"Jonny, don't go to the nuclear plant!"

We're big musical theatre fans at my house, as you might imagine, and the girls' latest obsession is the obscure musical "Zombie Prom" about a doomed teenage love affair in which the boy throws himself into a nuclear reactor and buried under the sea, but is lured back from his watery grave by the dulcet tones of his mourning sweetheart. We saw a fabulous teen production of it at the Company Theatre, which is the local community theatre that our whole family adores and participates in whenever possible.

The girls go through phases with their musicals. Last summer - ALL summer - it was Mamma Mia, complete with "recitals" performed with costumes and original choreography. This one, though, is getting more extensive by the minute. They've downloaded lyrics from the internet, drawn posters and a set design ("Mommy, can you build four lockers that actually open?") There are planned lighting effects, and particular lyrics assigned to their friends. The grand performance is intended for our faux-camping trip at the Fishman's house in August. (Which I haven't had the heart to tell them yet.)

I love the teamwork this has built, and the various negotiations they've had to pursue with each other over who gets to do which parts of which songs in order to make it equitable, but also making sure it serves the story line. They're passing a gorgeous spring afternoon singing their heads off, dancing and generally frolicking about. All good.

However...

I have taken them to New York to see Mary Poppins on Broadway. They've seen outstanding community theatre productions of Big River and Gypsy. They've seen countless very good high school productions of Seussical and How to Succeed and Godspell and Into the Woods, Beauty and the Beast and Hello, Dolly, and so many others I can't even count. And yet, Zombie Prom has been pronounced the Greatest Musical of All Time.

I suppose I should just be thankful that it's not "Grease."