They may be four guys from the wrong side of the tracks, but they play out whining and backstabbing more like Reality House-husbands of Jersey. In this (time to retire) Clint Eastwood directed flick, Frankie Valli (John Lloyd Young) born Frank Castelluccio, starts out working (circa 1951) at the local barber shop, sweeping the clippings of Angelo DeCarlo (Christopher Walken) by day, and swooning him by night by song at the local Jersey joints.
Frankie’s BFF, Tommy DeVito (Vincent Piazzo) narrates much of the film via his perception of how it really happened. Seems everyone has their version, but it’s quite clear he takes 100% credit for discovering Frankie. But it’s Frankie’s wife, Mary (Katherine Narducci) who gets credit for making him drop the ‘y’ on his last name, and go with a vowel, mainly because he’s Italian. So he becomes “Valli.”
But before his leap to fame, there’s clearly three ways out of the neighborhood…[Vietnam] war, the mob, or in his case, get famous. Sitting in the audience, a part of of us will wish Valli chose Viet Nam or the mob route which would have been easier for us to endure. The film’s never- ending-one dimensional-note (no pun intended) seems to drag us through years of problems, finances and women, only to find, like a modern-day reality show, there’s not really much to the story’s backbone.
The beauty of the musical on Broadway, was that the singing and pulsing kept us occupied to new heights. There are a few sentimental moments – the groups first performance on American Bandstand – and more intimate moments with his daughters, but in the end, “Big Girls DO cry” especially if they have to sit through this drawn out film. ♕ ♚ ♛