A smart production of a great musical: unobtrusive direction, solid casting, and inventive staging. Camelot sounds like a big show — King Arthur, Lancelot, the knights of the Round Table, the creation of the chivalrous order, the transformation of England, war, fer Pete’s sake — but North Coast Rep, cheerfully bowing to the necessity of its intimate dimensions, hews close to the famous story's heart: the friendships of a King. And really, that’s the genius of the story, because where else can the personal and political — the very big and the very small — so intimately intermingle…and conflict? (Arthur, having grown up under the wise tutelage of Merlin the wizard, wants to change “might makes right” to “might for right,” and that’s a lovely idea for a king to have, but even a king must reckon with the tortuous and tempted human hearts within his household, and himself.) So even though there are often only one or two people onstage, none of the bigness is lost. Quite the opposite: the small-scale interactions feel enlarged: the temptation to personal betrayal is at the same time the temptation to treason, and more — the temptation to raze a civilization. It’s thrilling stuff, and surprisingly painful after the crazy fun of the first act, when Lauren Weinberg’s spirited Guenevere has giddily daydreamed about the romantic frisson of having men fight over her, Brian Krinsky’s imposing Lancelot has modestly proclaimed his perfection, and Jered McLenigan’s Arthur has risen to his moment. And yet, wasn’t the pain portended by all that came before it: the queen’s love, the knight’s power, the king’s dream? The singing Is mostly strong all ‘round — so much so that they might have dropped the mics — but special mention might be made of Weinberg’s, which must serve so many moods: now lilting, now saucy, now richly melancholy.