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The Review - THEATRE by RICHARD OSLEY
Published: 27 March 2008
 
Walking in the Valli is a cure for West End’s weary musical woes

THE JERSEY BOYS

Prince Edward Theatre

TRUTH is, more people go wild for Frankie ­Valli’s falsetto in the States than over here.
Over there he and his band The Four Seasons are fondly remembered for 1960s surf hits like Sherry and Walk Like A Man, and Valli is revered as the first man to sing Can’t Take My Eyes Off You, that thumper of a wedding favourite that most ­people in this country assume began with Andy Williams.
Over here, he is more known for Oh What A Night, just another disco song in the time of Tavares and Hot ­Chocolate.
Over there, American truckers and diner ­waitresses, according to script of The Jersey Boys at least, would always pick The Four Seasons ahead of The Beatles.
Over here, it would be considered sacrilege to even compare Big Girls Don’t Cry to I Am The Walrus.
So while The Jersey Boys has been such a raving success on Broadway and has come to the West End with high expectations, there may be some that don’t quite connect with this cleverly woven story of how the four Four ­Seasons graduated from the backwater streets of New Jersey – pronounced in bad Soprano-ese throughout the show as “Nuw Joisey” – to the rock’n’ roll hall of fame.
It’s not a shallow attempt to cash in on a musician’s back catalogue (anybody who saw Daddy Kool, the Boney M musical, will know how stinky that feels); there is a decent script, perfectly pitched direction and singers who can sing, rather than celebs who look familiar on the escalator posters. In fact, there is so much snappy dialogue that some of the songs are pinched into small bursts rather than showy set-pieces. Nevertheless, Ryan Malloy undoubtedly excels as Valli, peaking early with the ­forgotten gem Beggin’ but never missing a beat on the classics.
Glenn Carter deserves as much credit as the wonderfully arrogant Tommy DeVito, the wide-mouthed man who bought The Four ­Seasons together only apparently to drive them apart by racking up huge debts with gun-­toting loan sharks.
After the absolute stinkers of Desperately Seeking Susan and a lacklustre recent version of Fame, the West End has been crying out for a new musical to sparkle.
This might be it. I just wonder, if we did a swap, how a musical about, say, The Kinks would get on over there.
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