Show must go on, Four who?
Springtime got sprung this spring for Frankie Valli.
You remember Frankie Valli, right? From back in the aulde days?
Well, lest you don’t, here I trudge to remind you.
He was on a farewell tour at 92. A Four Seasons bye-bye — a give my regards to Broadway and anyone else you might think of for a friendly ta-ta from a big name who’s seen it all, done it all, headlined it all. He was now kissing sayonara to it all.
Then, in May, he suddenly abruptly canceled the tour. Midway. It was the whole remaining part of his Four Seasons farewell tour. Ask why since he’s a pro, loved the limelight and wouldn’t have signed on had he thought he couldn’t cut it. But suddenly — no planning the situation — he had to walk away and you’re told: “It’s to focus on his health.” Didn’t smell right. He loved performing. Loved the spotlight. Loved the attention. The hasty explanation had a Biden’s bathroom aroma.
Smartasses say he just doesn’t want to keep performing. Not so sure. So I know that’s not it. The guy loved the limelight, but his current wife — who is his No. 4 wife — wants him to keep doing it. His managers had a meeting in June regarding the possibility of his lipsyncing. They know fans may clue in to that shtick. They worry that the tour may end up looking like elder abuse on the stage.
His team is sitting on pins, needles, even safety pins to determine if they’ll put him back on stage.
For the beloved crooner, this all spells “treble.”
Looking for a few good men
What happened to those big-time, old-time, long ago leading men? The movie stars of aulde. When cinema gents came off looking tall, gorgeous, tough. Rippled muscles in all the needed parts. I mean, que pasa?
Guys like Robert Taylor, Clark Gable, Tyrone Power, Gary Cooper, Cary Grant, Sean Connery, Clint Eastwood, Paul Newman, John Wayne, Steve McQueen, Robert Redford, Henry Fonda, James Dean, Anthony Quinn, Sidney Poitier, Burt Lancaster, Jack Nicholson, Marlon Brando, Omar Sharif, Richard Burton, James Cagney, Jimmy Stewart, William Holden, Frank Sinatra, Humphrey Bogart., George Raft, Edward G. Robinson, Robert Mitchum.
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Isn’t The Big Guy upstairs making them like he used to? They’re now stabbing, choking, shooting, hanging, perspiring on cue. Wearing stupid loincloths. Running around even on top of a train, like nice Tom Cruise whom you already know is not going to fall off that stupid BMT. His sneakers were probably glued to the dining car. It’s all newbies like nice pleasant attractive Timothée Chalamet — but, respectfully — who cares.
I know our Creator is busy. He’s up to His assets in DC and right now that comes before LA. I understand that. Even today’s lettuce — like our politicians — is not as good.
OK. The new biggies are who? Glen Powell? Tom Holland? Paul Mescal? My elevator man? Who??
Packed with cheesy moments
Food fight! Ray Romano likes his with Romano cheese. So who cares, right? New doc “The Best Pizza Is in LA” might start a bicoastal food fight. Somebody’s molar went public to burble that the best pies aren’t here in New York or Chicago. Avast! Begone! Fie on him! Up his whatever! Good luck with that announcement on Prince Street. Tori Spelling agrees but, like, also who cares about her cheesy statement. This film takes some crust.
The thing’s coming on demand July 28. Order it with extra pepperoni. Also — send me a slice.
And let us remember — and never forget — the undying forever immortal words of Julius Caesar, who said with his last breath: “Never slap a guy in the face when he’s chewing tobacco.”
Only in New York, kids — or Rome — only in New York or Rome.
