Shucked breezes into Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre like a shot of sunshine after a week of drizzle. It is a loud and proud musical comedy that mixes folk tale silliness with a contemporary wink; part hoedown, part stand-up set, all set to a country-pop score. You sit beneath the trees, stare at a crooked weather-beaten barn framed by rustling cornstalks, and know at once the evening will not be subtle.
The show arrives in London trailing Broadway accolades. Book writer Robert Horn won a Tony for Tootsie, songwriters Brandy Clark and Shane McAnally have Grammys, and director Jack O’Brien brings three decades of hit musicals in his saddlebag. Their corn-fed fairytale premiered on Broadway in 2023, nabbed nine Tony nominations, and now launches Drew McOnie’s first season at Regent’s Park. The alfresco setting fits perfectly; the smell of grass mixes with the twang of guitars, and the ambient rustle of leaves feels like Cob County itself is whispering above your head.
Cob County is the fictional, insular farming town utterly dependent on corn; disaster strikes when the crop starts dying. Maizy (played, in a twist of rhyming irony, by Daisy from Downton Abbey) decides to leave her fiancé Beau and venture to Tampa for help. Her quest is equal parts fairy story and fish-out-of-water gags. In Florida she meets Gordy, a slick con man posing as a doctor, who smells opportunity in a desperate community. He follows Maizy home, promising salvation while plotting to swindle her. Cousin Lulu, the county’s whiskey-distilling dynamo, smells a rat. Meanwhile Beau wrestles with pride and heartbreak, and the entire town debates whether to trust an outsider or cling to tradition. The mystery of the wilting corn, Gordy’s scheming, and a sprinkling of love triangles propel the action through quick scenes and quicker punchlines. Songs jump from barn-burning two-steps to plaintive ballads, always leaning on the contrast between innocent optimism and sly irony. The plot is deliberately simple, but it provides a sturdy scaffold for jokes about community, change, and the perils of closed minds.
Shucked is built for laughs and it delivers them by the barrel. The cast is superb at balancing cartoon energy with flashes of emotional truth. Sophie McShera’s Maizy radiates earnestness; her wide eyes and bright soprano anchor the show in genuine stakes. Ben Joyce gives Beau an easy boy-next-door smile, then rips open a surprisingly soulful vocal in Somebody Will, a song that soars over the treetops. Georgina Onuorah, stepping into the Tony-winning role of Lulu, more or less hijacks the evening. Her big number, Independently Owned, is a storm of belt notes, hip swivels, and comic timing that makes the audience cheer mid-phrase. Matthew Seadon-Young’s Gordy oozes snake-oil charm, delivering a jazzy patter song with just enough vulnerability that you almost root for him. Keith Ramsay’s Peanut, Beau’s philosophically challenged brother, turns every deadpan proverb into a miniature comedy gem. Narrators Monique Ashe-Palmer and Steven Webb (one of my favourite actors, after his 200 year run playing Elder McKinley in Book of Mormon) banter with each other and the audience.
O’Brien directs with a bounding pace, rarely letting a scene rest before the next punchline arrives. Sarah O’Gleby’s choreography begins as folksy line-dancing and escalates into full-throttle spectacle; a testosterone-fuelled contest number has dancers leaping off whiskey barrels in perfect sync, and Lulu’s anthem rocks like the Grand Ole Opry relocated to NW1. Movement always serves the story; Maizy’s steps stay grounded and open, while Lulu stalks the stage like a cat who knows she owns every inch.
Watching Shucked outdoors adds a layer of communal mischief. Pigeons strut across the stage, drawing in-character ad-libs. Wind ripples corn leaves just as a character mentions weather. Children giggle at each pun, older couples sway during softer numbers, and theatre die-hards clock the sly nods to Oklahoma and Book of Mormon. The show is welcoming to newbies yet peppered with easter eggs for aficionados. For accessibility it scores well; jokes are broad, sentiment sincere, and the narrative readable even if you miss a pop-culture reference or two.
Shucked does have limits. Its plot is feather light, its emotional arc telegraphed from the first beat. If you need intricate character psychology you will feel underfed once the laughter fades. The humour is relentless, and a viewer resistant to puns might tire. Yet complaining that Shucked is silly is like scolding a labrador for wagging its tail. The point is joy. And amidst the goofiness, the show quietly models how difference can enrich rather than threaten a community, a message that travels beyond cornfields.
The bigger cultural impact may be sonic. West End audiences seldom hear genuine country harmonies pulsing through a musical, and Clark and McAnally’s score proves the genre can thrive here, offering melodies both toe-tapping and tugging at the heart. The success of this run could encourage producers to diversify the musical soundscape further, a welcome prospect.
Shucked is a bright summer firework, colourful, loud, and leaving you smiling at the sky. Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre has harvested a crowd-pleaser that proves sometimes the simplest stories, told with cheek and heart, are nourishment enough. If you go, pack a jacket, expect to groan, and be ready to admit that you had a shucking good time after all. This is probably my favourite show of 2025.