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Perhaps when Boiler Room Theatre began its modest professional life six years ago, its efforts were all pointing toward Urinetown. BRT loves musical satire, after all, and it pulls off this brilliant piece of contemporary stagecraft with energy, creativity and boundless enthusiasm.

The mythical Urinetown is a Dickensian place, where the downtrodden masses must literally pay to relieve themselves—their bodily functions are in thrall to an evil cabal of business and governmental interests. With a canny self-consciousness, creators Mark Hollmann and Greg Kotis wrap their plot with all the tropes of conventionally mirthful musicals. At the same time, darker aspects of the story call to mind both the hard-edged operas of Kurt Weill and serious-minded blockbusters such as Les Misérables.

After the obligatory (and eponymous) opening number, we get a collection of lyrical gems. There’s “It’s a Privilege to Pee” (which establishes the crux of the townsfolk’s dilemma), featuring big-voiced BRT newcomer Cheyenne Nelson. “Cop Song” is a rhythmic novelty tune that comes off as a kind of hip-hop singspiel. The boy-girl ballad “Follow Your Heart”—an off-kilter melody delivered affectingly by Daniel Vincent and BRT first-timer Sara Schoch—mixes romantic overtones with an ironic subtext. “Don’t Be the Bunny” is the evildoers’ mantra, a deliciously caustic rumination on predators vs. prey. Then there’s the intense, multilayered mock-operatic finale for Act 1 (called—no surprise—“Act One Finale”).

The hits continue in Act 2, with “What Is Urinetown?,” a group number incorporating Yiddish folk music; “Snuff the Girl,” a cool jazz piece featuring some hilariously kitschy 1950s modern-dance styles; “Run, Freedom, Run,” a memorable gospel rouser; and the closer, “I See a River,” which manages to poke fun at the whole notion of happy endings.

Urinetown thrives in the hands of first-time director Patrick Kramer, a veteran of the improv comedy scene who has acted in 18 previous BRT shows. His cast of 16 is so strong that he’s able to stock his chorus with front-rank talents such as Megan Murphy, Scott Rice and Sondra Morton-Chaffin.

Laura Marsh shines as the hilarious urchin-girl Little Sally (sort of an Annie figure by way of the French Revolution). Alan Lee, as the appropriately unctuous bad guy Caldwell B. Cladwell, is excellent (though occasionally his voice dips so low that we miss the lyrics). Successfully leading all this happy madness is Sloan Yarborough as the linchpin character Officer Lockstock, a deceptively good-natured copper who grins believably through his essentially cynical narrative.

Kramer’s spirited direction unearths consistent laughter through both text and movement, with an able assist from Lauri Bright’s inventive choreography (which wonderfully utilizes the limited playing area). The technical support is equally fabulous: Anthony Popolo’s set, of necessity very different than the original Broadway production, finds its own identity; and Billy Ditty’s engaging costumes run the gamut from impoverished chic to fat-cat gaiety. Yes, it’s an awful title. (“Hey, Grandma, would you like to go see Urinetown?”) But it’s a helluva show.

Nut case

You’d think a play set in an insane asylum, where we get suicide, electroshock therapy and lobotomy, would be spellbinding. You’d be wrong.

Street Theatre Company’s new mounting of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Dale Wasserman’s stage version of Ken Kesey’s famed 1962 novel, proves to be a lackluster affair. Admittedly, it would be hard for any adaptation to compare favorably to Milos Forman’s 1975 hit movie—those Jack Nicholson and Louise Fletcher performances are simply unforgettable. But the flaws in STC’s production are more fundamental.

The challenge facing director Cathy Street is to make the play’s unlikely events ring with truth and modern relevance. Alas, the basic conflict—the good-hearted mentally ill vs. the manipulative hospital staff—becomes blurred in the director’s workmanlike blocking. That leaves us with actors trying hard to capture their characters’ loony-bin essence in an atmosphere of limited motivation.

Kay Ayers-Sowell does her bitchy best as Nurse Ratched, and Alex Murray chips in a nice performance as Harding, the sanest of the insane. Jerry Sanders, in the critical role of the hulking Chief Bromden, delivers his brooding lines with near-credibility. Still, other key supporting players, including Clay Hillwig, Brad Oxnam, Lane Wright and Elijah Dies, flail away with minimum impact.

Shane Bridges disappoints in the role of asylum revolutionist McMurphy. He brings energy to his portrayal but nothing revelatory in his characterization. It isn’t until the key Act 2 scene, when he attacks Ayers-Sowell (and seals his lobotomized fate) that we get some semblance of requisite fieriness. But mostly, Bridges labors aimlessly under the production’s generally out-of-focus direction.

The set, while capably executed by Pete Hiett, adds nothing new to our typical expectations of the infamous Cuckoo’s Nest day room. Plus Katie Gant’s lighting design rarely creates an evocative mood. The schizophrenic incidental music doesn’t help the scene setting either, clashing ’60s pop and cheesy Lawrence Welk with contemporary alt balladry, the latter seeming anachronistic. Rather like the play itself.