While the role has been shortened compared to the 1961 Best Picture winner, Mike Faist's Riff feels exponentially more complex than Russ Tamblin's take on the same character. So much so that he became one of the standouts of West Side Story '21 and won our Almost There poll, trumping the likes of Lady Gaga and Cate Blanchett. As it was the reader's choice, I'm obliged to explore the performance in an appropriate deep-dive. Though, truth be told, it's less obligation than plasure. Maybe the great surprise of the season, Mike Faist steals the musical remake from his co-stars, running away with the picture.
From innate charisma to a cornucopia of curious acting choices, Mike Faist's Riff is worthy of gold, regardless of the Academy's indifference…
In Spielberg's West Side Story, the role of Riff brings together multiple contradictions and challenges, old and new. On the one hand, the musical puts forward an idea of gang war expressed through balletic choreography, making visceral violence into abstract theatricality. The stagecraft made big-screen prancing has the potential to be read as ridiculous, especially when so much of the narrative hinges on its bloody consequences. That's an old issue that every production of West Side Story must overcome, with particular focus on the actors that breathe life into the gang leaders – the Sharks' Bernardo, the Jets' Riff. A newer matter comes with Faist, who doesn't look so much look like who you'd pick to play a hardened street fighter as he does the leading role in a John Mulaney biopic.
First, let's name the superficial attributes. Mike Faist is rather reedy in appearance, even when one can see the sinewy contours of muscles. This makes his presence read as tragically young. Next, there's boyish energy that's hard to interpret as street smarts. Plus, his voice wraps around the New York accent so that he sounds more like a jokester than a general. Not to mention that, when he plays up teenage horniness, his picture tells a tale of high romance, making one surmise he'd be better served by the Romeo role than this musical's equivalent of Mercutio. And yet, Faist bends the part to his particularities as a performer, opening up possibilities by the mere fact of his apparent miscasting. He makes Riff more interesting than he's ever been.
As far as introductions go, the actor enters the movie like a star, full of libidinous energy and the charm of a delinquent matinée idol. He's rough around the edges and cocksure to a fault. See how Faist's face is twisted by a confident smirk, an ever-present sign of obstinance that fits nicely with the virtuoso dancing. Still, it's not all fun and games, charm and star power. As the opening number evolves into an intergang brawl, one can almost hear the racial epitaphs always ready on the tip of Riff's tongue. There's no going around his anger or the ugliness of learned prejudice. It's marrow-deep, an electric charge that zaps anyone who comes to close. Approach the screen willy-nilly, and you might feel the sting of high voltage. Of course, hatred and disgust are directed at ethnic minorities and white authorities alike.
On their first on-screen encounter, disdain for the cops is painted all over Faist's face, a steely mask that communicates all the character's resoluteness through a refusal to give anything away. Riff won't present the pigs the gift of his inner life, the truth of his irate feelings. This sternness contrasts to the "Jet's Song," where Faist is a ball of constant movement, both with his balletic body and elastic face. The dance comprises much posturing, nervous twinks striking aggressive poses through New York streets. If there's a sense of put upon toughness, it ends up working for Faist's benefit. In his hands, Riff becomes a youngster who's always trying to assert himself through performative masculinity, a ruffian's self-aware act.
He's a soft boy playacting toughness, all pretend and subterfuge, fakery and hollow menace, a dog who barks a lot and hopes he'll be able to bite. As the camera sees him, Riff looks more at home caring for his comrades than holding a gun. But of course, there's a leader's luminosity to him, the force of someone to whom others look up. Only in private can he show true tenderness - only with Tony. Maybe because of that, there's pungent despair in their talks alone. It's not as if Faist smooths down the character's sharp edges, nor does he hide the snarling racism. No, the actor pours all his heart into the role's inner conflicts, the anxieties of a rebel without a cause who took up white supremacy as his prime commandment.
Notice the unshed tears that shine in Faist's eyes as he pleads to an old friend. Though it's not fully expressed in the dialogue, we can read between the lines and see just how imperative the Jets are for Riff's sense of self. Without them, he's nothing. And so, the threat of the Sharks is more than just a matter of territory. It's an existential crisis that puts him on the edge of a cliff, looking straight at an abyss he's destined to fall into. Speaking of demises and forbidden things, one can find an almost homoerotic charge to Riff's connection to Tony. It's in the way one pulls the other to a mock waltz in the middle of an argument, how their interactions sound like ex-lovers' quarrels. Not to belabor the point, but the way Faist handles the gun in tandem with his friend gives off major "Monty Clift in Red River" vibes.
That being said, one shouldn't take such gestures as a confirmation of gay subtext, merely a description of how much Faist's intensity affects the way the audience might perceive Riff. In the school dance, that quality manifests in a collection of cocky expressions littered through the background of shots. Spielberg is one of our last masters of blocking, and that talent is in full display here. Many a picture will find Faist adding color to the dramatic dynamic, a note of humor with a pointed look, or perchance a glimmer of hope, a playful provocation easily missed in the grand scheme of things. One must also praise the director and actor for their tonal flexibility. Even in dead serious moments, they might allow Riff's lines to sparkle like jokes.
Not that Riff's fate is a laughing matter. On the contrary, as the narrative unfolds, it becomes increasingly dreadful. When negotiating a gun's purchase, Faist holds a toothpick in his mouth in a fashion akin to how a toddler might grip their security blanket. Every line of his body strains with purposefully fake bravado. Until the gun's pointed at him, that is. Once such a threat occurs, Riff's recklessness comes to the forefront. This boy who knows he will die young is ready to do anything for the Jets, even fall in a blaze of glory. And then comes "Cool ."For all that it has been retrofitted into a clash between old friends, Faist avoids monotonal interpretations. Moreover, he plays the scene with a mixture of mania and melancholy.
While dance-fighting through, the actor is cat-like. He's agile and athletic, full of grace but not incautious. Some moves are timorous, reticent, preluding broader gestures that recall the swiping of a clawed paw. However, feline fun soon curdles into something battered and bruised, the riotous rebellion of a friend who thinks himself betrayed by his closest ally. It's as if, simultaneously, this is the happiest and saddest Riff has ever been. At the end of the number, there's spastic brokenness to his physicality, dancing a farewell to Tony, saying goodbye through movement instead of words. Henceforth, the Jets' leader knows he can't count on his old pal.
Compared to when they spot each other at the school gymnasium, there's no surprised mirth in Riff's reaction to Tony's appearance at the rumble. He walked into the scene with a fatalistic edge, a Byronic figure willfully walking to his death, and he acts like it throughout. Nevertheless, when Tony finally breaks his pacifist streak, Riff appears scared. As his friend's beating Bernardo to a pulp, Faist doesn't play the bloodthirst that one might associate with Riff. Instead, there's a dazedness to his eyes, a hazy look that's hard to read. Finally, as s a blade pierces his chest, our lanky anti-hero doesn't take it like a martyr. Instead, he sings a silent symphony of shock, denial, a wet laugh, and tears fall at long last. It takes my breath away. He and Bernardo look so young, so lost. Theirs is the great tragedy of this West Side Story.
While many critics sang Mike Faist's praise, the actor failed to become a critical darling as far as awards were concerned. Indeed, even those organizations that embraced the flick failed to recognize his brilliance. The only major precursor to honor him with a nomination was BAFTA, whose current system makes it hard to tell if he was a popular choice or the pick of comity. In any case, it's worth wondering if Faist's Best Supporting Actor bid would have been more significant had West Side Story started streaming earlier. Since the movie hit Disney+, more folks seem to be talking about it, from fawning over Spielberg's direction to its ensemble excellence. Instead of Faist, AMPAS nominated Ciarán Hinds in Belfast, Troy Kotsur in CODA, Jesse Plemons in The Power of the Dog, J.K. Simmons in Being the Ricardos, Kodi Smit-McPhee in The Power of the Dog.
West Side Story is streaming on Disney+. You can also rent it on several services.