Two weeks ago, I finally saw The Producers, Mel Brooks' 2001 Broadway musical based on his 1968 movie. I'm so up-to-date, no? Then last week I watched the 2005 movie version of the play.

And I thought they both sucked. I also thought their treatment of gay people was crude and inexcusable.

No, wait! Please just hear me out.

Yes, yes, The Producers is the most honored musical in Broadway history, winning a record twelve Tony's (though, admittedly, the movie version of the play tanked both critically and commercially).

And yes, I know that this musical is, by its very nature, offensive. That that's part of its “charm.” And supposedly everyone gets skewered in The Producers, not just gay people. That's the whole point.

And those over-the-top gay stereotypes and nasty anti-gay jokes? It's all camp. It's a parody of anti-gay parody! In short, we gay people are in on the joke.

Uh, let's take these arguments in turn, shall we?

This is the most honored musical in Broadway history?!?!

Honestly, did some sort of mass hypnosis sweep New York in 2001? Did nothing else open that year? The Producers is better than anything by Sondheim? Rogers and Hammerstein? Kander and fricking Ebb?

According to the original New York Times review, The Producers “is, to put it simply, the real thing: a big Broadway book musical that is so ecstatically drunk on its powers to entertain that it leaves you delirious, too.”

Huh?!?!?!

Every single song in The Producers is mediocre and forgettable, and some--“That Face,” “Along Came Bialy,” “You'll Find Your Happiness in Rio”-- are downright terrible. With the exception of the brilliant central gimmick from the 1968 movie--deliberately trying to put on the worst Broadway musical in history in order to con investors out of their money when it flops--everything in the story is predictable, obvious, hackneyed, or all of the above.

Incidentally, what the hell is that business with Leo Bloom and the baby blanket?

But what about the jokes, you say?

Oh, God, not the jokes. A buxom Swedish secretary with an unpronounceable name?

Defenders of The Producers say, “Oh, sure, the jokes are stale and the puns are hackneyed. But that's the point! Who could have ever found such stupid jokes funny? The joke of The Producers is that the jokes are so unfunny! Get it?”

Uh, no. Frankly, I'm not sure Mel Brooks got it either. I think he might think these jokes actually are funny.

I admit I didn't see the wildly-praised Nathan Lane or Matthew Broderick on Broadway, just in the movie. Maybe that would have made a difference, but I doubt it. I've always found Nathan Lane to be loud, braying, and obnoxious. He was, however, probably born to play the part of Max Bialystock, since whenever I see him on TV he seems to specialize in embarrassingly unfunny jokes and eighth-grade double-entendres.

I openly admit that the “Springtime for Hitler” number from the “horrible” play-within-a-play is pee-your-pants hilarious--true comedy genius (I especially loved the mirror!). But two and a half hours is a long time to sit for ten funny minutes.

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