by: Brooke Friedkin-Garfman
While the 2010 Tribeca Film Festival may have kicked off with a green ogre, last night it got a little help from a bonafide rock star. At last night’s premiere of Last Play At Shea, Billy Joel,
accompanied by daughter Alexa Ray and not one but two ex-wives, clearly stole the show. And you know you’re amidst greatness when not even the impossibly beautiful Christie Brinkley (or Alexa’s new nose) can steal the spotlight. The rockumentary chronicles the oddly impressive musical evolution of the now defunct stadium, from its seminal Beatles concert in 1965 to Billy’s star-studded swansong in July 2008. Along the way we get a mini bio of the Piano Man and oh – a little bit of baseball too. But enough about the movie…
Standing at just 5’5” and clad in a leather jacket and fittingly, a baseball cap, it was at times hard to see Billy over the sea of press jockeying for a sound bite. But just a few minutes into the documentary, it’s easy to see why the man is a force of nature. On stage he looms larger than life, with a grin and plenty of swagger, I always know he’s singing straight to me, even if my name’s not Virginia. Each song tells a story and brings you back to a better time. And Billy shines as he tells them, both with sweat and magic, as he tells of Brenda and Eddie and Anthony’s grocery store. Having been to several of his concerts myself, most recently the historic show the film is named for, I can honestly say that despite the heat of that July night the man was cool as a cucumber. As he ran through the songbook Americans adore so much that he still sells out arenas 17 years after his last album, you could feel an era being ushered out in the grandest possible way
. Billy sang out Shea with just the right mix of passion and pandemonium. This is never more evident than when the film highlights a poignant pause as we watch Billy lean back on his trademark stool (as opposed to Elton’s preference for the traditional “piano bench”) and gaze around the roaring stadium in awe. Who could blame him? After all, it’s not every day a guy from Long Island still one credit short of a diploma is serenaded by 120,000 fans, singing (read: screaming) his soundtrack back to him. He may be an aging rock star, but on screen as on stage he is the effortlessly likeable, down to earth, doe-eyed entertainer he often sings about, forever taking in his amazing stroke of luck. His uber-success hasn’t led to an uber-ego, something underscored in his generous concession to let (read: urge) Paul McCartney close down Shea with the ubiquitous “Let It Be.” And what a fond farewell it was.
It was cool to go back to that shimmering night and relive the magic— but even cooler to go back with Billy sitting just a few rows away in the jam packed Tribeca Performing Arts Center.
If the Mets stand in the cool shadow of the Yankees’ glory, perhaps Billy has sometimes fallen into the shade of another hometown hero who played Shea in 2003. Well, Springsteen may have been born in the USA and Jersey’s answer to Jesus, but me and Shea? We’ll always be in a New York state of mind…
While the 2010 Tribeca Film Festival may have kicked off with a green ogre, last night it got a little help from a bonafide rock star. At last night’s premiere of Last Play At Shea, Billy Joel,
accompanied by daughter Alexa Ray and not one but two ex-wives, clearly stole the show. And you know you’re amidst greatness when not even the impossibly beautiful Christie Brinkley (or Alexa’s new nose) can steal the spotlight. The rockumentary chronicles the oddly impressive musical evolution of the now defunct stadium, from its seminal Beatles concert in 1965 to Billy’s star-studded swansong in July 2008. Along the way we get a mini bio of the Piano Man and oh – a little bit of baseball too. But enough about the movie…Standing at just 5’5” and clad in a leather jacket and fittingly, a baseball cap, it was at times hard to see Billy over the sea of press jockeying for a sound bite. But just a few minutes into the documentary, it’s easy to see why the man is a force of nature. On stage he looms larger than life, with a grin and plenty of swagger, I always know he’s singing straight to me, even if my name’s not Virginia. Each song tells a story and brings you back to a better time. And Billy shines as he tells them, both with sweat and magic, as he tells of Brenda and Eddie and Anthony’s grocery store. Having been to several of his concerts myself, most recently the historic show the film is named for, I can honestly say that despite the heat of that July night the man was cool as a cucumber. As he ran through the songbook Americans adore so much that he still sells out arenas 17 years after his last album, you could feel an era being ushered out in the grandest possible way
. Billy sang out Shea with just the right mix of passion and pandemonium. This is never more evident than when the film highlights a poignant pause as we watch Billy lean back on his trademark stool (as opposed to Elton’s preference for the traditional “piano bench”) and gaze around the roaring stadium in awe. Who could blame him? After all, it’s not every day a guy from Long Island still one credit short of a diploma is serenaded by 120,000 fans, singing (read: screaming) his soundtrack back to him. He may be an aging rock star, but on screen as on stage he is the effortlessly likeable, down to earth, doe-eyed entertainer he often sings about, forever taking in his amazing stroke of luck. His uber-success hasn’t led to an uber-ego, something underscored in his generous concession to let (read: urge) Paul McCartney close down Shea with the ubiquitous “Let It Be.” And what a fond farewell it was.
It was cool to go back to that shimmering night and relive the magic— but even cooler to go back with Billy sitting just a few rows away in the jam packed Tribeca Performing Arts Center.
If the Mets stand in the cool shadow of the Yankees’ glory, perhaps Billy has sometimes fallen into the shade of another hometown hero who played Shea in 2003. Well, Springsteen may have been born in the USA and Jersey’s answer to Jesus, but me and Shea? We’ll always be in a New York state of mind…
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