But what of the players? Can't have a ballgame without players, and there are many who rode into the winner's circle. Murphy comes through as O'Genick, but better direction would have tightened his wavering Steve Martin-Goes-to-Southie character. Fitch's job on Ella Mental, the nonagenarian nympho, is outstanding. Jim O'Brien, who plays the second female lead as Melissa Forethought, a whorish double agent who gets it from both sides, turns in an admirable performance, especially on the raunchy number, "Coo and Bill Me Later." O'Brien's act is marred only by the fact that he walks around with his mouth wide open too much.

Hanes as Burton deBusch and O'Leary as Spasm are memorable in their roles. The latter, who portrays a classic professor-turned-butler, makes the most of his few lines and shows the difference between creating a character and just playing a part. You just can't take your eyes off O'Leary from the time when he steals the song "Domestic Blisters," to the end when he is fittingly left alone on stage.

What O'Leary achieves with actions, super-freshman Hanes does with words. Not only does he have the egocentric villain character nailed ("Natalie, I believe I've found myself overqualified for life as we know it."), but the kid knows how to play off the audience like the great comic actors. Hanes is raw material, and when he goes into the Elvis-takeoff tune "Stud" (my favorite song in the show, complete with background choreograpy in the finest Motown tradition), you'll know he doesn't spend his Saturday nights watching "Mannix."

The other main characters (Reggie Mental, brother of Ella and Natalie) suffer from too few good lines and not enough personality, as do most of the bit parts, but most of this is redeemed by the big drag number, "Immoral Code."

The drag. It's the thing that everyone waits for, and like the Orange Bowl halftime show, it gets more outrageous every year. "Immoral Code" starts out as harem burlesque, eases into "shake your baubels" Mediterranean disco, and before the night is over, we get the mombo, conga, meringue, and of course, the remedial can-can. The transitions are fast, a credit to the show's skilled choreography, and the dancers are fully aware that they are playing drag, not house.

In the end it was a pretty quick two hours, an encouraging sign for any theater presentation. If you've never been to a Pudding show before, get a taste of Overtures. You won't go tapioca like the giggling Brahmin businessman sitting next to you, but there's enough solid visual comedy and quality music to pull you through and give you something impressive to write your mother. I chose not to write mine, mainly because I jotted down all the good puns to spring on her as originals when I go home for vacations.

WHEN YOU HEAD OVER to Holyoke St, bag the critical, narrow-minded appraisal ("Oh bummer, it's not anything like Saturday Night Live,") and save your class consciousness for another day ("Oooooooh, I don't think I fit in with all these people.").

Have fun. Be a big shot. Give your terminal degeneracy a two-hour boost. But don't expect "Plaza Suite," much less "Pi Eta Suite."

Give the Pudding show a chance, and save your own overtures for South Africa, Nicaragua or Staten Island.

As for me, I think Shumann, the clown of classical music put it best when he said--"I'll be Bach."