In a world oversaturated by lazy musical pop collections and Disney live-action adaptations, West Side Story is a refreshing trip to theatrical nostalgia that dares to dream big, Spielberg conducting yet another euphoric masterclass.

Musical film, out of all the possible genres, is certainly my least studied. It isn’t for a lack of trying, but I have begun to realise a pattern of thoughts that occur once the background chatter fades out, the piano starts, and Troy Bolton begins his melodramatic soliloquy comparing his relationship to basketball: I would prefer a heartfelt and human scene rather than the surrealism of breaking into song. There are, obviously, a handful of exceptions such as Taron Egerton’s portrayal of Elton John or Chazzelle’s electrifying La La Land, but as I watch the modern remediation of theatrical musicals I feel disconnected with the world; as if the screen cannot live up to the stage. Spielberg understands my prejudices but stands his ground, dispelling them quickly with a snap, kick, and twirl, shaming me for my hesitance.

An adaptation of the 1957 stage musical, West Side Story is a reimagining of Shakespeare’s star-crossed lovers, this time race fuelling their respective feuds, an appropriate fight for the 50s that unsurprisingly translates well to today’s climate. After a year of incarceration, Tony (Ansel Elgort) wants to walk a straighter path, a different one to that of the xenophobic Jets, a rough and tumble street gang that prowls the streets of Manhattan imposing their white male views. Their rivals, the Sharks, are a prideful and equally angry-at-the-world group of Puerto Ricans, their Juliet manifesting in Maria (Rachel Zegler), sister to the leader of the Sharks. And, as expected, they fall in love.

When alone, Elgort is blank-faced and out of place, his solitary performances deflating the melodic motion that the Jets create; their opening number speaking volumes as the lyric-less overture explores the New York borough. After a quick brawl with the Sharks, Riff (Mike Faist) tries to convince Tony to return to his leadership role in the leather jacket adorned group. Fresh from his charismatic speech about what it means to be a Jet, Faist embodies the cool and cruel New Yorker while Elgort can’t keep up, his intended awkwardness sticking out like a sore thumb.

Just as Maria catches Tony’s eye, Zegler enhances Elgort’s performance, finally allowing him to feel somewhat welcome in the chaotic flurry of limbs. The pair meet and Elgort flourishes under Spielberg’s watchful eye, the wide fisheye lens capturing their quick-fire intimacy whilst preserving the theatrical air, as if they are still on the stage. Yet, Elgort is still rigid, his movement dispassionate and rehearsed when compared to Zegler’s innocence, but it is the supporting cast that puts them both to shame.

Leader of the Sharks, Bernardo (David Alvarez) is fluid in his choreography and beguiling in his speech, matching Faist’s energetic jealousy on the dance floor, but it is Ariana DeBose’s performance as Anita that has the final word. Funny, witty, relatable, elegant, impassioned, and electric, DeBose commands every scene she steps foot in, regardless if it’s to a tempo or to stand-up to Bernardo’s misogynistic views.

Let the rumble begin. Photo: 20th Century Studios

Spielberg leaves no stone unturned as he allows for the Jets and Sharks to each say their piece; their causes equally marred by ignorance and self-preservation, both at fault for the bloodshed – although he does point a finger at the oppressive Jets, and rightfully so. But as he traverses through the exhilarating musical numbers, it is impossible to not see the glaring issue that has plagued love stories for eons: the Romeo & Juliet problem. This famed romance is simple and surface level, two youths who barely know each other falling head over heels, enough to take their own lives only after the barest of interactions. Naiveté rather than the preferred joy of youthful hope.

Tony and Maria are exactly that: children who boast love yet haven’t the faintest clue of it. They are willing to forgo everything for each other, Maria the main culprit as she forgives Tony relatively quickly compared to his sins. It makes the whole affair look rather foolish, watering down every fairy-tale aspect into a clump of idealistic fantasies that tug at the back of my mind, refusing to give up as the explosion of colours sink me further into a dreamlike hypnosis. I couldn’t tear away my gaze as, for once, I looked forward to the numbers rather than dreading them. I was so caught up in the mesmerising and characteristic choreographies that I almost forgot about its petty and self-absorbed love story. Almost.