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Hasty Pudding Theatricals: Puttin' on the Blitz

ROAR OF THE GREASEPAINT

Choreography by Karen Pisani Pastore is well-suited to the fumbling characters and their falsies. Swinging grenades and twisting necks make "Soldier Soul" the best revue of the night. A close second comes when the same characters, in baby blue and bright orange mountaineer outfits reminiscent of Heidi, perform the Ritzcracker ballet. Tess Tosterone's pliet and her son's leaps steal the show.

Swift jiggling in Cafe Ole to the tune of Pee Wee Herman's "Tequila" and a cardboard car chase scene are also clever choreographic touches. And the cast carries off the patented kickline finale with the Pudding's usual burlesque verve.

The Roaring Twenties satin and fringe are a dazzling but understated use of the $30,000 costume budget. The best duds of the night came in Act II, when the speakeasy clientele and the cops don camoflauge outfits and wellplaced grenades. In the night's fashion coup extraordinaire, Agent Tess Tosterone sports black leather bodice, camo cape and the most lethal weapon of all--metal breastcups with fold-out knives--better known as "Ginsu chest."

The finale begins in rather dull trench coats, but it culminates in the night's finest costuming moment--with the actor's bodies more to blame than the costume designers: the revue dancers bare all but their skin-tone bodysuits and pink-feather fans.

The sets are well done and a vast improvement on last year's efforts. Cafe Ole's backdrop features ornate Art Deco design of marble and gold, and a city layout as good as Batman's Gotham. The best set is in the Metal Shop Nightclub, with its eerie flourescent green ghouls and cage fashioned from Flinstone-style dinosaur bones.

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The production throws in some neat effects, like Mama Reeglands barging down the aisle in search of a new son, and a demonesque loudspeaker announcer hissing the name of the heavy metal club's band, "Satanica, satanica, satanica..."

UNFORTUNATELY, the sets and the stars are not entirely enough to redeem two-and-a-half hours of still-born lines. If you get as drunk as the patrons of Cafe Ole and really enjoy jiggling foam, maybe you won't notice.

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