Times change. Half a century ago, Lindsay and Crouse could guarantee themselves a big laugh at a first-act curtain by having their naive hero open a book and read the line "My maiden name was Fanny Hill." In those days, John Cleland's 18th-century porn classic couldn't be sold publicly in the U.S.; nowadays it practically ranks as literature, and fairly tame literature at that. Inevitably, the musical that Ed Dixon has made of Fanny's copulative encounters falls into the good-natured, mild-mannered genre, now nearly extinct, that I once christened the Obmusc, or Off-Broadway Musicalized Classic, all tinkly mock-baroque trills, tidily rhymed patter, and... More >>>