'West Side Story' is still fresh after all these years

Although the new revival of “West Side Story” that’s now playing at the Colonial Theatre in Boston through July 9 breaks no new ground and offers no transcendent moments, it’s a faithful, heartfelt and sturdy resurrection of the original, full of all the brilliance and banalities it’s had since its mind-blowing debut on Broadway in 1957.

Based on the acclaimed 2009 Broadway revival, this show makes a passing attempt to fashion a grittier more contemporary edge, but any sense of menace these Jets may convey in their new, wordless opening moment quickly dissipates when the boys slip into that iconic – and distinctly Broadway – Jerome Robbins choreography. No doubt about it: They’re still closer to the Backstreet Boys than the mean streets of the West Side.

“West Side Story” is now officially a period piece, folks. But the two young women sitting next to me were wrong when one of them mumbled at intermission, “It must be a generational thing,” and then they didn’t return for the second act. Yes, if it were a painting, “West Side Story” would hang in a museum. But that’s not because it’s old, that’s because it’s art.

There’s no denying this show was conceived in the era of the beat poets, not the Bloods and the Crips. The hipster lingo flies, buddy-boy. And just how fearsome can a New York gang member be while singing the phrase, when the “spit hits the fan”? (Yes, they’re a gang of angry youths, but there’s no need to offend anyone.)

The showstoppers in this production are the usual suspects, and that means the Jets get at least two of them – the opening choreography that leads into “Jet Song,” and in act two, the comic “Gee, Officer Krupke.” It’s in the portrayal of these lost boys that the musical gets closest to saying something profound. The all-star creative team – Leonard Bernstein (music), Stephen Sondheim (lyrics) and Robbins (choreography) – impressively captured a simmering rage in this brood, a lethal stew of hormones, powerlessness and rage that releases itself in spastic expressions of threats and violence. It’s captured in the inventive and daring music, lyrics and dance, nowhere better than in the downright existential (and underrated) “Cool.”

The other predictable highlight is “America.” Michelle Aravena, who’s been quietly stealing the show all night as Anita, gets to let loose. Despite her capable supporting singers and dancers during the number, you can’t take your eyes off her.

DEAD ON THE DANCE FLOOR - THROUGH THESE EYES LYRICS

The creatures that know us,
The things we don't speak of,
When we open our minds,
Close our eyes and slowly drift away.

The streets are all broken,
Cracked buildings expose their insides,
Just for tonight,
Slowly giving the secrets they hide.

Here I lay,
So wide awake,
What is outside?
Through these closed eyes,

You will never know the secrets I hide in my head,
You will never see anything that I keep

I will not show you one more single thought that
Dead On The Dance Floor Through These Eyes lyrics found on http://www.lyricsty.com/dead-on-the-dance-floor-through-these-eyes-lyrics.html
I keep my dreams locked inside.

A wreckage of wonders,
Destruction's take over,
The ghosts that remain,
Forever in grain,
And why must you lay around?

In my dreams,
So you can't see,

Here I lay,
So wide awake,
What is outside?
Through these closed eyes.

So this is just another way for me,
To get myself to see,
The other side of you,

There is no sleep tonight,
Restlessness and waking up in,
Cold sweats that I can't fight,
I know you want it too.

You want it too.

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