(THE DUKE ON 42ND STREET; 199 SEATS; $35) NEW YORK A Jewish Repertory Theater presentation of a play in two acts by Arthur Laurents. Directed by Richard Sabellico. Set, James Noone; costumes, Carrie Robbins; lighting, Richard Latta; production stage manager, Judith Schoenfeld. Opened Oct. 22, 2000. Reviewed Oct. 24. Running time: 2 HOURS, 5 MIN. Sonny Dylan Chalfy Nessa Elzbieta Czyzewska Rochelle Joanna Glushak Julius Paul Hecht Itzhak David Margulies If expectations are everything, Arthur Laurents hasn't lowered them quite enough for the world premiere of "Big Potato," his new play about an amateur Nazi hunter in Kew Gardens, Queens, circa 1975. Laurents and director Richard Sabellico have essentially disowned the production at the Jewish Repertory Theater. Perhaps they should have gone the full Hollywood route and credited the whole production to Alan Smithee. There are definite dramatic possibilities in the premise of a Queens beautician, Nessa (Elzbieta Czyzewska), who plans to vacation in South America with her husband (David Margulies) so they can catch an escaped Nazi. The couple met and fell in love at Auschwitz, and their prey is someone on the level of a Mengele -- "a big potato," as she puts it. Lo and behold, a potato named Julius (Paul Hecht) -- maybe big, maybe small -- winds up in her beauty parlor quicker than she can say, "Where are my travelers' checks?" Pivotal moments get shortchanged: How does Nessa know Julius is an old Nazi? Why does Nessa's Vietnam vet son (Dylan Chalfy) first gag the Nazi, who has been handcuffed to a wheelchair, then let him go? Why has Laurents contributed yet another Jewish American princess, Nessa's daughter Rochelle (Joanna Glushak), to the theater's lexicon? Most of the answers are stuck somewhere in the script but do not register dramatically, and I'd be hard-pressed to fault the valiant actors. If Laurents has something to say about survival and its toll on the human spirit, the message was lost on Gotham reviewers, most of whom panned "Big Potato." A minority opinion, though, was expressed by a couple sitting behind me. "I don't know how you can joke about those concentration camps," said the man. "There is no laughter, no joking," replied the woman. "Nessa is serious. This is what's kept her going for 25 years. She cannot forget. That is her life. That is her curse." "Well, if you look at it that way," he said. "It's the only way to look at it," she said.