What? FIVE Stars? From The Great Plotnik?

During the cheering, rousing, screeching, caterwauling, blaring, howling and hysterical standing ovation at the end of last night's press opening of 'Jersey Boys' at the Curran, The Great Plotnik heard himself say these words: 'Damn! I think that's the greatest show I've ever seen!'

Ducknik stared at him without answering. This might have been because she knew she was holding the hand of The Great Niggler, The Great YeahButsman, the man whose theater motto ought to be: "If the show is good the prices are probably too high."

It may also have been because the audience was still going nuts, even as they exited the theater, screaming things like "Encore!" "Play it Again, Frankie!" "Start At the First Act and Keep Going!" (OK, Plotnik was the one yelling that last one, but the sentiment was there.)

Walking to the car, Plottie and Duck kept the glow, up three hills and over four. Duck finally answered Plot's question: "'My Fair Lady' was better."

Well, yeah, but Plottie never got to see that one on stage. MFL is either his first or second favorite musical of all time (with West Side Story the other)...but that's different. Those two are Broadway. This is Rock and Roll. Broadway taps. Rock and Roll dances on linoleum table tops. Your head gets out of the way with this music and, if you're not careful, your youth comes roaring back.



Then, The Great Plotnik read Robert Hurwitt's review in the paper this morning, and though the Reviewer for the St. Plotniko Inflammable liked the show a lot, he didn't go stark raving mad (like someone we know). There is only one way anyone could watch and listen to this production of Jersey Boys and not spew superlatives: Robert Hurwitt never caught the Boogie Woogie Flu.

Jersey Boys is the story of the Four Seasons (New Jersey, not Vivaldi). Though every segment is magnificent on a theater level (great sets, amazing lighting, superb direction, perfect choreography), in the end it all comes down to the songs.

Bob must have missed the era. Plotnik has met him at many openings -- the man doesn't look emotionally handicapped -- but it has to be that when Sherry or Big Girls Don't Cry came out, Hurwitt was reading Proust. Maybe he was the kid with the creamed spinach for lunch that his mother packed in a plastic container. He has to have been sitting by himself on a bench far away. He could not afford a radio. The two tin cans and the string didn't give enough reception. Something.

He might also be a little too...well...young.

Trust The Great Plotnik on this one: the man who plays lead singer Frankie Valli, whose real name is Christopher Kale Jones, has a voice from some musical dream. Plot has heard the current New York production and this Frankie Valli is better than the New York Frankie Valli. He may even be better than the Frankie Valli version of Frankie Valli. The other three Seasons blend magnificently with Jones, and then, yo, the songs: Sherry, Big Girls Don't Cry, Walk Like A Man, Oh What a Night, Dawn, My Eyes Adored You, Who Loves You (Pretty Baby), Let's Hang On To What We've Got and so many others.

Yeah, yeah, it's probably sick expensive. The website lists tickets at $30-$90. But for your money you're getting a spectacular, first rate production on top of a concert with EXCELLENT musicians and world class singers. You can't spend your Christmas money any better, and to prove it, this afternoon The Great Plotnik is buying a pair of tickets for SOMEBODY'S Christmas present. (AHA! he didn't give away the secret! Even dumb dogs can learn to put their heads between their paws and not pee on the carpet! ...so that the people they are surprising don't read the blog and figure out what they're getting for Christmas. Damn! Plottie is SO impressed with himself right now.)

Important part of the above paragraph: The Great Plotnik is BUYING two tickets. If this doesn't tell you something, you haven't been listening.

Now then, with a loud harrumph, The Great Plotnik Theater Awards Division awards 'Jersey Boys' its highest possible rating: Five Stars. That's Four Stars for the show, and an extra star for that rare combination of sincerity, spot-on perfect musicality (Plotnik counted two flat notes all night long, and he counts these things), a refusal to pander to the audience, and then OhmiGod, the appearance on stage at the final curtain of three out of four of the REAL Four Seasons, hugging and mingling with the actors. They are old and gray and barely mobile, but Plottie saw Frankie Valli slap Christopher Kale Jones on the face like an old musical Wise Guy, as if to say 'Great Job, Kid,' and Jones had to bite his lip to keep from crying, Plot kids you not.

How can a night at the theater get any better? Answer: it can't.

The show has already been extended through the end of March. Please go see Jersey Boys. You'll thank Plottie, who Loves You, Pretty Baby, as you already know.