Review: Jersey Boys

City Paper grade: C

Clint Eastwood’s attempt to turn a smash jukebox musical into a Coke Zero version of Goodfellas with sing-song interludes comes off just as stilted as you might expect, and not even jolting performances from the magnetic quartet in question can salvage things. Tracing the Four Seasons’ rise to American pop royalty from their felonious beginnings outside Newark, Jersey Boys, on paper, is an Alger tale that carries a mean tune. Encouraged to take the stage by his street-hustler pal Tommy DeVito (Vincent Piazza), Frankie Valli (Tony winner John Lloyd Young) is the kid with the magic falsetto, which carried DeVito and his other bandmates (Michael Lomenda and Erich Bergen) to multiple number-one hits and decades of chart dominance. But that radio-friendly output was made possible by a slew of shady supporters, from avuncular mob boss Gyp DeCarlo (Christopher Walken) to the hardcore loan sharks who preyed on DeVito’s poor judgment. The split between the band’s scrubbed-clean image and the back-alley dealings that put them in front of the public is the most compelling aspect of the Seasons’ history, but Eastwood sees no virtue in balance, allowing his signature drab palette to creep so far into the storytelling that it becomes more about shadows than sound. Some incredible spikes in energy, raised every time the group grabs its mics, get bogged down by boring exposition and overstated biopic contrivances. This is all on top of Eastwood’s odd approach to aging his actors, both backward and forward, tricks that probably work better on stage than on a screen the size of a warship.