5 stars out of 5
The closest I ever came to seeing West Side Story before was the Michael Jackson “Bad” video, and Chris Elliott as Marv Albert singing “Somewhere” on Letterman. (“There’s a place for us — YES!!”) But Spielberg is my boy, so I figured I’d give the new version a shot. And all I can say is: Wow.
OK, OK, I’ll say a little bit more. I tend to avoid musicals due to all the clichés of the form: the phoniness, corniness, slickness, and, sure, the randomly bursting into song thing. Watching this film, though, I didn’t notice an ounce of cliché. It’s big, bold, visceral, thrilling. There isn’t a wrong note, musically or cinematically.
Yes, it’s set in 1957, but the underlying social issues totally resonate today: gentrification, fear of immigrants taking over, the lack of realization that we’re all immigrants, police profiling (Latino Lives Matter), rage boiling over into bloodshed. At their crudest, the Jets come across like Proud Boys, and it’s chilling. The Sharks ain’t exactly the glee club, neither. There’s blanket distrust of anyone who isn’t Puerto Rican and the twin desire/repulsion of assimilation.
In the middle of it all: our star-crossed lovers, Tony and Maria, portrayed by Ansel “Baby Driver” Elgort and New Jersey’s own Rachel Zegler. Elgort’s Tony is a big, dumb, sweet kid, with lessons learned from violence in his past. Zegler’s Maria is innocent but tired of being treated like a child; respectful but unwilling to be pushed around. Both actors are phenomenal. When the closing credits said “And introducing Rachel Zegler” I was pleasantly stunned by her lack of experience. As Jerry Orbach once said, “You’re going out there a youngster, but you’ve got to come back a star!”
Across the board, the performances are top-rate. Ariana DeBose kills it as Anita, showing us all the emotions. Mike Faist is te-riff-ic as Riff; cocky, troubled, scared. Newcomer Josh Andrés Rivera is great as Chino — kind, nervous, above the fray until he isn’t anymore. Corey Stoll is having a good year between playing Uncle Junior among the many saints and now non-singing Lt. Schrank here. And Rita Moreno lends the proceedings all sorts of gravitas, the young Anita grown into the wise old Valentina, with a gut-punch song at the ready too.
The music is indeed glorious — not rock but something close. (I don’t know what became of these kids Bernstein and Sondheim but they showed a lot of promise.) Catchy, finger-popping, toe-tapping, heart-thumping. And rather than coming across as characters randomly bursting into song, Spielberg makes it a natural flow. Like conversation can no longer do justice to their swelling feelings, and the only thing that can possibly come out is music. Same deal for the knockout dancing.
The streets and sets look amazing — not fake but hyper-real. The camera is a wide-eyed observer, not missing a carefully-rendered detail. And if you’re not a sucker for the love story, check yer pulse, you might not have one. Steven Spielberg remains at the very top of his game, delivering perfection in yet another genre. See it on the big screen if you can.
Jack Silbert, curator