Annika Starander, center, and the "Buck Wild!" dancers bring a garage mechanic's wall calendar to life, complete with a replica of the General Lee of "Dukes of Hazzard" fame. TJ Weaver is only doing a tribute to Tim McGraw, so Samantha Hunt shouldn't have to fear the wrath of Faith Hill. The show's nudity sometimes runs counter to its theme-park tone. Photos by K.M. Cannon.

Reruns of "The Dukes of Hazzard" may play just fine alongside Tim McGraw and Gretchen Wilson videos on CMT. But live onstage, it's a little trickier.

Trying to mix the latest in suburban "mall country" with the hay bales and red bandanas of "Hee Haw" might just get "Buck Wild!" producer David Saxe ratted out as Mr. Drysdale in disguise, out to grab the money of poor country folk by pretending to be down with them.

People always did underestimate Jed Clampett.

Truth is, the real entertainment value of "Buck Wild!" is the very transparency of the whole charade. As long as the fun keeps coming with a campy wink, it's a hoot and a holler.

Say what you want about female mechanics dancing around the General Lee from "Dukes," then dropping their coveralls to reveal Rebel flag bikinis. Or a little person introduced as "Mini Rogers" (Melvin Rossi) and a drag Dolly Parton (Steve Daily, aka Tiny Bubbles) singing a duet of "Islands in the Stream." Call that anything but boring.

Saxe's Las Vegas credits include staging his illusionist sister's "Melinda -- The First Lady of Magic" and "Showgirls of Magic," the topless revue created by his showgirl mother. So you can trust him to bring Wilson's "Redneck Woman" to life with plenty of cigarette-smokin' and barbecuin' and denim miniskirts with buckskin fringe. All that's missing are the cops showing up at the trailer park.

The trouble comes with the musical parts that are supposed to balance the antics, but come off with the same comic insincerity. If you keep laughing while singing host TJ Weaver does Garth Brooks by way of Curly from the Three Stooges, the revue actually seems more cut from the same cloth. But I don't think you're supposed to nyuk it up, anymore than you should snicker at a stripper-type blonde named Annika Starander covering Faith Hill's "Mississippi Girl."

I guess anyone going to a topless country revue isn't expecting to see George Jones. The very notion of putting "topless" and "country revue" in the same sentence is a little divisive to begin with.

Imagine ducking into one of those corny saloon shows in a theme park just to get out of the heat on a crowded summer day. Then, all of a sudden, those high-stepping saloon girls pop their tops. A pubescent dream finally realized? Or one that's just a bit too surreal? Either way, the topless stuff doesn't occur often enough to get used to it.

Two other city slickers, magician Nathan Burton and juggler Wally Eastwood, blend in better with tried-and-true specialty acts carried over from other shows. Eastwood got more laughs by admitting "I ain't no cowboy" than Burton did by redressing his act as a "redneck magician."

Twelve-year-old harmonica prodigy LD Miller comes in like a young Wayne Newton to sustain the TV variety vibe, as though "Barbara Mandrell & The Mandrell Sisters" were still on the air. Only topless.

About halfway through all this comes one convincingly real country guy, Russ Hedrick, doing his Charlie Daniels tribute with a five-piece band.

Boy, does he seem out of place.

Fortunately, introducing "The song of the year ... from 1979!" ("The Devil Went Down to Georgia") helps him fit right in.