The object under scrutiny is a mummy's coffin, called a sarcophagus and correctly pronounced "sahr-KAH-fuh-gus". But in this production, a character persists in speaking of the "sahr-koh-FAG-us". If that made you giggle, you'll find more like it in The Mystery of Irma Vep.

Charles Ludlam's place in American Theatre history is anchored by a series of comedies parodying romantic melodrama, composed between 1970 and 1984 and performed by the author and his collaborators under the auspices of John Vaccaro's Theatre of the Ridiculous. What distinguishes Ludlam's humor from other burlesque spoofs of the period is not only its homophile sensibility, but the extensive array of literary references employed in the expression of such—Shakespeare, Poe, Villon, Joyce and Ibsen, among others. And Irma Vep ups the ante further with a text structured as a stunt-turn for two actors, playing three roles apiece in swift succession.

For all its scholarly value, Irma Vep in performance is a risky proposition. However audacious a female impersonator fluttering his hand at crotch-level while caroling "I must be getting off" may have been to a defiantly-gay coterie in 1984, it cannot help but emerge a relic of an era remembered fondly, perhaps, but as alien to its subculture in 2009 as the ossified occupant of the aforementioned body-box. This may explain director Sean Graney's skepticism regarding his audience's ability to get the jokes—our heroine's gown being made of the same fabric as the chair-covers, for example—in remedy of which, he has instructed the actors to inject exaggerated takes and mugs ( did I mention the duet on Appalachian dulcimer? ) that hobble a dramatic flow already protracted at two hours. A last-minute Brechtian flourish introduces an original element into the presentation, but it's too little and too late.

Granted, the performance I attended was the second of the day for Erik Hellman and Chris Sullivan, making for inevitable fatigue toward the 90-minute mark. But the special effects conjured by Jack Magaw, Alison Siple, Heather Gilbert and Michael Griggs ( set, costume, light and sound, respectively ) are as cleverly conceived as they are impeccably executed. And the proliferation of Ludlam imitators among post-graduate playwrights attests to the continuing popularity of a genre bred of more secretive times. All that said, if museum-piece confection is your cup of tea ( oh-mary-did-you-ever ) , you'll find it capably served up at Court Theatre.