By Jennifer Childs
As a comedy history nerd, Mel Brooks has always loomed very large in my life. Young Frankenstein is one of my top five favorite films, and I remember gasping and choking with laughter the first time I saw Blazing Saddles. He has a singular ability to blend broad comedy with boundary-pushing social satire, creating a comic style that is completely his own—The Producers is an incredible example of that.
The Producers has become such an established part of the musical theatre canon that I sometimes forget the original film was written in 1967, just over 20 years after World War II ended. Can you imagine? They say comedy is tragedy plus time…but was that enough time to allow audiences to laugh at Hitler? Certainly not for some, as it was difficult to find backers for the movie (which was then titled Springtime for Hitler) and which, when it premiered, got killed by some critics for being tasteless in its timing.
But as Mel Brooks said so beautifully in an interview with Maclean’s magazine: “More than anything the great Holocaust by the Nazis is probably the great outrage of the 20th century. There is nothing to compare with it. And … so what can I do about it? If I get on the soapbox and wax eloquently, it’ll be blown away in the wind, but if I do Springtime for Hitler it’ll never be forgotten. I think you can bring down totalitarian governments faster by using ridicule than you can with invective.”
When the Broadway musical version of
The Producers premiered in 2001, it was heralded as an unmitigated success, winning a record-breaking 12 Tony Awards. Did the translation from film to a big meta-Broadway musical make the difference? Or simply that more time had passed in the “comedy is tragedy plus time” equation? It’s interesting to think about as we revisit the show in 2025 and look at what still lands as funny and what now feels like sensitive territory.
Regardless of how much time has passed, what enchanted me about The Producers when I first saw it—and one of the many things that continues to make me laugh—is the central relationship between Max Bialystock and Leo Bloom. Max, whose comic rhythms are firmly rooted in the bah-dum-bum Borscht Belt humor of the ’40s and ’50s, stands in contrast to Leo, whose anxious comic persona reflects the more neurotic, Woody Allen-ish energy of the “new” comedians of the 1960s. It is an Odd Couple chemistry that is both particular to the late ’60s and that somehow feels familiar and timeless. And we root for them—even though what they’re doing is unethical! We still want them to be friends; we still want them to succeed. Because whether in the 1960s shadow of World War II or trying to make it in theater in 2025, they’re still the underdogs.
For this production, I feel so fortunate to have Scott Greer and Michael Doherty in the roles of Max and Leo.
They are extraordinary actors and clowns, and—along with another of our cast members, the incredible Tony Lawton—they share a history of working on vintage comedy. My theater company, 1812 Productions, has an all-comedy mission, and a good deal of our programming explores the history of comedy in all its forms. Together, we’ve created and performed shows that celebrate the legacy of vaudeville, 1950s nightclub comedy, political humor, Jewish-American humor, improvisation, and more. We’ve also learned from—and honored—comic pioneers through our original theatrical comedies, like To the Moon, based on the life and work of Jackie Gleason (with Scott and Tony as Ralph Kramden and Ed Norton-inspired characters), and Our Show of Shows, a tribute to Sid Caesar’s iconic variety show (on which Mel Brooks was a writer).
Mel Brooks and all those early comedians taught us a great deal about the music of comedy. I often say that comedy scripts (or any script, for that matter) are really musical scores. Every word and bit of punctuation is like musical notation—and if you read it right, it sings. If you add extra words, move too much, pause too long before a punchline, or disrupt the rhythm in any way, it becomes a different song—and potentially a less funny one. It’s no wonder so many comics are also musicians—Steve Martin, Phyllis Diller, Adam Sandler, and Jack Benny, to name a few. And it’s no surprise that comedic scripts like The Producers and Young Frankenstein translate so well to musical theatre.
In addition to the main comic rhythm of Max and Leo, each character we meet in The Producers brings their own unique music, both literally and figuratively. Roger Debris and Carmen Ghia, the other dynamic duo in the show, have an eccentric comic swing reminiscent of Paul Lynde and Charles Nelson Reilly. How lucky we are to have the astonishing Jamison Stern and Robi Hager in these roles. I’ve had the opportunity to work with Jamison and have admired Robi’s work for so long—I cannot wait to be in the room with them, as the Roger/Carmen scenes are some of my favorites. And then we have Franz (Tony Lawton) and Ulla (the amazing Nicole Benoit) who, with their German and Swedish accents respectively, bring a completely different comic cadence. Rounding out the cast is the unbelievably talented ensemble of triple threats who punctuate the show with hilarious cameos, ebullient songs, and ferocious tap numbers.
I am so grateful to be working with Music Director Chris Burcheri and Choreographer Tara Jeanne Vallee. Both bring a wealth of knowledge, talent, and deep understanding of musical comedy—plus wonderfully inventive and playful senses of humor.
As audiences experience The Producers this summer, I hope not only that they laugh, but that they’re also swept up in the nostalgia of the piece: the familiar vaudeville patter between Max and Leo, the over-the-top musical numbers that are vintage Broadway, and the outrageous, ridiculous comic genius of Mel Brooks.