No Water To Put Out The Fire

Illustration By Ellinor Forje 

I watched a contemporary stage production of "West Side Story" a few years ago. I won’t mention when or where because I don’t want to put anyone on the spot. Not because it was terrible, it wasn’t. It was good. Not extraordinary, but enjoyable. Still, it wasn’t quite captivating enough to distract me from one major issue; I didn’t connect with the costumes.

The Sharks and the Jets were dressed in leather and lace, and I just wasn’t convinced. Sorry.

The production seemed to rely on a familiar visual shortcut, suggesting that ethnicity, gang affiliation, and growing tension could be communicated through clothing alone. The problem with that approach is that style, especially within youth and urban cultures, has always been more complicated than simple symbols of rebellion or danger. Fashion does not exist in isolation, and a leather jacket, a hairstyle, or a particular aesthetic does not automatically reveal someone’s values, background, or intentions.

Maybe that is what makes the original "West Side Story" so enduring. The tension between the Sharks and the Jets came less from what they wore and more from the worlds they inhabited, the histories they carried, and the social divisions surrounding them. The contrast was cultural and generational, reflected through the characters rather than reduced to visual markers.

That is also why I wish I had been around to experience the original Broadway production. The original stage version and the 1961 film adaptation, with music by Leonard Bernstein, lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, choreography by Jerome Robbins, and a story conceived by Arthur Laurents, understood that conflict is rarely found on the surface alone. The costumes contributed to the atmosphere, but the story itself was built through identity, environment, and circumstance.

Martin Scorsese seemed to recognize a similar idea when directing Michael Jackson’s "Bad" short film in 1987. The visual language was not simply about creating a certain image, but about capturing tension, reputation, and belonging through movement, attitude, and environment.

Jackson carried elements of that tradition throughout his career. Of course, his performance style drew from many sources, including James Brown’s explosive physicality, Fred Astaire’s precision and elegance, and Bob Fosse’s controlled, stylized movement. But "West Side Story" appears as one of the recurring threads, particularly in the way Jackson used street imagery, choreography, and character-driven conflict.

The connection feels especially clear in "Beat It" and "Bad," where the influence of "West Side Story" extends beyond wardrobe into posture, movement, group dynamics, and the visual language of rival factions. The characters are not simply dressed to represent conflict, they move through it. In that sense, I have always felt traces of Bernardo, the character played by George Chakiris, in Jackson’s presentation, not as a direct imitation, but as part of a larger performance vocabulary built around attitude, style, and controlled intensity.

On a completely separate note, I absolutely loved Rita Moreno’s, or rather, Anita’s, lavender dress. That moment of elegance and color stayed with me.