On the whole, people didn’t know what to make of West Side Story when it opened on Broadway in 1957 with its avant-garde score, largely unknown cast, and gritty, tragic plot. Most critics found it groundbreaking, but audiences were polarized—everything from ardent fans to walk-outs before the final curtain fell. It ran a reputable 732 performances, won two Tony Awards for its sets and choreography, and lost Best Musical to The Music Man. It was not a cultural phenomenon—at least not until 1961, with the release of this film and its best-selling soundtrack. The album alone spent 54 weeks in the top slot on the Billboard charts, giving it the longest run at #1 of any album in history.

The cast is a melting pot, but not as one would expect. Oscar-winning Greek actor George Chakiris, who played Riff, the leader of the Jets (yeah, the White guys) on the London stage, is Bernardo in the movie, the leader of the Sharks (yeah, the Puerto Ricans). Speaking of Greeks, Gus and Gina Trikonis, brother and sister in real life, are on opposite sides of the fence. Gus plays Indio, one of Bernardo’s right-hand boys, while Gina plays Graziella, Riff’s Caucasian girlfriend. Gun-toting Chino (Jose De Vega) is a Filipino-American, and Francisca, one of the main Shark girls in the dress shop, is played by Joanne Miya, a statuesque Japanese-American dancer. Then there’s the “age” question, although most of the cast is younger than perceived, perhaps a sign of the times that we see these actors as older and more mature than today’s counterparts. Baby John (Eliot Feld) was just 18 when they shot the movie, Natalie Wood and Richard Beymer were both 22, and the majority of the Jets and Sharks were under 25. Only Rita Moreno, who was pushing 30, came close to losing out on her Oscar-winning role as Anita. And she had already forged a fine career playing anything but Puerto Rican, as with the Caucasian starlet Zelda Zanders in Singin’ in the Rain or the Burmese princess Tuptim in The King and I. My point is simple. If you’re looking for authenticity, look elsewhere. You won’t find it in the stylized, balletic street gangs of West Side Story or in most films from this era. If you’re looking for the best people for these roles at the time, look no further. This is a stellar cast, and everyone is in fine form.

The Dance at the Gym.

A few decades ago, I was fortunate enough to see West Side Story with a restored 70mm print at the Cinerama Dome in Los Angeles. The experience was a revelation. Initially, I was struck by the vivid palette. Color plays a key role throughout this movie, starting with the opening title card, created by the legendary Saul Bass. It’s a simple vertical line-art drawing that suggests the city skyline. It’s projected over a closed curtain during the Overture and creates a wonderful effect in the movie theatre. The artwork changes hues with the varying tempos of the music until the words “West Side Story” are revealed in block letters as the curtain slowly opens, rippling over the line art. Later, apartment walls or stairwells are painted in striking contrasts, costume colors compliment the moods and personalities of the characters, and the sky turns blood-red during the Quintet. I had seen all of this before on television, but it’s another experience altogether on the big screen. Watching it at home in my movie room, I’m reminded of the surreal tints in The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, The Young Girls of Rochefort, and La La Land. This is reality with a heightened twist. Another noticeable difference on the big screen is the impact of George Chakiris, particularly during his closeups early on. There is such hatred in his eyes as Bernardo. It registers as a slow burn on television but becomes more menacing and powerful in the theatre.

George Chakiris as Bernardo.

I’m getting ahead of myself with these nonlinear thoughts, because I assume most people know the film. It was a box-office smash in its day and has become a genuine classic. West Side Story is a retelling of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, originally conceived, directed, and choreographed by Jerome Robbins (with a hefty assist from Peter Gennaro on “America” and the “Mambo” in particular). The music is by Leonard Bernstein with lyrics by Stephen Sondheim (his first Broadway show) and a book by Arthur Laurents. I’ve seen the original staging, and it works beautifully, but there is something about opening up the choreography and reimagining it for city streets that frees dancers. They aren’t boxed-in anymore. They can take off like a flock of birds down narrow alleyways or across concrete playgrounds. From the start, an alternate reality is established for this stylized ballet shot on authentic locations in New York.

The Prologue.

The “Prologue” is a masterpiece—an extended dance sequence with almost no dialogue that sets the tone for everything that follows. This brilliant opening also landed Jerome Robbins in a heap of trouble. After going far over budget and off-schedule, he was fired a third of the way through production. West Side Story was his first film, and he was brought on board to helm the musical numbers while veteran director Robert Wise guided the dramatic scenes. After Robbins was dismissed, Wise took over all duties, including the remaining musical numbers. This marks the first time a director was fired but went on to win the Oscar. It’s also the first time the award for Best Director was shared by two people. Wise puts his own stamp on the proceedings. Both of his Oscar-winning Best Pictures begin with a series of aerial shots establishing the location. With West Side Story, the camera travels across the tops of buildings and landmarks in New York City before zooming into a group of gang members on a playground. With The Sound of Music, the camera circles over castles, villages, and mountains in the Alps before zeroing in on Julie Andrews for the title song. Incidentally, a much earlier Best Picture begins in a similar fashion, with direct, overhead shots panning across gridlines of buildings in New York—1929’s The Broadway Melody.

If West Side Story suffers, it’s from the simplicity and naïveté of street gangs as depicted in the mid-twentieth century. Perhaps that says more about who we are now, with our daily dose of active shooters, AR-15 semi-automatic rifles, and urban as well as rural warfare. A rumble with knives, chains, and rubber hoses seems quaint by comparison. I find this sad, more than anything else, but in the end, the story wins out—just as it did four centuries ago when Shakespeare told it. Just as it does with this updated approach. It’s a tale of two star-crossed lovers from opposing backgrounds who dare to be together and lose everything in the process. That tragedy hasn’t changed. Human nature hasn’t changed. We still struggle to get along and understand each other. We still hope we’ll figure it all out before it’s too late.

Richard Beymer and Natalie Wood.

I must take time to praise the principal cast, including a handful of singers who assist with the iconic songs. Natalie Wood and Richard Beymer make a beautiful on-screen couple, but their final scenes are where they shine as actors. When Tony (Beymer) learns of Maria’s supposed death, he breaks my heart. His complex reaction of confusion, shock, and denial is perfectly revealed. When Maria (Wood) kneels over Tony’s lifeless body, her innocence gives way to hatred. Wood reaches down into a very dark place, and her transformation to rage is bone-chilling. I have praised George Chakiris already, but his brilliant partner is the Oscar-winning Rita Moreno as Anita. Early on, her comedic timing is pitch-perfect, but it’s the gang-rape scene where she leaves me devastated. The look on her face as she stares at her attackers is raw and real. Russ Tamblyn escaped his boyhood MGM roots and proved himself when he stepped into meatier roles, like his Oscar-nominated performance in 1957’s Peyton Place, but he shines here as well, as Riff, the leader of the Jets.

Rita Moreno as Anita.

Of the five principals, only Chakiris sings entirely for himself, although Bernardo has few solo lines in the movie. The legendary Marni Nixon provides the singing voice for Maria and does a great job matching Wood’s own voice. I’m sure it helps that Wood prerecorded her tracks and filmed all her numbers under the assumption she wouldn’t be dubbed. When you compare the two recordings, side by side, it’s amazing how Nixon captures Wood’s nuances and tone yet takes it further with a polished sound. Beymer’s voice is doubled by Jimmy Bryant. Russ Tamblyn’s “Jet Song” is recorded by Tucker Smith, who plays Ice in the movie and sings “Cool” for himself. In the “Quintet,” Tamblyn does his own singing, as does Rita Moreno initially, but when all five parts come together at the end, she is dubbed by none other than Marni Nixon, who is doubling for Wood at the same time. Moreno sings “America” on her own, but ghost-singer Betty Wand, who did the honors for Leslie Caron in Gigi, pinch-hits on “A Boy Like That/I Have a Love.” So, in the end, a total of three singers (Moreno, Nixon, and Wand) perform the songs for Anita.

Some people, perhaps even most people, find the practice of dubbing to be a terrible thing, taking away from an actor’s overall performance. From the 1940s through the 1960s, it was commonplace. Even people like five-time Tony-winner Angela Lansbury or Broadway star Juanita Hall in South Pacific were dubbed. If a studio or producer or director didn’t think your singing voice suited a character or a song, you were dubbed, whether you could sing it or not. To me, this is no different than having a stunt double take over for an actor on screen. Film is an illusion. All you have to do is convince me. Suspend my disbelief, and I’ll go with it. I can handle knowing a movie star didn’t fall down three flights of stairs—or didn’t burst into song, for that matter. If you do either one badly, that’s different. I’m not happy when I see the person tumbling down stairs is 40 pounds heavier than the established actor who stood at the top, prior to the fall. I’m also not thrilled if a speaking voice and singing voice don’t match up. Take that, all you Marvel superheroes with your CGI body replacements and wire removals for stunts! I’ll never understand why those are perfectly acceptable to audiences while hiring a better singer to support a good actor with limited vocal abilities is a crime. I do think proper credit should be given at all times, however. The idea of hiding this work from the general public is not cool.

Despite its contradictions and compromises, West Side Story is the ultimate collaboration of talents all working together in pristine form to create a cinematic illusion. Robbins may have been fired, but his opening sequence alone is breathtaking. Wood is dubbed, but her Maria is a rare flower with surprising depth while Nixon’s voice enhances her songs. Chakiris is Greek, but his Bernardo conveys the racial injustice and inequality of the era with restrained rage while his dancing is unequaled. Audiences embraced the illusion in 1961, and this film took home ten Oscars, the most for any musical ever and just one shy of the all-time record. I’ll probably never tire of watching it, and I find it an obvious choice for Best Picture.

West Side Story