Handsomely made but emotionally flat, West Side Story as told by blockbusting king of the box office Steven Spielberg plays like a slick, overproduced cover album. The songs are all there but they’ve been blown out to oblivion by overproduction, chasing technical mastery but never stopping to consider the why of it all. Like when a favorite band finally hits it big and subsequently loses the very sound that made them unique and your favorite band in the first place. There are no imperfections and, in effect, no spark. One would sound silly calling it “selling out” but there’s a similarly disappointing energy that washes over the viewer expecting a vibrant new take on timeless material only to rub up against a flashy reskin of a classic, sans any discernible new perspective. Read More