Frank Sinatra, palming a can of Sprite and the fist of his red-headed wife, sat in a dark corner across from Jeff Bezos on Deck 7 of the MSC Seashore. Sinatra was quiet, distant, and seasick—a common affliction on the cruise. He had been waiting over an hour for his moment at the mic but was tired of the ship's constant pitch, annoyed about lost luggage and malfunctioning wifi, and had to endure Marilyn Monroe leading a conga with military veterans. Sinatra was a victim of seasickness, a condition so common that most accepted it as a given.
Impersonators board incognito
Three nights earlier, 20 members of the Sunburst Convention of Celebrity Impersonators boarded the 169,000-tonne ship in civilian disguise. They crossed the gangplank in sandals and Bermuda shorts, without costumes or makeup. Alongside 4,000 other passengers, these professional plagiarists slipped into the crowd. The Sunburst troupe, aged around 55 on average, had assembled for four days a year for two decades. But the digital era and AI had swallowed demand for golden-age homages, and many were retiring or dying. The cruise was a sunset for Sunburst's reign.
At the embarkation party on Deck 18, standard cruisegoers settled in for the four-day voyage to the Bahamas. The impersonators walked among them incognito. I sat at the bar, desperately seeking someone from Sunburst. A man flailed his arms by the bathrooms: Greg, Sunburst's founder, shouting my name. His T-shirt read: "ENTERTAINMENT JUST LIKE YOU REMEMBER."
The gathering of doubles
In the Uptown Lounge on Deck 8, Rodney Dangerfield, Boy George, Martha Stewart, Jeff Bezos, Fran Drescher, two Sinatras, The Dude from The Big Lebowski, Jerry Garcia, and others milled about. Sharon Osbourne arrived from London, and Ozzy Osbourne made his entrance with outstretched arms. The impersonators spanned a spectrum of fidelity: some were near-perfect duplicates, like Dangerfield and Boy George, while others looked like second cousins. The not-quite-theres held a secret serenity, a pact between at least two selves.
Ozzy, a former corrections officer, had been mistaken for the real Ozzy after a trip to Cabo San Lucas. His wife bought him black clothing, eyeliner, and Master of Reality. He now performs as a drug-free preacher man, using the character to talk to kids. "Everyone listens when I bring them the chalice of Ozzy," he said, raising a goblet of melon juice.
Karaoke and resurrection
Greg, dressed as Austin Powers, inaugurated the first evening of karaoke in Le Cabaret Rouge. The group gathered nightly, unofficially, after failing to secure a dedicated performance zone. Marilyn Monroe, played by Greg's daughter, took the stage in pink silks and sequins. She performed I Wanna Be Loved By You with perfect showbiz knowhow, merging our memories of Monroe with her own impressions. The crowd rose for bloodthirsty ovations. "She was a reminder that impersonating was not just an act of inhabitation, but something more on the order of consecration," I wrote.
At Ocean Cay, a man-made island owned by MSC Cruises, the Dude advised Jeff Bezos on the business of impersonation. "Never put on your suit without knowing there's gonna be a cheque on the other end of it," he said. Bezos, the greenest Sunburster, nodded. The Dude had suffered self-doubt early on but realized that all artists start by imitating someone else. "It's sort of like we're just people that do that part for ever," he said.
Retirement and transformation
At dinner for Kenny Rogers's 80th birthday, Roseanne Barr's impersonator revealed she had retired her Roseanne after the real Roseanne's racist Twitter incident. She had transformed her body and no longer resembled the zaftig character she had impersonated for 25 years. The work was hard, and gigs petered out. But the impersonators of Sunburst treated their art as a life force, a feedback loop of energy that nurtured in return.
Later that night, Sinatra (A) gripped the table, waiting for his number. He felt Sinatra enter his body and exit his lungs. But his name was not called. Instead, a woman delivered Wind Beneath My Wings barefoot and with vibrato.
Death and legacy
Near 2am in the casino, I had made $120 at Texas hold'em. A woman was up $200, but Dave was down $1,300. An announcement blared about a medical evacuation. "People die all the time on cruises," the woman said. I thought of Sunburst: their work soothes the living by bringing them the dead and distant. They believe that by living through another, they can intervene in reality. Their logic: accept that there are few complete originals, make do with earthly gifts, and understand that to be close enough to greatness is more than enough. Act accordingly.
