I Challenged Myself To Watch West Side Story

United Artists

Last week, I did something I’ve promised myself for years to do. I took on my very own dare.

I knew going in it would take courage, stamina, fortitude, determination. I figured it would force me to reach deep down inside, not only to witness it with an open mind but to finish strong right to the end.

Yep. I’d reached the point where it was finally time for me to sit down and get a viewing of West Side Story beneath my belt.

Now, understand this was a film I’d never seen, a film I had no previous desire to see. A film adaptation of a popular Broadway musical of the same name? That got me uncomfortable just thinking about it; I realized I was setting myself up for a special kind of torture.

Don’t get me wrong: There are musicals I have really enjoyed and consider favorites. Man Of La Mancha, Oliver and Fiddler On The Roof among them. But as a general rule I’m not a musical kind of guy. (There are exceptions to every rule, of course, as The Blues Brothers is close to my heart and I quote the bejeebers out of it.) Rarely, rarely, will you see me attending either a musical play or a musical film. I reluctantly attended Cats many years ago on a date; I remember it being tolerable at best. You couldn’t drag me to the likes of The Phantom Of The Opera (hell no), Chicago (*ugh*), Wicked (I was contented with the original 1995 Gregory Maguire novel and that’s all, thank you very much) or Les Misérables, of which I will forever contend that, sans loaf of stolen bread, there never would have been a musical.

Let’s think about this for a minute:

What could be goofier than basing a musical on pilfered bread? How about the idiocy of fighting (and ultimately committing homicide) over a piece of concrete? tweet

Put in that context, seems pretty silly doesn’t it? But that’s what West Side Story ultimately is about: A disagreement over a hunk of property neither of the two gangs had any ownership over.

And I’m going to say it again. Don’t get me wrong — there’s a market and a following for musicals. But I’m not a part of that demographic. Do I think any lesser of the the folks who like these types of films and plays? Of course not. That would be asinine, plain and simple. By all means, those who live and breathe and enjoy these types of shows, more power to them. Everyone has their likes and dislikes, their preferences and their avoidances. I’m simply one of the latter.

But that didn’t stop me from wanting to get a looksy at West Side Story. See, I like to challenge myself with different television and film mediums. I’m of the “you can’t hate something if you’ve never tried it” variety. So there I went, head first into a 2-hour-plus musical, courtesy of The Victor Company of Japan and their innovative Video Home System of playback, better known as VHS tape. (Yes, I took in WSS on old school VHS, something I thought would be a novel approach.)

I sat down, got comfortable and dialed in on the film … for all of a couple minutes. tweet

Good gordness. Mid-flaunt, with the Jets snapping their fingers and leaping about dopely during the introduction, I had to pause the video. I remember sighing heavily and telling myself aloud this was going to be an interminably long, long 2 1/2 hours. I even went on social media to gripe about it. “Currently suffering through West Side Story …” I posted to which I got responses as diverse as “By choice?” to “Suck it up, buttercup. You know you feel pretty.” (My collection of various “friends” and associates keep me grounded. Though, granted, that “suck it up, buttercup” comment made me hunker down, resolute in continuing and finishing what I started.)

The film was a test, I’ll tell you. One that wasn’t easy. Watching the ridiculousness of the Jets’ and Sharks’ actions unfold on the screen made me think about other musicals, some with inane or stupid plot lines or with kids who thought the world would collapse if their problems weren’t addressed or their situations resolved. Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band (*hack, cough*) came to mind. Grease (*shiver*) really settled around WSS‘s edges for me, too, even though the films are as different as night and day. Still, you have kids with romantic interests set in unintentionally comical situations that have no bearing on the real world. It’s not even good fantasy.

Needless to say, my dislikes of the tale were many and varied.

But … there were a few token rays of light that happened to shine through the drudgery and flailing musical movements. John Astin was a pleasant, goofy surprise as Glad Hand. I couldn’t place Tony for the longest time and then it dawned on me like an cartoonish light bulb overhead: Richard Beymer! Benjamin Horne from Twin Peaks! Plus Russ Tamblyn from same! I hadn’t realized the two were in WSS. Additionally some of the comical asides in “America” were enjoyable as were many of the moves during the dance at the gym. And yes, a few of the other tunes were well known to me and iconic to a fault.

But the majority of the film? A bitter pill to swallow, one I don’t wish to revisit ever again. Too much flapping and swishing dance, too much bad lip-synching, too many ambiguous lyrics that could make sense but not worth the trouble to look into. Enough with the finger-snapping and loafer-lightness leaping about. Gangs don’t do that! The only sane character in the film was played by the terrific Ned Glass as Doc the grounded candy store owner. And, yes, I’ve used “I Feel Pretty” on many an occasion as comical relief in public and private, so I’m thankful for that.

But I’ll give credit where credit is due: 10 Academy Awards including Best Picture of 1961 (still shaking my head over that one — this was the best film of 1961?!?) … selected for preservation in the National Film Registry … and the American Film Institute’s blessing of a trio of songs firmly ensconced in AFI’s Top 100 Songs in American cinema. High accolades indeed.

But it’s just about the furthest thing possible from my comfort zone. It’s practically on the other end of the spectrum.

It comes down to a simple formula for me, though: I don’t care if the film’s basis (that of Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet”) was warranted or not — stupid kids brawling over turf and pirouetting in unison while plotting the overthrow of a group equally as dumb as a bag of hammers just doesn’t cut the mustard for me.

And really … that’s okay if that’s what trips your trigger.