Frank Sinatra bio musical in London is an insult — and not ready for Broadway

These vagabond shoes were longing to stray.

But my sneakers reluctantly remained at the Aldwych Theatre for the second act of the new musical “Sinatra” in London’s West End.

Sadly, the best was not yet to come.

Ol’ Blue Eyes is given the ol’ cruise ship treatment in the sorry Frank Sinatra bio show directed by Kathleen Marshall, who also helmed the Tony Award-winning Broadway revivals of “The Pajama Game” and “Anything Goes” an eon ago. 

Perhaps contentedly stuck in the past, Marshall stages “Sinatra” as if it’s a musty old jukebox trifle — or, well, an aughts one: sans modern flair, chock-full of hokiness and making no convincing attempt at drama.    

“Tina – The Tina Turner Musical,” which also premiered at the Aldwych back in 2018 before heading to New York, was far from perfect. But, sporadically, it gave me chills watching a regular girl evolve into a superstar.

Turner momentously recording “Private Dancer” couldn’t be further apart from the biggest applause at the “Sinatra” performance I attended: When Frank’s parents (Jenna Russell, bizarrely, and Marty Maguire), contorted into the comic relief, hammily sang “You Make Me Feel So Young” as if they were Edna and Wilbur Turnblad in “Hairspray.”

That is the highlight, such as it is, of the musical ostensibly about one the greatest singers of all time. 

Even with Frank Sinatra Enterprises and his daughter Tina Sinatra on the producing team in London, there is no chance this show in its current state could succeed on Broadway. New York and New Jersey would riot.

While an American’s the boss, the Chairman of the Board is a Brit. That’s Joel Harper-Jackson, a fine enough performer whose chief virtue is his Sinatra soundalike voice. He sings the classics smoothly and I get the sense he is trying to rise above an impression, although he doesn’t quite manage that ascent.

It doesn’t help that the creatives have snipped his climbing rope. The hackneyed book by Joe DiPietro (“Memphis”) is written to be delivered by robots.

“Sinatra” chooses a focused chunk of Frank’s life starting at the end of his mega Paramount Theatre residency in New York in 1944. We’re whisked there via a screensaver cityscape video that buffers as if the WiFi bill hasn’t been paid on time. 

After that comes a demoralizing career slump caused by dud songs and bad movies, and then a triumphant resurgence in 1956 with “I’ve Got The World On A String” and the “This Is Frank Sinatra” album.

However, you’d be mistaken if you think this is a story about a consummate musician and his art. “Sinatra” focuses, almost totally, on the man’s extramarital affairs in Hollywood. 

Titillated? Not so fast. There are sexier episodes of “Antiques Roadshow.” More emotional ones, too!   

When Frank jets to LA to shoot a movie, leaving wife Nancy (Phoebe Panaretos) and the kids back at home, three stars he seduces — Judy Garland, Lana Turner and Marlene Dietrich — pop out of a hole in his bed like groundhogs and cutely sing “Come Fly With Me.” That’s quite a choice for one of his most famous tunes.

Another head-scratcher is abruptly cutting off Harper-Jackson on “My Way” midway through the ballad.

Frank then falls hard for the forward actress Ava Gardner (Ana Villafañe), who gives him a series of dealbreaker rules for their courtship. Even if she’s a one-note character, her strong will melts his Italian heart. Meanwhile, ours stay safely solid.

The marriage to Nancy crumbles as his poor wife sees pictures of her philandering hubby out with glam ladies in magazines and reads dishy items in Hedda Hopper’s column. How sad to see Hedda, a force, turned into a bubbly gag of pat exposition. But that’s what so much of this lacking show is.

What of the songs? Sinatra’s rich catalogue has mostly been turned into character numbers rather than performed on a stage or in a studio. An especially weird shoehorn is when he croons “Just The Way You Look Tonight” to his daughter after the Oscars. 

It’s understandable why the creators would pick that route over a “Behind the Music” format — to avoid repetition and more deeply explore his life. But “Sinatra” is monotonously repetitive and consistently pulls its punches when it comes to his inner workings. 

And so, all the show could possibly offer is some dazzle and musical excitement. Only it falls short there as well. Marshall’s choreography is droopy.

Watching “Sinatra,” it’s hard to shake the memory of a recent Broadway show — “Just in Time,” the Bobby Darin musical. 

Darin was a contemporary of Sinatra’s, though one with fewer enduring songs and, for today’s audiences, a lesser-known backstory. 

Yet “Just in Time,” against all odds, is a sensational show and a hit. It opened with an unforgettable star turn from Jonathan Groff and, most importantly, the design and Alex Timbers’ direction intoxicatedly transported us back to another era.   

Audiences rightly expect such transcendence, and even more so with a musical about an icon. Instead, London has a cheap-o tribute show with a roll-on kitchen and a jokebook. 

It’ll take a lot more ingenuity and thought (a shredder, really) if “Sinatra” ever wants to be a part of it — New York, New York.