Meadow Brook Theatre gives a whirlwind overview of 1960s London, the epicenter of mod subculture, in Shout! The Mod Musical (created by Phillip George and David Lowenstein, with content by Peter Charles Morris and George, music arranged by Bradley Vieth). As directed by Travis Walter, this amalgamation of stylized scenes, cheeky one-liners, and revealing monologues, bolstered by an enormous songbook, attempts to address the entirety of this decade of unparalleled change from a uniquely female perspective. Its one American and four English ladies are united in meeting the innumerable developments of the age head on, with dawning liberation, self-reliance, and fearlessness.

Putting the “jukebox” in “jukebox musical,” the show shuffles through representative songs and topics to chronicle music, fashion, and other issues relevant to Western women over the course of a revolutionary decade. A loose framework is provided in the form of Shout! The Magazine (personified in voice-over by Robyn Lipnicki as well as Christopher Tefft), of which all five characters are devoted readers. The rag guides much of the action in the form of exposition, fluffy love quizzes, articles heralding new trends and curiosities (like the advent of The Pill), and deliberately antiquated advice by columnist Gwendolyn Holmes (imperiously voiced by Maureen Cook). This last element provides a fantastic device that sets this young generation apart from its predecessors and captures the thrilling feeling of a trailblazing age. These developments are accompanied by a staggering few dozen pop songs, many presented in part or in counterpoint, reflecting a larger effort to fit absolutely everything into this two-hour package.

French playwright Marc Camoletti wrote a number of scripts about the triumvirate of Bernard, Robert, and Jacqueline, but they’re not exactly sequels; the events of one had little bearing on the others. His method is reminiscent of commedia dell’arte, in which a collection of broadly drawn stock characters is thrown together in different combinations and scenarios with no expectation of continuity. Thus, in its second Camoletti production in as many seasons, Meadow Brook Theatre’s North American premiere of Ding Dong (translation by Tudor Gates; directed by Travis W. Walter) shows its audience familiar faces, but brand-new farce.

Mischief makers Bernard and Robert (Christopher Howe and Steve Blackwood, respectively, reprising their roles from last season’s Boeing-Boeing), old friends when last we left them, meet here for the first time. The former has lured the latter under false pretenses to his distinctly ‘70s Paris home — all upscale trendy eggplant and burnt orange and mustard elements over gray, tied in rather elegantly by designer Brian Kessler — to reveal he knows all about the affair with Bernard’s wife, Jacqueline (also reprised by Julianne Somers). Because cuckolding is a deep enough injury that reparations are in order, Robert is presented with two options: violent death, or allowing Bernard to seduce his own wife and vengefully complete the switcheroo. They arrange a dinner party to begin the seduction, but Robert brings a slutty imposter (Janet Caine) to pose as his spouse, setting off a series of he-knows-that-I-know-that-you-know maneuvers that are only intensified when actual wife Juliette (MaryJo Cuppone) shows up at the door. With every action in service of a singular goal, the many moving parts of this lightning-fast comedy are well served by an undercurrent of simplicity, its two-act structure akin to pulling back on a slingshot and then letting go.

Reunion: A Musical Epic in Miniature (by Jack Kyrieleison, Ron Holgate, and Michael O’Flaherty) has an unmistakable Ken Burns sensibility. From its stream of archival images to its reliance on firsthand accounts brought to life by understated recitation, the musical seeks to revisit and honor a conflict now one hundred fifty years old, letting the relics and recollections of the time speak for themselves without over-romanticizing. As directed by Travis W. Walter, the production at Meadow Brook Theatre is a multimedia accomplishment, two hours of stimuli and song that trace the progression of the Civil War as experienced by a handful of representative citizens of the Union.

In its historical-museum setting, designer Brian Kessler offers a visual smorgasboard, with myriad photos and exhibits lent additional veracity by targeted, reverently preservational lighting courtesy of Reid G. Johnson. This largely untouched, multi-level backdrop provides not only a fitting atmosphere to revive history, but an easy-flowing canvas on which to create dynamic stage pictures, of which there is no shortage here. Liz Moore’s costume design aims for historical accuracy and, to this untrained eye, appears to hit the mark. Above and behind the performers are a trio of projection screens, adding another perspective in the form of portraits, battlefield photographs, and newspaper headlines. There is something to take in onstage, from top to bottom, at all times, but careful pacing and precision cues by stage manager Terry W. Carpenter keep the flow of information smooth and manageable, never overwhelming.

Patrick Barlow's recent theatrical adaptation of The 39 Steps comes with oceans of context. It's a retread of a 1915 novel of the same name by John Buchan; it's an homage to the stylings of one Alfred Hitchcock, who directed the 1935 movie, and simultaneously a parody of the same; it's two hours of pure playfulness that toys with the conventions of adaptation and goofs on the impossibility of bringing a film of enormous scope to the stage. Somehow, the script is incessantly self-referential in all of these respects at once. It's a credit to director Travis W. Walter and this Meadow Brook Theatre production that the play is funny on every one of these highfalutin levels, not to mention just plain funny.

The story is one of espionage and international intrigue, but really it boils down to the hotly pursued civilian Richard Hannay (Rusty Mewha), who gets in way over his head and barely has time amidst all his fleeing to investigate the mysterious organization targeting him and to clear his name. His entry point is the mysteriously sexy but frustratingly obtuse Annabella Schmidt (Stephanie Wahl), a thickly accented spy who makes her abrupt exit before any questions can be answered. Once all fingers are pointed at Richard and the chase begins, Wahl returns in two other forms, as a timid Scottish housewife and as plucky Pamela Edwards, who finds herself attached to the desperate Richard in and out of custody, like a slapstick precursor to The Defiant Ones. Little of Hitchcock's trademark agonizingly quiet suspense is retained in this whirlwind adaptation, but the production knows its strengths lie in big actions and settings that change with impressive swiftness, from the garish footlights of a London music hall to a harrowing railroad bridge to a fog-secluded Scottish inn. Mewha gives off leading-man qualities that don't preclude him from playing for laughs, and Wahl excels at pushing the idiosyncrasies of her characters; the two play off each other well, especially in truly awkward moments.

Meadow Brook Theatre certainly enjoys its spooky-scary this time of year, and indeed, its production of Dracula, A Rock Opera (by John R. Briggs, in collaboration with Dennis West) excels in its moments of fright and danger. The audience gets a glimpse of it in a foreboding early scene in which Transylvanian villagers painstakingly explain to foreigner Jonathan Harker (Eric Gutman) exactly what Dracula is and what he does...if only Harker had listened. However, the play's biggest accomplishment is a thrilling graveyard confrontation between vampire hunters and their prey — the staging and special effects considerably heighten the tension and make for a spine-tingling experience. Director Travis W. Walter clearly knows how to do suspense, and revels in the kill-or-be-killed standoffs between good and evil.

Unfortunately for a production that so champions its action scenes, much of the show feels frustratingly inactive by comparison. Most of the first act concerns Jonathan corresponding with his faraway love, Wilhelmina (Andrea Mellos), and slowly — really slowly — coming to realize what every viewer already knows by virtue of the show title. The story also pauses to concern itself with the marriage of Lucy (Katie Hardy) and Arthur (Rusty Mewha) and her corresponding rejection of Dr. Seward (Caleb Gilbert), a plot point that simply drags in contrast to the exciting parts and has almost no tangible effect on later interactions. The fault may lie in a combination of audience familiarity and format: because the viewer already knows the basics of the story, the details of the performance are what matter, but it's hard to subtly play awakening comprehension when the score requires one to essentially wail it. Rock opera has little room for nuance, which is too bad because several of these scenes feel like marking time without it.

Making musicals based on the life's work of a musician or band is the new black, and here is the entry for the great Neil Sedaka. In his prolific (and ongoing) career, Sedaka has written approximately four hundred million songs, so the catalog from which Breaking Up Is Hard to Do is assembled makes for an impressive and instantly recognizable score. On the script side (concept by Marsh Hanson and Gordon Greenberg; book by Erik Jackson and Ben H. Winters), the play has in its favor a show-within-a-show framework that opens up song possibilities as well as a kicky premise that practically owes royalties to Dirty Dancing.

To be clear, this musical is more Mamma Mia! than Spring Awakening; there is not a single element as untoward as much of the plot of the above-mentioned Patrick Swayze film. Yet the parallels are myriad, most notably the Catskills resort setting, guests fraternizing with employees and becoming part of the floor show, and a hunky headliner whose attractiveness nearly demands its own byline. The story is peripheral: a jilted fiancée and her friend turn her honeymoon that wasn't into a girl's weekend at Esther's Paradise, and a bit of cunning lands them roles as backup singers for the house entertainment, upon which the resort's future hopes seem to rest. Given a cast of three men and three women, the viewer can gather sufficient evidence within ten minutes to solve that particular math problem. A limp, tacked-on conflict leads to a resolution that defies adjectives in its immense lack of importance. But no matter — happily, this Meadow Brook Theatre production, directed by Travis W. Walter, gamely shoves the story to the wayside in favor of stronger focal points like singing, dancing, comedy, and light 1960s camp.

Meadow Brook Theatre's Enchanted April requires some clarification: the word enchantment can refer to magic, but also describes the human quality of charm. In fact, the mystical enchantment touched on in Matthew Barber's script (based on the novel by Elizabeth von Arnim) turns out to look suspiciously like the real-life magic of a good vacation. The most supernatural effect of the production is that of scenic designer Kristen Gribbin and the stage crew, who deserve accolades for the transition from an intentionally drab, close London interior to the lush, spacious Italian seaside.

The plot is easily distilled: In 1922, four English women are in need of a change, go on holiday, and feel better for it. Vacations are great; this is not new. (It wasn't new in 1922, for that matter.) What makes this show endearing is its funny, warm, revealing, touching interactions. There is relatively little serious conflict; among a group of fundamentally likable characters, it's not surprising that they would all basically like each other. Even in troubling moments, the play's more than two hours are kept moving by the promise of impending pleasantness — and it abounds.

The house lights came up; the plunking marimba sounds of Mike Duncan's movie-score music returned. It was intermission at Meadow Brook Theatre, and I was thoroughly spooked.

It doesn't take much time to start wondering what's really going on in Mindgame, the Anthony Horowitz play in its Michigan premiere. Major and minor clues are peppered through the first act, eventually leading one to realize that something is amiss. Writer Mark Styler (Loren Bass) has made the trip to secluded Fairfield, an asylum for the criminally insane, in order to unlock the secrets of the serial killer Easterman for his next lucrative true-crime book. Instead, he's stymied by Dr. Alex Farquhar (Mark Rademacher), who denies Mark access to the patients but keeps him talking, and Nurse Plimpton (Inga R. Wilson), who's both terrified and brusquely insistent that he depart. What begins as a long, indulgent talk between Mark and Dr. Farquhar is in fact laying out the complex groundwork for a reality in which nothing is as it appears. Once the story gets moving, it veers out of control, and — Here's the thing about reviewing a play in which unexpected things happen: you can't talk about anything for fear of spoilers. This one is best kept vague.

The farcical Boeing-Boeing doesn't deceive its audience: it carefully sets up the premise and makes it clear from the beginning exactly how it will go wrong. (If asked what happens when more than one of your fiancées is in Paris at the same time, answering "Impossible!" means you [a] brought it on yourself and [b] deserve what's coming.) But in between director Travis W. Walter's air travel–inspired curtain speech and the tightly choreographed curtain call, this crisp Meadow Brook Theatre production proves that getting there is all the fun.

Marc Camoletti's play, adapted from the original French by Beverly Cross, is firmly set in the 1960s, most notably the "air hostesses" dressed like Stewardess Barbie (fine work from costume designer Liz Moore). Yet Katie Hardy's, Julianne Somers's, and Stephanie Wahl's flight attendants are far from interchangeable; instead, they're distinctly interesting, and not one is ever vacant or stupid. The women hail from different countries, have different employers, and are blissfully unaware of each other and the fact that they are all three engaged to Bernard (Christopher Howe). The audience is in on the joke, but waiting to learn when and how and whether they discover his secret — in the midst of constant near-misses and exits and entrances reminiscent of Noël Coward — adds palpable tension to this riotously funny caper.