The Witch and I

Levitation, huge dances, big voices and high notes aside, the most magical moments of Wicked are wordless, voiceless, and accomplished without special effects.

Wicked is the backstory to the witch Elphaba was first imagined by novelist Gregory Maguire, and adapted by Maguire with playwright Winnie Holzman, enriched by the music and lyrics of Stephen Shwartz. Jonathan Chu directed the film.

The movie Wicked

While I've loved the 1939 movie The Wizard of Oz from early childhood, my deepest interest was in the witch of the West. I coveted her ability to disappear in a puff of black smoke and flame: take that, you playground detractors!

But it was more than her power that fascinated. Margaret Hamilton as the witch seemed to have some kind of inner dialogue going on. When I would imitate her moves, I knew what she was thinking. One hand draws close to her chin and she squints as she takes stock of a problem. She calculates that her chance of success will improve down the road, though she doesn't know exactly how, but she leaves Dorothy with a threat, "I'll get you-- and your little dog, too." When a notion hits her -- as with the line, "Poppies!" -- her eyes widen and she smiles. She takes energy and delight from decisions -- as when she sends her flying monkeys into action. Before the movie, as a middle school drama teacher, I knew Wicked through middle school girls' eyes, all about being Popular and changed by friendship For Good. I went to the movie with friends Suzanne and Dimitri expecting Grease with witches. That it was, but with unexpected bits of Carrie, The Birds, and a strong shot of Schindler's List.

I mentioned this to a friend who said, "I hate it when they inject moral lessons in something that's supposed to be just entertainment."

Well, entertain originally meant imprison, and I've been caught in the world of Wicked ever since I saw the movie. Mostly I'm with Elphaba (her name a pronunciation of the initials of her creator, L. Frank Baum) in her disbelief and horror during a single scene when a kind and serious professor who happens to be a goat is carried away by Oz police.

I read many of the Oz books as a little boy, including the ones that Baum didn't write. I was just into magic. I recall little, being left only with the impression that the author(s) relied on novelty to keep interest going.

Morality emerges organically in this work. It makes sense that "Oz," a wayward balloonist from middle America, would be sick to see farm animals teaching college, nursing children, and doctoring grownups. The Wizard's use of his authority to squash the rights of talking animals makes sense, historically. There's no moral lesson being "injected" here; it's just taking the characters seriously.

I've read that the germ of the story for the novelist Gregory Maguire was a line from the adored 1939 movie, Margaret Hamilton as the Witch of the West calling the Witch of the North by her name "Glinda." Maguire wondered, were they old acquaintances? Could they once have been friends?

Wicked "entertains" because it's real. Sure, I enjoy the "meta" elements, as when we see a bit of the 1939 movie in the mix, and when we see connections to characters of The Wizard of Oz (Woodsman with a heart = Tin Man, brainless prince = Scarecrow, frightened lion cub = cowardly lion) But none of that is what made me cry and exult.