The Theatregoer Georgy at the Colonial through February 7

GEORGY is the first musical I've ever seen which aspires to be a footnote. While the creators of this show, currently trying out in Boston on its way to Broadway, must think of their work as a musicalized adaptation of their source (the film Georgy Girl ), they didn't fool me for a second. Georgy is not so much a reincarnation of its inspiration as an addendum to it.

From beginning to end, this musical assumes the audience has not only seen the Alan Bates-Lynn Redgrave film of several years back, but has never forgotten a word of it. It is on the basis of this kind of assumption. I think, that Tom Mankiewiez, the author of the show's book, has felt it unnecessary to tell us anything about the show's principal characters: Georgy, the ugly duckling with the big heart; Meredith, the good-looking and cynical slut-next-door: and Jos, the amiable guy who toys with each of them.

The result is a conglomeration of songs, jokes and non-scenes whose only purpose in the world seems to be a reminder of the movie they fleetingly resemble. Needless to say, this does not make for much in the way of satisfying entertainment.

Georgy Girl, of course, was not one of the cleverest or most exciting movies of the sixties. What made it work in its simple, romantic way was not its old-as-time story, but the basic appeal of leads Redgrave and Bates and its stylish London setting (at a time when London per se was thought to be the most stylish place in the world). In the musical version we do not get Bates and Redgrave-and we don't get their characters either. Instead, Georgy gives us two actors, Dilys Watling and John Castle, who dress like their film antecedents, use some of their prototypes' mannerisms, and proceed to walk through a clumsy recreation of the film's slight plot.

While no one has the right to ask this musical to give us Lynn Redgrave and Alan Bates, it is not too much to ask author Mankiewiez to give us two characters strong enough to compensate for the performers' lack of intrinsic charismatic personality. Bates and Redgrave are the kind of beings who could have made Georgy Girl work regardless of the screenplay. Watling and Castle are mere actors, who-even if they are not great characters in their own right-could clearly come up with an equivalent of the film's personalities if given characters to act.

As things stand now, Watling and Castle do not have a chance. The book tells us nothing about them. They have to rely on the musical numbers and staging to tell about themselves, and that isn't enough.

TYPICAL OF THIS predicament is the opening number ("Howdiadoo"), where we meet Georgy for the first time as she plays with a bunch of little kids. The point of the number is to tell us (a) Georgy has rapport with kids and loves them and (b) she is kooky. But it doesn't work because (a) We don't know whether these kids are worth loving or even what her relationship to them is and (b) flip-flop clothing and jumping up and down to the steps of a mundane choreographer don't communicate a real kookiness, but only serve as flashcards for a kind of showbiz cutesiness. At best, the number reminds us of Lynn Redgrave's fleshed-out Georgy and her scene with the kids in the film.

And it doesn't get better. Jos is established by window-entrances, feet-shuffling and puppy-dog looks. When he suddenly-very suddenly-falls in love with Georgy it means nothing to the audience on anything more than a plot level. And when he just as suddenly leaves her in the second act, it means nothing more to the audience than that it is almost time to go home.

Adding to Georgy's problem is the way the third character, Meredith (Georgy's bitchy roommate who has Jos's baby) is handled. She gets the lion's share of the best musical numbers and thus dominates the show. Melissa Hart, who plays the role, does sharp stuff with songs-but in her case the book and staging sabotage what character establishment she gets from the lyricist. Mankiewicz has seen fit to define her by use of the word "shit"; and, by surrounding Meredith with men in the number "Just for the Ride," director Peter Hunt turns the character from the sophisticated, bitchy slut she should be into a tramp. Meredith is not a charming human being, but neither is she filth.

Yet, lest the obvious slip away, there is more wrong with Georgy than the fact that there are no people in it. With no characterization in the book, it by necessity must be top-heavy with plot-and there is not enough plot to go around. Action stops dead at the beginning of Act Two-so much so, that the first three musical numbers of that act could be done in reverse order without necessitating more than small changes in the book. The sub-plot, involving Georgy's rich suitor, has hardly been integrated into the show at all and perhaps should be scrapped. The climax scene is also a mess (hardly dramatized in fact), as three characters come to Georgy one at a time to wrap things up.

The attempts to recreate Georgy Girl's stylish London also fail. Jo Miclziner's sets have no unity and seem rather a grabbag of Sean Kenny schtick with a few Oliver Smith staircases thrown in. Patricia Zipprodt-the best costume designer in the business-has managed to add to the trampiness of Meredith by giving her a succession of booker-ish rather than Mod-ish outfits. Peter Hunt's staging is in the best Hot Spot tradition.

But there is the music (by George Fischoff) and lyrics (by Carole Baker). The songs are often in a Bacharachrock vein and quite the better for it. Perhaps reflecting the common schizophrenia of directionless musicals, however, Baker and Fischoff aren't quite sure whether they want their score to be Hair or Hello, Dolly. So, we get a fine rock number ("There's a Comin' Together") in the first act and a soppy strut-number ("Sweet Memory") in the second. Worst of all, the first-act rocker is given a safe, conventional dance to go with it-despite the fact that the dancers are dressed as freaks. That discrepancy had better be dealt with quickly-for, these days, you can't have your Hair and comb it too.