Oh, What A Night! Mountain Theatre Company Serves Up Another Hit.

Written By: Luke Osteen | Issue: Whats News

Let me start out this review of Mountain Theatre Company’s production of Jersey Boys by stating with astonishment, “The audience was dancing in the aisles!”

That’s right, I’ve pulled the hoariest chestnut out of The Reviewer’s Big Book of EZ Phrases for this marvelous show, all for a simple reason – it’s true! I’ve been attending Mountain Theatre Company (previously Highlands Playhouse) productions for 35 years, the Radio City Christmas Spectacular since I was five, West End musicals starting with Evita in 1979, and I’d never imagined there could be a kernel of truth to this most tired bit of reviewer’s hackery.

But there it was – men and women of all ages jettisoning their reserve and gyrating and moving their feet and waving their arms over their heads with abandon. The decades fell away and all of us, all of us, were young again and enraptured by the promise of life and the piercing sweetness of love.

Of course, at the heart of this were the timeless tunes of The Four Seasons, an irresistible alchemy of songwriter Bob Gaudio and lead singer Frankie Valli. These songs cascade through both acts and they still carry their potent pitch – “December 1963 (Oh What a Night),” “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,” and “Working My Way Back to You,” just a few from the playlist.

But none of those songs would have ignited were it not for the supremely talented cast and confident direction of Scott Daniel that captured the dizzying successes and devastating plunges of this storied quartet.

In an audacious move, playwrights Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice turn to the testimony of the original Four Seasons – Gaudio (John Mezzina Hannigan), Valli (Emanuel Carrero), Tommy DeVito (Gianni Palmarini), and Nick Massi (Sam Alan Johnson) – and allow them to limn the band’s trajectory, from its founding in 1960, through its various collapses and reconstitutions, to its election into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. There are contradictions and ego-distorted recollections, yet they’re delivered with conviction and honesty.

This gives the story a Rashomon-meets-Tin-Pan-Alley feel, and you can sense the first of the tiny fissures that will eventually shatter the Seasons when DeVito steps into the spotlight as the first storyteller.

“This whole thing started with me!” he proclaims with jutting chin and an irresistible confidence. His brashness and street-sharpened instincts keep the group together as they carry out petty crimes, (mostly) avoid jail time, come close to collapsing, and earn and spend big chunks of cash.

Palmarini carries the role with assurance, and what could have easily slipped into parody remains bracing and diamond hard. His DeVito is at once disarming yet veers into smarm and greasy assurance with a simple shift of voice. It’s hypnotic and seductive and you can’t turn away when he’s spinning a scheme.

The unflappable Gaudio, a soft-spoken counterpoint to the brash DeVito who manages to write weightless fancies like “Short Shorts” and in the next breath quote T.S. Eliot, takes over the narration and proves that he’s no one’s fool. The band is launched to fame through Gaudio’s impeccable songwriting instincts, releasing hits like “Sherry,” “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” and “Walk Like a Man.”

If Palmarini presents a brash confidence and hair-trigger defensiveness with his in-your-face DeVito, Hannigan commands the stage with Guadio’s almost preternatural calm and poised watchfulness. It’s a master class in subtle acting and he somehow manages to command attention even when he’s reacting from the sidelines.

Massi, who’d been a quiet observer in the shadows, takes the spotlight after intermission and gives his jaundiced version of life on the road. He’s world-weary and clear-eyed and he observes the toll that the never-ending circuit of appearances takes upon the Seasons and their families. It’s through his eyes that we learn of the consequences of DeVito’s staggering debts, and witness Valli spearheading the repayment for DeVito and the group. Massi is tired and it’s with resolve rather than resignation that he announces, “I just want to go home.”

Johnson brings a quiet dignity to his role. His resignation to slipping into the harness and carrying out the donkey work that lies at the heart of a touring musical act is palpable and poignant. He’s simply a guy doing his job and when he finally, finally responds to the nonstop jerks and jabs and quiet humiliations, it’s galvanizing and gives the entire show a moral heft that’d been lacking before.

Taking over the narration, Valli shares his confusion about the group’s strange twists of fortune, yet he never loses his passion for performing as the years roll into decades.

It’s Carrero’s riveting blend of confidence and vulnerability that breathes vivid life into Valli, from his triumphs and tragedies. His astonishing range on songs like “Ragdoll” and “Working My Way Back to You” powers the entire production, and if you’re doubting my observation that the audience gave itself entirely to the music, let me introduce Carrero’s voice into the evidence. This is an electrifying performance, and it elevates this show into something transcendent.

It’s within this framework that we’re constantly astonished by the four men’s remarkable vocal range and transcendent harmonies. Again, in my 35 years as an MTC audience-member, I’ve never seen a better blending of sheer talent and material. It’s no wonder that Jersey Boys has been brought back to the Plateau.

And of course, I can’t forget the trio of actresses portraying the women who bend their lives and hearts to accommodate the jagged contours of these driven men – Erin Leigh Knowles, Rachel Lou Redding, and Taylor Ruff. Theirs are performances of passion and poignancy, and, with just a few lines as Valli’s daughter Francine, Knowles made me cry great tears down my face and shadowed the remainder of the second act.

Also deserving of praise are the functionality of the single scaffold-style set by Tom Hansen that effortlessly recalls the hard-scrabble Jersey origins of The Four Seasons; and Director/Choreographer Scott Daniel’s precise and period-perfect rigid-backed stomp and click choreography and exuberant go-for-broke Vegas style dance numbers.

Don’t miss this spectacular return to an era when pop culture was awash in sweetness and operatic emotions, delivered by men and women who understood the terrible price to be paid.