It's like a traffic accident you can't stop looking at.

The only difference is that in the brilliant production of Assassins presented by the Roundabout Theatre, the victim isn't some hapless pedestrian, but America itself, lying gasping for breath on the stage of Studio 54.

Stephen Sondheim and John Weidman's 1990 musical about the nine individuals who killed (or tried to kill) an assortment of American presidents was a quick flop when it opened off-Broadway right in the middle of the Gulf War.

"Every now and then the country goes a little wrong," sings the Balladeer early in the show, and that's a message the United States never likes to hear.

In the intervening 14 years, the show has been kept alive by its original cast recording, a London revival and an assortment of smaller North American productions, including the Dora-winning 1994 version in Toronto.

This particular revival was slated to happen in late 2001, but 9/11 stopped it dead in its tracks. Ironically, the very tragedy that nearly cancelled this production has added untold resonance to it today. As an example, one of the failed assassins is Sam Byck, whose 1974 scheme to hijack a 747 and crash it into the White House drew grotesque laughter prior to the events at the twin towers. Now, when Byck announces his plan, you can almost hear the audience gasp in unison.

Time and time again, the tragic resonances come back to haunt us. The religious fanatic, Charles Guiteau, who shot James Garfield and cakewalks to the gallows singing "I'm Going To De Lawdy," evokes a more contemporary terrorist with his black garb, bearded face and robotic intensity.

When the assembled assassins try to convince Lee Harvey Oswald to pull the trigger in Dallas on that fateful November day, their inducements include offering him the power to "close down the Stock Exchange" and cause "grief beyond imagining."

For a few terrifying moments, our past, present and future all seem one and the same.

Despite the undeniable emotional and political punch of Assassins, it would be doing this superb staging a disservice not to mention it's also one of the most entertaining and accomplished shows now on Broadway.

Joe Mantello, who also guided Wicked to victory, has what must be the directorial equivalent of perfect pitch. Every element of this production is not only stunningly realized in itself, but part of a seamless whole.

Start with Robert Brill's set. We're in a dilapidated amusement park, underneath a roller coaster. It's a sombre structure, yet it has the kind of tawdry gaiety that suffuses the entire show.

A gleamingly bald, gold-toothed huckster called The Proprietor welcomes us all, assassins and victims alike. "Feelin' blue? Don't know what to do? Come on and kill a president." He spins the wheel of fortune as the killers emerge from the shadows.

Those shadows are the work of Jules Fisher and Peggy Eisenhauer, whose lighting is among the most superb they have created in a long career. Sunshine yellows and blood reds sweep the scaffolding, but now and then, a single finger of icy blue illuminates one of the shooters. And after they've had their shot at immortality, they stay onstage, in the gloom, but each one's face is illuminated by a light that captures them as damned for all eternity.

Mantello and his musical stager, Jonathan Butterell move the cast around through a series of pictures that are as memorable as they are chilling, culminating in one moment that sums up the entire experience: Oswald standing motionless, while the famous Abraham Zapruder film of Kennedy's shooting is projected onto his pure white T-shirt.

If the physical production scores a bull's eye, the cast is equally gifted. Neil Patrick Harris spends most of the show as the amiable Balladeer, singing and looking like the personification of American innocence. And then, in one unforgettable moment, he turns into the empty-eyed Oswald. He fulfills both sides of his role with uncanny skill.

Michael Cerveris is a coldly compelling John Wilkes Booth, capturing both the egomania and the charm of the man to perfection, while Mark Kudisch haunts the dark corners of the production's dreams as the evil Proprietor.

Everyone makes their mark, but special mention must also be given to Dennis O'Hare as the twinklingly demonic Guiteau, Jeffrey Kuhn as the tortured Zangara and Mario Cantone as the belligerently needy Sam Byck.

Paul Gemignani's musical direction allows Sondheim's score to sparkle like the dark jewel it is, full of mind-sticking melodies that wrap themselves around lyrics of poisonous cleverness.

In the end, you cheer Assassins, having enjoyed the craft of musical theatre being deployed at its highest level, but long after you leave the theatre, you find yourself thinking about the future of the world we live in — whether or not you're an American.

"Hurts a while, but soon the country's back where it belongs," sings the Balladeer and you wish he were telling the truth even though, in your heart, you know it isn't so.

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