For the second Saturday of the Scottsdale Community Players' production of Rodgers and Hart's lightweight tuner Babes in Arms, the house was packed with every seat sold. At first, I was mystified. This musical is not known for its depth or power. Following the horrifyingly unprofessional curtain speech dripping with insinuation as to where to place the blame of this production, the answer came as the lights dimmed: that's when the audience began to loudly hum and sing along with the overture. Of course, this is a Rhino compilation of Rodgers and Hart, with lots of their popular tunes from the Depression era. Not many were here to see the show, they just wanted to remember when. Therefore, I have nothing to fear about telling it like it is with this dog of a show; Stagebrush will make back their nut from their old-timer crowd, most of whom managed to stay awake until the end. For all others who are not similarly disposed to nostalgia, beware. Somehow, this embarrassment of a show slipped past everyone, and no one had the good sense to hit the brakes before it dared show its rictus grin.

I've heard that the blame for this show should be placed squarely in the lap of director Evelyn Tucker and while that is absolutely believable, I think that everyone who is involved is culpable, from the puppet-like leads who don't portray anything resembling even two dimensions, through choreographer Relya Davidson, who has dreamed up the most hackneyed of movements for the production numbers, to costumer Jean Aiken, who seems to have created her design by guesstimate, both in terms of size and in era. No, it's true that there's not much to this script beyond its "Hey, let's put on a show" text and a few memorable hits like "The Lady is a Tramp" and "My Funny Valentine," but even a barely mediocre script deserves better treatment than this.

A list of Ms. Tucker's directorial offenses would include: 1) group pictures that always involve only rows of actors standing in straight lines; 2) playing completely for cheap laughs and syrupy sweet; 3) casting a woman who looks like a grandmother in one of the kids roles; 4) cutting out of the script the only possible piece of dramatic action, the two African American tap dancers that are the bane of financier Lee Calhoun's existence; 5) never eliciting even a stitch of chemistry from any of the onstage couples, and; 6) letting this show open in it's deplorable condition in the first place.

James Asimenios' Val LaMar and Cara Abrams' Billie Smith are the centerpieces of the show, but there is no remote romantic spark between them. Even more, Mr. Asimenios seems unable to do more than sing sweetly and grin like a fool, while Ms. Abrams has the painful tendency to let her held notes slide into sharps. I'm not sure if it is Kinsey Schofield playing Val's sister, as the program seems to be incorrect, but she can't act a stitch, reciting her lines with no conviction whatsoever and glancing into the audience. Ms. Davidson is a strong singer and dancer, and her two-and-a-half big numbers are well done, but she seems about fifteen years too old for the role of former child star Baby Rose. Mandy Nichols as village flirt, Dolores, and Chad Boreen's Gus also fizzle as singers, dancers and a couple.

The dance numbers are repetitiously and unimaginatively staged, with lots of synchronized steps and basic marching but nothing visually interesting. For the longest time, my companion and I debated whether Irene Lopez' musical direction was canned, but eventually found it was just over-synthesized and compromised by Scott Kirkorsky's wretched sound design. Jonathan Givens' set is functional, if rather cheap looking. Joseph Benesh's lighting is solid. Ms. Aiken's costumes include such bad choices as tuxedo t-shirts and items from each decade of the twentieth century. My greatest compliment goes to the person who found a flag with 48 stars. I know it had 48 stars; I counted every single one.

While some slumbered in the audience, and at least two dozen took flight at intermission, the strongest indictment came outside from a group of smokers who thought about leaving but decided to stay, saying that they shouldn't expect much from amateurs. It's that kind of thinking that will keep SCP alive, if not exactly well.