Just Enjoy ‘Wicked’

I was a blank slate when I entered the movie theater to see Wicked: I’ve never read the books, nor have I seen the Broadway production. Just minutes into the first song, I was confused. We watch a nurse, who is a talking bear, assist with the birth of Elphaba; her parents express shock and disgust upon seeing her green skin. I wondered, why is it so alarming that Elphaba was born green in a world where there is a talking bear OB-GYN? Surely, in a land with sorcery, it should be easy to explain — or even correct — someone’s unusual skin tone. Then I soothed myself with this simple thought: It’s just a movie. I realized that not everything in a fantasy needs to make logical sense. I decided to adopt a more carefree attitude, participate in the childish exercise of make believe, and go along with it all.

And I had a great time. The whole two hours and 40 minutes flew by because every aspect of the movie contributed to character development and the plot; no time was wasted on superfluous details or unnecessary conversations. I felt immersed in the land of Oz, invested in the characters, impressed by the exceptional singing, and invigorated by the catchy music. Wicked is essentially a strong antidepressant pill to be swallowed with an oversized blue slushy: I walked out of the theater with an improved mood and the lyric “you’re gonna be pop-uuuu-lar” stuck in my head.

About the Author

Abigail Anthony

Abigail Anthony is a staff writer at National Review.

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I was a blank slate when I entered the movie theater to see Wicked: I’ve never read the books, nor have I seen the Broadway production. Just minutes into the first song, I was confused. We watch a nurse, who is a talking bear, assist with the birth of Elphaba; her parents express shock and disgust upon seeing her green skin. I wondered, why is it so alarming that Elphaba was born green in a world where there is a talking bear OB-GYN? Surely, in a land with sorcery, it should be easy to explain — or even correct — someone’s unusual skin tone. Then I soothed myself with this simple thought: It’s just a movie. I realized that not everything in a fantasy needs to make logical sense. I decided to adopt a more carefree attitude, participate in the childish exercise of make believe, and go along with it all.

And I had a great time. The whole two hours and 40 minutes flew by because every aspect of the movie contributed to character development and the plot; no time was wasted on superfluous details or unnecessary conversations. I felt immersed in the land of Oz, invested in the characters, impressed by the exceptional singing, and invigorated by the catchy music. Wicked is essentially a strong antidepressant pill to be swallowed with an oversized blue slushy: I walked out of the theater with an improved mood and the lyric “you’re gonna be pop-uuuu-lar” stuck in my head.