A beautiful princess. A handsome prince. A wicked queen. And a friendly woodsman who, if he refuses to cut out his best friend's heart, will find himself turned into that most hideous of creatures: SpongeBob SquarePants.

So goes the Circa '21 Dinner Playhouse's endearing, seriously funny family musical Snow White, a take on the classic fairy tale that's just irreverent enough to satisfy fans of Shrek, yet not so smart-alecky as to irritate those of us who didn't care for Shrek. With book, music, and lyrics by Marc Robin, the show casually upends its source material while staying true to its spirit, and pokes sweetly mean-spirited fun at its Disney-cartoon forebear; copyright laws, as Snow White's characters frequently remind us, may prevent audiences from hearing "Whistle While You Work," but listening to the dwarfs march along to The Wizard of Oz's "Winkie Chant" ("Oh-we-oh, we-o-o-o-o-o-h-h-h-oh") proves a more than acceptable - and hilarious - substitute.

In truth, I'm a little biased toward Robin's piece, because the month I spent acting in 2002's Snow White for Circa '21 was a thoroughly enjoyable kids-show experience; it's a pleasure to report that the show is every bit as entertaining from the other side of the proscenium. It's a bigger pleasure to report that the kids at Saturday's matinée appeared to have an even better time than I did. By nature, an audience composed almost entirely of young uns is about the most honest audience you'll find, and there were times during Snow White when the nearly sold-out house watched the tale unfold with rapt, silent attention. Only a few times, though. Most of the time they were laughing, and with really good reason.

Bill Fabris, the production's director/choreographer, keeps the action moving at a zippy pace, handles the frequently crowded compositions with elegance - in a great joke, just about every "dwarf" here stands taller than Snow White herself - and pulls off a beauty of a special effect when the queen magically transforms into a withered crone. (Aided by Ray Malone's sound design and Josh Tipsword's and Brian Hoehne's lighting, this sequence is legitimately unnerving.) But Fabris' best move was to populate the production with clever, astute comedians who revel in the ridiculousness without (fully) jettisoning the earnestness; Snow White may be a goof, but it's a happily sincere goof.

After her show-swiping turn as an abstinent sexpot in Circa '21's Empty Nest and her Snow White here, Ashley Catherine Schmitt cements her status as 2008's most delightful area-theatre featherbrain. That title, though, merely refers to her roles; the performer herself appears to be wicked smart. Dreamily introducing herself as the tale's ingénue and exuding beaming vacuity, Schmitt is a heavenly parody of Disneyfied innocuousness, and would likely find her perfect match in Andrew J. Smith's grinning, lunkheaded Prince Charming if he would just, you know, notice her; this über-vain royal suggests an unthreatening version of Beauty & the Beast's Gaston, and Smith's prince, bewitched by his own handsomeness, is hysterically, sublimely fatuous. (The actor's stage time is way too brief, but he also delivers a spectacular cameo as a nerdy prop master, who literally gives his heart to the production.)

Laura Brigham, portraying the evil Queen Narcissus, delivers deadpan malevolence with nicely unforced wit and boasts a hugely impressive vocal range; Mark Lingenfelter, as the magic mirror with tap shoes, tosses off sarcastic bon mots with the same inspiring ease with which he dances; Janos Horvath and Bret Churchill, in their roles as the queen's fumbling assistants, open the show on a note of divine silliness, while Churchill cracks up the crowd - and not just the kids - with a series of expert pratfalls.

And to the audience's good fortune, Horvath and Churchill are also cast as dwarfs alongside Adam Michael Lewis, Andrea Moore, Chad S. Parsons, Tristan Layne Tapscott, and John Watkins. It would be ruining some of Snow White's best gags to give away too much about this untraditional septet; suffice it to say that Disney's copyright laws apparently extend to the names of the little people - whose monikers are instead those of famed historical and literary figures - and that the actors in these roles perform with first-rate comic timing and infectious merriment.

There are random bummers; Robin's lyrics are occasionally difficult to hear beneath the overly amplified score, and even at 90 minutes, the show might be about 15 too long (if some audience fidgetiness in Act II was to be trusted). Yet the gorgeously costumed, continually clever Snow White is still a total hoot, and frequently hits notes of absolute gaga joy, as when Schmitt chirps a cheerful ditty to a pair of forest friends. I don't care if it's a Grimm fairy tale or Henrik Ibsen; I'm thinking every play could be substantially improved with the addition of hand puppets.

Sons Raised, Sons Sent:  "Empty Nest," at the Circa '21 Dinner Playhouse through July 19
Written by Mike Schulz   

It takes considerable skill - to say nothing of nerve - to steal a show from the likes of Brad Hauskins, Adam Michael Lewis, and Eddie Staver III. But in the Circa '21 Dinner Playhouse's Empty Nest, actress Ashley Catherine Schmitt arrives halfway through the production, introduces herself to her co-stars, tucks playwright Lawrence Roman's comedy into her leg warmers, and all but dashes off with it. The play itself is too featherweight (albeit agreeably so) for this to be considered grand larceny, but it's certainly grand; Schmitt is like the guest you don't remember inviting who winds up being the life of the party.

Set in Los Angeles circa 1983 - an era that allows for some fabulously cringe-inducing costumes by designer Gregory Hiatt - Empty Nest opens with fiftysomething married couple George (Hauskins) and Helene (Vrenda Lee) sending their youngest (Tristan Layne Tapscott's Keith) off to college, having already raised two older sons: Lewis' Michael, a math professor at MIT, and Staver's Elliott, happily married in Houston. Not five minutes after Keith's departure, the relieved (and randy) George and Helene begin making plans for road trips and long-delayed lovemaking, only to have their coitus interrupted, first by the return of Michael, who's left his university position, and then by Elliott, who's left his wife. And then, not long after, there's a knock on the door.

Yet it isn't Keith who's arrived (not yet, at any rate), but the chirpy, vivacious co-ed Janie Johnson (Schmitt), whom the playwright rather clumsily drops into the proceedings, and whose presence, you soon realize, Empty Nest couldn't do without. There's really not much to Roman's play - it's basically two hours of parental complaints and childish obliviousness - but Janie's appearance throws a neat twist into the material, and Schmitt's happy guilelessness is wholly refreshing; with her Daisy Dukes, exposed midriff, and aforementioned leg warmers, Janie's sunny, empty-headed sweetheart adds a jolt of sex-farce bawdiness to the family-sitcom setup.

Before long, Janie is parading in and out of bedrooms and practicing yoga positions in the living room, and Schmitt imbues her every daffy routine with a spirit of reckless innocence - she's an accidental sexpot. (Her co-stars also get great mileage from their reactions to Janie's scantily clad cluelessness.) The character may be a dip - and the actress performs comic wonders with Janie's questionable methods of polishing silverware and folding napkins - but Schmitt's role turns out to be more surprising than you might anticipate, and so, in the end, is Empty Nest itself.

Snappily directed by Patrick Kearns, the show is obviously designed as an easily digestible entertainment for Circa '21's older demographic. (On Friday, there was hearty applause when Hauskins' patriarch finally told off his ungrateful mooch of a son, as well as an appalled gasp when Elliott, only half-jokingly, told his folks they were lousy role models.) Yet while Roman's comedy is filled with the sorts of conventional punchlines and tidy resolutions you expect from these things, Empty Nest is never insulting, and it's frequently even witty, as Kearns has guided his actors to more eccentrically human performances than works of this type generally allow.

No one here has a trickier role than Lewis, who has to be convincing as an unapologetic slacker who's also a mathematical genius who's also dumb enough to set fire to his room during a misbegotten science experiment. The actor, though, delivers an enthusiastic and rather beautifully thought-out portrayal; with his oddball comic bravado masking a frightened aimlessness, Lewis' Michael is a sitcom Biff Loman. Staver's egocentric horn-dog is the more broadly amusing role and the actor (with assistance from his Preppy Handbook/Miami Vice wardrobe) generates enormous laughs, but he always grounds the character in reality - you believe Elliott's every dopey-ass utterance. (Tapscott, meanwhile, has too little to do, but as usual, does it with thoroughly enjoyable naturalism.)

As Empty Nest's harried-verging-on-apoplectic mom, Lee doesn't give even one predictable reading, and she hits notes of riotous impatience when Helene has a few drinks in her; the actress deserves an award merely for her blotto directive to "look closelier." And the only relative disappointment in the cast, in truth, is Hauskins - not because he isn't funny, but because he's the only performer you catch actively trying to be funny.

The actor deserves major props for (as he's often called to do) stepping into his role halfway through the rehearsal process, and he has sensational moments, especially when George's back goes out prior to foreplay. But he doesn't yet seem entirely comfortable in the part, and appears to be acting on a different wavelength from that of his co-stars; compared to the deliveries of the others, Hauskins' punchlines sound distractingly like punchlines. There is, however, plenty of time for him to get comfortable in Empty Nest, and within an ensemble this inspired, and a show this unexpectedly engaging, that seems less a possibility than an inevitability.