You might expect, even hope, for Buntport Theater’s first full foray into musical theater to be an act of all-out comic subversion. Instead, the unusually titled “Seal. Stamp. Send. Bang.” is a surprisingly heartfelt and fun homage to the form.

Well, wait a minute. There is that song where the postal inspector tortures a naughty employee with an electric dog collar. And there’s the letter carrier who decides the “bird dirt” on her windshield is the sure sign of a coming epiphany. And there’s that, shall we say, detonative climax. (Sorry, but the last word of the title is a dead giveaway.)

Even still, yes, “S.S.S.B.” is a surprisingly heartfelt and fun homage to the form. Really.

It’s just not fully realized.

Buntport, a highly regarded ensemble that stages only original works it creates in collaboration, embraces whimsical musical conventions. But it takes the genre in its own distinct misdirection, too – one Buntport fans should relish, while hard-core musical geeks may find it just a bit out of reach.

As its quadrangular title suggests, “S.S.S.B.” is not so much an arc as a square: It’s four distinct stories tenuously connected by a postcard, making for an evening of right angles, at once exciting and discombobulating, peppered with starbursts of creative fancies.

Recalling both the whimsy of “Avenue Q” and the melancholy of Buntport’s own “Winter in Graupel Bay,” “S.S.S.B.” explores loneliness and the fragile interconnectedness between neighbors – while singing unabashedly fun synth- pop songs by Adam Stone to taped Casio accompaniment.

The horizontal set is a block of four home fronts that spin around and transform into cars, offices and even rooms inside homes!

The story plays out like a film that follows an object rather than a single character.

The tale jumps the shark when masochistic postal inspector Richard (Brian Colonna) busts Jason for his peeking too far into these letters, performing a strange torture song that’s perhaps a nod to the dentist from “Little Shop of Horrors.” We never fully recover from that abrupt change in tenor, but the journey of the postcard – depicting a man sitting alone by a lake – goes on.We first meet letter carrier Susan (Erin Rollman), who bursts into “Bird Poop Angel,” a clever nod to “Pippin”like “Corner of the Sky” show tunes. Shy Pete (Evan Weissman) drops unaddressed postcards into a big blue mailbox. But Susan, not knowing they are meant for her, delivers them to the dead-letter office. There, office drone Jason (Erik Edborg) revels in the stories told within all this misdirected correspondence.

This staging constantly straddles the line between brilliant and incongruous. That is, until Hannah Duggan sends the show into the stratosphere. In the final chapter, she plays Daphne, a shifty gal with a nasal affliction that makes her snort like a pig. Not to give away why, but when Daphne breaks into the song “My Bomb and I” while stuffed in a box and waiting to be mailed, brilliant wins out.

But at 70 minutes, “S.S.S.B.” is too short and doesn’t ever congeal into a meaningful whole. Characters are introduced and dropped. There are too many loose ends. Much is never resolved.

Buntport always drops little smart bombs into its shows, too, but here the high jinks compete with the highbrow. You can do a musical that’s about the search for meaning and connection without indulging so much in Tennyson, Kafka and Shakespeare.

This is a musical, after all, and I know one thing about musicals: Most are pretty dumb. What works so well here is the impossible perkiness; the sweet, unexpressed crushes; the dorky personal-pronoun ballads; the peppy group show tunes.

“S.S.S.B.” marks the continued evolution of a fearless, funny and fiercely intelligent ensemble. (One that, it turns out, has been hiding some surprisingly nice singing voices.)

Just stick to the cheese – and skip the spontaneous combustion.

—John Moore, March 6, 2009, Denver Post

Buntport Theater is taking its first full original musical seriously. They’ll tell you so . . . just as soon as they finish their smokes.

As one actor is interviewed, he apologizes for speaking so softly. “That’s because we’re professionals,” he says with mock earnestness, “and we must protect our voices.”

Just how soberly are Denver’s popular insurrectionists taking (on) the musical form in “Seal. Stamp. Send. Bang.,” their 26th original production?

“The very first number has a woman singing about bird poop on her windshield that she believes is in the shape of an angel,” said actress Erin Rollman. “So right from the get-go, you can see that things are a little bit off.”

But lest you think Buntport has set out to merely parody the most easily parodied of American art forms, know that this acclaimed collective harbors a dirty little secret.

“The truth is, we do like doing musical numbers, because they are fun and stupid,” said Hannah Duggan. “We are not at all musical-theater performers – but maybe we all secretly wish that we were.”

This is a sore subject for Brian Colonna. In his senior year of high school, he was asked not come to back to music rehearsals. Why?

“They seemed to think it was not a winning battle,” he said. To which Rollman interjects: “It’s important to note that in Spanish class, Brian was also asked to stop speaking Spanish. True story.”

For a decade, Buntport has made its theatrical name by primarily staging intelligent, quirky variations on known titles like “Something Is Rotten” (for “Hamlet”). But while “Seal” is its first full, unabashed musical, fans have come to adore the company’s sporadic and often unexpected forays into song and dance. Kitschy, awkwardly performed, note-imperfect song and dance.

“People like to hear songs they know, set to different words. That’s a given,” said Duggan. “And when it comes with really bad dancing and colorful costumes, you just can’t beat it.”

Here’s a look back at some classic musical moments in Buntport’s history:
“Titus Andronicus: The Musical.” Immediately after Titus’ daughter, Lavinia, has her tongue chopped off, Duggan breaks out into an aria version of Britney Spears’ “Oops, I Did It Again,” sending blood spurting out of her mouth. It’s funny, Rollman said, because it’s horrible.

“The juxtaposition between a Britney Spears song and a moment that’s post-rape mutilation seems … an odd juxtaposition,” deadpanned Erik Edborg.

That moment is just so peculiar, Colonna added, “that you are either going to laugh . . . or hate us.”

“James and the Giant Peach.” In this classic episode of the company’s biweekly serial “Magnets on the Fridge,” the gang is driving to New York so Nathan can see his beloved New York Jets play football. But along the way, “we run into a group of really nasty marine biologists wearing shark visors,” said Rollman, setting the stage for a showdown between jets and sharks (rimshot). Suddenly, a “West Side Story”-inspired gang fight/dance breaks out, to the tune of “The Jet Song.”

“It really took people by surprise,” said Rollman, “because it’s not until the music starts that you ‘get’ just how dumb all of this really is.”

“The Nutcracker.” In an episode of the serial “Starship Troy,” Colonna plays a pilot named Zoloft (half human and half Sansmolarian). He falls asleep and has a dream in which he dances with a giant golden calculator and enjoys a sugarplum- fairy dance with Edborg and Evan Weissman.

The broken calculator gets stuck on the number 55378008. “Which, when turned upside down, says, ‘Boobless,’ ” said Weissman. Added Rollman: “We’re nothing if not classy.”

The Flobots! Long before Denver’s latest breakout band went global, they were among the Buntport faithful. They were enlisted to play for a “Magnets” battle-of-the-bands episode. The woeful Buntport combo, armed only with songs about Vienna sausages, forfeits to the rockers, and the episode ends with Edborg and the band singing a cover of “The Final Countdown.”

“All that Crap.” The last of 100 combined episodes of “Magnets” and “Starship Troy” ended with Buntport’s homage to the musical “Chicago” – and itself.

To her credit, Rollman meticulously studied Bebe Neuwirth performing “All That Jazz” on YouTube, and (tried to) steal her every move. The number included a lot of heavy lifting – though, oddly, it was Weissman being lifted, not the women.

“We tried in our best fashion to put in as many Bob Fosse moves we could, even though none of us are dancers – at all,” Rollman said, provoking Weissman’s defensive retort, “Hey . . . I’m a dancer.”

“Always wearing sweatpants,” Duggan responded, “does not make you a dancer.”

Colonna says that number ably marked the end of the company’s massive undertaking. “This was an endeavor that composed eight years of our lives,” he said. “What could possibly speak to what all of that meant? Crap!”

“Seal. Stamp. Send. Bang.” This new musical is penned by Adam Stone, who took a class taught by the Buntport collective at their Colorado College alma mater. Colonna calls Stone “a synth-pop-music machine.”

The story follows four separate protagonists, using the U.S. Postal Service as a central metaphor for mankind’s interconnectedness. The group promises Stone’s music carries the troupe far beyond its penchant for silly karaoke-style pop songs.

“This is not a spoof of musicals,” Rollman said. “But like everything else we do, how we approach our musical is maybe a little bit different.”

But the benefit of performing original music, Rollman said, is obvious: “This way, you guys don’t know what the notes are supposed to be,” she said, “so good luck with that!”

John Moore, Denver Post

For a decade, Buntport has wowed Denver audiences with its marvelous brand of transformational theater. In “Cinderella,” actors changed form before our eyes. In “McGuinn and Murray,” the set was a living character. In “Something Is Rotten,” Ophelia was played by a live goldfish.

Of this inventive troupe’s 25 collaborative creations, many based on classic literature, none seemed a better launching pad for inspiration than Ovid’s “Metamorphoses,” in which gods change their human toys into animals or trees, from dead to alive, as punishment, reward or for their own amusement.

Tales of transformation by a company rooted in transformational theater? It’s a match made in Rome.

But we’re “Anywhere But Rome,” and sadly, there’s little of Buntport’s trademark presentational magic on display. This is a minimal-set show designed to travel to schools or festivals. But they ought have saved “Metamorphoses” for the full Buntport treatment. The play is laden with the kind of stage possibilities Buntport is famous for.

“Rome” is not at all an adaptation of Ovid’s epic poem. Instead it imagines the exiled poet (Erik Edborg) hitchhiking through South Dakota with two of his fictional characters: The blind prophet Tiresias (Brian Colonna) and Io (Erin Rollman), who was turned into a cow by her lover Zeus to deflect his wife’s suspicions.

Rollman’s cow is a sweet and shy creation: She’s wearing a polka-dot dress, pink boots and a cowbell, with hooves for hands and horns above her face, which she tries to cover with a ridiculous plastic mask of a pretty little girl.

They get picked up by a cheerful modern-day couple named Louis (Evan Weissman) and Carol (Hannah Duggan) with their own molten secret: Carol is starting to turn into a chicken. Together they embark on a road trip with its share of surprises (how often do you see a chicken and a cow playing badminton?).

But what follows is mostly a sparkling but elliptical conversation about things like the nature of love, body image and self-acceptance. “People don’t take kindly to difference,” we’re told – a popular theme on area stages right now.

By now, fans and critics alike are fairly predisposed to hail whatever Buntport creates. But it’s always necessary to ask, “What is this about?” and “Does it work?” It’s fun to watch “Anywhere But Rome” just to observe the Buntport creative process at work. But its ultimate purpose here remains elusive because this one is ideologically unfinished.

The ensemble offers us plenty to ponder: In Ovid’s tales, why is it that passion always triggers these human transformations? Why is it that only the two women here are changing physical form? Are not the mind and body always changing?

The driving force of this play is Ovid’s need to recall and rewrite “Metamorphoses,” which he famously destroyed in a fire as an artistic statement. But he did so only knowing full well that other copies existed. So it was an empty dramatic gesture, which makes his memory quest here one of no real consequence, as evidenced by the fact that the modern-day couple are well-versed in his work.

There are parallels and references to “Waiting for Godot,” “Alice in Wonderland,” Stephen King and more, but threads are never fully connected. And because the overall point remains so ambiguous, things grow static.

With Buntport, there’s always the expectation of one more level of deeper engagement, but “Anywhere But Rome” never quite transforms itself onto that higher plane. Why not further explore Ovid’s love-hate relationship with words? The shared status of writers and gods? That mere mortals are prone to self-destruction far greater than anything the gods can mete out?

Further questions: Why are there no gods onstage here, only evidence of their handiwork? Why have the prophet Tiresius tell Io she will one day turn into the Egyptian goddess Isis – and then not show it?

At one point, Carol quips to Ovid: “Your trying to analyze it just takes the fun right out of it!” Point taken. But that sums up “Anywhere But Rome,” for better and worse.

-John Moore, November 28, 2008, Denver Post