Steven Spielberg’s West Side Story shouldn’t work. A remake of one of the most iconic musicals in history, arriving in an era where Hollywood’s nostalgia machine often feels more cynical than celebratory? Yet somehow, against all odds, this film doesn’t just justify its existence it reinvents it. This is no mere carbon copy, but a vibrant, living thing, one that honors the original while carving out its own space in the canon.

The most immediate triumph is Spielberg’s direction, which turns New York’s crumbling tenements into a battleground of light and shadow. Working with cinematographer Janusz Kami?ski, he stages the musical numbers with a kinetic energy that never loses sight of intimacy. The camera doesn’t just observe the dance; it joins it, weaving through fire escapes and alleyways with the grace of a partner. The "America" sequence, in particular, explodes off the screen, its colors saturated to the point of delirium, its choreography (by Justin Peck) a whirlwind of defiance and joy.

Then there’s the cast a revelation across the board. Rachel Zegler’s María is luminous, her voice crystalline but her performance grounded in real vulnerability. Ariana DeBose’s Anita is pure fire, her every movement crackling with charisma. And Mike Faist’s Riff is a live wire, all jagged edges and wounded pride, stealing every scene he’s in. Even the controversial casting of Ansel Elgort as Tony works better than expected, though he’s inevitably outshone by the dynamism of his co-stars.

But what truly sets this West Side Story apart is its refusal to sand down the story’s rougher edges. The racial tensions feel raw, the violence brutal, the tragedy unsoftened. Spielberg and screenwriter Tony Kushner deepen the socio-political undercurrents without turning the film into a lecture. The result is a musical that soars but never forgets the weight of its own sorrow.

Is it perfect? No. Some of the edits feel abrupt, and not every risk lands. But when it sings literally and figuratively it’s transcendent.