A parable with as pointed a lesson for today as in 1881, it is about the hair-brained enthusiasts who enfold the latest aesthetic fraud, in this case, a pallid, languid, effeminate and bogus poet. But it could very well be the popular song writer whose meaningful lyrics speak of an adolescence spent in pinball parlors, the prizewinning poet of confessional doggerel; the artist who giftwraps bodies of water, the opera singer with no voice but highly efficient publicity mill.

There is also a very perceptive critic, a milkmaid Patience, who has ... umm ... no patience with poet Bunthorne's "aestheticism". However, she does have some peculiar notions about love and how its purity is directly proportional to the selflessness of the devotion. This results in the classic mis-matching of lovers and the necessary unraveling of the tangle, all of it accomplished with satirical observations by G. & S. along the way.

The B.U. production, directed by Peter Pileski and conducted by John Grimes, is remarkable, consisting of a large and entirely first rate cast.

To single out some, but, by no means all, of the performances, there is the excrutiating Lady Jane of Pamela Gore, a formidable, bass-toned groupie in a white satin tunic with an enormous red rose across her self-styled "rugged" bosom. The scene in which she laments the passing of her youth, "accompanying" herself on the cello, as she sighs "there will be too much of me, in the coming bye and bye" is one of the funniest of my recollection.

Norman S. George, the sham poet Bunthorne, has little or no singing voice, but is a wonderful character actor. Puny, wearing green velvet knickers and monocle, often clutching a lily, he was the archetypal Artistic Poseur.

As the New Poet in Town who supplants him, William Walton offered the narcissism appropriate for one "of such perfection of beauty" that young ladies fall instantly in love with him, as well as a simultaneous charm, and an attractive voice.

Dianne Hamilton England's Patience was pink-cheeked, dirndl-skirted, and innocent and with a pleasing soprano that only became shrill when she pushed in the upper reaches of her range. Further, her departing giggle in a scene of Act I was deliciously trilly, high-pitched and worth the price of admission. As was her patty-caking with Walton in their love duet. (no, I'm not going to explain that.)

The 20 Rapturous Maidens, actually only 13 here, offered exhaustive variations on the theme of vapidity and were wonderfully dressed in vaguely Grecian, outrageously tasteless "aesthetic" chic. They were matched by 11 Dragoon Guards of the equally vapid variety of English military man.

There's a lot more, but go and see it for yourself. Through Saturday night.