ARTHUR LAURENTS, 1917-2011. He was both talented and lucky. He was writing plays back when daring themes could more easily get mounted on Broadway, had a bumpy but ultimately fortunate passage through the blacklist, and hooked up with geniuses to create West Side Story and Gypsy. From those two masterpieces we mainly remember the tunes and performances, but the stories and dialogue on which they hung are very important, and that was Laurents.

Tonight I particularly think of the book of West Side Story. It was stylized, as were the other elements, to distill the coarseness of street-talk into something more poetic and cleaner for the stage, but in so pleasing a way that no one could reasonably complain about it. The "womb to tomb, sperm to worm" yap is frankly ridiculous and was probably at least ten years out of date when it was written. But it sings; it has the feel if not the particulars of vernacular speech. Thus it remains listenable even in our much cruder age. (When Lou Reed updated it, he brought it closer to the speech patterns of our time, but did not improve upon its rhythm nor its pathos.)

And beyond the language, Laurents had the balls to retell the R&J story in a setting that few people even wanted to acknowledge, and to do it full-on, without stinting on the romantic gush. If you want to consider how tough that was, think of more coddled, contemporary attempts like O or the Ethan Hawke Hamlet. They had the advantage of doing something everyone would consider artistic and excuse when it failed, and in a constricted style that at least looked cool; Laurents and his comrades were flying blind onto a Broadway where the big hit was The Music Man. He and they risked fatal ridicule with their lushly-scored, dance-heavy gang-war slum musical. That they succeeded should tell us all something about reaching beyond the shoddy expectations of our own low, mean era.