It is a widely known if seldom spoken truth that when the going gets tough, the tough want cupcakes. Preferably the spongy, cream-filled kind made by Hostess. Actually, instant pudding will do almost as well; so will peanut butter straight from the jar. As long as what's consumed is smooth, sticky and slightly synthetic-tasting, it should have the right calming effect, transporting the eater to a safe, happy yesterday that probably never existed.
Those in need of such solace -- and who doesn't that include in New York these days? -- will be glad to learn that a giant singing Hostess cupcake opened at the Winter Garden Theater last night. It is called ''Mamma Mia!,'' and it may be the unlikeliest hit ever to win over cynical, sentiment-shy New Yorkers. That includes the Winter Garden's long-lived previous tenant, a show in which some scrappy cats sang poems by T. S. Eliot.
For if you take apart ''Mamma, Mia!'' ingredient by ingredient, you can only wince. It has a sitcom script about generations in conflict that might as well be called ''My Three Dads.'' The matching acting, perky and italicized, often brings to mind the house style of ''The Brady Bunch.''
The choreography is mostly stuff you could try, accident-free, in your own backyard. And the score consists entirely of songs made famous in the disco era by the Swedish pop group Abba, music that people seldom admit to having danced to, much less sung in their showers. Yet these elements have been combined, with alchemical magic, into the theatrical equivalent of comfort food.
''Mamma, Mia!,'' which opened (and continues to run) in London more than two years ago, is bland, hokey, corny, stilted, self-conscious and -- let's not mince words -- square. But in the hands of the director Phyllida Lloyd and her remarkably consistent crew and performers, these traits are turned into virtues, creating what is surely the canniest exercise in klutziness to hit Broadway.
Although drenched in an atmosphere of punchy spontaneity, ''Mamma Mia!'' is extremely artful in manufacturing its air of artlessness. The show's writer, Catherine Johnson, has devised a plot expressly to string together more than 20 Abba songs, written by Benny Andersson and Bjorn Ulvaeus (some in collaboration with Stig Anderson), most of which are used with lyrics unaltered.
Let's get that plot out of the way: 20-year-old Sophie Sheridan (Tina Maddigan) is about to be married, and she wants her father to give her away. The problem is that, having peeked into her mother's diary from the year of Sophie's birth, she discovers that her father could be any one of three men.
So she summons them all to her wedding on the Greek island where Mom, a feisty, independent soul named Donna (Louise Pitre), runs a taverna. Mark Thompson's simple, flexible set is appropriately rendered in shades of blue and white designed to soothe, a bug-free island for escapists. Any touches of luridness are reserved for his costumes.
This story line, similar to that of the smirkier 1968 movie ''Buona Sera, Mrs. Campbell,'' winds up serving as a nifty pegboard for both that bouncy electronic music and the kind of contrasting of mother-versus-daughter values that is regular fare for the Lifetime channel. It also allows members of a graying disco generation to shake their booties once again.
In her youth, it happens, Mom headed a rock trio, Donna and the Dynamos. And among the wedding guests are, of course, the other members of that group: the chic, lean and thrice-married Tanya (Karen Mason) and the round, no-nonsense Rosie (Judy Kaye), a cookbook writer. How can they resist putting on their old costumes and singing their old songs?
This is not, for the record, your basic organic musical. Songs spring directly from the plot, but with a jolting, self-aware literal-mindedness. Don't even ask how ''Chiquitita,'' a Spanish-flavored ballad, turns directly into a vehicle for Tanya and Rosie to cheer up the distraught Donna. Or how Donna lets a bitter confrontation segue straight into ''The Winner Takes It All.''
The full charms of this approach don't become evident until about 20 minutes into the show, when Donna accidentally encounters Sam (David W. Keeley), a hunky architect and one of the three potential fathers. (The others are played by Dean Nolen and Ken Marks.)
Donna, in work clothes with a drill in her hand, strikes a pose of shock, everyone else onstage freezes, and suddenly she's singing, with full-throated alarm, the title number, a spirited song of regretful attraction. (''Mamma mia, here I go again/ My my, how can I resist you?'') Every now and then, the members of a friendly chorus of Greek peasants pop their heads over the walls to echo her.
The effect, and I've never before seen it rendered so evocatively onstage, conjures up the way old Top 40 hits will insinuate themselves into your mind at critical emotional moments, providing unsolicited soundtracks. Actually, ''Mamma Mia!'' often suggests a world in which everyone is the star of his or her own music video, the kind you can create at those small karaoke sound stages in amusement parks.
Crucial to the emotional punch and appeal of these moments is that the singers are not the hothouse exotics of MTV in their overblown sci-fi settings. Every character in the show, as presented here, could pass for normal at a suburban cookout. Which makes the return of Donna and the Dynamos, in finned and ruffled disco drag for Sophie's pre-wedding party, a rousing apotheosis.
They're what they were and what they are at the same time, with acknowledgments of joints that now creak and backs that catch in pain. But the hedonistic spirit is still defiantly present in their voices. And I remembered a middle-aged friend describing the cathartic value of lip-synching to the disco standard ''I Will Survive'' shortly after she broke up with her husband.
Although many of the performers in ''Mamma Mia!'' have voices of considerable power, the show still creates the beguiling illusion that you could jump onstage and start singing and fit right in.
Similarly, Anthony Van Laast's choreography, which includes a fantasy sequence in scuba gear, never looks studied, though of course it is. In the party numbers, you have the impression of the kind of synchronized exuberance that sometimes spontaneously settles onto a dance floor shared by the same people for a long time. It is also reassuring to see an ensemble of so many varied body types. Again, the idea is that they could be you or me.
Since they are meant to be stand-ins for the audience, the performers emerge less as specific characters than as hearty archetypes. But they're agreeable company, and they agilely walk a fine line between sincerity and spoof. This is true even during, er, snappy dialogue like the following:
''I'm old enough to be your mother.''
''You can call me Oedipus.''
Ms. Pitre has a terrific pop belter's voice, and she's delightful when she's boogeying down with her chums, though you wish she could loosen up a bit for the heavy emotional scenes with her daughter and suitors past. Ms. Mason has vivid bite playing a vamp of a certain age. Ms. Maddigan is a luscious ingénue.
And Ms. Kaye comes close to creating a fully shaped character out of air. Her courtship bid to the adamantly single Bill (Mr. Marks), in which she sings ''Take a Chance on Me,'' is the most charming number in the show.
Unbidden, the audience starts clapping along happily with that one. By that point, you've surely realized that whether you're conscious of it or not, you've been listening to Abba music all your life. Mr. Andersson's and Mr. Ulvaeus's hook-driven, addictively tuneful melodies have been heard, in some form, in many an elevator, dentist's office and supermarket aisle.
They're the sort of songs that seem to belong to some hazy collective memory. And it's amazing how much cumulative emotional clout they acquire here, as arranged for a 10-piece band by Martin Koch, even if some of the show's later ballads drag the middle of the second act toward sleepiness.
''Mamma Mia!'' manipulates you, for sure, but it creates the feeling that you're somehow a part of the manipulative process. And while it may be widely described as a hoot by theatergoers embarrassed at having enjoyed it, it gives off a moist-eyed sincerity that is beyond camp.
The woman who accompanied me to ''Mamma Mia!'' wore hard-edged black and an air of weary skepticism. At one point, she hissed irritably at me, ''I hate the 70's.'' That was early, though. When the curtain calls came, she was openly weeping and laughing at herself for doing so. MAMMA MIA! Music and lyrics by Benny Andersson and Bjorn Ulvaeus; some songs with Stig Anderson. Based on the songs of Abba. Book by Catherine Johnson. Directed by Phyllida Lloyd. Production designed by Mark Thompson; lighting by Howard Harrison; sound by Andrew Bruce and Bobby Aitken. Musical supervisor, additional material and arrangements by Martin Koch; choreography by Anthony Van Laast. Presented by Judy Craymer, Richard East and Mr. Ulvaeus, for Littlestar in association with Universal. At the Winter Garden, 1634 Broadway, at 50th Street. WITH: Tina Maddigan (Sophie Sheridan), Sara Inbar (Ali), Tonya Doran (Lisa), Karen Mason (Tanya), Judy Kaye (Rosie), Louise Pitre (Donna Sheridan), Joe Machota (Sky), Mark Price (Pepper), Michael Benjamin Washington (Eddie), Dean Nolen (Harry Bright), Ken Marks (Bill Austin), David W. Keeley (Sam Carmichael) and Bill Carmichael (Father Alexandrios).
