At times, there's a bit too much `Laughter'.

Byline: Paul Denison The Register-Guard

A Neil Simon comedy featuring characters inspired by Sid Caesar, Carl Reiner, Mel Brooks, Larry Gelbart, Imogene Coca and Woody Allen, among others, could easily become too funny for its own good, a mind-boggling barrage by a gang of crackerjack wisecrackers.

Here and there, the Actors Cabaret of Eugene production of Simon's "Laughter on the 23rd Floor" may seem like an onslaught. Director Chris Pinto and his cast attack in loud and vigorous style that's well suited for dinner theater but can seem overdone when the house is not full.

However, neither Pinto nor the actors forget that Simon's 1993 comedy about a 1950s television comedy team is really a sentimental tribute to a lost family. A dysfunctional family, maybe, considering the rivalry and enmity, but one that functions well enough to produce 90 minutes of live comedy every week.

Sid Caesar was the star of "Your Show of Shows," and Patrick Torelle as Max Prince is clearly the star of "Laughter on the 23rd Floor." He's Sid Caesar, he's Sid Caesar imitating Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Winston Churchill and even Marlon Brando as Julius Caesar; he's an hilariously tortured soul.

A comic genius under constant pressure, Max calms himself each night with tranquilizers the size of golf balls, washed down with whisky. He has nightmares. He calls people at odd hours and then forgets what he said. Joseph McCarthy, network bean counters and censors enrage him.

From the moment he hits the stage and takes off his pants to start writing in his undershorts and raincoat, Torelle proves them right. Short and stocky, he's like a fireplug primed with TNT, and the others never know when he'll go off. But he's also a gruff-love father figure, struggling to protect his talented children.

Another easily recognizable character is Ira Stone, played by Benjamin Newman as a hypochondriac Woody Allen demonically possessed by Mel Brooks.

In his first scene as Ira, Newman ends up flat on the floor in an over-the-top bit that's not quite as funny as the director may have hoped.

This may just be a case of a little too much a little too soon. Later, once the two characters have become familiar, Newman and Torelle are hilarious in a knock-down fight over a "Streetcar Named Desire" gag that Ira tries to tear out of the script when Max fires him.

This scene, and all of the robust physical comedy, is well staged. At times, with bodies flying across desks, onto couches and up others' backs, it seems downright dangerous.

Fortunately, there's a chiropractor on stage in case anyone gets hurt. Frank Muhr, a Eugene chiropractor who's also a professional actor, seems right at home in the skin of his character, a quip-cracking writer who plays around, loses his wife and is taken down a notch when he comes on to Max's secretary, in a scene deftly played by Muhr and Brette Marie Gentry, who makes the best of a light role as Helen.

Muhr's character, Milt, shows panic and then sheer terror after he unwittingly shows up for work in head-to-toe white and learns that white suits are like red flags to their raging bull of a boss. The comedy sparked by Milt's choice of duds is some of the snappiest in the show.

The program gives no one credit for the costumes, but whoever made, found or fitted them did a lot to establish both the time period and the characters. Don Aday dresses like the rough Irish-American he plays, David Thaler dresses like Matthew Broderick as young Neil Simon, Achilles Massahos looks like a frumpy Eastern European. Shannon Fabry's dresses are both theatrical and business-like, and Earl Ruttencutter's sweater vests fit his common-sense character.

All the actors seem as comfortable in their roles as they are in their clothes. No one's better than Massahos at playing European eccentrics such as Val Skolsky in this show and Dvornichec in Tom Stoppard's "Rough Crossing" at Actors Cabaret a while back. Aday's very convincing as Brian Doyle, particularly in confrontations with Newman's Ira Stone/Woody Allen/Mel Brooks character.

Paul Denison covers arts and entertainment for The Register-Guard.

THEATER REVIEW

Laughter on the 23rd Floor

When: 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday and April 2-3, 8-10, 16-17 and 23-24; Sunday matinee at 2 p.m. April 4

Where: Actors Cabaret of Eugene, 996 Willamette St.

How much: $10, $12 and $15 (or $29.95 for dinner and show), through the ACE box office (683-4368)