Daily Loaf

When Fred Ebb penned the lyric “In fifty years or so, it’s gonna change, ya know” for the 1975 Kander & Ebb musical Chicago, the ironic intent was clear. Sung by a pair of beautiful murderesses famous for being famous, the message seemed to be: Sure, we’ve set this so-called “musical vaudeville” in the late 1920s, but you know and we know that “in 50 years or so” — say, in 1975 —America’s obsession with celebrity and sensational gossip will only get more intense.

That message seemed more prescient than ever in 1996 when the musical was revived. Director Walter Bobbie further blurred the lines between past and present by removing the Roaring 20s period trappings, stripping down the set and costumes to basic black (with lots of see-through and spandex), downplaying the overt links to vaudeville archetypes and pushing the undercurrent of sex and violence to the forefront.

And audiences loved it. Chicago finally got the attention it deserved, going on to become Broadway’s longest-running revival, winning eight Tonys and generating an Oscar-winning movie adaptation and multiple tours. Judging by the version that came to the Mahaffey Friday (and closes tonight), Chicago has lost none of its razzle-dazzle, its relevance or its sex appeal.

The sex was always there; the original was directed and choreographed, after all, by Bob Fosse. His protégé Ann Reinking adapted his signature moves (the shoulder rolls, the shuffles, the bowler hats) into something even more sinuous and dynamic — and found troupes of astonishingly sexy dancers who could take those moves and make ‘em work, big-time.

The company that came to St. Pete is no exception. These dancers have what seem to be the longest legs in the world, and pelvises made for thrusting; no matter what your proclivities, you’ll be mesmerized. The show is also blessed with two strong actor/singer/dancers as Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly, the homicidal pair at the center of the story. As Roxie, Bryn Dowling has the look of a Marilyn Monroe kewpie-doll and a vocal range that can go from kittenish to big belt; as Velma, Terra C. MacLeod has a lithe, sardonic flair. Of the supporting characters, Ron Orbach as Roxie’s hapless hubby Amos is a believable, endearing sad sack, and Jason Patrick Sands is an appropriately smooth operator as shyster Billy Flynn; in fact, with his blonde, bland All-American good looks, he’d fit right in among the tanned wheelers and dealers manning the barstools in SoHo.

D. Micciche as gossip columnist Mary Sunshine and Carol Woods as prison matron Mama Morton have their moments, though they’ve been allowed to add showboat-y vocal flourishes to their big numbers which detract from, and sometimes even obscure, the lyrics. And you don’t want to obscure these lyrics. Thankfully, MacLeod and Woods give a perfectly straightforward rendition of the show’s funniest song, “Class,” in which Velma and Mama Morton lament the decline of highbrow manners in hilariously lowbrow diction: “Nobody’s got no class,” they sing piously.

But that’s not the case with the production. It’s a class act all the way, and if you can make it, catch the last performance tonight at 7:30.

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