Theatre in Review: Jerry Springer -- The Opera (The New Group/Pershing Square Signature Center)Shock value isn't what it used to be. When Jerry Springer -- The Opera opened at London's National Theatre in 2003, it was an instant cause célèbre, riding a wave of notoriety (and acclaim) into a lengthy West End run. The title alone was an act of provocation; Springer and his bread-and-circus talk show was still very much in vogue, and its nonstop procession of cheaters, crossdressers, peepers, porn stars, and perverts of every stripe seemed to herald the end of Western civilization as we know it. The barbarians were no longer at the gates -- they were booked on TV, grasping at their fifteen minutes of fame, even if they had to sock someone in the jaw to get it. Love it or hate it, this outrageous musical entertainment was a no-holds-barred look at the tabloid television phenomenon that was such an omnipresent feature of American life. Its creators deserved points for sheer audacity, employing a musical-theatre format to explore the appeal of Springer and his Felliniesque freak show. Given its London success, and a rave review from The New York Times, a Broadway transfer seemed inevitable, but, for whatever reason, it never happened. A concert version played a couple of performances at Carnegie Hall in 2008, but otherwise the property faded from memory. Now comes the New Group production, in a somewhat revised version, and what strikes one immediately is how quickly it has aged. Springer is still on the air, as is his chief rival, Maury Povich -- As I write this, today's episode is titled "You Slept with My Fourteen-Year-Old; Is He Your Baby's Father?" -- but the parade has passed them by. We have newer devices -- Facebook, Twitter, Instagram -- for distraction and manufacturing synthetic controversies. Springer and his ilk, with their endless guest lists of bottom-feeders bent on hogging the spotlight, have left us immune to provocation, and, in any case, the world has moved on: Gay couples place their marriage notices in the Sunday paper; transsexuals are politically organized and fighting for their rights, when not hosting shows on VH1; and Springer's army of overweight and undereducated fans and thrill-seekers are now known as Donald Trump's base. In light of today, Jerry Springer -- The Opera is a decidedly lopsided enterprise, with a first half that veers recklessly between exploiting and exalting Springer's fans and a second half that collapses from inaction combined (bizarrely) with religious speculation. It begins as an episode of The Jerry Springer Show, complete with surprise guests and bombshell revelations, plus a full complement of brawls and catfights, egged on by a frenzied audience. The climactic event is a Ku Klux Klan tap dance, a would-be provocation that feels like it was cribbed from an unproduced Mel Brooks musical. In the second half, Jerry, having been shot during an in-studio melee, ends in up hell, where Satan commands him to broker an agreement with God. (Yes, the show goes all William Blake on us, aiming for a marriage of heaven and hell.) Among the religious figures who show up are a rather surly Jesus, who admits to being "a little bit gay;" a disillusioned Adam, who calls Eve a "stupid bitch" (to which she replies that he can "talk to the ass"); and Mary, who is introduced as "the teenage mother of Jesus." These are the mildest examples I could pull from the script, which is loaded with a record number of profanities: One sentence is larded with five expressions of the F-word. From time to time, Jerry Springer - The Opera claims to give voice to forgotten Americans, who, despite their disadvantages, deserve to be heard and understood, even if they enjoy wearing diapers into their thirties. (Admittedly, it's an argument that goes a long way toward explaining the current occupant of the Oval Office.) But, in its attempt at satirizing something that is, in essence, an object of mockery, Stewart Lee and Richard Thomas' book commits the cardinal sin of repeating itself, piling one weirdo on top of another, thus losing its shock-and-awe advantage; during the entire second half, they seem to be casting about for something meaningful to happen. Nevertheless, Jerry Springer -- The Opera is not to be dismissed, if only because the score -- music and lyrics by Thomas, additional lyrics by Lee -- is so accomplished, blending arias and choruses composed in classical style with jazz, gospel, and soul into a coherent and often surprisingly beautiful whole. Much of the show's humor comes from the yawning gulf between the score's exalted melodies and appalling words; at times the music comes close to turning the paper characters -- each of them defined by his or her kink -- into figures with authentic beating hearts. Even if you hate this show, you might walk out humming the tunes. In addition, the director, John Rando, has assembled what may be the most vocally gifted cast in town. Luke Grooms is solid in Act I as Dwight, who is cheating on his wife and girlfriend with a transsexual, but in Act II his ringing tenor is transcendent as God, delivering the roof-raising lament, "It Ain't Easy Being Me." Sean Patrick Doyle is a fierce presence as Tremont, the "chick with a dick" of Dwight's dreams, delivering one of the catchiest numbers, "Talk to the Hand." As Montel, the self-described "diaper man," Justin Keyes sings with brio and partners beautifully, if nuttily, with Jill Paice as Baby Jane, the immature playmate of his dreams; Paice can give a meltingly beautiful quality even to a lyric like "Dip me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians.") Tiffany Mann, as Shawntel, a hefty aspirational pole dancer, practically takes the paint off the walls with her solo, "I Just Want to Dance," a gospel rouser that occupies the same place on the Richter scale as "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going," from Dreamgirls. These supporting characters are so indelible that the two leads frequently end up on the sidelines. The role of Jerry is largely passive, although Terrence Mann gets plenty of laughs with his low-ball reactions to the outrages unfolding only inches away. Will Swenson brings plenty of sleazy allure to the role of the show's warm-up man, but he seems oddly uncomfortable in the second half as Satan, who keeps threatening to rape Jerry with a piece of barbed wire. As you might expect, Derek McLane's set is a fairly exact replica of Springer's show, with a few amusing touches added when the action shifts to Hades. Sarah Laux's costumes are among the ugliest in town, and I mean that as high praise. (She is aided by the equally unflattering hair and makeup designs of Dave Bova and J. Jared Janas.) Jeff Croiter's lighting is solid and Olivia Sebesky's projections include some amusing commercials for insurance companies and weight loss programs (via parasites). This show, with a cast of seventeen and a power-packed score, is arguably too big for the Romulus Linney Courtyard Theatre at the Signature; in any case, Joshua D. Reid's sound design is unpleasantly loud and artificial. One of musical theatre's great love-it-or-hate-it items, Jerry Springer -- The Opera too often settles for derisive laughter -- which you can get from watching any episode of The Jerry Springer Show if you are so inclined. The music provides a certain amount of balm, but you have to have a real taste for nonstop vulgarity, and you have to tolerate a second act that has nowhere to go. I should add that Thomas has subsequently written the libretto for the opera Anna Nicole, seen in London and New York to considerable acclaim. Can a Wagnerian exploration of the House of Kardashian be far behind? -- David Barbour 
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