WEST SIDE STORY Since building this website in 2004 my viewings of West Side Story generally seem to be attached to one agenda or another, whether as research, answering a question, settling a bet, and so forth. During the summer of 2006, on an unexpectedly obligation-free Sunday, I took the opportunity to watch the movie once again, this time without a purpose or a mission, simply one more no-motive viewing in a series whose number has now exceeded seven hundred. Though unhampered by clipboard, notepad or laptop, some mental notes nevertheless casually slipped past the Off Duty signs, and the following random observations took root. October 2006 update. By now we all know the advantages of home video (most precious of which, at my age, is the ability to pause the action for a so-called rest stop, and, even more precious, not having to wait in line) but I would be grossly remiss not to report the wonders of seeing the film once again on the big screen after many years of more than satisfactory home viewing. Yes, it’s still dubbed; yes, they still leave out the ballet, and (why is this?) people’s cell phones will inevitably go off at the absolutely wrongest time possible. But generally speaking the audience is rapt, respectful. Most of us have not arrived here randomly, unprepared—we know what to expect, we’re ready to re-live the experience of a lifetime. Adults watch as if hypnotized, as if indeed it was the first viewing all over again. Little children (thankfully) are so immersed in the story that they fail to behave the way children generally behave in movie theaters, and they have been attentive enough—involved enough—by the end of those too-swiftly passing two and a half hours, to turn to their father and ask, with all due trepidation over the likely response: “Is he going to die?” Even the masters of scorn and cynicism—the teenagers—sit as quietly and respectfully and as swept away as the rest of us. On this fine October afternoon, more men than women were in attendance for this reputed “chick-flick,” not all of whom were able to quit the scene dry-eyed. I’m happy about home video but I will go on record with the recommendation that, given a properly-equipped showplace in possession of a crisp new print, your understandably hasty efforts to get to the first theater offering one more showing of the masterpiece will be rewarded beyond your highest expectations.
The 700-Plus Club
Overture. Even after forty-four years of watching this film, I have to report that I still sit and watch the overture. And I do mean sit there and watch it, I don’t skip past it, I don’t duck into the kitchen for a can of beer, I sit there and watch it as though it were part of the story, as though if I walked away I would miss some crucial plot point that would render the rest of the movie incomprehensible. My pleasure in watching that glorious wash of changing color is partly due to the power of reminiscence – this segment, if no other, is the part of the film that needs to be seen (and heard) in a full-screen, stereo-equipped movie theater, and I am invariably cast back to the distant teen-age days when the work was brand new, though hardly more exciting to anticipate. And that’s just the overview - the music itself is far from negligible (as film overtures can often be), but is instead a vibrant and highly-charged rendition that is complete unto itself. In a word, the piece leaves me spellbound every time, and I am almost helplessly caught up in the spirit of the film even before the film has begun.
Maria. This is not news to me, nor, I would guess, to you, but I notice yet again that Natalie Wood is very likely the most exquisite creature ever to cross in front of a movie camera. She interchanges little girl and woman with no effort at all, and (cliché alert) absolutely lights up the screen in every scene in which she appears. Her glowing face during “One Hand, One Heart” is almost too beautiful to be true. Natalie Wood achieves a rare distinction in her role as Maria: She is simply unforgettable.
The Rumble. Though this discovery renders invalid a couple of stale jokes on this site (that will NOT be updated, thank you very much), it turns out that there is blood on Riff’s T-shirt after he is stabbed. Yup, it’s true. It doesn’t happen in the scene in which he actually connects with his opponent’s switchblade, but the stain can definitely be seen the next shot. You don’t notice this for the first seven hundred viewings, so make your plans accordingly.
Cool. “Cool” is the greatest dance ever put into a movie. End of bulletin.
The End. Those credits. That incredible music. It is never anything but brilliant, even after the seven-hundredth time. This is what genius is. I hope the next seven hundred are as rewarding—as if there were any doubt.