A FIELD OF PUNS IN FULL BLOOM

Corn puns are like tequila shots. A few will make you smile and loosen you up, but by the time you are ten or twelve deep you start to wonder how you got here and whether you should call a cab. The national tour of Shucked, now playing at the Pantages Theatre in Los Angeles, pours them out by the gallon and dares you not to laugh. The jokes arrive so quickly you start to suspect there is a hidden cornfield of writers backstage tossing them forward like ears into a harvester. Some land perfectly and make you laugh in spite of yourself. Others stumble out with such awkward charm that the groan is part of the fun. A handful might make you wonder whether the script has been secretly sponsored by the American Corn Growers Association.

Jake Odmark and Danielle Wade

Jake Odmark

The story is about as sturdy as a scarecrow in a windstorm. Cob County is a tiny town literally enclosed by a wall of corn, a fact presented so matter-of-factly that you accept it without blinking. Life in Cob County is idyllic until the day the crops start to die. This is not just a minor agricultural hiccup. This is a full-on corn apocalypse that has the townsfolk clutching their pitchforks in despair. Enter Maizy, played by Danielle Wade, who radiates Broadway charisma from the moment she steps on stage. She decides to seek help in the big city. The big city, as it turns out, is Tampa. This detail alone is treated like a perfectly wrapped punchline, and the script milks it for all it is worth.

Maya Lagerstam and Tyler Joseph Ellis

Quinn VanAntwerp

In Tampa, Maizy encounters Gordy, played by Quinn VanAntwerp, a smooth-talking con man pretending to be a doctor for corn. He is in reality a podiatrist with a flair for deception and a wardrobe that looks like it walked off the set of an eighties music video. Gordy follows Maizy back to Cob County under the pretense of saving the crops. Complications ensue when Beau, Maizy’s macho but emotionally tender fiancé, catches wind of the stranger in town. Jake Odmark plays Beau with the perfect combination of muscle and vulnerability, bringing the house down with the melancholic ballad “OK.” Then there is Lulu, Maizy’s wise and fiercely independent cousin, played by Miki Abraham, who detonates the stage every time she sings “Independently Owned.” Her performance is the kind of show-stopping moment that makes you consider standing up in the middle of the number just to clap harder.

The Cast

The Cast

Director Jack O’Brien treats the material like a county fair on opening day. The energy never dips. The pacing stays just ahead of the audience’s ability to catch its breath, which is exactly where a comedy like this should live. Sarah O’Gleby’s choreography is both polished and playfully unhinged. A corn cob kick line that should feel ridiculous instead lands as one of the night’s biggest moments of applause. The stomping and strutting of the men in “Best Man Wins” feels like a dance-off in a barn after a few too many jars of moonshine. Scott Pask’s set design merges rustic charm with clever stage mechanics. Cornfields grow and shrink with whimsical ease and the massive barn centerpiece tilts just enough to suggest that gravity is optional in Cob County.

The Cast

The Cast

The score by Brandy Clark and Shane McAnally is instantly enjoyable, even if none of the songs stayed in my head after I left the theatre. “Best Friends,” a tender duet between Maizy and Lulu, brims with genuine warmth. “Independently Owned” has the kind of lyrical bite that cuts through the silliness like a hot knife through a slab of cornbread. The ensemble delivers the songs with crystal-clear diction and harmonies that are as precise as they are heartfelt. Even the comedic numbers are performed with vocal commitment that elevates them beyond throwaway gags. The cast turns every corny gag into gold with timing so sharp it could slice through a bushel of husks.

The Cast

The Cast

And then there is the comedy. This is a show that never met a pun it did not want to take home and raise as its own. The narrators, played by Maya Lagerstam and Tyler Joseph Ellis, are the mischief-makers who guide the audience through the story with a perfect blend of small-town gossip and deadpan delivery. They lob one-liners like a tennis match where every serve is meant to hit you square in the funny bone. Some jokes are silly. Some are sly. A few are gloriously inappropriate. Together they create a rhythm that makes the show feel like a vaudeville act and a modern musical rolled into one.

Danielle Wade and Miki Abraham

Danielle Wade and Erick Pinnick

Not every joke hits the target, and some scenes feel more like a setup for a gag than a necessary part of the plot. The thinness of Robert Horn’s book is noticeable, especially in the second act, but the relentless charm of the cast smooths over most of the weak spots. Even when you see a punchline coming from a mile away, there is a strange satisfaction in watching the actors commit to it as if it were Shakespeare. By the time the finale arrives you have been so thoroughly bathed in wordplay, pratfalls, and corn-themed giddiness that you do not really care if the ending is neat or the themes are profound.

Mike Nappi

Miki Abraham and Ryan Fitzgerald

Shucked is a barnyard party of wit, warmth, and whip-smart performances that leaves the audience grinning from ear to ear. It is a theatrical cobb salad of absurdity, affection, and unabashed entertainment. It wears its silliness proudly, but underneath the jokes there is a sincere celebration of community and connection. The Pantages audience, myself included, roared with laughter, cheered at the vocal fireworks, and left with smiles that seemed just a little wider than when they walked in.

Danielle Wade

photos by Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman

Shucked
national tour presented by Broadway in Hollywood
for tickets, visit Broadway in Hollywood
ends on September 7, 2025 at Hollywood Pantages
tour continues; for dates and cities, visit Shucked

for more shows, visit Theatre in LA