A happy camper? Not this time.

Eddie Mekka and Sally Struthers in "Fiddler on the Roof." (Stuart nudelman)

I went camping in Maine this weekend. And I didn't even need a tent.

Like so many madcap adventures, however, this one proved more amusing in the anticipation than in the experience itself. You would think I'd know that by now.

But no. And so when I saw that the Ogunquit Playhouse was staging "Fiddler on the Roof" this season, and that Sally Struthers would be starring as Golde - Sally Struthers! In a babushka! - I knew I just had to go.

Perhaps not coincidentally, I was able to round up a fellow adventurer whose taste in camp, like mine, runs more to Charles Busch than to L.L. Bean. And he was willing to show me his favorite clam shack. (Bob's Clam Hut, actually, in Kittery, and worth every clam.) And so, forgetting that I had felt the same way about Linda Evans and Joan Collins in "Legends!," forgetting that I had been every bit as eager to see an "Annie" tour featuring John Schuck - you know, John Schuck! The guy who used to play Rock Hudson's gofer on "McMillan & Wife"? - forgetting, most of all, that neither these experiences nor the many others like them had been anywhere near as funny as they sounded on paper, off we went.

Two traffic-filled hours (and many high-fat calories) later, we arrived at the Playhouse, where luminaries from Laurette Taylor to Ryan Landry have performed. And, as Tevye in "Fiddler," a returnee from last season's "Hairspray," billed on the company's website as "TV's Eddie Mekka." To spare you the Google search, I'll remind you that he played Carmine on "Laverne and Shirley."

But of course we were there for Archie Bunker's little girl. The irony was almost too thick to be believed: the woman who played the sweet, liberal, and extremely blond and blue-eyed daughter of America's most famous bigot, now appearing as a Jewish peasant in a shtetl. As Golde might say, "From your mouth to God's ears."

Actually, Golde does say that. Coming from Struthers's mouth, though, the words sound less like a world-weary expression than a bland instruction from your GPS. And the gestures? The Sabbath blessings? The dancing? As Sally's grandmother probably never said, and as I know for sure mine didn't, oy.

All this is indeed amusing, up to a point. But the fatal flaw in our thrill-seeking madness was this: "Fiddler on the Roof" is a classic musical (and a good one, as you may have heard). This means that it is close to three hours long. And there are only so many giggles to be gained from watching a bubbly blonde in a bad brunet wig.

There's another problem, though, and one that's unique to camp-seekers in the lively arts, as opposed to on that tiny screen at home. It's easy to mock the ridiculous excesses and failings of faded celebrities on TV - and highly entertaining, too, or how else would you explain the success of everything from "The Love Boat" to "Deal or No Deal?" But when you're right there in the room with a living, breathing person who has obviously worked very hard to learn this role, and who is working very hard right this minute to entertain you, it's not nearly as much fun being snide. I'll admit, when I was younger I could get a kick out of shredding the umpteenth national tour of "Cats," and I can still have a bit of fun wondering who first told Linda Evans to get up on a stage. But mostly, confronted face to face with this kind of 16th-minute-of-fame performance, I just get sad.

On the other hand, TV's-Eddie-Mekka is actually pretty darned good onstage. He has a fine voice, he knows how to deliver a punch line, and he's got Tevye's character down pat. Turns out he's been playing this role off and on for the past 15 years. The ease and familiarity make a real difference, and he's a pleasure to watch.

True, he and the bright young things playing Tevye's daughters were about the only unironic pleasures to be had; the lighting, when it wasn't bathing the set's rickety birch trees in a garish magenta glow, was so badly aimed and timed that, when the spots moved from Golde to Tevye for "Sunrise, Sunset," the solos were delivered mostly in some twilight in between.

Somehow, though, all that wasn't quite relentlessly bad enough to be good. And yet the more competent elements of the show weren't enough to make it worth all those miles - and all the delicious clammy calories consumed on the way. Next time I feel like a little camping, I think I'll stay home and watch the Outdoor Channel.

Or, better yet, "Laverne and Shirley."