The yellow brick road is a long one. At the end of it are high expectations. The kind that, one might say, defy gravity. Honk-honk.
Some of us have been traveling that golden highway for our entire lifetimes, taking our initial skips down it the first time we saw Dorothy Gale’s house begin to pitch, staying the course when Elphaba flew off the handle, and now clicking our heels for this full-circle moment: the film adaptation of the Wicked musical, finally, after two decades of teasing and, more recently, one of the most exhaustifying press tours in recent memory, hitting theaters.
The triumph of Wicked (Part One) is its understanding of the responsibility of those huge expectations: the need to soar far beyond the Western sky in order to satisfy scrutinizing fan groups and audiences who so fiercely cherish their memories of Oz—and the need to do it with the cheeky sense of humor that’s so intrinsic to the source material. The possibility for this film adaptation of the smash stage musical to be profound was as present as its potential to be revolutionarily cinematic, but it was only going to work if the movie would, to continue quoting the song, “bring her down.”
Wicked is maximalist by every definition of the word, a whimsical, visual feast with top-to-bottom Movie Star performances that explode off the screen. But, under the delicate hand of maestro Jon M. Chu, it’s also grounded in a way that stirs you—brain, heart, courage, and all—in thrilling new ways that deepen and enrich the musical fans love.
This movie is spectacular, and the reason that it soars is its understanding of the humanity and the silliness that underscores this titanic operation, a blockbuster on as massive a scale as I’ve ever seen. It’s a mesmerizing testament to the emotional and cinematic power of putting the kinds of resources typically reserved for men in spandex going ka-pow! behind a story about female friendship, servicing a musical-theater loving audience, and having faith that the swankified results would be as, well, popular as the paint-by-numbers superhero slop we’ve been conditioned to love.
Based on Gregory Maguire’s novel, the Wicked musical, which debuted on Broadway in 2003 and has since been produced in every corner of the world, is an origin story of sorts for the Wicked Witch of the West and her relationship to Glinda the Good Witch. “So much happened before Dorothy dropped in” was the quite brilliant tagline in the promotional campaign for the original production.
Before she was “wicked,” the greenified witch in the black pointy hat was Elphaba, a shy young woman who had spent her life ostracized because of her atypical viridescence. After her magical gifts catch the eye of Madame Morrible, a teacher at Shiz University, Elphaba enrolls and becomes roommates with Galinda, a beautiful narcissist whose life has been easy in all the ways Elphaba’s has been heartbreakingly difficult. (There’s a whole explanation for why the character we know from The Wizard of Oz as “Glinda” starts Wicked as “Galinda,” and any musical theater enthusiast in your life will be happy to spend 13-17 minutes talking energetically at you about it.)
They bristle initially—their roommate assignment is interpolated as a torture sentence with a duet that incessantly repeats the lyric, “loathing!”—but eventually unlock parts of each other that help them discover the fullest versions of themselves beyond the limits society had boxed them in, forging a deep, unlikely friendship in the meantime.
As Elphaba ascends, with help from Galinda, from bullied wallflower to the school’s magical prodigy, she becomes radicalized, disturbed by what seems to be a government conspiracy to keep Oz’s animals, who had previously walked, talked, and coexisted with humans, from speaking. When offered, because of her sorcery talents, a meeting with the Wizard, she plans to warn him of what she’s seeing and ask for his help in intervening—only to discover that he, Madame Morrible, and all the authority figures she respected are complicit, and intend on using her for their cause.
Interspersed throughout this plot are some of modern musical theater’s most indelible songs, written by Stephen Schwartz, like Galinda’s comedy tour de force “Popular;” Elphaba’s gauntlet challenge to aspiring belters, “The Wizard and I;” and the Act One-closing battle cry, “Defying Gravity,” the thrilling finale to this movie. (There will be two Wicked films, one standalone project for each of the musical’s two acts.)
For the 21 years since the Wicked curtain first rose on Broadway, fans have speculated on a film version’s cast, especially since original stars Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel put such an ineradicable signature on Glinda and Elphie. As such, there were always going to be strong opinions lobbed at Ariana Grande, who takes the wand as Glinda; Cynthia Erivo, who dons the witch’s hat; and co-stars Jonathan Bailey, as swoon-inducing love interest Fiyero; Jeff Goldblum, as the duplicitous Wizard; and Michelle Yeoh, as the formidable Madame Morrible. Now that the film is in the world, it would be unfathomable that those opinions would be anything but ecstatic. This cast is fantastic, with each performer excavating surprising new notes from these characters that bring them to life in invigoratizing ways. (Ozians love adding flourish to their adjectives.)
There’s a giddy excitement that envelops you when Grande’s Galinda first arrives on screen by bubble. “It’s good to see me, isn’t it?,” Galinda’s first line, is quite the precedent to set, and yet, there’s something just so natural and intangibly right about Grande’s casting and the way she embodies the character that, even immediately, it is good to see her. It turns out that the pop star is an expert comedienne, channeling Chenoweth’s endearing Galinda ditziness and infusing it with a screwball heroine’s grit. She flirts and flounces through a show-stopping rendition of “Popular,” but is even more impressive in finding a radiant vulnerability—a rare combination, like a woundedness that shines—as Galinda’s friendship with Elphaba begins to change her own moral compass.
Erivo’s Elphaba is more of a departure from the Elphaba blueprint—err…greenprint?—that Menzel set, which may prove more polarizing. While retaining a bit of the spunky sarcasm that Wicked fans are familiar with, Erivo’s Elphie is more soulful and introspective. Her resentment over the way she’s been treated all of her life isn’t manifested in a snarky irascibility, the way it’s often portrayed on stage, but, with the help of a connection to a camera lens, a quiet introspectiveness: a stalwart understanding of who she is, and how she’ll have to navigate life because of how others treat her.
Because of this, a song like “The Wizard and I” transforms from a barn-burning, center-stage belt-a-thon to a stirring cinematic sequence of self-discovery. Erivo’s rendition of “I’m Not That Girl” becomes a set piece that rivals the bombast of the film’s bigger numbers, with her tender delivery finding its way to bruises we’ve all kept hidden or ignored. And for all the attention and scrutiny that will be put on how she vocally interprets Elphaba’s big songs, Erivo does her most stunning work in the more emotional scenes.
Erivo has talked in interviews about understanding what it’s like to own your loneliness—especially if you know you’re different. There’s an armor you can build around yourself, and maybe even convince yourself of satisfaction while you do so. But there’s also nothing lonelier than the moment you think you’re going to be accepted. That vulnerability—the bravery to feel a tinge of excitement—is astronomical. That is played exquisitely in the interlude of “Dancing Through Life,” when Elphaba arrives at a dance that Galinda invites her to, only to realize she’s been tricked to be made fun of. She finally has to confront how she really feels about being ostracized, of the resentment she has for not belonging. It’s shattering, and met equally by Grande, who telegraphs Galinda’s guilt and shame.
Wicked has a running time of two hours and 40 minutes, which is roughly the running time of the entire stage musical, even though the film only chronicles Act One. Yet, questionably long as it may be, that the movie takes its time in those scenes to build the foundation for what would become Elphaba and Galinda’s deep friendship makes the musical’s story all the more powerful. The sleepover scene that leads into “Popular” allows the women to trepidatiously and awkwardly spelunk through this new bond, each unfamiliar with how to act in the moment, but, with grace, navigating the endearing uneasiness through to the morning light, their new status as BFFs christened adorably by Galinda: “Oh look, it’s tomorrow!”
It’s a feat for a film that features a dozen musical numbers, centers around witches and magic, and dazzles with a technicolor wonderland of production design to resonate at its core because of its depiction of a friendship. So much of that, beyond Grande and Erivo’s performances, is owed to Chu’s direction. Wicked is a production on a massive scale, yet manages to be intimate. During sprawling musical numbers, you’re delighted and impressed by the scope of the ensemble, choreography, and set design, yet drawn into the characters’ souls by the way the camera manages to find the performer at the exact right moment amidst the surrounding bombast.
Certain scenes are busily wallpapered with all of the twinkling, colorful, fantastical dressing you’d expect of a cinematic Oz in 2024, yet the film is impressively tactical. You can tell, from the moment Galinda lands in Munchkinland, that these are real, practical sets. That is really Grande leaping from a bed and dangling from a spinning chandelier while performing “Popular.” The Western sky might be painted with CGI flair, but that is Erivo zooming around on a broom during “Defying Gravity.” And Bailey, from his boot-toe book choreography to ovation-worthy gymnastics, is hoofing his way through every step of “Dancing Through Life;” there will be deserved awards attention coming Grande and Erivo’s way for Wicked, and Bailey should be as much a part of the conversation. I can’t remember the last time a performance was so instantly charismatic, the kind of movie-star heist—he nearly runs away with the film during that musical number—that makes going to the cinema so exciting.
I don’t expect every moviegoer to be as ecstatic over this movie as I am. I’m eager to debate and discuss Grande’s and especially Erivo’s performance with people. And there is no denying that the movie is simply way too long. Yes, it made sense to end the film after Act One—how could you possibly just cut to the next scene after “Defying Gravity,” which is reinvented here as an astounding, nearly 15-minute action sequence? No, it did not have to be two hours and 40 minutes… Still, it’s undeniably invigorating that, after so much anticipation, the film is this good.
Some of the most inventive, cinematic movies of the last few years have been musicals: Steven Spielberg’s West Side Story, Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Tick, Tick…Boom, and Chu’s own In the Heights. It’s a genre that gifts a canvas through which the most interesting, creative filmmakers can propel moviemaking forward with the thrill and grace of a pirouette, a belted high note, and a swooping camera that manages to bring the viscerality of live theater to the pulsing intimacy of a big screen.
This Wicked movie feels so big, yet also so personal. This marketing campaign was mammoth to an extent I never expected for a musical. This is Broadway being given the commercial dignity of a Marvel project—the latest stunt I saw was that a 7/11 in Mexico was converted to be Wicked-themed. But then there’s Jonathan Bailey in countless interviews talking about how making the movie made him think about little Jonny, him when he was younger and insecure about his passions, and how he hopes this might lead to boys embracing dance. Grande has been outspoken about how playing Glinda is her lifetime dream coming true. Erivo has talked about how she is wearing Elphaba’s green in solidarity with everyone who has felt marginalized, both the proud and the scared.
There’s something wild and beautiful that this film and its positioning as a major cultural moment is where we’ve now arrived. It’s where that yellow brick road has been leading all along.
