The treacherous high-wire of low-brow lampooning that is The Hitler Roast (“intelligently designed” and written by Howard Stone and Kurt Weitzmann) rides you hard and puts you away wet.  It is at no loss for the crude and, at best, is a showcase for select high-grade impression artists.  At worst, it is a gauchely-linked chain of caustic one-liners, having the effect of slapping its audience members silly until they crack in survivalist glee once released.

          Roast’s staging is simple and utilizes multi-media in an engaging, interesting way.  There was an ominous Nazi-vaudeville vibe as we waited for the performance to begin, with German calliope music playing behind novel trivia entertainment (who knew Hitler created the first blow-up sex doll?).  The seven debaucherous theatregoers sitting in front of us seemed to have it figured out: they noshed on Chex Mix, chugged from flasks, played musical chairs and loudly jabbed the emptiness of the evening’s seating chart.  They were set up to roast like champs.  And there I sat, feeling a bead of sweat break out on my right temple as I helplessly recalled being 14 and closeted watching Chasing Amy on mother-daughter movie date night.

          Kurt Weitzmann as Jeff Foxworthy hosted the event, serving effectively as the show’s built-in laughtrack.  Kudos to the tone he set;  although this was one of the most difficult-to-watch theatre experiences of my adult life, I was able to enjoy the performance between the onslaught of painfully obvious humor because of how much goddamn fun the players were having!  There was a palpable quality of freefall, and particularly as the actors settled in, it was clear they too were along for the ride.  The skill with which they delivered their deplorable lines—shamelessly, deliciously, with no need for approval—was truly fascinating.  With flagrant accusations as diverse and sensitive as sex with horses, children, dead bodies, and each other’s mothers, the panel of celebrity roasters were cruel to the very last drop.  

          Nods to the charismatically enraged Kevin Avery as Idi Amin and the spot-on Troy Conrad as George W. Bush, impersonations I could have gone my whole life without seeing but am glad I didn’t have to.  These two belong on Saturday Night Live and were exceptionally fun to watch.  The warm mother-son bond between the grotesque Howard Stone as Hitler and the farcical Eddie Pepitone as his mother Karla was incomprehensibly believable.  And the wholesomely adorable Nick Leonard lit up the house as an even-tempered Satan.

Yeah, we asked for it.  Both my companion and I were appalled, but not surprised.  And we were certainly entertained, if not by the actual production then by the peals of critical laughter that ensued as we roasted the piece in the car on the way home.  In closing, to quote Satan in his dapper three-piece suit, Marc Jacobs specs and stumpy red tail: “See you later.  Actually, if you voluntarily chose to attend a play called The Hitler Roast, I’ll definitely be seeing you later…”