Forever Wicked: The Enduring Call of the Wizard of Oz | Wizard of Oz

MMost of the biggest streaming services have been known to ignore any movie released before the 1990s (and in some cases, before the turn of the millennium). Even the big theatrical nostalgia shows are starting to creep into the 21st century, where, for the older ones among us, movies don’t seem ready for a multi-decade anniversary. (Has Batman Begins only been 20 years old?! Is the average girl serious enough to drink?) So what’s even more impressive is that one of the hottest properties of the last few years has been… The Wizard of Oz, a film much closer to its 100th anniversary than its 25th anniversary.

Of course, The Wizard of Oz as (shuddering) intellectual property pre-dates the release of the beloved MGM musical in 1939. Frank Baum published The Wonderful Wizard of Oz at the turn of the last century, in 1900. It spawned 13 eccentric sequels, which Baum wrote with what seemed like some reluctance until his death in 1919. His last book about Oz was published posthumously, and the series continued without him.

But no one ever talks about the Oz book series when they refer to The Wizard of Oz. In fact, aside from some strange borrowings and Disney’s half-terrifying, half-boring adaptation of Return to Oz , most of this material has been ignored in film and television. However, the 1939 film, directed by Victor Fleming and starring Judy Garland, looks bigger than ever – literally, if it takes part in The Sphere in Las Vegas. For this immersive setting largely used for mind-melting scares, the film was shortened (by 25 minutes, down to skeletal 75) and stretched (by AI technology, expanding the frame to fill the cavernous digital screen). Despite the controversy surrounding the changes, the attraction (let’s not call it a movie per se) is considered a runaway success, with some estimates at around $2 million per day. It has higher ticket prices than a typical movie, but still: revenues at that level for just a few months would make it bigger than most traditional blockbusters as of 2025. If it runs for a year, it could get into James Cameron territory.

This would also put it within striking distance of the global gross of a villainous film. Wicked is not a direct adaptation of Oz; It is a film version of the Broadway version of a revisionist novel that retells the story from West’s evil point of view. But it’s still set in the Wonderful Land of Oz, and the new film Wicked: For Good (which adapts the second act of the musical) connects more explicitly to the events of the original film (more so than the original book). Naturally, with the success of the sequel guaranteed, there has been talk about how this version of Oz could be expanded into a third installment of sorts. (Maybe they can finally start incorporating characters like Tik-Tok and Patchwork Girl!)

Even if Wicked: For Gooder doesn’t work out, there are plenty of other Oz projects in the works. Another musical version, The Wiz, embarks on a national tour after the Broadway revival. The actual characters are in the public domain, which means a cheap, ridiculous horror movie is inevitably on the way. A recent YA TV series called Dorothy is in the works at Amazon (with Gwen Stefani and Blake Shelton producing). Or, if you’d rather stay inside the 1939 movie, you can always try to raise some money to bid on another auction featuring an actual Wicked Witch hat. This type of Oz memorabilia has a history of exceeding expectations.

Some of the 1939 film’s enduring popularity can be attributed to the craft of pure image making. The moment when Dorothy’s sepia-toned Kansas setting gives way to the full, color-saturated landscape of Oz is one of the most indelible moments in all of cinema. (Oh, is that all?) Meanwhile, not many famous works of cinema have made it this far nearly a century later. Even the beloved Gone with the Wind, another 1939 release Fleming worked on and based on the popular novel, doesn’t have that level of staying power. (I would say this is inherent racism at work, but for some people this may be a feature rather than a bug.)

What Wicked seems to be building on—again, more from the movie than Baum’s original book—is the metaphorical power of Dorothy’s journey from stifling, oppressive, mysterious Kansas to a strange, striking, fantastical world. However, there’s plenty to please more conservative audiences, too, as Dorothy decides, despite the close friends she made in Oz, that she simply desperately wants to go home – and audiences may be newly aware that the traditional characters she knew in Kansas are played by the same actors as the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion. So, you have some escapism haunted by the reassurance that farm life in Kansas is almost the same thing as a vast kingdom of magic and talking animals. It’s easy to imagine, for example, a gay kid and his uncomprehending parents watching the film and both feeling that it validates their feelings.

The books aren’t that simple: Dorothy eventually moves to Oz permanently. (Her journeys there also become laughably less complicated than a hurricane carrying her house or a ship falling overboard.) Return to Oz, inspired by some of the sequel novels, begins with Dorothy threatened with shock therapy for her persistent nostalgia for Oz’s journey, in a chilling scene that evokes conversion therapy. The villains also barely hide a symbol of racism, homophobia, or other social prejudice, as Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo) is ostracized and made a scapegoat by the devious wizard, who projects an image of strength despite being a con artist. (Sound familiar?)

Much of the metaphorical material in Wicked is clumsy stuff, especially in the bloated For Good, which is more than twice the length of the play’s weaker second act. But its lineage, tied to the old film’s legacy of providing solace to viewers feeling ill in their ordinary lives, is clearly strong. This continued with the Broadway and film versions of The Wiz, where the concept of Oz was reimagined with an all-black cast, underscoring the story’s resonance with marginalized groups.

It’s especially noteworthy that works that focus more on the wizard himself — Sam Raimi’s 2013 prequel, or some of Baum’s sequels — don’t seem to have as much impact as exploring the story’s female characters. Even wild imaginative things often seem secondary to this emotional foundation. Maybe that’s why there hasn’t (yet) been a big, big-budget Oz theme park (although there will undoubtedly appear at some point). It’s the rare fantasy world franchise that doesn’t necessarily require your full subscription. Instead, it leaves you constantly hovering between bizarre fantasy and heartbreaking reality.