Let's face it: "Jersey Boys" has never been high art. The wildly successful jukebox musical about Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons ran on chart-topping hit songs and ample corny shtick in nominally telling the story of the beloved pop act. Now, it's all been folded into a Clint Eastwood film that's neither theatrical fish nor cinematic foul.
The film, scripted by "Jersey Boys" playwrights Marshall Brickman ("Annie Hall") and Rick Elice, retains much of the play in alternating musical numbers "December, 1963 (Oh, What a Night)," "Sherry," "Big Girls Don't Cry," "Walk Like a Man," "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You" from the group's deep bench and compacted drama that strives for efficiency in explaining the band's origins, challenges, and resolution (such as it is) in the 1990 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame reunion.
On the whole, this results in a "Greatest Hits" gloss both with the music and the drama. Literalized on film, the theatrical reduction of the band's story has an anemic cast, as does the bleached photography of Eastwood's go-to cinematographer Tom Stern. The film is least interesting when it feels like an impressionist's act complete with put-on mook accents and more interesting when it captures the dynamics of a group with strong egos and competing concerns. The inevitable "group argument" scenes -- one refereed by Joe Pesci (Joey Russo) (the "Goodfellas" actor grew up with the Four Seasons guys) and the other by real-life mobster "Gyp" DeCarlo (Christopher Walken) -- offer the clearest signs of life.
It's all rather square, with Valli characterized as effectively saintly, other than leaving his daughter in the care of an alcoholic "ex," which gives an opportunity for scenes of redemption and tragedy. Indeed, he's waggishly dubbed "Saint Francis." The big idea here is that it's quite something how the Four Seasons had loose mob ties and a criminal record, but that turns out to be a nonstarter in dramatic terms. More useful are the competing takes of each of the Four Seasons, afforded in monologues spoken directly to the camera and creating a light "Rashomon" effect.
Lovers of "Jersey Boys" and its music will no doubt appreciate the film, which benefits especially from the practiced performances of Young, Bergen, and Lomenda, all veterans of the stage play. It's unclear whether the corny gloss of the play would have worked any better than Clint's lower-key grasp at realism (probably not), but there's a palpable release when Eastwood stages one of those full-cast curtain calls under the closing titles. No movie can't be improved by Christopher Walken doing a shuffle.
Rated R for language throughout. Two hours, 14 minutes.
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