Spamalot has, at last, arrived in Buffalo, and judging from the gales of audience laughter that tended to precede punch lines at Tuesday’s opening, this is an eagerly anticipated event. The show boasts an extraordinary cast that performs the slim material admirably.

Michael Siberry is especially impressive as King Arthur in this fractured retelling of the tale of the legendary king and his knights of the table round. With shows like the very dreary World War I weepy, Journeys End, and Noel Coward’s achingly urbane Private Lives to his credit, Mr. Siberry deserves particular applause for his willingness to be a total buffoon in Spamalot. He sings brilliantly, commands an unassailable stage presence and has delightfully precise comic timing.

Statuesque Pia Glenn is similarly appealing as the over-the-top Lady of the Lake. She uses her powerful voice and impressive physique to tear into the material with a vengeance. Whether she’s spoofing Andrew Lloyd Webber or channeling Ella, Tina and Liza all at the same time, Glenn is delightfully whacked.

I do feel obliged to reveal one unavoidable fact. The show is inane.

I mean really inane. We’re talking fart jokes and cow catapults. We’re talking incontinence and shock gags about Jews and homosexuals. We’re talking idiotic digressions into pointless word play. This show is—let me choose the word carefully—stupid.

But it is impressively performed stupidity, a genre that has a history dating back to antiquity. This dramatic form includes the Marx Brothers and the great Broadway burlesques of the early 20th century, and audiences adore it.

Up until this week, I had managed to evade Spamalot. The Monty Python phenomenon never really grabbed me by the collar, except as recreated with great frequency by classmates at college. Had we but world enough and time…there are so many shows to see. I similarly waited years to see Phantom of the Opera. Now Spamalot has come to me, however, and so I seized my chance.

Parody is clearly central to the comic machinery of Monty Python, and in Spamalot we receive a generous portion—including nods to Phantom, and even a bit of Chita Rivera in West Side Story, all embraced within a free-wheeling retelling of the Arthurian legend. It’s a sort of Broadway-Vegas fusion.

The direction by Mike Nichols is sheer brilliance. Every detail is exact, specific and calculated to be funny. The pace is swift, and the execution is enthusiastic.

Jeff Dumas is excellent as Patsy, King Arthur’s Sancho-esque sidekick, who scores one of the night’s most robust laughs when he is revealed to be Jewish, and explains that it’s not the sort of thing one immediately tells a heavily armed Christian. (The laugh is second only to a Buffalo Sabres reference during the inevitable audience participation moment.) Dumas’ long-suffering character is vivid, funny and constantly appealing.

Patrick Heusinger is hilarious as Sir Lancelot, a free-ranging role that departs significantly from all previous versions of this story.

Robert Petkoff (whose wife played Blanche Dubois at Studio Arena Theatre a few seasons ago) is also marvelously funny as cowardly Sir Robin. His willingness to get a laugh, no matter what, exceeds description here. He sings more powerfully than the Broadway original (which I know only from hearing David Hyde Pierce on the recording) and gives an entirely satisfying performance.

Miscellaneous members of the ensemble give meticulously ribald and vibrant performances. Spamalot is a chain with not one weak link. It’s got cute boys and pretty girls. It’s got great sets and costumes. There is not one mentally taxing moment, and it ends with a sing-along. Some would call that entertainment perfection.