“White People Like that Kinda Sh*t”
Escape to
Margaritaville, the new jukebox musical that strings two dozen Jimmy Buffet
songs together like flowers on a lei, goes down sweetly but
lacks even the hint of intoxication. Created in the vein of shows like Mamma Mia!, it searches for clues in the
Buffet canon that could justify inclusion in a narrative, then plunks them in
as if they belong there the way lime juice, orange liqueur, and tequila do in a
margarita. The gooey result wouldn’t pass a mixology test. |
| Paul Alexander Nolan and company Photo: Matthew Murphy. |
It’s no exaggeration to say that the good jokes have escaped from Margaritaville. That’s probably why the biggest laugh is a self-deprecating crack from a black record producer (Andre Ward), who tells the show’s buff, Buffet-based hero that he can make him and his music successful because “White people like that kinda shit.”
That hero is Tully Mars (Paul Alexander Nolan, charismatic),
a handsome, tousle-haired, totally ripped, singing guitarist who has found
heaven at a rundown, ocean-side resort called the Margaritaville Hotel and Bar
on a tiny Caribbean island. He’s a Casanova who, having escaped from the rat
race to his sunburnt heaven, finds his greatest pleasure in seducing some new
hotty from each new boatload of tourists; he barely bothers to learn their
names before callously bidding them farewell after their brief vacation.
Because all such leading men need a caricaturish comic
buddy, Tully gets one in the chubbily shlubby, none-too-bright, beachside bartender Brick (Eric
Petersen, think an overweight but not as funny Jerry Lewis), also enjoying his carefree, bachelor’s life of sun, fun,
and rum.
 |
| Andre Ward and company. Photo: Matthew Murphy. |
Additional local color is provided chiefly by the resort’s arm-in-a-sling,
Island-accented factotum Jamal (Andre Ward), its similarly accented, sassy proprietress,
Marley (Rema Webb), and J.D. (Don Clarke), a seedy, septuagenarian, potbellied,
Viagra-popping beach bum. A former pilot with a yen for Marley, he kills his
time writing his memoirs on cocktail napkins, and owns both a buried treasure
chest and a plane that come to figure heavily in the increasingly ridiculous
plot. J.D.’s constant search for a lost shaker of salt, by the way, will make
sense to anyone familiar with the lyrics to “Margaritaville.”
 |
| Lisa Howard and company. Photo: Matthew Murphy. |
Meanwhile, the pleasingly plump Tammy (Lisa Howard, sweetly
adorable), on the verge of marrying Chadd (Ian Michael Stuart), a clueless,
unkempt, beer guzzling, hockey-fan bro, takes off from wintry Cincinnati for a
bachelorette vacay in Margaritaville with her BFF, Rachel (Alison Luff, lovely),
a beautiful environmental scientist. Rachel’s more concerned about her research
projects than with enjoying herself, so Rachel, meet Tully; Tammy, meet Brick; Tully,
meet record producer. And theatregoer, meet predictability.
 |
| Alison Luff, Paul Alexander Nolan. Photo: Matthew Murphy. |
There are very few surprises in this high-energy,
26-performer show, directed by Come from
Away’s Christopher Ashley—unless surprising means dancers dressed as clouds
in huge tufts of white cotton, a tap-dancing chorus of dead insurance salespeople
(don’t ask), or characters flying on wires for an underwater scene or table-hopping
from low-calorie food to a pile of cheeseburgers.
 |
| Lisa Howard, Eric Petersen, and company. Photo: Matthew Murphy. |
Buffet’s well-known songs, many set to Kelly Devine’s well-executed
but generic choreography (including, of all things, a sequined chorus line
routine), barely provide enough stimulation to keep your brain functioning for the
show’s overlong two-hours and 20 minutes.
Walt Spangler’s settings, colorfully lit by Howell Binkley, range
from cheesily pretty island scenes, surrounded by a series of semicircular,
blue wings that resemble camera shutters, to Tammy’s sitcom-like Cincinnati
apartment, to a Cincinnati bar/restaurant for her wedding to Chadd. Paul
Tazewell has created a wealth of bright costumes, although it’s a bit odd that
Tully, Brick, Marley, and J.D. show up at Tammy’s affair in Caribbean-wear
despite the snow storm visible through an upstage window.
 |
| Lisa Howard, Alison Luff, Paul Alexander Nolan, Eric Petersen. Photo: Matthew Murphy. |
Escape to
Margaritaville ends with a beach ball extravaganza as hundreds of balls
drop into the audience to be bounced from person to person. In the process of
pushing a ball away, I sent my eyeglasses flying, forcing me to whip out my
IPhone flashlight and search under the nearby seats. This involved several
theatregoers, including a glassy-eyed young blonde in front of me who, along
with her half dozen girlfriends, had been downing margaritas throughout (they
especially dug “Why Don’t We Get Drunk”).
Not only did we eventually find my
glasses, we also found someone else’s. The woozy blonde thereupon insisted I
thank God for having found my glasses. The show being over, I did so, but not
necessarily for being able to see again.
OTHER VIEWPOINTS:
Marquis Theatre
1535 Broadway, NYC
Open run