There’s a new playwright in town.

Monty Shakespeare.

The actors have taken over the stage at the Pennsylvania Shakespeare Festival (PSF) for a zany production of William Shakespeare’s “Love’s Labour’s Lost,” through Aug. 7, Schubert Theatre, Labuda Center for the Performing Arts, DeSales University, Center Valley.

The actors inject Monty Python absurdities into the romantic comedy, with crazy costumes, silly walks and tomfoolery. PSF’s “Love’s Labour’s Lost” is comedy found.

This is the PSF production said to replicate the way plays were staged in Shakespeare’s day: no director, short rehearsal period, and the actors get to raid the costume and prop shops.

“Love’s Labour’s Lost” is a good choice for this year’s experimental theater at PSF because the play’s premise itself is absurd: King Ferdinand of Navarre (Spencer Plachy), tells his noblemen, Lord Longaville (Akeem Davis), Lord Dumaine (Ryan Hagan) and Lord Berowne (Zach Robidas), to hit the books for three years and not “hit on,” i.e., woo, women during that time.

Wouldn’t you know it, just when they agree, who shows up to tempt them and complicate matters, but none other than the Princess of France (Marnie Schulenburg) and her retinue, Lady Maria (Patti-Lee Meringo), Lady Katherine (Stephanie Hodge) and Lady Rosaline (Mattie Hawkinson).

Woven into the main plot is a subplot of additional, ahem, hot pursuits, namely, Don Adriano De Armado (Anthony Lawton), besmirched with Jaquenetta (Beth Egan).

Dashing in and out of these two story lines is Costard (Christopher Patrick Mullen), freshly-sprung from prison; Boyet (Wayne S. Turney), confidante to the Princess, and a scholar who wants to teach everyone a lesson, Holofernes (Peter Schmitz).

The King and his Court are decked out in preppy boarding school attire, including wing-tips, khakis, sweater vests, blazers and ties. Vows of celibacy soon jettisoned, these are schoolboys in disgrace.

The Princess and her ladies make an eye-opening entrance in confetti-colored sun-dresses, heels, scarfs, sunglasses, gloves and parasols as though they stepped right out of a late 1950s to mid-1960s Fellini film, but with attitudes straight from TV’s “Sex and the City.”

Staging and lighting utilizes that of PSF’s “Julius Caesar.”

There’s lots of bantering, ad-libbing and direct-to-audience address (if you sit in one of the front rows, you might find yourself part of the show).

Stripping the play down to its essentials puts the spotlight on the language of Shakespeare, which ebbs and flows and crashes like ocean waves on the shore.

The actors get to stretch their actor muscles in bold, often surprising and predominantly comedic and entertaining ways. This is raucous, ribald revelry.

Lawton strikes a larger-than-life pose like Popeye in gay biker bar attire, strides and struts with assumed authority and affects an accent that is hilarious with every word he emotes (“A dangerous rhyme,” indeed, adding in an aside, “I didn’t write this.”). He’s a Spaniard in the works.

His rendition of “My Way” (yes, that “My Way”) with his ward, Moth (a fearless Peter Danelski), on ukulele, is one of the show’s many delights.

Mullen, who honed the play’s script, can’t stop himself from inserting his own commentary and giving the audience madcap wink-winks, nudge-nudges, which is side-splitting.

Plachy presents a more dignified presence that is all the more funny, undermined as it is by his self-deprecating wit.

Robidas is a gallant, solid if just a bit goofy in his intensity, which is also quite amusing. At one point, he cadences like a rapper.

Plachy, Robidas, Davis and Hagan stride the stage like the four Marx Brothers, especially when disguised as “Muscovites” in wild furs, hats and accouterments in a “Russian dance” parody.

If the entrance of the four horsemen of the laughapalooza brought the house down opening night, July 29, when the performance was seen for this review, the audience was enraptured by the Princess and her court.

Schulenburg evokes a proper lady (think Julie Andrews in “The Princess Diaries” movie) with a regal bearing in a pink ensemble as she delivers delicious instruction, even as she pokes fun at her very words (“Shall I finish the jest?”).

Hawkinson, in a red dress and accessories, is a saucy and cheerful counterpoint.

Meringo, in radiant white, evokes the aloofness of a Jackie O.

Hodge, in daffodil yellow, represents innocence personified.

Egan, in jean shorts, draped shirt and cowgal boots, saunters with the sauciness of a Daisy Mae.

Turney, “the old love monger” and “Cupid’s grandfather,” is a delight to behold and hear.

Schmitz brings a dueling poesy to bear, even as he works the lines for laughs (“Love” is stretched into the multi-syllabic “looove”). His presiding, along with the King and his court, brings forth a “Horse Feathers” collegiate chaos.

Justin Ariola is riveting for his impassivity as Constable Dull.

Marcel Logan (Lord, Forester, Mercade) makes three roles distinctive.

James Sayre is another standout as the hapless Nathaniel.

This is a feast of words at the fest. Just memorizing the gobs of dialogue is amazing. That the actors do this and do it well, and then bring a clever, inventive and original twist to the proceedings bears witnessing.

There’s some quite good a cappella choral work by the cast, and a conclusion as sweet as the rest of the show is wacky.

“Love’s Labour’s Lost” is Shakespeare gone wild. The actors are wild at heart. And that’s a brave thing indeed.