NEVER MIND MARQUEE names Jonathan Groff and André de Shields—the only actors with any significant amount of stage time in The Public Theater’s production of The Bacchae are the members of the Greek chorus. Unfortunately, the chorus (clad in orange jumpsuits that make them look like they’ve escaped from a women’s prison) have been so hand-choreographed by David Neumann that their entire dialogue seems to be simultaneously translated to ASL.

Which is not to say that Groff and company pop on stage briefly, earn their paychecks and then leave. Most of them are required to bounce around the set, and all of them are required to remain on hand for director Joanna Aklaitis’ needlessly busy staging, which embraces some truly weird concepts along with a powerful Philip Glass score that keeps the proceedings moving.

One of those Greek tragedies in which a god wreaks revenge on disbelieving humans, The Bacchae follows Dionysus (Groff) as he arrives in Thebes disguised as a human to destroy the kingdom by turning its women into lust-filled, wanton harlots who hide in the woods. Pentheus (Anthony Mackie), the king of Thebes, is of course hubristic enough to try to stop Dionysus from seducing the women into abandoning their homes and children. And like any Greek tragedy, the subtitle might as well be There Will Be Blood.

The show gets off to a decidedly modern start in Nicholas Rudall’s repetitive adaptation, as Groff leaps and skips around the stage, clutching a microphone—which is one of my biggest theatrical pet peeves when the performer is already miked—and eventually falling to the stage and crooning in a startling falsetto, hands tentatively strumming an air guitar. After that, The Bacchae turns into a stream of bizarre sequences, from de Shields as a blind prophet in MC Hammer-by-way-of-Liza slacks to a truly misguided moment when Pentheus dresses up like Beyoncé to infiltrate the woods.

High camp moments abound throughout, including the out-of-the-blue homoeroticism between Pentheus and Dionysus, and Joan Macintosh’s Lesley Ann Warren impression as Pentheus’ mother, leader of the women. All of which would make for an enjoyable summer’s night in Central Park if the staging weren’t so frenetic, with characters who have nothing to do in the scene yet coming out and sit for a spell, posed on the various levels of John Conklin’s decaying bleachers set. One feels particularly sorry for Rocco Sisto, who wanders on and off the stage wordlessly for an hour before his big monologue.

Most of the actors aim for the outsized performances that best complement a story that ends with the washing of a severed foot, though they often veer into ridiculousness; Sisto spoils an otherwise strong performance with a bad impression of Pentheus screaming in terror. But Groff seems happy to stay thoroughly modern, aided and abetted by Voyce, who has dressed him in jeans,T-shirt and leather jacket until his climactic appearance, when he appears on stage in a Bedazzled version of that same outfit. Prancing, cackling, singing and giggling his way through the role to the delight of his audience, Groff seems to be one of those actors you either get or you don’t. Count me firmly in the latter camp

> The Bacchae

Through Aug. 30. The Delacorte Theater, Central Park, enter park at W. 81st St. & Central Park West; times vary, FREE