USA TODAY International Edition
Buffett’s Broadway show: Fun that’s boozy, baffling
Looking for depth? Try a shaker of salt instead
NEW YORK – We’re not saying two overpriced, cavity-inducing frozen margaritas are necessary to your enjoyment of Escape to Margaritaville.
But if you — like us and hundreds of other theatergoers at a recent matinee performance of Jimmy Buffett’s new Broadway musical — are willing to shell out $16 per (surprisingly strong) drink, then you might find yourself strangely transfixed by this tawdry trifle of a show.
Margaritaville, which officially opened at Broadway’s Marquis Theatre Thursday to mixed reviews, is a jukebox musical featuring roughly two dozen of Buffett’s best-loved hits. It’s an extension of the easygoing lifestyle and brand cultivated by the tropical icon, who penned new music for the show and enlisted TV writers Greg Garcia (My Name Is Earl) and Mike O’Malley (Shameless) to write the script.
The songs are woven into a loose, goofy story about a womanizing beach bar singer named Tully (Paul Alexander Nolan) who has a week-long fling with a Type A environmental scientist, Rachel (Alison Luff), on an island getaway with her soon-to-be-married pal, Tammy (Lisa Howard).
But when a volcano eruption forces the Margaritaville Hotel to evacuate, Tully flies to Cincinnati to chase Rachel, who’s pursuing her own dreams of creating a potato-powered car. Because, sure, why not? This isn’t Shakespeare, nor is it trying to be. (Although if it is, then the Bard should seriously lay off the Jose Cuervo.)
Margaritaville is the type of show where mellow beachcombers spout pieeyed platitudes like “What’s wrong with water? It’s not wine!” and “Work is a dirty word. If you say it again, we’ll need to wash out your mouth with tequila.” Character development is as scarce as SPF 50 sunscreen, with Tully insisting early on that he’s “best enjoyed on the surface, like the ocean.”
Fan-favorite songs are shamelessly shoehorned into the narrative, often to laughably literal effect: During namesake Margaritaville, which closes Act 1, Tully and his barfly buddies eat spongecake and search for a lost shaker of salt.
The most truly bizarre moment is Grapefruit-Juicy Fruit, in which bartender Brick (Eric Petersen) overcomes his drug-induced hallucinations by thinking of — you guessed it — citrus and chewing gum, culminating in a kick line with an imaginary insurance salesmen killed by a volcano. Again, you really might need those margaritas.
For what it’s worth, the committed cast brings zest to even some of the most groan-worthy numbers, and Rachel’s arc of prioritizing her career over a relationship is a refreshingly feminist spin on what could otherwise be a stock romantic lead.
And the audience drank it up. Shuffling into the theater, lei-wearing Parrotheads (as Buffett fans call themselves) stopped to pose for pictures with brightly painted beach chairs and tiki stands lit by colorful, strung-up bulbs — tropical trinkets that felt conspicuously out of place in the drab, cavernous lobby of the Times Square Marriott hotel, where the musical is housed.
By the time beach balls came raining down on audience members during a curtain call reprise of Fins, many were already dancing in the aisles and their seats, swatting the inflatable toys and making shark fins with their arms.
To more discerning theatergoers, Margaritaville might feel like a bad hangover. But for Parrotheads, this wellintentioned and unabashedly cheesy romp could be a little slice of paradise.
‘Margaritaville’ might feel like a bad hangover. But for Parrotheads, this cheesy romp could be a little slice of paradise.