives a performance that Bert Lahr would have loved, full of snarls that melt into whimpers, and with a deadpan that borders on hysteria. During his amusing solo, "Be Like the Bluebird," his playful vocal tricks give way to a voice as soaring as any in the cast. Phoebe Green's moll Bonnie, suggests the roll of the ocean all by herself, like a slightly underfilled waterbed: push on the thrust-out derriere and the chest doubles in size. This kind of physical characterization requires uncanny discipline, and when she marshals all that energy into a number like "Heaven Hop," she and the four accompanying "Angels" blow the roof off. And Devall Patrick's Sir Evelyn Oakleigh is a marvelous British boob, fastidiously fingering his collar while pinpointing certain parliamentary vowel sounds.

There are fleeting flaws, inevitably, but it'd be grouchy to make much of them; when a director is so clearly a perfectionist, a critic can afford, for a little while anyway, to relax. Nabatoff and Bushman could sing "You're The Top" to each other instead of the audience; a few funny lines were buried in the laughter on opening night and some of the supporting players might raise their volume a little; during the second act, someone says Moon is locked in the brig, after he has clearly participated in the previous production number--oh hell, enough. The flourishes compensate for the flaws: the chorus singing tastefully offstage while only Billy and Hope dance during "It's DeLovely;" the words "knock-knock" delivered in character (Steward--bouncy, Purser--officious, etc.) by anyone knocking on invisible stateroom doors; and the nice little zings of punctuation that end a number like "Let's Step Out."

Anything Goes has everything going for it, and you would be a fool to miss out. If you're at all susceptible to brainless musical comedy with lots of heart, then the Dunster production will leave you hooting and cheering, smashing your hands together and babbling like an idiot.