Poor seasons

Director Clint Eastwood continues his creative slump with Jersey Boys, a drab adaptation of the Broadway musical which further proves something that Eastwood established 45 years ago with his appearance in Paint Your Wagon: Dirty Harry has no business being around a movie musical!

Oh sure, he’s musically inclined. He’s been composing scores for some of his movies as of late, but I’d like to point out that those scores kind of suck, especially that stupid “Gran Torino” song. His musical taste travel towards the meandering and sleepy.

Jersey Boys tells the story of Frankie Valli (John Lloyd Young, who performed the role on Broadway) and The Four Seasons, and how they went from being small time hoods in New Jersey to big time rock stars. I’ve never seen the Broadway show, but I have to think its success means it was somewhat enjoyable and lively. The movie version is neither of these things.

As they did in the musical, each member of the Four Seasons breaks the fourth wall to address the audience, Ray Liotta in Goodfellas or Ferris Bueller style. It’s a gimmick that feels forced the way Eastwood stages it. Every time somebody faced the camera and started gabbing in this movie, I found myself getting annoyed.

Much of the focus of the film falls on Tommy DeVito (Vincent Piazza), an early leader of the band and a bad influence on Frankie. Over the course of time, DeVito gets himself deep in debt to the point that he has to be bailed out by a friend in the mob, represented here as Gyp DeCarlo and played by Christopher Walken in a thankless role.

The movie follows the band through their early session musician days, and even includes a brief appearance by Joe Pesci (Joseph Russo) before his Hollywood emergence. Pesci apparently had a real life role in getting the original band together.

The Four Seasons have some great songs, including “Rag Doll,” “Walk Like a Man” and “December, 1963 (Oh, What a Night!).” Young gives it a good go belting out the hits with something akin to Valli’s signature falsetto, and it’s admirable that Eastwood and his performers opted to have the music performed live on set rather than lip-synching.

I don’t know if it was the theater I was in, but something happens in the final mix that flattens the overall musical presentation. The songs, although competently performed, lack a certain spark. They just feel like pale copies of the originals.

The timing for this film seems a bit odd. It arrived with little to no fanfare during a drab week of the summer movie season, where it was pitted against Think Like a Man, Too. It’s almost as if Warner Brothers knew they had a stinker on their hands, and tried to dump their movie in a week with little competition to give it a fighting chance. Clint Eastwood films usually get high profile, awards season releases, but this one was snuck out there for an unsuspecting, unresponsive public.

Let it be said that this is the second Eastwood movie in a row—after the terrible J. Edgar—to feature brutally bad makeup. As the movie travels from the ’60s into the ’70s, it’s a parade of bad wigs and hilarious mustaches. By the time The Four Seasons reunite for their Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction in 1990, they look, well, silly. I’ve concocted better old man makeup on Halloween using flour and baby powder.

The movie does come alive during the closing credits, where all the members of the cast gather for a triumphant musical medley finale. It’s the only time that Jersey Boys feels like a legitimate, joyful movie musical and has a real pulse. It’s much too little, way too late.