Kauffmann, Stanley. "The Asphalt Romeo and Juliet." New Republic 145.17 (1961): 28-29.

This review of West Side Story praises the adaptation from the stage to the screen, even going so far as to name it as "the best film musical ever made" (28). The film was shot in 70mm film to be displayed on an extra wide screen, which Kauffmann agrees is to the benefit of all--this size can fully capture the color, vivacity, and action of such a vibrant story. The review notes the depth and life given to the film by not only the acting but also the crisp editing used to juxtapose characters or scenes to create conflict--particularly when the rival gangs encounter one another, such as the opening sequence and the dance at the gym. Kauffmann does, perhaps prematurely and unfairly, write off West Side Story as having no sociological value; instead of being at least in part a cultural study, he claims that its value is solely artistic. Kauffmann's commentary continues in praise of the film's choreography, which are more than just an artistic device, but a manner in which to tell the story such that the two become inseparable. No one can think of West Side Story without thinking of snapping fingers and the energetic, passionate jumps of the "Cool" sequence. The dancing is more than just ballet, as it is representative of the attitude and confidence that all the gang members seem to possess, and even the stylized choreography reflects each individuals group membership and mirrors the close-knit relationships that all the followers have with each other and their gang leader.

Negron-Muntaner, Frances. "Feeling Pretty: West Side Story and Puerto Rican Identity Discourses." Social Text 18.2 (2000): 83-106.

West Side Story is often hailed as an intimate look at street life in poor, racially divided New York neighborhoods, but this paper argues that the film's dealings with New York City gang life is superficial and uninformed. There is agreement that, while dealing very generally with relevant themes, the story is not intended to realistically represent Puerto Rican immigration or culture. The creators of the play and film admit that their knowledge was limited even during the film's production.

The film portrays the Puerto Rican identities in a stereotypical manner--the males are all violent, aggressive gang members, while the females are all highly sexualized, whether overtly (Anita) or innocently (Maria) and rarely seen without a male escort. Racialization, or the collection of techniques used to enhance the racial divides, is the cause of much of the film's tension. Makeup is used to make Bernardo's skin darker, both Maria and Bernardo have obviously falsified Puerto Rican accents, and the European-descended Jets all happen to be blonde-haired. Negron-Muntaner notes that without these tricks, all the actors would appear to be simply American. The Puerto Ricans are presented throughout the film amidst a generic "Latino" culture of bright colors, broad movements, and unidentifiable music and accents. One particularly persuasive point for the racial inequality shown by the story's creators is the relative quality of a Puerto Rican vs. American life. Maria was brought to the U.S. to marry Chino, another Puerto Rican, but only finds happiness (and self esteem, as evidenced by her song, "I Feel Pretty") when she receives the affections of Tony, a white man.

The other important topic discussed in this paper is the issue of Puerto Rican/U.S. territoriality. Puerto Rico is the U.S.'s most significant territory, and the turf war between the Jets and the Sharks somewhat reflects the colonial relationship between the U.S. and Puerto Rico. As Negron-Muntaner explains, "Puerto Rico itself belongs to, but is not a part of, the United States; it is bound by the law but has no rights under the law" (86). So it is with the Puerto Rican characters of West Side Story; they are citizens of New York but "belonging" is just as out of reach as it would be for Puerto Ricans still living on their home island. The article also touches upon the themes of homosexuality and gender identity in the film, notably in the characters of Baby John and Anybodys, but as these claims are not as well argued or supported, nor readily apparent upon a more-or-less casual analysis of the film, the articles focus is on the racial themes.

Elliott, Stuart. "Advertising Elaborate Musical Commercials are Making a Comeback." New York Times 14 July 2000: C5.

In 2000, the clothing company Gap Inc. launched a new advertising campaign based on the music and choreography of West Side Story, in an attempt to use the success of the Broadway play and the musical film to push their new, more colorful, vintage-like styles. The technique of using old musicals as insipiration was an interesting change from the straightfoward, information-laden advertising that preceded the trend towards commericals as entertainment. Three such West Side Story-based Gap advertisements were created, in which the two New York City gangs were replaced with groups of Gap khakis and jeans wearers. The commercials recreated the most famous scenes from the musical: the "America" and "Cool" numbers as well as the mambo dance-off by both groups at the high school gym. The choreograpy is the same as that which was used for the original film. There is hope by the creators of these ads that they will appear to a broad audience of both older and younger potential customers, the former of which will remember West Side Story from their younger days. The lasting influence of West Side Story can still be found in modern media.

            Ethan Mordden’s The Hollywood Musical offers up an in depth survey of the history of musical cinema in America from the introduction of sound to the rock and roll era.  It proceeds chronologically, paying specific attention to the films of the 1930s and the genre’s evolution during World War II.  Being that Meet Me in St. Louis was released in 1944, towards the end of the second World War, it is the latter subject which appears to be of relevance.  Mordden argues that the war influenced the genre in a variety of ways, fostering stories which dealt with military service, patriotic demonstrations, historical reflections on America, and the resurgence of the classic musical revue with its lavish sets and all-star casts.

            As one might surmise, Mordden attributes Meet Me in St. Louis to the strand of development that involved “recalling an older and less embattled America, even a fantastic-folkloric one” (174).  He calls it “as folkloric as a nonethnic, nonreginal realistic white domestic comedy could be…the most nostalgic of the forties costume musicals” (177).  The film paints an attractively sanitized portrait of the American experience.  The characters live in a city that is itself almost a suburb, a place where families maintain close ties and their biggest worry is whether or not to move to New York City.  Although such things might now appear trivial, Mordden contends that this is in fact the film’s aim—to glorify the simplicity of the routine.

            In view of these assumptions, Mordden then articulates larger claims about MGM as a company insofar as its musicals “are obsessed with finding a safe place” (179).  Just as Mordden hypothesizes that, “the Smiths’ [the main characters in Meet Me in St Louis] street…is so ordinary that MGM could recycle it for countless period films thereafter,” (178) it should come as no great shock that MGM in the 1940s preferred that which was dull to that which was radical.  In fact, this is the primary focus of Mordden’s investigation of 1940s musical cinema and a central reason for his greater admiration of the genre’s realization throughout the 1930s, as opposed to later decades.  In his opinion, musical cinema set out with a sense of purpose, only to be reduced to the conventionally banal.