By Dom Cioffi
Several months ago, I bought my father-in-law tickets to see Frankie Valli in concert. Valli, along with his backup group, The Four Seasons, peppered the charts with hits during the 1960s and ’70s. From teenage chart-toppers like “Rag Doll” and “Sherry” to pop classics like “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” and “December, 1963 (Oh, What a Night),” Valli and his bandmates had a knack for delivering catchy, memorable tunes.
It was my father-in-law’s 80th birthday so I figured a fun musical event would be in order. His options for seeing artists from his youth are in short supply, so I thought it would be good to take advantage of the opportunity that Valli was still touring.
Well, the first words out of his mouth upon opening his birthday card were, “Ehhh, I never liked Frankie Valli.”
You could have heard a pin drop.
I think he sensed how his response came across, so his quick make-up statement was, “It’s no problem, I’ll give the tickets to someone at my apartment complex.” At that point, I snatched the tickets out of his hand and muttered, “Like hell,” underneath my breath as I exited the room.
I’m a good gift-giver. I take the time to think about the gifts I give and whether they’ll be appreciated. In this case, I thought I nailed the perfect gift, which is why I invested top dollar in the three tickets I bought for him (beautifully located in the front row of the balcony).
I mean, Frankie Valli and my father-in-law are both in their 80s, they both came from the same part of the country, they’re both of Italian heritage, they’re both short, and they both love music. How could this gift have failed?
Nevertheless, after he said he’d give the tickets away, I abruptly told him that wasn’t going to happen – I’d get him something else and resell the tickets on StubHub.
Fast-forward to last weekend and an alert pops up on my phone reminding me that the concert is on Saturday night at 8 p.m. I immediately panic because I realize that I never resold the tickets. I told my wife that she and I were going and that she should try to get one of her girlfriends to join us for the third ticket. My wife wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but she texted everyone she knew. Unfortunately, no one bit. It seems Frankie Valli doesn’t appeal to middle-aged women like he used to.
The thought of not using a perfectly good ticket didn’t sit well with me but I decided to let it go and bask in the idea that I would have an open seat next to me where I could stretch out during the show.
My wife and I arrived at the concert an hour before the start and sat in the parking lot sipping a cocktail. From our vantage point, we were able to watch the other patrons arrive and walk in. It quickly became apparent that we were on the younger side of the audience demographic.
At about 7:45 p.m., we made our way in and found our front row center balcony seats (you couldn’t have asked for a better view). The venue was small and intimate; the stage was sparse, with just enough room for the musicians and a few backup singers. Two small projection screens graced the backdrop — a far cry from the jumbotrons I’d seen in stadiums at the Elton John and Billy Joel shows earlier in the year.
Frankie arrived on stage at 8:10 p.m. For the next two hours he belted out 23 songs from his catalog, 22 of which were familiar to me. I was in awe that his famous falsetto voice was still intact, even though it was obvious the four backup singers were there to help him along.
The room was genuinely electrified by his performance. At one point, my wife and I looked at each other and smiled broadly, freely admitting that we were having a blast. And on more than one occasion, we were singing at the top of our lungs.
This week’s film, “Blonde,” features another performer known to have electrified rooms — Marilyn Monroe.
Based on the novel by Joyce Carol Oates, “Blonde” is a fictionalized account of Monroe’s life. And that fictionalization is an important point to remember given that the film has an NC-17 rating and delves into some highly sexualized storylines.
Nevertheless, the acting and story make for a creative retelling and position the film as an interesting take on an iconic figure.
If you’re a fan of Marilyn and don’t mind her life being exploited for art, given this one a try. Sure, it’s not a true biography, but it does highlight an interesting talent who seemed to spend her life searching for meaning.
A beautiful “B-” for “Blond,” now available for streaming on Netflix.
Got a question or comment for Dom? You can email him at moviediary@att.net.
