West Side Story

When it comes to movie musicals, few are as beloved as the 1961 film of West Side Story, directed by Robert Wise and Jerome Robbins. The original 1957 Broadway production was conceived, directed, and choreographed by Robbins with music by Leonard Bernstein, book by Arthur Laurents, and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim (in his Broadway début). When making the film, producer/director Wise took great care to transfer Robbins’ theatrical spectacle to celluloid, keeping intact everything that made it such a stage hit. A modern update of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, the story is set in the 1950s on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, then a multiracial working-class neighborhood. The musical centers on the rivalry between two teenage street gangs of different ethnic backgrounds, the White (mostly Italian and Irish) “Jets" and the Puerto Rican “Sharks," with two star-crossed lovers, Tony and Maria, caught in the middle. Wise shot his 70mm extravaganza on location in the desolate site of Lincoln Square, recently demolished to make way for the highbrow Lincoln Center. The picture was a huge box-office and critical hit, winning ten Academy Awards, including Best Picture—making it the record-holder for the most wins by a musical.

Attempting another film version of such iconic material seems ill-advised to say the least. But producer/director Steven Spielberg not only avoids embarrassing himself with this 2021 reimagining, he crafts a beautiful picture that updates the musical in several key ways while remaining faithful to the original show. The most noticeable change is that actual Latino actors play the Puerto Rican characters, with much of their dialogue spoken in non-subtitled Spanish. This weaving of Spanish lyrics and dialogue into the English libretto was first done in the Arthur Laurents-directed 2007 stage production with Hamilton creator Lin-Manuel Miranda handling the translations. That production and its pronounced alterations received mixed reviews from critics and audiences, but here, the switching back and forth is naturalistic and well-motivated.

Not only does the fluidity of language and dialect feel effortless, but the transitions in and out of singing feel more organic and spontaneous than in any other musical I can think of. This unprocessed, unaffected feel is due in part to modern mixing techniques, actors who do their own singing, and recording some of the songs live on set rather than lip-syncing to playback. It also derives from a unified balance in tone Spielberg and his collaborators achieve. The film comes across as neither “realistic” nor completely fanciful, literally dancing on a fine line between the two. Apart from a few signature moves, choreographer Justin Peck does not attempt to replicate the Jerome Robbins choreography from the 1961 film (and still used in most revivals of the stage show), yet the dance numbers all feel in the style of Robbins. 

Wes Anderson’s regular production designer Adam Stockhausen creates a bygone world of demolished buildings, street corner shops, and tenement fire escapes. Most of the picture was shot on location in New York and New Jersey. Despite plenty of CGI enhancement, the picture feels grounded in the actual city, and never looks like some special effects company’s vision of what Manhattan used to look like. A demonstrably artificial digital recreation of old New York—like in Guillermo del Toro’s Nightmare Alley (2021), Edward Norton’s Motherless Brooklyn (2019), or the HBO series Boardwalk Empire—would be all the more unforgivable in this picture because so many viewers will have vivid memories of what the actual location looked like at the time, as captured in the 1961 film.

Shooting on 35mm, Janusz Kamiński—Spielberg’s regular cinematographer since Schindler’s List (1993),—creates a look that recalls the lighting and visual style of the original movie’s Oscar-winning cinematographer Daniel L. Fapp. However, Spielberg’s camera is, as always, far more active. It brings a more participatory energy to dance numbers and the scenes of gang conflict. While this version lacks the grandeur of the original movie’s 70mm compositions, its human scale frees it from the stiffness that permeates Wise’s picture (and indeed most films shot in the large format process). 

The elegance and simplicity of Spielberg’s work, and that of all his collaborators, gives this film a surprising and welcome quality of modesty—as if it is not trying to outdo the 1961 picture but also not limiting itself to mere homage or imitation. The screenplay by acclaimed playwright Tony Kushner, who co-wrote Spielberg’s Munich (2005) and Lincoln (2012), possesses the same quality. Kushner’s screenplay adheres more closely to the original show than the 1961 film does.  At the same time, it feels more attuned to contemporary sensibilities. Kushner’s changes are subtle but abundant and powerful. He updates the narrative by adding layers of historical and sociopolitical context and fleshing out each of the lead characters, enhancing the story without sacrificing any aspect of it.

So much of what made the show relevant to contemporary audiences, especially the racial divisions and familial conflict, are every bit as relevant today as they were in the late ʾ50s and early ʾ60s. Kushner’s small tweaks enable the motivations, attitudes, and behaviors of the characters to feel both of the period and contemporary. He’s even able to include trans representation in the new film without adding or even changing much about the character of Anybodys—the tomboy of the original play who wants to be a Jet but is barred from the gang because she’s a girl. As scripted by Kushner and as played by nonbinary actor Iris Menas, the presence of a male-identifying kid who wants to be accepted, but whom the group shuns, feels completely organic to the story. There is never any sense of tokenism or shoehorning anachronistic elements into the period drama to make it play better for modern audiences.

The most prominent change the film makes is transforming the part of Doc, the owner of the general store where the Jets hang out, to Doc’s Puerto Rican widow Valentina. This gender swap enables the legendary Rita Moreno, who won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar for the role of Anita in the Wise film, to play a different supporting role in Spielberg’s film. Moreno also served as an executive producer and consultant on the project, and her presence in the film stands out significantly. She’s given the song "Somewhere," sung by an off-stage voice in the original Broadway production and transformed into a duet for Tony and Maria in the Wise film. Moreno’s star presence and all the meta significance that comes with her appearance in both movies upsets the picture’s perfect tonal balance a tiny bit simply because it draws so much attention to her. Overall, though, there are far more pros to Moreno’s participation than cons, not the least of which is the extra dimension it brings to Tony, by having him grow up with a Puerto Rican mother figure.      

Even with all the rich character details Kushner and Spielberg bring to this adaptation, their version suffers from the same weakness as the original film and show: the character of Tony. Stoic romantic leading men are often the dullest aspect of a musical, and indeed even in most productions of Romeo and Juliet, Romeo is not the most dynamic character. In this case, the fault is in our star.

Ansel Elgort (The Goldfinch, Baby Driver, The Fault in Our Stars) is simply not a dynamic enough screen presence to make this Tony come fully to life. It’s a shame because Kushner does a marvelous job adding just enough dimensions to the character to enable that possibility. In this version, Tony is dealing with identity issues after having spent a year in prison for nearly killing someone in a rumble. This backstory, coupled with giving Tony the song “Cool,” and re-positioning it before the rumble, provides a more interesting dynamic between Tony and his best friend, the hothead Riff. Tony’s prior near-killing of another kid motivates his reluctance to engage in another gang fight, and his confusion about his role in the gang even adds some much-needed credibility to the true-love-at-first-sight aspect of his attraction to Maria that can make any contemporary telling of Romeo and Juliet seem unrealistic. It’s too bad Elgort isn’t up to the task of playing all the shades of Tony that Kushner has colored in.

Fortunately, the rest of the cast is tremendous. As Riff, Broadway performer Mike Faist picks up the slack for the lackluster Elgort. As Maria, Rachel Zegler, who won the role after an exhaustive search by Spielberg and casting director Cindy Tolan, is so enchanting and radiant she convinces us that the tall, handsome, yet undeniably bland Elgort is the most exciting guy in all of New York City. David Alvarez brings gravitas as Maria’s brother Bernardo, the leader of the Sharks. Ariana DeBose kicks ass as Bernardo’s girlfriend and Maria’s confidant, Anita—the role originated by Moreno. Brian d'Arcy James (Spotlight, Molly's Game, First Man) playing Officer Krupke and Corey Stoll (The Many Saints of Newark, This Is Where I Leave You, Midnight in Paris) as Lieutenant Schrank are excellent as the policemen trying in vain to control the gangs.

As his thirty-fourth feature film, West Side Story marks the first musical the seemingly unstoppable 74-year-old genre-master Spielberg has attempted. He takes to the form as effortlessly as he has to science fiction, action/adventure, and historical drama. His ability to gather and unify so many gifted performers and craftspeople mirrors the way a conductor leads an orchestra. The fact that this version of West Side Story is as creatively successful and fulfilling (perhaps even more so) as the iconic original film is an incredible accomplishment.