The New “West Side Story” and the Same Old America

[NOTE: For those who have yet to see the movie, spoiler alert: I may reveal something that might affect your enjoyment of the new film.]

Recently, I was able to experience the Spielberg version of West Side Story on the big screen. The original is one of my all-time favorite movies, and I expected to be equally impressed by the new film, made by one of the greatest directors of all time.

I was not disappointed; in fact, I loved Spielberg’s version. The cast is uniformly excellent (especially the three women at the heart of this story), the dancing superb, the cinematography beautiful, and the updated script (Tony Kushner) just fine. And that music!

But I’m not here to review the film. Throughout the film, I couldn’t help being struck by the sad fact the world has changed so little since the original film came out sixty years ago. That is perhaps why Spielberg decided to tackle it.

Yes, we have new technology, more awareness of our differences, new legal protections (with some notable ones about to be repealed), and greater alarm about environmental threats to our very survival. But there is still a core of hatred within us that can be triggered, and it’s usually around something so silly as race or orientation.

It was a masterstroke of genius to cast Rita Moreno, who won an Oscar playing Anita in the original. As a young actress, Moreno endured the stereotypes of casting in Hollywood and in life in general, no doubt. Even after her Oscar, she didn’t do another film for seven years.

It was a greater stroke of genius (spoiler alert) to have her as the drug store owner and have her sing “Somewhere.” Her face registers all the emotions of someone in the final years of her life, thinking back and perhaps saying to herself, “I can’t believe this shit is still happening.” And yet she sings, “Someday, somewhere, we’ll find a new way of living, we’ll find a way of forgiving, somewhere.” It’s less an assurance and more of a prayer.

We are coming up on the terrible first anniversary of January 6th. Those who rioted on the Capitol (and those behind the scenes who planned it but have yet to be held accountable) might tell you it was about objecting to a stolen election.

But let’s not be naïve. It was really about people who don’t want change, and are willing to overthrow the government to try to prevent that. A big part of that change is about race. Soon, non-white people will outnumber white people in the United States.

In America, race is usually at the heart of any conflict. There are many white folks who prefer the way things were sixty years ago, when there was a clear hierarchy of the haves and have-nots, and it usually fell along racial lines. The lines are less pronounced now, but we know from the last couple of years that people of color have suffered more during the pandemic and more often in rates of incarceration and at the hands of corrupt police officers.

When folks had visceral hatred for Obama, it was not just about his policies. There was something churning inside them, something that has never been addressed or resolved in this country. His sudden prominence signaled a change was a-comin’ in many people’s minds. And it was race-based.

So, as I watched the terrible rumble at the end of the movie, I cried just as I did at the end of the first film. In the final scene, Spielberg injects a ray of hope. Even in his grimmest movies, he tends to do that.

I’m not sure I see that ray of hope, and I consider myself a positive person. I’ve often told my college classes, “If I can’t offer you hope for the future, I shouldn’t be standing here.” In my view, a teacher without hope shouldn’t be teaching.

A year after the January 6th insurrection, we remain as divided as ever. Perhaps more so. People still believe the Big Lie, despite all evidence to the contrary, and nobody in either chamber of Congress wants to cross to the other side, even if a bill might help their constituents.

We are at a crossroads and I’m not sure the mid-term elections this year are going to move us forward. All the politicians, all the billionaire CEOs, all the think tank people, and everyday hardworking Americans are not going to get us there.

During the pandemic, a quick lesson we seemed to figure out is that artists are not “essential workers,” and they were quickly put out of work.

I disagree. In times like these, artists are more essential than ever.

Art may be the only thing that can save us.