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Jersey Boys

Clint Eastwood’s attempt to let the songs sell the show while stripping the content of its vitality simply doesn’t work.
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The melodies of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons form part of the fabric of the last half century of popular culture; whether you lived through their heyday, or heard their hits many years later, their music is both influential and unmistakable. That a stage play, Jersey Boys, would assemble their best into a jukebox musical is not at all surprising, nor is the success and awards it received. That a film adaptation of the same name would follow is similarly expected; however director Clint Eastwood’s attempt to let the songs sell the show while stripping the content of its vitality simply doesn’t work.

Born Francesco Castelluccio, Valli (John Lloyd Young) grew up just outside of Newark, aware he had a unique voice by the age of 16. A hairdresser by trade, his rise to fame was far from swift or assured, even with local mob boss Gyp DeCarlo (Christopher Walken, Stand Up Guys) devoted in his support. Tough neighbourhood pal Tommy DeVito (Vincent Piazza, TV’s Boardwalk Empire) wheeled and dealed to get their band – with fellow friend Nick Massi (Michael Lomenda) – their start, but it wasn’t until keyboardist and songwriter Bob Gaudio (Erich Bergen) joined that their fortunes improved. As the four boys from New Jersey followed the path set by the stars in their eyes, the journey through record deals, hit singles and television appearances traversed the bad with the good.

A vast divide exists in Jersey Boys’ cinematic incarnation, one that separates the overwhelming bulk of the film from the toe-tapping song-and-dance number that brings it all to a close. Music is littered throughout, softly crooned in passing, belted out on stage and pumped through montages, but nothing matches the energy and execution of the film’s only real, rousing and riveting musical moment. This is the not-so-secret shame of the feature: what should be a singing extravaganza with the exuberance to match is played as a blandly dramatic biopic set to a series of recognisable tunes. There is genuine sadness and darkness in the tale that requires a less celebratory touch, but dwelling in the solemn and brooding sets the wrong tone.

Thankfully, the main cast are effective in delivering broad performances that get the job done. Enlivening the central quartet, a sense of ease radiates from their portrayals that is otherwise missing elsewhere, perhaps a product of Young, Lomenda and Bergen making the rare and refreshing voyage from the stage to screen alongside the material. Less impressive is the adoption of the original’s narration device, tasking a different member of the group to speak directly to camera in their allocated segment – or season – of the story. What should draw the audience in as co-conspirators on a ride through the ups and downs of stardom proves distancing in its all-too-knowing approach.

Continuing Eastwood’s disappointing recent output after Hereafter and J. Edgar, stolid direction remains the primary culprit for the lag between idea and execution. Running for too long is a given, but failing to maintain momentum to mask the lengthy ordeal quickly becomes yet another overlooked opportunity. Instead, Eastwood casts a superficial sheen over the surface treatment of a tale that constantly espouses the inability to escape the past while shamelessly pandering to nostalgia. The script by Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice, based on their book that accompanied the stage incarnation, is similarly obvious, dialogue informing song titles included.

There is one thing that the film does establish firmly and with fervour: its fondness for the efforts of Martin Scorsese. Even with earned references to actor Joe Pesci (played by Joseph Russo, It’s You Not Me), as well as borrowed structure and overt aping of mafia references, sadly Eastwood’s version is barely a shadow of its affectionate inspiration. Alas, the other mirrored element – enthusiasm for the soundtrack, present but poorly used as it is – can only go so far. It may be fitting that Jersey Boys is the throwaway pop version of Valli’s life and times, but the songbook and story supports a much more vibrant cinematic ballad.

Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Jersey Boys
Director: Clint Eastwood
US, 2014, 134 mins

Release date: July 3
Distributor: Roadshow
Rated: M

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Sarah Ward
About the Author
Sarah Ward is a freelance film critic, arts and culture writer, and film festival organiser. She is the Australia-based critic for Screen International, a film reviewer and writer for ArtsHub, the weekend editor and a senior writer for Concrete Playground, a writer for the Goethe-Institut Australien’s Kino in Oz, and a contributor to SBS, SBS Movies and Flicks Australia. Her work has been published by the Australian Centre for the Moving Image, Junkee, FilmInk, Birth.Movies.Death, Lumina, Senses of Cinema, Broadsheet, Televised Revolution, Metro Magazine, Screen Education and the World Film Locations book series. She is also the editor of Trespass Magazine, a film and TV critic for ABC radio Brisbane, Gold Coast and Sunshine Coast, and has worked with the Brisbane International Film Festival, Queensland Film Festival, Sydney Underground Film Festival and Melbourne International Film Festival. Follow her on Twitter: @swardplay