At 48, “West Side Story” may no longer send shock waves through audiences, but a snap, crackle, “pop-pop” new staging at the Town Hall Arts Center is bulletproof positive it still can send chills down spines and tears down cheeks.
With a miraculously effective young cast, astonishing singing voices, sophisticated technical support and a palpable sense of guttural urgency, director-choreographer Nicholas Sugar delivers a near-perfect execution of the American musical theater’s most perfect musical. This sweaty production, featuring a Maria for the ages, is classy, cocky and combustible from its opening fingersnap.
The genus for reinventing “Romeo and Juliet” as a 1950s New York City gang fight first leaped from the mad genius of Jerome Robbins. His integration of ballet, poetry and opera with stylized movement was an in-your-face rejection of naturalist storytelling, while still communicating a deeply human and universal story. But while Robbins revolutionized the musical theater, he was hated for it. Lyricist Stephen Sondheim once described him as possessing a combination of artistic ruthlessness and real sadism.
Sugar is surely and contrastingly beloved by his ensemble, but he is most assuredly a Robbins disciple. Robbins’ signature moves are self-evident, but Sugar daringly expands on his concept by working new stylized movements into several straight acting scenes. It’s all done so fluidly, it’s hard to tell in places where Robbins ends and Sugar begins.
This approach heightens the single driving element of any successful “West Side Story”: Constant movement and a necessary, angry energy patiently build the tension and propel us toward the inevitably tragic conclusion. Sugar doesn’t let the urgency subside for a second.
Countering the undertone of gang violence is the love story of Tony and Maria, and with every successive triumph by Elizabeth Welch, it becomes more evident this is a talent that comes along perhaps once a generation. Welch combines the beauty of Natalie Wood with the voice of Marni Nixon for a fully realized Maria not even Hollywood could deliver in one body (Nixon recorded all of Woods’ vocal parts for the 1961 film). The minute you hear Welch, believe me, the world goes away.
But she is far from alone. Of all the production’s striking elements – Tina Anderson’s cleverly unfolding brick set, Jennifer Otto-Zedalis’ evocative lighting, Steve Stevens’ sound and (most of) Kathy Hemann’s costumes – most jaw-dropping is the simple enormity of the cast.
Having an entire society of 25 actors swirling around the intimate Town Hall confines affords a heightened sense of Robbins’ grand original artistic scope and a foreboding sense of claustrophobia. The audience is so close to the action you feel like you’ve got a roadside seat for the gang fight.
Sugar expends absolutely everything he has got on his big-money dance numbers, “The Jet Song,” “America,” the gym dance, “Cool” and “Officer Krupke,” with the help of a masterful ensemble of up-and-comers led by Scott McLean (Riff), Phillip Martin (Action), the ageless Debbie Schwartz (Anybodies) and terrific high-schooler Tim Howard (Baby John) on the Jet side; and Melissa McCarl (Anita), Burke Walton (Chino) and the impeccable Kent Randell (Bernardo) on the Shark side. And Jim Hunt’s surprisingly no-nonsense, low-key portrayal of Doc is the veteran actor at his absolute best.
There is a cost for employing so many actors, and it’s that the music is prerecorded. But this is one production where having no live band constitutes an acceptable economic compromise. The cast sings and dances to a fully orchestrated symphony expertly recorded by Susan Draus and Marthy Yordy, and with resources so stretched, a live band surely never could have exceeded a few pieces.
With a show this good, it’s easy to get greedy and want it all, but it sorely lacks a believable Tony. From the moment Ryan Belinak opens his golden, Groban-worthy pipes, it’s obvious why he simply had to have this role. But his moptop haircut makes him look more like an ’05 A&F print model than a ’50s punk, and his moony acting lacks depth or believability. It is to Welch’s credit that she single-handedly communicates the real weight of this lovers tragedy for the both of them.
In the end, the only real measure for evaluating any “West Side Story” is the gut. And by the time Maria delivered her famous “we’re all killers” indictment, mine felt kicked in.
Theater critic John Moore can be reached at 303-820-1056 or jmoore@denverpost.com.
*** 1/2 | “West Side Story”
MUSICAL|Town Hall Arts Center, 2450 W. Main St., Littleton|Written by Arthur Laurents (book), Leonard Bernstein (music) and Stephen Sondheim (lyrics)|Directed and choreographed by Nicholas Sugar|Starring Elizabeth Welch, Ryan Belinak, Kent Randell, Melissa McCarl and Scott McLean|THROUGH OCT. 23|7:30 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays|2 hours, 30 minutes|$20-$32|303-794-2787
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“THE SUN THAT YOU ARE” This original musical variation of the Eurydice myth written by Anthony Garcia and Daniel Valdez is the most significant undertaking in Su Teatro’s 33-year history. Opens Saturday, then 8:05 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays, 3 p.m. some Saturdays and Sundays, through Nov. 6, at the King Center on the Auraria campus. Tickets $5-$15 (303-556-2296 or kennethkingcenter.org).
“ANYTHING GOES”
The Colorado Springs Fine Arts Center opens its 18th season tonight with the Cole Porter classic, starring Broadway veteran Susan Dawn Carson, after a $1.5 million theater renovation. 8 p.m. Fridays-Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays, through Oct. 23, at 30 W. Dale St. Tickets $24-$29 (719-634-5583 or csfineartscenter.org).
“NAKED BOYS SINGING”
Theatre Group presents the regional premiere of this all-male, off-Broadway surprise hit that is nothing if not truth in advertising. Seven naked men sing 16 songs that have been described as “a 65-minute tribute to the human male.” 7:30 p.m. most Fridays-Saturdays (7 p.m. and 10 p.m. Oct. 15, 29, Nov. 26 and Dec. 30-31), plus two-for-one every first Thursday, at Theatre on Broadway, 13 S. Broadway. Tickets $30-$35 (303-777-3292 or theatregroup.org).
-John Moore
