The timing of the musical blockbuster couldn’t possibly be intentional, but it feels very necessary.
The opening of Wicked starts with its foot on the gas. The new musical film from director John Chu and the long-awaited film adaptation of the Broadway sensation wastes no time throwing you into its world: the iconic hat of the Wicked Witch of the West, flying monkeys running amok, the familiar silhouettes of Dorothy and her compatriots skipping back to the Emerald city. It all creates an overwhelming start as the interlude soars, and we focus in on Munchkinland, where we are informed that indeed no one mourns the wicked. By the time Glinda the Good (Ariana Grande) shows up, we have been transported into the Oz of our shared childhood, weaponizing the technicolor visuals of the MGM classic. Though the burning of an effigy of the witch is a surprisingly darker touch.
The film then proceeds to spend the next two hours unraveling the expectations and assumptions that opening thrusts you into. The nature of evil, and who determines what is and isn’t “wicked”, are upended. The fairy tale, ideal vision of Oz we grew up with is picked at, all through the eyes of an outcast who can see clearly what precisely is happening on the margins of other’s vision.
Wicked has always had a political edge to it, though less pronounced in the musical adaptation than Gregory Maguire’s original novels. But those elements feel like they come screaming to the forefront with 2024 eyes, especially in the march towards 2025 and political uncertainties in America. Put more bluntly, Wicked is unapologetically anti-fascist in it’s perspective and storytelling. It uses the margins of a familiar story to poke at pesky little elements of the story we know, to tell a story buried underneath. Namely, it rejects the idea that people are simply evil for evil’s sake, and perhaps casting someone as a “wicked witch” might suggest something about the one doing the labeling.
The core of the story follows the story of two women: Glinda, starry eyed and upwardly mobile, and Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo), whose green skin has caused her to be ostracized and feared her entire life. Both become students at Shiz University, where Elphaba’s magical abilities catch the attention of Madame Morrible (Michelle Yeoh) and becomes her pupil. This causes a rift between Elphaba and Glinda, which isn’t helped by them becoming roommates. But their complicated relationship takes twists and turns throughout the story.
In addition to their studies however, both women become increasingly aware of strange injustices that are happening. Namely, more and more Animals have been losing their positions in society, going through treatments that cause them to lose their literal ability to speak. In one scene, there is a terrifying revelation that the Ozian government has come up with a new invention: the cage.
Between both the treatment of Elphaba and the Animals of Oz, there is a clear metaphor here: otherness will not be tolerated and must be silenced, sometimes quite literally. Elphaba is able to escape her otherness due to her preferential position, but her experiences give her an inherent sympathy to other wrongs she sees. A major theme throughout the film is various character’s perspectives shifting and growing as their awareness grows. Oppression operates best when citizens are compliant and unaware.
These themes never overwhelm the narrative however; there are a major piece of a much richer tapestry, which mixes fantasy, comedy, and of course stunning musical numbers. Chu, who started making literal dance films and then moved onto romantic musicals, has finely crafted the art of making a modern cinematic film at this point, blending kinetic camera movements, expertly timed cuts and large-scale dance numbers that get across the impressive nature of the pure physical movement of his cast. One scene in a library at Shiz with rotating bookshelves is a dizzying and mesmerizing sequence that dazzles at its pure coordination and spectacle. It all leads to Chu’s best film to date, bringing the full brunt of his talents as a filmmaker to create a cinematic marvel.
The film’s cast are no slouches either. Both Erivo and Grande give fully realized and lived-in performances as the two leads, impressively so given the expectations placed on their shoulders. There is no small amount of apprehension around Wicked from long-time fans of the stage production; rest assured that the material is in the hands of people who clearly care about the story they are telling and have the appropriate mixture of emotional weight and fun silliness necessary to make the tone work. (Anecdotally, my wife, one of those skeptical Wicked fans, loved it.)
Fans of the Broadway show will also be pleased to learn that all the classic songs are retained as well (not surprising seeing how they give each act of the play it’s own film,) and the cast give them rousing, soaring renditions. Fan favorites “Popular” and of course the soaring “Defying Gravity” are their typical scene stealers, but each song is given new performances that honor the original while infused with cinematic energy by Erivo, Grande and others.
But it feels important that as we barrel towards a troubled new administration, amongst a political environment where disinformation runs rampant and those in power wish to rewrite history to better fit the image of their new leader’s greatness, a major blockbuster, with all its glitz and bubbly entertainment, doesn’t shy away from these themes. Who gets to write history is a major theme in the film, and also one in our lives. Wicked demands that we pay attention, and not allow creature comforts to blind us to oppression happening directly before us.
It asks us to question the stories we have heard. Because often times the world is far more complicated than simple fairy tales.
