Review: Pun-tastic SHUCKED Harvests Laughs at Segerstrom Center

In a profit-centric theatrical landscape often preoccupied with spectacle, star vehicles, and easily marketable movie-to-musical adaptations, the relatively new and original 2023 Broadway musical SHUCKED stands out as a surprisingly fresh ear of musical comedy—one that gleefully revels in its "cornpone" setting while slyly subverting all (if any) expectations. The show's rather enjoyable national tour production continues performances at OC's Segerstrom Center for the Arts through November 23, 2025.

Filled with a seemingly non-stop parade of awww-shucks delivered puns—of both super naughty and super corny varieties—the show, for lack of a more eloquent description, is so frikkin silly and stupid in the best possible ways a comedy can get. Mind you, this isn't an insult at all—the show is so unapologetically and purposely silly, that the whole thing actually feels like savvy (and sassy) comedic gold, albeit the broad and dorky kind that audiences of all kinds will likely adore and appreciate.

Unexpectedly weird in the most winning ways, SHUCKED had me laughing heartily at all of its strange shenanigans and down-home humor, that the experience feels like watching a Kristen Wiig sketch on SNL (think Doonese with the weird baby arms) that's so endearingly eccentric and quirky that it's almost (almost) a work of genius. Somehow, in a remarkable, quite admirable way, the show fully sustains and never wavers from its "corny" (haha) machinations, never once letting up even for a millisecond. 

That relentless eccentricity is imbedded all over Robert Horn's joke-lined book and the clever music and lyrics by Brandy Clark and Shane McNally.

Set in the fictional, fiercely insular town of Cobb County, this Southern-spiced, wit-battered, and country-fried fable of friendship, love, and—yes—corn (much higher than an elephant's eye), emerges as both a laugh-out-loud romp and a cheeky yet wholesome commentary on embracing both community and change.

Cobb County is a small, isolated farming town whose livelihood and identity revolve entirely around their understandable source of golden pride: corn. So much so that the entire opening number is a musical ode to it.

Hence, when their precious crops mysteriously begin to wither, the townsfolk panic. Enter the aptly-named Maizy (thick-accented Danielle Wade), the sweet, self-assured, well-meaning local girly whose upcoming wedding to her childhood sweetheart, handsome himbo Beau (the incredibly strong-voiced Nick Bailey), is postponed once she decides to embark on a journey to the "big city" to find any possible solutions to their kernel-deflating dilemma.

Being the insulated, corn-fed critter that she is, the "big city" for her is apparently the modern metropolis of Tampa, Florida, the magical land of aging frat-bros, stripper poles, and tanned geriatrics wrinkling in its sunny and humid landscape.

There, she encounters oily podiatrist Gordy (the terrific Quinn Van Antwerp), a slick-talking "corn doctor" whose snake-oil salesman charm hides a secret motive—he's actually a perpetually scheming con man hoping to make a quick profit off of both newly arrived Maizy's naïveté (she, of course, misunderstands what a "corn doctor" actually is) and, eventually, her gullible home town's desperation for a miracle cure from outside their bubble. 

Maizy brings Gordy back to her hometown convinced he can save their dying crops, much to the suspicion of her sharp-tongued cousin Lulu (the spectacular Miki Abraham), who, unlike Maizy, isn't so easily bamboozled, though, surprisingly, still gets charmed by the visiting outsider. Beau, understandably, is extremely pissed off. 

All the while, Gordy's main mission is to grab a bounty of the mysteriously sparkly purple rocks that are growing in the soil of the town that he has been told are made of rare, very valuable minerals. His hopes are to sell off enough of these rocks to help fund the huge debt amounts he has accumulated that Tampa mobsters are threatening to collect.

As the town buys into Gordy's phony promises, Maizy's good intentions threaten to unravel everything, leading to revelations, reconciliations, and a realization that sometimes the only way to grow is to… well, let go. By the final curtain, SHUCKED becomes a celebration of honesty, identity, and the enduring bonds of family and community—with plenty of puns, innuendos, and heart along the way.

At first glance, SHUCKED seems simply just a pun-heavy country musical about the virtues of corn and the values of country folks. But beneath its hay-bale, country-bumpkins humor lies a smart, self-aware satire that plays earnestly on stage. Horn's unrelenting, jokey book delivers a script that is equal parts punchline machine and heartfelt storytelling, seamlessly blending laugh-out-loud irreverence with genuine emotional payoffs. Nearly every line lands with a pun so groan-worthy and dorky that it loops back around to, dare I say, comedy brilliance. While some might grow tired and eventually annoyed of that after the umpteenth pun is delivered, I for one find its relentless practice of non-stop wordplay admirable in its stubborn momentum. 

The show's mostly effective score—from Nashville hit-making songwriters Clark and McAnally—is a hummable treasure trove of modern country-pop stylings, bathed in catchy hooks and earnest charm. Songs like its anthemic "Independently Owned" (delivered with ferocious, powerhouse vocals by Abraham) and "Somebody Will" (belted with swoon-worthy, matinee idol conviction by Bailey, and will likely be the new go-to audition song for many a Broadway male hopeful) highlight the show's ability to balance comedy with real emotional weight. It's a score that honors its country roots without parodying them—infused with genuine sincerity, silly humor, and toe-tapping joy.

Director Jack O'Brien conducts the whole cornfield carnival with sure-handed precision, maintaining a brisk pace that lets the rapid-fire puns land while never losing sight of the show's beating heart. Sarah O'Gleby's choreography keeps the ensemble lively, and the rustic, storybook-meets-sitcom-meets-old-school-Oklahoma! designs by set designer Scott Pask and Costume Designer Tilly Grimes gives the production a warm, homespun charm. Admittedly, I was thrown off a bit upon seeing the show's severely angled set, something I have never seen in a Broadway tour before, but it certainly adds a uniquely stylized backdrop that is as appropriately askew as its content. 

But what truly makes SHUCKED resonate with the audience is its cast. Though her delivered cadence swathed in an almost too-exaggerated accent can be a challenge to comprehend for much of the show (particularly in the more fast-paced, upbeat songs that sounds mushy with Segerstrom's acoustics), Wade's Maizy still radiates palpable sincerity and optimism without a hint of irony. Bailey's Beau grounds his comedic dimness in real affection, eschewing stereotypical dumb jock personas we might have expected him to have. Vanantwerp's smarmy Gordy is delightfully untrustworthy but also believably dashing, and Mike Nappi's adorkable performance as Beau's Southern philosophy-spouting cousin Peanut provides some of the biggest laughs of the night via some of the weirdest lines of the night. Elijah Caldwell's appearances as Grandpa also provides some memorable funny moments.

Speaking directly to the audience with their own snarky color commentary—and sometimes humorously inserting themselves into the action as random characters as well—storytellers Joe Moeller and Maya Lagerstam are wonderful as our window to the world of Cobb County, like a pair of wildlife narrators explaining what made everyone tick. 

But it is Abraham's standout Lulu who easily commands the stage—fiery, fabulous, and, to be honest, vocally unmatched. Their show-stopping number "Independently Owned" is easily the most memorable musical moment of the entire show.

Underneath the abundant humor and corny jokes, SHUCKED quietly becomes an allegory about isolationism and the very relatable fear of change—a reflection of small-town America's struggle to adapt to a larger, shifting world that is far more open to progressive ideas and modern sensibilities. The show invites its audience to laugh with these characters—not at them—by finding our common humanity amid their eccentric absurdity.

In the end, SHUCKED is an adorably silly cornball comedy with real kernels (LOL sorry) of truth. It's both a reverent love letter to and a gentle send-up of the American heartland, proving that sincerity and silliness can coexist in a show beautifully and in an entertaining way. It may come wrapped in denim, boots, and thick country accents, but its message is as universal as Broadway itself: growth can't happen without opening yourself up to the wider world—one shucked ear of corn at a time.

Overall, SHUCKED succeeds as a winking modern musical that dares to be utterly, unapologetically silly and stupid—without sacrificing heart and soul. The show is fresh, folksy, and infectiously fun—something even us so-called "enlightened," more "worldly" West Coasters can appreciate, that is as long as we go in willing to ditch any notions that every show needs to have deeper themes bursting out of its edges. What the show lacks in seriousness, it more than makes up for it in its unabashed hilarity that triple-downs on its hokey eccentricities. Arguably, that's something we can all use a bit more of now more than ever.

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Photos from the National Tour of SHUCKED by © Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman, courtesy of Segerstrom Center for the Arts.

Performances of SHUCKED continue at Segerstrom Center for the Arts in Costa Mesa, CA through November 23, 2025. Tickets can be purchased online at www.SCFTA.org, by phone at 714-556-2787 or in person at the SCFTA box office (open daily at 10 am). Segerstrom Center for the Arts is located at 600 Town Center Drive in Costa Mesa. For tickets or more information, visit SCFTA.org.