West Side Story (1961)

"Juvenile delinquency is purely a social disease.”
“Hey, I got a social disease!”

The Story:

In 1950s Manhattan, a couple of street gangs are perpetually at war; one is the Jets, a white gang led by Riff Lorton (Russ Tamblyn). The other is the Sharks, a group of Puerto Rican immigrants (dubbed “PRs”), who are headed by Bernardo Nunez (George Chakiris). At a dance attended by both gangs, Tony (Richard Beymer), a former Jet, shows up as insurance against an impending scrap; instead of finding a fight, however, he eyes Maria (Natalie Wood), who happens to be Bernardo’s sister. The two instantly fall in love and meet with disapproval from their fellow gang members. Their romance is also met with tragedy, as tensions between the warring faction come to a head at a violent, deadly rumble. 

The Review:

An obvious take-off of Romeo and Juliet, West Side Story is an effective take on Shakespeare’s tale because it takes the play’s undercurrent of teen angst and brings it to center stage. While Shakespeare’s tragic lovers were teens caught up in a feud, theirs was a cosmic, karmic destiny, written in the stars by cruel fate. Tony and Maria’s ills seem to be much more sociological, the product of broken upbringings and a world that’s left kids to fend for themselves. Whereas the Capulets and Montagues were overbearing in their presence, parental figures are conspicuously absent in West Side Story, and the characters are keenly aware of it. This is highlighted by the number “Gee, Officer Krupke,” a sarcastic tune sung by both the Sharks and the Jets, who lament that their “mothers all are junkies” and their “fathers are all drunks.” They “never had the love that every child oughta get” and they insist that “they ain’t no delinquents”--they’re “misunderstood.” It's an incisive, biting song that parodies the psycho-analytic, sociological approaches to clinically understand youth.

It’s no coincidence that this important tune is shared by both gangs; there’s an obvious “us against them” mentality that the rivals exhibit. They might constantly be at each other’s throats, but they also have a bizarre, romantic code of honor between them, and each side practically exists to rebel against authority represented by the police, who produce a mutual animosity from the Jets and the Sharks. The adult figure presented in a sympathetic light is Doc, who runs the local drugstore; he’s genuinely concerned for the welfare of the kids. He also illustrates the film’s central struggle when he asks the kids when they’re going to stop their fighting because they “make this world lousy.” He’s swiftly reminded that they “didn’t make it” by one of the gang members; it’s a powerful scene that underscores the immensity of the world at large and perhaps reveals that even Doc can’t possibly understand what these teens are going through.

Romeo and Juliet were thrust into a conflict that was silly and without any obvious origin--their families had always feuded and was just taken as a matter of fact. The gangs in West Side Story find themselves in a similar predicament, though they can trace their animosity to the very tangible racial lines that divide them. Even this just feels like an extension of the world’s reach; we can only assume that the racism fueling the fire is part of that terrible upbringing that’s lamented. Eventually, everyone is forced to confront that they’ve all been made victims of such pettiness; the film is obviously preachy in regard, but West Side Story finds a genuine heart in its tragedy. Essentially operating on the same themes that informed Rebel Without A Cause, this is a film whose teens can’t help but participate in self-destructive behavior, and, by the time they realize that this is exactly what the world wants them to do, it’s too late.

The film itself is a rather immaculate production and is a nearly flawless marriage of stage and screen. It’s musical numbers and dance choreography are impeccable; these sequences were designed by Jerome Robbins, who directed the Broadway version of the tale. A notorious perfectionist, Robbins was eventually ousted for butting heads with co-director Robert Wise, but not before he visualized some stunning sequences set to famous songs like “America” and “I Feel Pretty.” The long, drawn out opening sequence that introduces the two gangs is especially grand, as we track the Jets’ exuberant jaunt down the streets of Manhattan; everything is precisely-timed and synchronized, from a quick basketball interlude to an initial scrap with the Sharks. This is a rather gaudy musical that revels in its stage origins, and the fluidity of the characters’ movements presents an odd contrast with the film’s gritty themes and conflicts. Maybe it’s the film’s way of saying that we can sing and dance even into oblivion.

The cinematic side is similarly well-done; Wise was a studio veteran, so his production is stylish and bursting with color to create an idyllic portrait of 1950s America. Its portrayal of gangs is also quite Romanticized and certainly informed later portrayals in movies like The Outsiders and Rumble Fish. Wise coaxes some rather powerful performances out of his cast to compensate for some of the film’s rather banal and stilted dialogue. Chakiris is especially effective, as he’s an especially fiery, stern presence who is protective of his sister. Rita Moreno is his girl, Anita, who sort of acts like the Nurse character in Romeo and Juliet--she’s somewhat understanding and sympathetic towards Tony and Maria, but there’s an added twist that raises her stakes in the tragedy that gives her a dramatic Act 3 arc. Of course, it’s that final act that’s most heart-wrenching, even if we know what’s going to happen; still, it’s an excellent one that cuts right to the heart of the tragedy and frees itself from the convoluted machinations that Shakespeare used to get us to a similar place. West Side Story might cop out a bit where Shakespeare didn’t at the end, but it’s still a remarkably potent tragedy about the recklessness of youth and the uncaring world that pushes them towards destruction. (Brett G.)

Tale of the Tape:

9 out of a possible 10 inches.

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