CP's theater critics go Crazy for 1812 Productions’ stellar homage to 1950s comedy.

THE SCENE: Group therapy in a Philadelphia psychiatric office. THE TIME: Yesterday. THE CAST: Patient A: a dissociative female theater critic Patient B: a sociopathic male theater critic Their long-suffering psychiatrist

Patient A: Doctor, I don't know what to do. I have this longing to -- no, more a desire to -- no, an obsession with wearing a crinoline. Under a ballerina-length skirt. I mean, really ...

Patient B: What about me, Doctor? I have this dream, and in it I'm on a date with both David and Ricky Nelson, and we're having dinner with the Cleavers, and Ward is saying to me that he doesn't understand how you can have a date with three men and no women, and everybody's drinking martinis, and ...

Psychiatrist: Thank heaven you've both come to me just in time. Tell me, Patient A -- when did this begin?

Patient A: Well, Doctor, it must have started a week or two ago. I guess it all began when I watched part of the PBS fundraiser called "This Land is Your Land" with all the folk groups from the late '50s, like The Limeliters and The Kingston Trio. There I was, singing along, tears rolling down my face. And then I found myself at the movies, watching Far From Heaven. Life looked Technicolor again. The prison of decency, with all its subtle gestures, looked good as well as bad. It was, I'm sure, the dresses.

Psychiatrist: But those dresses are awful, my dear, so un-chic, so unhip, so full and long, and they make people look so fat.

Patient A: I know, I know, but there it was. A vision of a world of no more black, no more never-skinny-enough, no more androgynous clothing!

Psychiatrist: Ah, yes. I get the picture. And you, Patient B -- when did your symptoms begin?

Patient B: Sometime around Thanksgiving. Suddenly I had this desperate need to relive the '50s. I skipped the traditional turkey dinner; instead, I prepared a theme luau. Later, I threw away all my Eminem CDs and replaced them with Dave Brubeck. I went to the video store and grabbed all the '50s stuff I could get my hands on. I Love Lucy. Sid Caesar and Imogene Coca. And yes ... God help me ... even Henny Youngman! I was insane, I tell you! And the worst part is ... I still need more! Help me, Doctor ... help me.

Psychiatrist: (clearing his throat, mopping his eyes) This is clearly very serious. But I believe there's hope. I'm pleased to say that I think I have the solution to your problems and conveniently enough, it's the same solution for both of you. Here's my prescription. You need to go to 1812 Productions to see Like Crazy, Like Wow, the most wonderful '50s show of them all.

Psychiatrist: Frolic in the '50s. Wear your crinolines. Drink your martinis. Set your hair.

Psychiatrist: It's an irresistible show that continues where their Vaudeville show left off ("When vaudeville died, television was the box they buried it in"). It was conceived and directed by Jennifer Childs, who also stars and provides much of the evening's charm ("Get outta here, boys, and let a girl work").

Patient A: Oh, I love her! A friend once said "She walks on stage and you feel happy."

Psychiatrist: And she's singing better than ever. What chemistry she has with her co-stars (actually two old friends and a husband) Scott Greer (all slimmed down and styled up), Pete Pryor (master of the deadpan) and the incomparable Tony Braithwaite!

Patient B: Stop! Childs, Greer, Pryor and Braithwaite all in one room at one time! It's my dream come true.

Psychiatrist: Like Crazy has all the wit, the charm, the social conscience and the kinder, gentler comics of decades gone by.

Psychiatrist: They “do” Bob Hope and Henny Youngman, Phyllis Diller and a group Woody Allen. They do Mike Nichols and Elaine May routines (the hilarious “Telephone Operator” sketch: “Information cannot argue with a closed mind, Sir”) and Beyond the Fringe. They sing Tom Lehrer’s songs and run through Bob Newhart’s sick routines. Shelley Berman’s phone call to Shirley, Shel Silverstein’s folk ballad …

Patient A: That's it! That's what I want! I want to go out with a hipster. I want to listen to intense neurotic funny people in small smoky clubs and say, "Dig it."

Patient B: I want to wear a black turtleneck. I want to snap my fingers. I want to say "Daddy-o."

Patient B: We were so young and strong and sure we'd win. (A pause.) But what can they do for an encore?

Psychiatrist: That's the best part of all. They risk improv. Two brilliant bits let us watch these four comedians really work -- and laugh at each other.

Patient A: Well, Doctor, I think this show might cure a lot more than my crinoline crisis.

Patient B: I think so, too. Tell me Doctor, do we need to come back to therapy?

Psychiatrist: No, I don't think so. The Talking Cure has nothing on the Laughing Cure. My advice is to see Like Crazy every night of its run. To quote Lord Buckley, "Humor is the absence of terror, and terror is the absence of humor." That's a prescription for our times.

Like Crazy, Like Wow, ’50s Humor with a Holiday Twist, Through Dec. 29, 1812 Productions at the Adrienne, 2030 Sansom St., 215-592-9560