Cheeky, bawdy and utterly offensive in so many ways, Walnut Street Theatre’s The Producers gets top marks for being guaranteed to offend all ages, races, religions, sexes and beliefs. In fact, the show is all-inclusive in its discrimination — everyone gets his or her full dose, which is exactly how writers Mel Brooks and Thomas Meehan pull it off.
    The show is in great hands at the Walnut, where it can stretch to the epic proportions necessary to be utterly ridiculous in its numerous slurs. Ben Lipitz plays the spurious Broadway producer Max Bialystock, inflating the role with the great comic timing he last employed as Pumbaa in a national tour of The Lion King. Next to Max’s ill-placed bravado — despite his string of Broadway flops — Ben Dibble’s Leo Bloom is a twitchy, nervous mouse of an accountant, hired to keep Max’s books. When Leo discovers that theoretically, a producer could make serious money by raising funds from too many investors and then opening a bad Broadway show, Max swindles his clean-as-a-whistle accountant into cooking the books and being his partner as a producer. Just one caveat: The show has to fail, and miserably so, in order for the men to make any profit. If it succeeds, they both go to jail.
    So begins a whirlwind of Broadway gags and giggles as the producers swindle investors, cast members and directors to be in the absolute worst show Ben and Max find: “Springtime for Hitler: A Gay Romp With Eva and Adolf at Berchtesgaden,” written by Franz Libkind (the talented Jeffrey Coon), who goose-steps and tap-dances around stage with a litany of Heil You-Know-Whos. Along the way, Max and Leo also pick up a busty blond Swedish secretary-cum-showgirl named Ulla (Amy Bodnar), a bevy of gay showmen led by so-called director Roger (Jeremy Webb), and an entire chorus of adoring old grannies, led by the elderly but lusty Hold-Me-Touch-Me! (Sharon Alexander), who is one of Max’s biggest supporters in love and money.    As ridiculous — and as offensive — as The Producers both claims to be and in fact is, this staging of the show is impeccable. Mr. Dibble’s Leo is fraught with anxiety, ruled by compulsion and an otherwise absolutely lovable counterpoint to Max’s fast-talking, old-lady-wooing big-shot producer, adding yet another triumph to his already outstanding CV. Robert McClure as the “secretary” and general sidekick Carmen Ghia also deserves rich praise; though he doesn’t appear until late in the first act, Mr. McClure is a show-stealer with his riotous antics and wonderful timing.
    The pace of the choreography throughout is a key component in the show. Orchestrated by Marc Robin, who both directs and choreographs, the ensemble scenes are a clever blend of character-driven chaos and chorus-line kicks, with a healthy number of cast members sharing the spotlight. An accountants’ ballet is danced to the rhythm of pecking calculators, the producers and their Nazi playwright rhythmically stomp out an ominous “Der Guten Tag Hop-Clop,” and in a show-stealing moment, the grannies take center stage with an old-lady tap dance, further cementing the hilarious, if slightly off-color, glee of the show.
    Not quite living up to the typical fresh-faced musical comedy with predictably wholesome characters is one of The Producers’ charms; if not appropriate for children, it’s heartily enjoyed by adults, and moves along at an even faster clip than Mel Brook’s original 1968 film. Situated directly in the center of the Walnut’s capabilities and handily accessed by its target audience, The Producers concludes 200 years at the Walnut with a lewd wink and a smile.

Lindsay Warner can be reached at culture@lindsaywarner.net