When I first saw a touring company
production of the Tony-winning Broadway smash
Jersey Boys
several years ago, my first reaction was, “this show would make a
great movie!” I know that's an odd plaudit to bestow upon a
piece of live theatre, especially a jukebox musical that follows the
tired old showbiz & stardom narrative of
rise-then-fall-then-rise-again, but there was something about this
play's fluid pageantry and explosive musicality that just sparkled
with cinematic potential. Naturally, my thoughts went to playing
armchair producer as I imagined all the dynamic filmmakers I'd love
to see run with this material (Martin Scorsese, Baz Luhrmann, and
Bill Condon are just a few that came to mind).
But probably the last name I'd have
considered to fill the director's chair on this project was Clint
Eastwood. The American journeyman's staid formalism didn't seem like
it would jive with the infectious rhythms of Frankie Valli and the
Four Seasons' bustling pop-rock hits, let alone the almost
caricatured energy of the stage show's characters. So it's
understandable that I was nervously intrigued when it came to light
that The Man With No Name himself would be producing and directing
the film adaption.
Turns out, I was right to be nervous.
Rather than a splashy, funny, toe-tapping collage of musical pastiche
that made the play such a success, Clint Eastwood's take on
Jersey
Boys is a drab, uneven, paint-by-numbers biopic that confirms
every dreadful worry I had about him being an ill fit for this
material. But to be perfectly fair, the problems don't start with
him.
The problems start with the show's own
playwrights, Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice, who have taken on
screenwriting duties to shape their snappy stage book for the screen.
Unfortunately, the extent of their adaptation seems to have been
cramming major plot points closer together for the sake of brevity,
while doing little to alter the play's dramatic devices to fit a new
medium. Much of the original dialogue is retained, as is the
expository gimmick of having various characters break the fourth wall
to explain backstory and details to the audience.
This is not a good thing.
Even the funniest lines from the show
only work when played broadly to a packed house, but fall flat when
nonchalantly uttered onscreen. And the constant stare-into-the-camera
narrations from multiple actors inadvertently take us out of the
story more than they open it up to us. Consequently, the film feels
stagey – even more stagey than the stage show itself!
But even a carefully adjusted
screenplay would have been wasted under Eastwood's bland filmmaking
form. The desaturated photography and dim design elements might work
for some of his austere period dramas like
Changeling or
J.
Edgar, but aren't exactly visually conducive to the pep and
humour that this script is supposed to have (I had to check and make
sure I wasn't accidentally wearing sunglasses in the movie theatre!).
The musical sequences – which number far fewer than in the play –
are monotonously cut, and don't even get me started on the gaudy,
ill-advised end credit dance sequence!
If Eastwood can be (theoretically)
congratulated for one decision, it might be giving some of the show's
actors a chance to reprise their roles in the film; an opportunity
few thespians get. But even that whim is only partially successful.
However technically impressive John Lloyd Young (the original star on
Broadway) is at impersonating Frankie Valli's angelic falsetto, he
lacks a certain screen charisma. The same can be said of other
players, who are either acting with too much affectation or not
enough. The only cast member who consistently delights is Christopher
Walken as a patriarchal mafia kingpin with a soft spot for “My
Mother's Eyes”.
*1/2 out of ****
