I didn’t really want to go. He, on the other hand was very enthusiastic. “What time do you want to go?”. I didn’t really care because I really wasn’t that excited to go. Sure it was a classic and I have seen the 1961 version many times. I know the words and the music, and I know how it ends. I cry every time I see it and you don’t necessarily want to see something you know will make you cry. In public no less. So no, I didn’t really want to go. He picked the 7:00 p.m. showing downtown and that was that.

My schedule had been crazy for months and this was going to be real date. A lovely dinner for two downtown and then across the street to the theater. Remakes are never as good as the original, right? At this point I was more excited about the previews of movies to come, but it was Spielberg, so it had to be pretty good, right? The lights went down and the familiar whistle began…

Two and a half hours later, I had tapped my toes, hummed along, laughed, cried and sobbed. I had been mesmerized by the dancing, the costuming, the aesthetics, the lighting, the setting and the story came back to life in a way I hadn’t thought possible. But it was the singing and acting that made me believe in these characters and fall in love with the story all over again. I knew what was going to happen just about every step of the way and yet it was like seeing it for the first time.

Obviously film making and technology have come a long way in 50 years – the movie itself was stunning. But it was the combination of music and storytelling that got me. Relatively new names in terms of the actors, or at least not household names but the focus was on believability and quality. Quality. You could tell that great care had been taken to get people with voices that worked well together. Interesting that this was a story where the characters could never see eye to eye, but the musicians were completely in sync. The possibility of what could be. Where one perfectly crafted note drifted into the air and hung there, waiting for another perfectly produced sound to join it in stunning harmony.

My expectations had been high. They were not high enough. The music, as well known as it was exceeded everything I had every heard. After all, I’ve seen movie musicals my whole life but nothing beats live. I’ve had the opportunity to see some of the finest musicians in some of the finest venues in the world and there’s nothing like it. Until last night. A night that lived up to just about anything I’ve seen live.

I was told the other day that I’m a purist. I would say that’s true. I expect vocal execution to match the type of music being sung. Pop music is fine and fun but this would not have been appropriate for Bernstein, not for West Side Story. If they had hired some well known pop stars to play the leads and the style of singing hadn’t matched my vision, the purist in me would have hated it. Just think Madonna versus Patti LuPone in Evita or Anne Hathaway vs Patti LuPone in Les Miserables. I rest my case.

But why is this such a big deal? It’s just a movie musical, right? It’s important because for 2 ½ hours, I witnessed a combination of art forms that melded into beautiful perfection. Twenty four hours later I’m still processing what I saw and heard. The arts are that place where we can know that despite whatever nastiness may be happening in the world, there is still beauty. The arts reach us intellectually, emotionally, physically and spiritually. The arts speak when sometimes words alone are not enough. It’s experiences like this that remind me of why I became a musician in the first place and why it is so important that music teachers pass this knowledge and experience of beauty and inspiration and creativity on to the next generation.

My cynicism almost kept me from witnessing something that has greatly impacted my emotions and has caused me to rethink just how relevant the themes within this well known story are today. And I didn’t really want to go. You need to go.