The highest praise I can give the Cincinnati Music Theatre's production of Chess is that it involved very great risks. I must point out, however, that those who gamble for high stakes often lose their shirts. In this case, a great deal of time, talent, money and expertise was lavished on a production that's a hymn to mediocrity.

The version of Chess performed here was not the production which lasted three years in London, but the significantly altered version which lasted just eight weeks on Broadway in 1988. The brainchild of lyricist Tim Rice (Jesus Christ Superstar, The Lion King), Chess has a checkered career. A rock musical about the American-Soviet chess rivalry during the waning days of the Cold War, the show includes a romance between an American chess manager and a Russian chess champion, as well as cloak-and-dagger spies, defections and so on.

The musical's deliriously maddening and improbable book is its Achilles heel. Penned by Richard Nelson, the series of unlikely events are so unconnected and random as to resemble a pastiche rather than a plot. But the play takes itself seriously -- there is no parody. We have love at first sight, chess tournaments rife with spies, suspected cheating through flavors of yogurt, a family member lost for years behind the Iron Curtain who is suddenly found and just as suddenly (and gratuitously) lost again, and.

Since Nelson's book ignores Aristotle's simple advice concerning the events in good dramatic plots being necessary and probable, with discernible cause and effect, one can only assume that changes in the script demanded by original director Trevor Nunn got lost somewhere over the Atlantic.

The music for the show is by Benny Anderson and Bjorn Ulvaeus of the rock group ABBA. It is stage Rock music, over-amplified, surprisingly complex, mostly discordant, but with some nifty contrapuntal riffs. There were a few too many echoes of Jesus Christ Superstar, and CMT's orchestra struggled with precision.

Although there were a number of moving, even haunting musical numbers, most of the songs had audience, orchestra, and actors straining to make something out of them. The composers discarded the element of melody, so the performers were forced to focus on reproducing difficult sequences of notes rather than on connecting with the audience. Decibel count was evidently intended to substitute for human emotion.

The Russian chess expert, Anatoly Sergievsky, was intelligently and winsomely played by Brian Anderson. His performance was understated, authentic and human, and helped overcome the audience's attention gap. Although Anderson sang beautifully, much of the music was too low for his voice. Although the amplification rendered him audible, the sound was thin.

Michael Shawn Starks played Freddie Trumper, the American champion modeled after Bobby Fischer -- an all around eccentric, womanizing, paranoid, desperately self-involved jerk. Starks seemed too nice for the role at first, but he eventually warmed to Trumper's schizoid nature. His voice moved smoothly between registers, and he threw himself into a thankless role that was written in separate compartments.

The performance of Allison Collins-Elfline (Florence Vassy, chess manager and love interest) moved in the opposite direction. At first she seemed believable, her acting intelligent and smart, but by the end of the evening her lack of physical and emotional range began to take its toll. Her voice has a thrilling edge, but Elfline's lack of facial expressions, gestures, and subtle musical dynamics undercut the effectiveness of her numbers.

Kelsey McKelfresh played Anatoly's wife, Svetlana, a substantially smaller role, but she managed to create a deep impression with her rich contralto voice, authentic characterization and emotional depth.

Dan Dermody's spare, metallic, curvilinear, high-tech set feels just right for Chess. Accompanied by striking drops and rear projections, the stage was so open you could see all the way to the fly rail. Costumes were also well executed. Diane Carr used primarily modern dress with neutral colors, suggesting character with fabric and accessories. She used the few chorus numbers for greater theatricality, garbing the "chess vendors" in black and white with an occasional splash of red.

Eric Bardes designed the lights like a rock concert with lots of highly saturated color and tons of movement in the light sources. Most of the lighting changes seemed random at best, and attention-grabbing at worst. Unfortunately, the lights were putting on such a show during Freddie's big number, "Pity the Child," that I found myself watching them instead of the actor. Musical theatre should "razzle-dazzle 'em" -- although this production certainly razzled, it just plain failed to dazzle. Grade: C