This 'Book' is no must-read

LET'S CUT right to the chase: I am at a loss as to why "The Book of Mormon" is such a box-office phenomenon.

The Tony-glomming musical comedy (as it were) from "South Park" creators Matt Stone and Trey Parker finally landed at the Forrest Theatre, where, earlier this week, it launched a seven-week run. It arrived with the kind of buildup one would expect for the Second Coming (an appropriate reference considering the show's religion-based plot). And I just can't fathom the reason for this.

To put it bluntly, this musical pretty much boasts two melodies (one fast, one slow) and a comedy that makes "Death of a Salesman" seem like a Three Stooges short.

The book by the "South Park" guys and composer Robert Lopez is childish and pretty much devoid of anything resembling sophistication (unless, of course, you are in eighth grade). That the African warlord in the piece goes by the handle "Butt F---ing Naked" and the refrain "There are maggots in my scrotum" is repeated multiple times makes it clear just how low the comedy bar is set.

Far worse, though, is an off-putting undercurrent of condescension rippling through the dialogue and song lyrics. Never once did I get the feeling Parker, Stone and Lopez (who co-wrote the marvelous "Avenue Q" score) were laughing with their characters. From the curtain-raiser to the finale, it was clear they were laughing at them.

The characters in question are either members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons), or denizens of a poor, AIDS-plagued Ugandan village terrorized by the aforementioned warlord. Into their midst comes two novice "elders" determined to baptize the Africans into their church (despite the common usage of the word, "elders" are generally college-age kids who serve as Mormon missionaries).

But that is just the flimsy hook on which the creative team can hang both their obvious contempt for religious dogma and their passion for juvenile humor, a significant amount of which deals with the hilarious subject of female genital mutilation (gee, I just laughed myself silly simply writing that phrase).

The thin, wholly unmemorable score certainly doesn't offer any salvation. The songs are merely sung wisecracks boasting the same level of wit as the script borne by a generic Broadway-style musical that isn't exactly rock and isn't exactly R&B.

Not that there aren't any praiseworthy elements. The staging is crisp and visually appealing, and Casey Nicholaw's crazy-leg choreography is animated and loads of fun to watch. And the performers in this bus-and-trucker provide lots of energy and several superb turns. Among the outstanding performances are those by Christopher John O'Neill as Elder Cunningham, a truth-stretching, unconfident nebbish who turns out to be the unlikely hero of the piece, and Alexandra Ncube as Nabulungi, a young Ugandan woman.

O'Neill displays a real flair for comedy, physical and otherwise, while Ncube is winsome, sympathetic and thoroughly engaging.

And it would be unfair not to note that the paying customers overwhelmingly had a blast at Wednesday night's performance (although I did see several people leaving way before the show's conclusion). But I'll be f---ed (to borrow a word liberally sprinkled throughout the script) if I can figure out why.