Mocking the laughable feels repetitious. Parodying what has already become a parody of itself, like professional wrestling or the Arizona Cardinals, seems too easy. Therefore, when British playwright Charlotte Mann satirizes the music industry and the creation of an N*SYNC-like boy band with Hysteric Studs, the campiness isn't much different than something you'd find in a more earnest biopic on E! True Hollywood Stories. However, its broad and obvious ways should work as a late-night production, which Ron May and Stray Cat Theatre recognize. Unfortunately, the inconsistencies of the director and performers undercut much of any potential cheap laughter.

Maggie is a self-made bitch who pieces together En-Garde, a boy band that is a little more overt in its sexuality. She casts hunky oyster farmer Lee, boyish Spencer, idealist Jack, and cross-dresser Ade to capture the hearts, moisten the loins, and lighten the wallets of millions of prepubescents. The group struggles with success, and like a bright flash of light, burns out in individually funny ways.

Subtlety has been checked at the door for this production. One has to wonder what would have happened if, rather than always playing from the start for the obvious to its self-identified hip late-night crowds, May instead opened the show under-the-top, choosing to evolve into the caricature rather than beginning broad and trying to broaden from there. I believe it might have been less pandering and more organically funny. The production as he's envisioned it has several moments of farce, but more often than not it mugs too many times for isolated chuckles rather than draw out any sustained laughter. Another wrong choice is that of keeping the British accents of the characters. Not one of the actors could even remotely do this justice, and the result is awful. I might have enjoyed the comedy if I was actually able to understand the more than half of the script garbled and mangled by the cast's ineptness at enunciation.

Mr. May is not the only one who has made mistakes here. I can't honestly tell you the difference between the characters created by Tim Bishop as Spencer and Michael Flosi as Jack. This tweedle dee and tweedle dum duo represents the spiritual and artistic sides of the band, but I can't remember which was which. They are one dimensional and comically inconsequential, both textually and in performance. Cynthia Rena's Maggie is a drag queen performed by a woman. While her character is the stereotype of a bitch-in-heat, she has made her vocal and physical presentation so central to her character that the only truly genuine moment of comedy comes when she is textually required to reveal her inner truth. Benjamin Monrad's Steve and Cameo Hill's Jackie are German stylists lifted straight from a Saturday Night Live sketch, though they remain consistent and get a few laughs for the effort. Stefan Michael Stokes' grounded Lee starts off in the right direction, a single bit of sanity within this asylum, and his character arc is clearly defined as he degrades into decadence. Ade is the only character that should be as big as Cher's hair throughout, and Samuel E. Wilkes does not disappoint. His is the only performance with the right modulation from start to finish. Amanda Kochert plays three roles with acceptable results.

Ruth A. George's set, which is the same basis as Patty Red Pants, finds the right way to glitz up the space. Randy Braunm's lighting is appropriate, and Benjamin Monrad's sound supports the concert feel.

Camp is the champ of late night theatre, but even in this venue, sometimes less is more. In this particular situation, a lot less might have created quite a bit more.