Entertainment

Queen of Broadway

So confident is “Priscilla, Queen of the Desert” in its ability to ramp up the thrills that it doesn’t wait for the finale to drop the confetti — it falls a mere 30 minutes in shamelessly feel-good show won’t do to entertain, from bringing theatergoers onstage to dance to lowering its singing divas from the rafters. It may look a bit ramshackle at times, but “Priscilla” has a big, joyous heart.

Adapted by Stephan Elliott and Allan Scott from Elliott’s 1994 movie, “The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert,” this 2006 jukebox musical has made a few pit stops before landing on Broadway, where it opened last night.

That’s fitting, in a way, since “Priscilla” is about three flamboyant misfits journeying through Australia’s backwaters in the titular custom bus.

Our trio is made up of two drag queens — sensitive Tick/Mitzi (Will Swenson, from “Hair”) and brash Adam/Felicia (Nick Adams) — plus the older, wiser transsexual Bernadette (Tony Sheldon). This guarantees a couple of things: There will be “oh snap!” lines, and the song list will read like the gay holy scriptures: “It’s Raining Men,” “Go West,” “Hot Stuff,” “I Will Survive.”

Tick, Adam and Bernadette trek from Sydney to Alice Springs to appear in a casino show and, incidentally, meet Tick’s young son — it’s not just in “La Cage aux Folles” that future drag artists sire children. On the way they visit several bars in the boondocks, where they stick out like neon signs. Tim Chappel and Lizzy Gardiner’s costumes almost require a return visit to fully absorb their delirious ingenuity.

Zippily directed by Simon Phillips, the show bursts with a festive spirit that helps overlook the ensemble’s small size and the primitiveness of Ross Coleman’s choreography.

But what really sustains “Priscilla” is the chemistry between the three leads. And here the triangle’s lopsided.

At the peak is the remarkable Sheldon. The Australian actor, who created the role in Sydney, nails the balance of vulnerability and toughness, pathos and pride that keeps Bernadette going.

But Swenson, likable as he is, doesn’t have a campy bone in his body, and seems miscast as Tick. Meanwhile, Adams’ Popeye biceps are incongruous. When Felicia gets bashed by yahoos, it makes no sense: She looks as if she could easily flatten them all.

Oh well . . . there are still those outfits and those songs. When dancers dressed as giant cupcakes appear during “MacArthur Park,” we enter some kind of psychedelic parallel dimension. And, for a musical, that’s a very good thing.