Continued: 'Married Alive' cast commits to comedy

A marriage musical that uses the breathless wedding vow "I want to be your Barbie; be my Ken" in the first five minutes gets our attention. Could it be that this piffle has legs? Perhaps, but like a miler in a marathon, "Married Alive" is breathing heavy by evening's end. To be fair, Chanhassen Dinner Theatre's newest show -- which opened Friday in the 230-seat Fireside stage -- is a cut above the current surfeit of middle-age navel gazers that seem to be everywhere. To be honest, that's not a very high bar.

Director Michael Brindisi's cast has chemistry and great comic chops. They sing well; the pace is brisk, and when Sean Grennan's script offers them really good stuff, they run with it. Grennan, however, offers some bad stuff, too -- or rather too much stuff. At some point, the cliché is too easy and the structure of scenes too transparent: Start with husband and wife arguing (he a dunderhead, she a harpie), sing a song of conflict, kiss and make up. A little of that goes a long way.

Robb McKindles and Nicole Fenstad make a fetching young couple who start the show off with their precious wedding vows (see above), and they share a winning charm. Fenstad stops the show as an astonishing motormouth who verbally handcuffs her husband in a counseling session. When the subject is long-distance love, they have the helpless mien of young love caught in an unbearable situation. Negotiating their financial ability to have a baby, they give off a breezy awareness of irony.

Tod Petersen and Seri Johnson play the older couple. Johnson's voice isn't powerful in the upper reaches, but her phrasing and heart sell her songs, particularly with the poignant "It Isn't Important," a sweet paean to the value of small talk between partners. It doesn't matter what you talk about, just that you talk.

I could write a book about Petersen. He's at his best here in a brilliant moment that sends up the horrors of Christmas at the in-laws. Grennan's scenario doesn't go much beyond the boorish-parents stereotype, but Petersen puts on a clinic in how you push ordinary material by creating a big, boozy oaf who feels ridiculously original.

And that seems Brindisi's intent here -- to thump the sight gags, squeeze hard on the mediocre scenes and let the transcendent moments sing themselves. Tom Mustachio finds the right sounds in Leah Okimoto's middlebrow score, and Rich Hamson's costuming once again shows how important nonverbal attributes are to character.

Add it up, and you have a fluffy homage to marriage that's worth a laugh.

Graydon Royce • 612-673-7299