Jersey Boys

F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word! F-word!

Are you offended yet? No? How ‘bout some more….

F***! F***! F***! F***! F***! F***! F***! F***!

Had enough? Tough! I am going to ram some more down your throat….

F***! F***! and F***!

F*** you! and F*** you! and you and you and you too.

F***! you to your wife and F*** you to everyone you invited to the Ahmanson Theater the other night to go see what you thought was going to be a celebration of some wonderful music you listened to as a kid.

Instead of that celebration we were treated to a celebration of the F-word. We heard it used in every possible way shape and form and we heard it about a thousand times more than it is printed in this review.

I can hear the producers now… explaining that use of that word reflects the true Jersey/tough neighborhood upbringing and culture of the original Four Seasons Blah, Blah Blah…. Of course this misses the point. People don’t come to see the true Jersey upbringing of the band. We know it was rough, we know it was hard, we know it was vulgar and sad…we came to hear the music.

When we hear those songs, we remember our high school friends, our first date, going to football games and campfires on the beach -- everything young and innocent and pure and healthy about our past life. We can remember exactly where we were standing, who we were with and what we were looking at when we sat around the radio and sang “Sherri” and “Walk like a Man” with our friends. And guess what? No one was saying the “F-word” we didn’t talk like that back then and neither did the “Four Seasons” at least not to us. I am sure they used that word plenty of times back stage and back home but to us they used carefully thought out lyrics and they used them in a way that brought us together, made us feel good and inspired us. That is the Four Seasons I choose to remember. Not the Jersey Boys version that elicited a gasp (an actual full-fledged, card carrying gasp) when they dropped the very first “F-bomb” on their unsuspecting audience. You could feel the ripple of concern wave through the crowd as we all hoped that the one indiscretion had served its purpose of letting us know that the band grew up rough. But then the torrent began – so many f-words you became numb to it. We were so numb to it I thought my sweet mother-in-law (who never uttered an ounce of profanity in her life) might turn to me after the show and say “lets get the F*** outta here!”

What an absolute and utter disappointment. I’d like to tell you my toe is still tapping to the incredible music (and the cast re-created it beautifully) but I can’t. My toe isn’t tapping, it’s all wet – I’m still in the shower trying to wash out my ears.

If you happen to be an F-word fan, and I mean a true believer, then this may be the show for you. But let’s face it – 100 bucks a seat for non-stop f-words and some Franki Valli hits? It’d be cheaper to drive on over to the bad part of town, find a pool hall and put fifty cents in the juke box. You may not get quite as many f-words as going to the Ahmanson but at least you’ll get to walk around and have a drink while you’re hearing them.

Save yourself some money and disappointment. Buy an old Four Seasons CD, Google the history of the band and invite some friends over. Have ‘em check the F-word at the door.

Craig Brown
With his ears still burning in San Clemente