If I’m reading this one right, it’s something close to genius: a quiet rebuke of poptimist self-invention masquerading as a boisterous celebration of same. The story of this audacious two-person musical concerns one Annie Londonderry, the first woman to ride a bike around the world. (See, a man did it, and then these two fellows at a bar got to arguing about whether a woman could do it, too, and Annie was both near at hand and up for the challenge.)

At first, I thought it was just me — given my temperament and taste, of course I’d wince at the poptimist puffery of “Ride” (lets liven up the human race?) and then grin along with the more grounded greed of “The Wager,” which follows immediately after. Of course I’d cock an eyebrow at the forced romanticism of “Miles Away from Boston,” then sob along with everyone at the genuine pathos of “Stranger” — which, again, follows immediately after.

But then, “Stranger” is part of this huge flashback to the hard truth that threatens to overwhelm the glorious show that the show has been up til now — up til now, we’ve been watching Annie pitch herself as a columnist for Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World; not only a celebrity, but also a genuine voice for women. After all, as Annie sings, “Everybody loves a lie,” but, well, maybe not everybody. At first, the flashback feels odd — so slow, so drawn out, so…unpleasant. And then after a bit, you realize that the term you’re looking for is “so real.”

It takes as long as it does because Alex Finke’s Annie and Livvy Marcus’s quietly brilliant assistant Martha are forever pulling dramatic and/or comedic rabbits out of hats in a seemingly endless series of delightful inventions. They pretend so beautifully; why would anyone want to stop the music, or even slow it down?