Westside

Inside every bloated, straightlaced film (now there's an image) a lithe, ambiguous film is trying to burst out. Thus, barely treated images from WSS reveal hidden beauty. Whether the images are readable, in and of themselves, is secondary. And beneath the uptempo soundtrack, here, is an eerie industrial whine. The real America encoded inside the facade. Then again, anything with Rita Moreno dancing can't be all bad. At all. Once again, it's when the metaphor coincides with (another) reality that things start to get innarresting.