3.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.20.14
The good news:
Considering this play’s origins
as a minimalist jukebox musical, director Clint Eastwood and scripters Marshall
Brickman and Rick Elice have “opened it up” impressively for the big screen.
It can’t hurt, of course, that
Brickman and Elice were intimately acquainted with the material, having written
the musical book for the 2005 Broadway hit that went home with four Tony
Awards, including Best Musical.
The story charts the unlikely
rise, success and lamentable self-destruction of the 1960s pop/rock group, The
Four Seasons, perhaps better known these days as the combo fronted by Frankie
Valli. Eastwood’s approach may be viewed with surprise by fans of the stage
production; this cinematic adaptation of Jersey Boys is less a musical per se, and more a drama about musicians.
With the exception of a few
numbers performed mostly intact for climactic emphasis, we’re granted little
more than a flavor of the combo’s many hits: just enough to remind older
viewers how many chart-toppers the group produced, while perhaps impressing
younger viewers who don’t realize how far back some of these tunes actually go.
Additionally, Brickman and Elice
have re-structured the narrative, essentially abandoning the more obvious
elements of the “seasonal” presentation — spring, summer, fall and finally
winter, each segment narrated by a different member of the combo — that
mirrored the group’s genesis and eventual break-up. Little of that gimmick
remains, aside from a stray reference to Vivaldi.
By the same token, although these
individuals still break the fourth wall to tell this story by addressing us
directly, their narrative input is intermixed here, rather than divided by person,
according to season.
And, quite intriguingly, Valli —
who wrapped up the story during the stage play’s winter segment — gets no
narration here. We therefore never get a sense of his inner thoughts or
motivations, as is the case with his three comrades; to a degree, then, our
impression of Valli is shaped mostly by how others see him.
That’s an intriguing artistic
choice, and it places a heavier burden on John Lloyd Young, who carries the bulk
of the story’s emotional weight as Valli: a kid who comes into this world as Frankie
Castelluccio, and seems destined to become just another mob-affiliated New
Jersey punk.
Young’s comfort with the role is
no surprise, since he won one of those other Tony Awards, for lead performance
in the Broadway production. He delivers plenty of dramatic heft here, maturing
persuasively from an uncertain, easily manipulated teenager into a savvy young
man who loses the idealism of youth but remains devoted to the concepts of
family and loyalty.
Particularly loyalty, to an
astonishing degree. And that’s perhaps one of the most amazing elements of a
saga that certainly isn’t short on luck, perseverance and serendipity.
Proving, once again, that even
the most unlikely friends and colleagues can be unexpectedly steadfast and
true. Or, alternatively, toxic beyond belief.
The saga begins in the 1950s,
with bad boy Tommy DeVito (Vincent Piazza, somewhat channeling his role as
Lucky Luciano, on TV’s Boardwalk Empire) promising to tell us the “straight
story” about how an unlikely group of young New Jersey goombahs somehow turned
into a hit band. Tommy already divides his time between music — playing and
singing in a series of combos — and serving as a smug young lieutenant to mob
boss Gyp DeCarlo (Christopher Walken).
Tommy knows Frankie from the
neighborhood; asking the younger kid to join the band proves inspirational,
since his falsetto tenor is so immediately unique. Even DeCarlo is moved,
particularly by Frankie’s rendition of “My Mother’s Eyes,” which brings the
gangster to tears (a fleeting but quite powerful moment for Walken).
The group is a trio at this
point, along with good-natured Nick Massi (Michael Lomenda, who played this
role in a national touring company). Nick seems to be a go-along guy, content
to embrace whatever the others decide; Lomenda’s amiable performance reminds me
strongly of Adam Driver’s work in Inside Llewyn Davis, as that tale’s
similarly deep-voiced novelty singer.
Up to this point, forward
progress — club dates and so forth — come as a result of Tommy’s hustling,
which he naturally assumes makes him the combo’s unofficial “leader.” But
Frankie, with stronger artistic sensibilities, soon becomes brave enough to
voice and even argue for his preferences: early signs of the personality clash
that, over time, will lead to greater trouble with Tommy.
That said, both agree that their
group needs an additional something or somebody; that void is filled with the
arrival of singer/songwriter Bob Gaudio (Erich Bergen, also a touring company
veteran), who is introduced to the band by fellow “Jersey kid” Joe Pesci
(Joseph Russo, in a captivating approximation of a young version of, yes, that
Joe Pesci).
Tommy takes an immediate dislike
to Bob, who isn’t from any Jersey neighborhood, and also possesses too much
well-educated assurance and business smarts to be bamboozled by DeVito’s
superficial, street-bred swagger. Frankie couldn’t care less about that; he’s
more intrigued by Bob’s having already penned “Short Shorts,” a pop tune that
became a No. 3 hit in 1958 ... when Gaudio was only 16 (having written the song
a year earlier).
After taking their group name
from a local bowling alley, of all things, the quartet remains on the slow road
to nowhere until hooking up with innovative record producer Bob Crewe (Mike
Doyle), whom this saga compares to George Martin’s similarly behind-the-scenes
work that shaped The Beatles during their early years.
I should mention, at this point,
that Gaudio was the mover and shaker behind the initial creation of Jersey
Boys, and that Crewe — credited with the Broadway show’s lyrics — produced
and/or co-wrote (with Gaudio) many of The Four Seasons’ biggest hits. We
therefore shouldn’t be surprised that Gaudio and Crewe come off so well in this
narrative: the former as a talented songwriting machine who apparently plucks
hit tunes out of thin air, the latter as a flamboyant Svengali who knows just
how to “sweeten” a tune to maximize radio play.
Gaudio never puts a foot wrong;
he’s always available to pour oil on increasingly troubled waters, and to give
Frankie a much-needed emotional boost when necessary. We get the impression, in
fact, that neither Valli nor The Four Seasons would have existed without
Gaudio’s input ... which likely might be true, but, as far as this film is
concerned, skews the character balance a bit.
Which is unfortunate, because
Frankie remains the focus throughout. He’s the only character whose personal
life we glimpse to any degree: his marriage to the tempestuous Mary Delgado
(Renée Marino, reprising her Broadway role); his lengthy affair with reporter
Lorraine Agostino (Erica Piccininni, also from the Broadway production); and his
increasingly troubled relationship with youngest daughter Francine (initially
Elizabeth Hunter, later Freya Tingley).
We never get even a hint of Tommy
or Nick’s home lives, and little more than a glimpse of Bob’s. That’s
irritating, and folks who pay attention to details also are likely to raise
their eyebrows over this narrative’s conflation of two key events in Valli’s
life: a crisis involving Francine, followed almost immediately by Frankie’s
unlikely solo smash hit in 1967, at a time when that sort of song should have
been the last thing to achieve airplay on stations fueled by increasingly
harder rock ’n’ roll.
In real life, those two events
were 13 years removed. Even acknowledging artistic license, that’s a clumsy
discrepancy to swallow.
As is the eyeblink, eleventh-hour
appearance of Francine’s two older sisters (?). Really? Frankie and Mary had
three daughters? Um ... when and how? (And this seems unsupported by real-world
truth, as well...)
I can’t fault the respective
actors; Young, DeVito, Lomenda and Bergen are personable and talented performers,
and they nail their roles. Walken is a quiet hoot as the obviously dangerous
DeCarlo, who nonetheless has a soft spot for Frankie and his partners; Walken
also gets most of this film’s funniest (if darkest) one-liners.
The narrative’s Rashomon-esque
structure is intriguing, as we occasionally skip back and forth in time, seeing
the same events — and new ones — from the differing perspective of the
character giving his particular take. The group’s looming dissolution
approaches with the dread inevitability of a slow-motion train wreck, and the
only thing more breathtaking than Tommy’s various transgressions — watching
DeVito crumble, during his day of reckoning, is heartbreaking — are the steps
Frankie takes to address them.
It’s all great dramatic material,
and yet the interpersonal conflict often doesn’t resonate as it should. Perhaps
that’s because the grim reality of the Jersey upbringing, and how it affects
(and infects) the group, takes a back seat to the quartet’s buoyant, feel-good
pop hits. To be sure, this juxtaposition deliberately fueled the original stage
production, but the blend doesn’t feel quite right here.
That said, there’s no denying the
intoxicating power of the songs themselves, even those heard only in fragments.
We can’t help smiling at the early No. 1 singles — “Sherry,” “Big Girls Don’t
Cry” and “Walk Like a Man” — and it’s even harder to resist a cheer when Valli
croons the opening lines of that aforementioned, unexpected 1967 solo hit. In
between, we get other chart-toppers such as “Rag Doll,” “Dawn” and “Who Loves
You,” and the closing credits unfold over a raucous, cheer-inducing production
number straight out of a Bollywood musical. You’ll be hard-pressed not to dance
in the aisle.
But at 134 minutes, this take on Jersey Boys feels too long, its middle act definitely sluggish. That’s
ironic, considering the degree to which we desire additional “down time” with
several of these characters. At the end of the day, we’re left with the obvious
conclusion: stage and film are strikingly different mediums, and the stylistic
decisions that work on the former don’t necessarily translate to the latter.
As noted at the top of this
review, Eastwood & Co. worked hard, and this film has much to offer. Even
so, it’s just not ... quite ... satisfying.
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