Golly, Moses, Naturally They're Punks!

Review: West Side Story
Colonial Theatre, Boston
June 21, 2011

The recent Broadway revival of West Side Story, which I caught on tour, set out to capture the authenticity of the much-loved war horse. But with its gang warfare built on finger snaps, pirouettes, and frabba-jabbas, West Side Story can seem like a relic from your grandmother's attic. Bookwriter Arthur Laurents, before his recent death, sought to dust off the war horse with young, virile kids for the Jets and Spanish dialogue and lyrics laced in with the Sharks.

By the time the tour arrived in Boston, some of the songs translated to Spanish had already reverted back. Maria still se siente hermosa, but she also lets us know she feels pretty in English. On Broadway, she and Anita sang "A Boy Like That/I Have a Love" bilingually, but now one verse in Spanish is all that lasts. Perhaps Laurents feared some were seeing the show for the first time. (Has anyone never seen West Side Story?) Whatever the reason, the tamped-down Spanish and the relative greenness of the cast gave the evening a nostaglic, rather than visceral, feel. You'd swear these actors never even had a pillow fight. What doesn't feel dated is the theatricality, especially Jerome Robbins's choreography: Riff convincing the Jets to stay "Cool" before the rumble; the dance at the gym where Tony and Maria meet.

Above all, the Leonard Bernstein-Stephen Sondheim score entrances. Bernstein's bent for classical-meets-Broadway hasn't been replicated in the theatre. Kyle Harris and Ali Ewoldt were fine as Tony and Maria, though both pushed to seem younger when their characters want to feel older, more mature. Harris's voice was weak on the higher notes, and Ewoldt sang most of the score in a nasally mix rather than a purer soprano sound. I worry this is how schools are training musical theater voices today. Michelle Aravena in the showy role of Anita came across the best of the ensemble (well-danced by all).

But their youth catches up with them. The Jets seemed especially callous here singing "Gee, Officer Krupke" after their leader dies. The first act felt strangely tame, almost devoid of danger until the fatal rumble, but the second act speeds to an abrupt, but pointed, ending. In this production, there is no reconcilation for the Jets and Sharks... and why should there be? Suddenly the violence feels real. Better late than never.