West Side Story

My wife bought tickets to the Asolo Repertory Theatre’s production of West Side Story. I wore socks.

West Side Story is not in my 100 favorite things to watch. Or in the 200. It’s not on my list at all. I’ve seen parts of the movie, and when TV had variety shows in the 1950s, I sat and watched and had reinforced the idea I did not want to live in New York City, or any other place where people were jammed so close together and Italians fought Puerto Ricans. The “white” gang was never identified as Italian, but to an East Texas boy, who else would have gangs? Irish gangs? German gangs? Polish gangs?

The idea of a gang was foreign. And, the idea of really, really tough guys dancing around in pretend fights … Unusual types, you might say. Laughable, really.

The big girl’s dance, though … In the Sarasota production, three of the PR girls were of Serena Williams’ size. But, man, could they dance. Skinny girls like you usually see as normal on TV and in movies? No contest. Any time a 180-pound-plus dancer can touch her nose with her knee, that is one healthy woman.

In short, the big girls’ dance saved the production. In my mind, anyway.