Take a real-life rags-to-riches story, some of the '60s best pop songs, an excellent script, smart direction and a great cast, and you've got "Jersey Boys," the terrific new musical in its world premiere at La Jolla Playhouse.

This hugely entertaining docu-musical -- which tells the surprising true story of the doo-wop vocal group Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons -- is a dark, funny, fast-paced and moving blue-collar story about the four New Jersey natives who overcame seemingly insurmountable odds to sell more than 100 million records and end up in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Co-written by New Yorkers Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice, "Jersey Boys" has a gritty regional authenticity. The subtle, profanity-laced dialogue has a natural flow, and the richly written, warts-and-all characters are developed to a level rarely seen in musical theater. And because the songs flow organically from the band's writing and recording sessions and their electric live performances, the show has a more realistic, almost-cinematic scope.

"Jersey Boys" couldn't have been easy to cast or stage, but director Des McAnuff, the Playhouse's artistic director, has found a quartet of quadruple-threat actors who can act, sing, play their own instruments and even dance on occasion. Sweet-faced David Norona eerily re-creates Valli's famous falsetto vocals, and San Diego native Christian Hoff (whose blond curls may be hidden under brown hair dye but not his trademark smirk) is exceptional as band founder Tommy DeVito, the quintessential Jersey wise guy.

The four members of the band, which also includes clean-cut songwriter Bob Gaudio (earnest Daniel Reichard) and fussy bass player Nick Massi (intense J. Robert Spencer), take turns narrating their often-conflicting versions of the band's hardscrabble roots and formation, their ascent to fame and their gradual, messy breakup in the 1960s.

Their story begins in the late 1950s, when the group's name and lineup changed frequently as members drifted in and out of prison for various crimes. DeVito, a guitarist/singer who financed the band with petty crimes, coaxes diminutive singer Frankie Castelluccio (later Valli) to join the mix. But it isn't until the arrival of Gaudio (who by age 16 already had a No. 2 hit) that the band really jells. Gaudio's knack for writing catchy tunes that showcased Valli's stratospheric vocals repeatedly sent them to No. 1 with "Sherry," "Big Girls Don't Cry" and "Walk Like a Man" and more than a dozen other top 10 hits.

There are plenty of stumbles along the way, though. At the height of the band's fame, DeVito's criminal connections and unpaid debts land the band in trouble with the mob and even in jail. Eventually DeVito is forced out; Massi, isolated by Gaudio and Valli's legendary handshake partnership, quits; and Gaudio retires from the stage to write. Only Valli continues performing until the members reunite 20 years later at their Hall of Fame induction.

McAnuff directs the musical with tongue firmly in cheek. Anecdotes and stories that have grown with age are presented in exaggerated fashion (accented with comic book-style graphics on video screens above the stage), and the often-funny inspiration for various songs often has a fish-tale quality. It's hard to tell what's truth and what's embroidered, but that's part of the fun with rock 'n' roll legend. He imaginatively moves the action around the stage and amplifies the excitement of the group's TV appearances with archival footage from the "Ed Sullivan Show" and "American Bandstand."

The musical's pacing is tight, building for a good 40 minutes before the band finally comes together with "Sherry," in a performance so thrilling the opening-night audience gave it a standing ovation. Then in the second act, the tension builds again to Valli's single "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You," performed beautifully by Norona.

The musical still has a few minor kinks. The opening scene, a modern rap version of a Four Seasons song, is jolting and awkward. In the second act, the transition between Valli's solo career and the group's reunion two decades later is stiff and abrupt. And a scene involving the drug-related death of Valli's daughter has a melodramatic tone that doesn't fit with the rest of the show.

Writing a musical about living people can't be easy, and Brickman and Elice earn points for retaining much of the band's disputes and checkered past. But "Jersey Boys" was written with the guidance of Valli and Gaudio, and it shows. Massi, who died in 2000, is treated reverentially; Valli is a never-aging, almost-angelic presence, and Gaudio is a near-saint. Only DeVito's flaws are clearly shown, though he's portrayed here mostly as a lovable rascal. And flamboyant producer/lyricist Bob Crewe (who co-wrote many of the band's most famous songs) gets only minimal attention as the show's comic relief.

Klara Zieglerova designed the slick, industrial-looking Jersey-inspired set, which is lit with a stark, grainy quality by Howell Binkley. Jess Goldstein's costumes easily evoke the era (in spite of the often-garish wigs).

Ron Melrose masterfully handles music director and arrangements, and Steve Orich creates seamless orchestration. Sergio Trujillo re-creates the period choreography. And the eight-member supporting cast skillfully play multiple roles as girlfriends, wives, backup singers, mobsters and club owners.

"Jersey Boys" has broad audience appeal. Even young theatergoers who have never heard of the band will be sucked in by its story, characters and catchy music. Older audiences, who grew up with the music, will be surprised to learn the roots of familiar songs and will be tempted to sing along. A word of caution, though. The language is as salty as it comes, so sensitive viewers should be warned (in fact, one funny scene consists almost entirely of curse words).

"Jersey Boys" runs two hours, 30 minutes, with intermission.