In the far too crowded field of movies turned into Broadway musicals—something going on for decades to diminishing returns—Death Becomes Her is a piece of frivolous fun that neither slavishly imitates the original nor strays too far from the beaten path. If it’s not as outrageously sly as it could be, it does provide consistent entertainment, which is nothing to sneeze at.

 

I barely remember Robert Zemeckis’ black comedy, which I saw way back in 1992. All I remember is the indelible image of Meryl Streep, as bitchy movie star Madeline Ashton, having her head spun around, Exorcist-style, while catfighting with her nemesis, longtime friend Helen Sharp, played by Goldie Hawn. Bruce Willis was also on hand as Ernest Menville, the nerdy plastic surgeon who leaves Helen for Madeline and becomes the vessel for their attempts at immortality.

 

The musical follows that plotline, with a few detours that give Broadway audiences what they came to see, like the big, campy opening number, “For the Gaze” (get it?), in which Madeline—now a musical theater star who’s on the road, touring middle America—and her dancers demonstrate how campiness is a huge draw onstage. 

 

Here and elsewhere, the music-and-lyrics team of Julia Mattison and Noel Carey admit they’re aiming at the lowest common denominator; the laughs are plentiful throughout if hardly gutbusting. The amusement scale fluctuates between the genuinely tart dialogue between the two friends as Madeline is in the process of stealing Ernest from Helen and the ridiculous scene where a nervous Ernest, plied by drink pre-immortal op, is serenaded by his entire basement study in the dopey number, “The Plan.”

 

The original film introduced the immortality subplot through an enigmatic socialite, Lisle von Rhuman, played by Isabella Rossellini; for the stage musical, Lisle has become a more shadowy figure, Viola Van Horn, played by Michelle Williams, who alternates between stiffness and sultriness. Another difference from the movie is that, onstage, Madeline has an assistant, Stefon, who, as played by Josh Lamon, gets many big laughs with his continued carping commentary on what’s happening.

 

Mattison and Carey’s serviceable songs get us from scene to scene without unduly overstaying their welcome; likewise Marco Pennette’s book, even if there’s an inevitable letdown when the show drags at the end, tacking on a couple of superfluous numbers. But it’s all been cleverly directed and choreographed by Christopher Gatelli, and the physical production—Justin Townsend’s savvy lighting, Paul Tazewell’s sparkling costumes, Derek McLane’s sharp sets and Peter Hylenski’s skillful sound design—is impressive. 

 

It goes without saying that the two leads give master classes in how to overact and oversing perfectly in character: Jennifer Simard (Helen) and Megan Hilty (Madeline), pros at being divas, have such a grand time that their battle royale is infectious. Christopher Sieber makes Ernest more sympathetic and funnier than Bruce Willis was in the movie, so much so that Death Becomes Her becomes as much a vehicle for the stalwart Sieber as for the scintillating Simard and hilarious Hilty.