Unless you’re living under a rock, you’ve noticed that there’s been a recurring theme in the media over the past decade: revival. It’s pervaded books, movies, and television shows. Broadway has been no different. Recently, it’s felt that the Best Musicals nominated at the Tony’s are the only musicals on Broadway that aren’t revivals. People love to complain and yell about how “millennials have no creativity, so they have to steal from the past.” First of all, the majority of creatives greenlighting these projects are not millennials. But most importantly, looking backward doesn’t indicate a lack of creativity. There’s a lot of wisdom associated with the choice to look back in order to create something new, as long as we’re actually making something new. Recently, I had the pleasure of seeing Ivo Van Hove’s revival of West Side Story in previews. It was a great example of all that can be done with a revival.
The name of the game is contextualization. West Side Story was revolutionary when it opened on Broadway in 1957. A huge part of the musical’s success was attributed to how resonant it was in the political climate of New York City following the mass movement of Puerto Rican immigrants after the Great Depression. The story preached about the dangers of misplaced hatred and how brightly the passions of youth burn by setting a love story on bubbling racial tension. Obviously, this story remains relevant to contemporary audiences, but there are some noticeable differences between 2020 and 1957…less than you would hope, but there are still some! Notably, the original Jets were homogeneous. They represented 2nd and 3rd generation immigrants: the sons of families that emigrated from Poland and Ireland and other white European countries. Their families fought for their place in America since the turn of the century, so they’re very territorial about their home when the Puerto Rican Sharks migrate to the city looking for some land of their own. How does this story evolve? In 2020, the “American” look is much more colorful. The issues of territory and belonging is no longer black and white. The story of young teens defending the land for which they’ve been fighting for generations past involves a much more colorful cast of characters. Hove’s Jets are black, white, yellow, tan, and a lot of colors of the rainbow…just notably not Latinx. The Sharks were more homogeneous and had their language as a barrier, but I can admit it was a little harder to tell Sharks and Jets apart than in the original production. In Trump’s America, other minorities weren’t spared from the fear-mongering dialogue surrounding “illegal immigration” from Latinx countries. The country’s leaders are pitting minorities against each other in order to distract them from the larger enemy that is holding them all down. Hove illustrates this by really highlighting how Lt. Schrank uses aggressive and manipulative languages to fan the flames of the Jets’ anger against the Sharks. With this more contemporary kind of casting, the themes of searching for acceptance, community, and prejudice are much more resonant to a contemporary audience. The casting also brought quieter themes like police brutality and prejudice within the police force to the forefront.
Hove didn’t just set his revival in 2019-2020, he did so in a very bold and unapologetic way. He didn’t ignore the very real political turmoil that has made the last couple of years very important. He made some choices that were so risky that I never thought I would see on a Broadway stage. The most notable choice, in my opinion, was the staging of “Gee, Officer Krupke.” Normally, the number is bubbly and upbeat. The lyrics describing serious domestic situations are delivered in a campy way for comic effect. Since the late ‘50s, it’s become impossible to make light of these situations. Too many young black and brown men have lost their lives to gang violence, domestic abuse, and most importantly, police brutality. Hove transforms the seemingly innocent number into an homage to victims of police brutality. The scene prior to the song sees Detective Schrank and Officer Krupke trying to beat information about the rumble out of the young Jets. They only let up when a number of the other Jets start recording them on their phone cameras. This incident starts off Hove’s version of “Krupke” which was filled with anger and passion. Dharon Jones’ Action delivered the lyrics with the ghosts of Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Antwon Rose, and many others. The boys were frustrated, tired, and furious. No time for jokes. Every single image that is usually breezed through was amplified. For example, “Officer Krupke, we’re down on our knees” is normally playful begging. The Jets of 2020, however, were incredibly somber as they got on their knees and put their hands behind their heads. Hove is a master of images. The entire number was supported by a series of projections above the actors. Images of young men being violently thrown into patrol cars, mothers crying as they watch their children being taken away, and other examples of police brutality. The production was so powerful that the audience erupted into applause upon the song’s completion. Fists were in the air, and my mouth was just agape. I never thought I would see such an unapologetic anti-police statement in a predominately white space. I applaud Ivan and the cast for their bravery.
Hove’s bravery goes even further with the show’s final images. Tony’s death is set in the pouring rain, and we see Maria crying over his body to which the audience is accustomed. Chino comes, and Maria takes his gun and delivers her iconic monologue. “How many guns are left in this bullet, Chino?” Both gangs filter onstage from the wings. She waves the gun at all of them saying “You all killed him, and my brother, and Riff!” All of this is normal and expected. Then, she turns to us: the audience. She points the gun at the orchestra, then the balcony, then the orchestra again in a moment that seemed like an eternity. She was holding the audience responsible for perpetuating a society that fosters this kind of hatred between young adults in a way that was so explicit. Hove doesn’t leave it to the imagination. It’s our fault that those children died. We failed them, and we have to do better. In the rain, the gang members hoist up the bodies of the fallen martyrs and have a quasi-processional onstage. The entire company forms a straight line along the rim of the stage with their backs to the audience and their faces to the playspace. They were soaking in the gravity of the story they just told while looking at the rain as it washed away the bloodshed. Then, they turned to the audience as if to say “Now, what are you going to do?” At that moment, I realized that I hadn’t breathed for the entirety of the last scene.
Overall, these changes breathed new life into the classic making it more timeless than ever. Contextualizing classics in this way is the future of the Broadway revival. Not only does it provide an opportunity for bodies that are not normally associated with these musicals to occupy the space, this practice also emphasizes the worldliness of theatre and storytelling since themes present in pieces written decades can grow and evolve just as society grows and evolves. Countless Broadway revivals have proven vision-less, racist, sexist, and homophobic. If we continue to produce these revivals in the ways that the shows were originally written, the revival will die because attempting to perform these musicals in a vacuum, perpetuates our societal problems without highlighting them or doing anything to fix them. More musicals should be allowed to make changes like Hove’s West Side Story in order to keep the classics alive without sacrificing all of the things that we as a society have learned (hopefully) since the show’s original opening. If you’re so hurt about these changes, rent the movie.
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