I went to see Wicked. And boy, am I glad I did. I haven’t enjoyed a movie this much in, well, a very long time. I was a little worried, because the story raises some worldview questions. So when I decided to go see it with my family, including five of my grandchildren between the ages of 5 and 9, I expected to have that familiar uneasiness in my gut. Happily, despite some expected but low key left leaning glimpses, the prevailing feeling I had throughout the film was joy. The movie was a triumph. 

Do the themes in Wicked embody secular worldviews that clash with those of my faith? Certainly. But here’s why that’s not a bad thing. The story also embodies elements of common grace that brought a smile to my face and feelings of deep satisfaction. It also, though I’m sure unintentionally, illuminated the human need for the gospel. And the worldviews that collide with mine afford an opportunity for deeper thought, empathy, and further discussion. 

Why See It?

First, the movie is just plain excellent. The acting, sets, dancing, visuals, and oh my goodness, the singing, were off the charts spectacular. If you’re going to create something, shoot for excellence. And that’s what director Jon M. Chu did. Everything about the movie exuded excellence. There was nothing cringeworthy— beyond maybe Galinda’s perfectly played, hair-tossing, virtue-signaling, yet somehow adorable, narcissism. There was very little CG. The sets were actual, physical, analog sets. And the singing was live, even during Elphaba’s athletically demanding, twisting, leaping defiance of gravity. The effect was stunning. 

Second, prequels, when done well, are fun. Wicked is a good story with an interesting twist that spins the original story cockeyed. It evokes deep feelings, both negative and positive, from the cruelty of Elphaba’s father and neighbors to the deep friendship between the protagonists. The excellence in the story telling holds you captive for the entire two hour and forty minute run time.  The movie is like a scavenger hunt with Easter eggs that pay nostalgic homage to the 1939 sequel. No spoiler alerts here, but if you go see the movie, pay close attention to the many nods toward The Wizard of Oz. 

Elphaba’s back story as a misunderstood misfit, as it is meant to do, led me to pick at the surface of the original story. The Wicked Witch of the West was terrifying (though for me as a kid, not nearly as terrifying as those flying monkeys!), and was played brilliantly by Margaret Hamilton. But is the future Elphaba the real villain of the story? Think about it. Her little disabled sister gets killed by a house. Glinda, the alleged “good witch” steals her precious shoes, which we learn had been given to her by her mother, and gives them to the occupant of said house. We only see the Wicked Witch as wicked because we are told that she is. But it was Glinda who sent Dorothy on her way through a perilous land to seek the help of a Wizard whom few have seen and who surrounds himself with mystery. (In fact, in L. Frank Baum’s novel, the Wizard requires anyone entering his city to wear green glasses so he can refer to it as the Emerald City, adding to his self-engineered mystique.)  Along the yellow brick road, Dorothy and her newly acquired friends encounter killer trees, poisonous flowers, murderous winged monkeys, and are in constant danger of being ratted out to the witch by spies. When Dorothy and her companions finally reach Oz, wide-eyed with the hope of Glinda’s promise that they would receive what they most longed for, they are met with a horrifying specter with an even more horrifying condition: kill the Wicked Witch of the West. They succeed, but not before Dorothy is kidnapped, terrorized, and turned into an unwitting assassin. She and her friends return to the Emerald City only to find that the “mighty wizard” is nothing more than a humbug who never had the power to save them at all. All he can do is offer some pithy words of wisdom and cheap symbolic trinkets before “accidentally” fleeing— escaping?— to wherever he came from.  It never occurred to me until I watched The Wizard of Oz as an adult that Glinda held information all along that would have informed Dorothy how to get back to Kansas. Dorothy was too kind and naive (and maybe too traumatized) to realize she had been used. Just sayin. 

Worldview

Wicked begins with the question, “Why does wickedness happen?” Here is where the discussion must start. The assertion in Wicked is that Elphaba has been made, not born. She begins life as a neglected yet empathetic outcast who is tender toward the downtrodden. She is close to her little sister, who is in a wheelchair. She has a love for animals, and becomes a fierce and courageous advocate for them. She is ridiculed and shunned, even by her own father, because, through no fault of her own, she was born green. She has learned to don a defensive veneer whenever she meets new people. And when the powers that be betray her and begin to trample on the marginalized, her anger peaks and empowers her, culminating in her jaw-dropping anthem, Defying Gravity. 

Something has changed within me, something is not the same. I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game. Too late for second guessing. Too late to go back to sleep. It’s time to trust my instincts— close my eyes and leap. It’s time to try defying gravity. I think I’ll try defying gravity. And you can’t pull me down.

I’m through accepting limits ‘cause someone says they’re so. Some things I cannot change, but til I try I’ll never know. Too long I’ve been afraid of losing love I guess I’ve lost. Well, if that’s love, it comes at much too high a cost. I’d sooner buy defying gravity. Kiss my goodbye, I’m defying gravity. And you can’t pull me down.

As someone told me lately, “Everyone deserves the chance to fly.” And if I’m flying solo, at least I’m flying free.

Elphaba is tragic not because she has been ridiculed, shunned, and misunderstood. Elphaba is tragic because she looks to empowering herself with pride in who she is in order  to find triumph, happiness, and acceptance. Her many good qualities— capacity to love and deep empathy— are eventually blotted out in her quest to be understood. In her power anthem, the Wicked Witch of the West is born. 

Defying Gravity has become an anthem for many who see themselves as marginalized in our culture. I can understand. It’s a chin- raising, jaw-setting testament to personal victory. But despite its claim to power, in the end there is only one outcome: isolation.  

The Greatest Message of All

I love the character of Elphaba. I love her humility, her empathy, and her courage. I love the film’s message of understanding where someone has been in order to understand who they are. But in the end, the message, one of the prevailing cultural messages of our day, falls woefully short: Ultimate happiness is freedom to be who we choose to be, even if that means isolating ourselves from those who love us. “And if I’m flying solo, at least I’m flying free.”

There is a greater message, a greater story, the only story that can achieve what Elphaba longs for. It is the great Metanarrative, the Story of all stories, that has the real power to bring the kind of freedom and affirmation we all seek. An outcast is born to a teenager in an obscure village to a marginalized people. He grows strong in “wisdom and stature.” When he is grown, he tries to spread a message of hope to his people. But it is not the message the people expect. Nowhere in his message are calls to achieving justice by exceeding lawful limits or demanding to receive what the people think they deserve. Quite the contrary. His message is to submit to the limits, deny what is deserved, and serve others until it hurts— even enemies. His message is not well received, especially to those in power. The people are incredulous. They wonder at his audacity and call him crazy. He is cast out, ridiculed, and killed. His fate seems to affirm the message Wicked seeks to convey. But there is more. Much more. 

The greatest message of all does not end in the fall of its messenger. It culminates in his triumph over everything Wicked tries in vain to overcome. Oppression, evil, injustice, hatred, marginalization— and ultimately death— are all defeated by the self-denying, love-fueled sacrifice of the preeminent, true-life protagonist of the Greatest Story: Jesus Christ. 

The message of the gospel is not to find happiness here on earth through realizing who we think we must be. Because our true home is not here. We do not yearn to be accepted in a city built by human hands, but in a kingdom whose King accepts all those who acknowledge his kingship. As his subjects, we are called to be uncomfortable here. Because we don’t belong. But through our discomfort we are called to serve and love those who would be brought into his kingdom. And in the end, it will not be ruby slippers, or witches, or wizards, or self-empowering anthems that bring us home. It will be the death and  resurrection of an obscure outcast who overcame our intrinsic wickedness through his sacrifice, so that though we endure injustice here on earth, we can truly sing the proclamation, “something has changed within me, something is not the same.” No second guessing. No sleeping.  We can look to heaven and know with certainty, there really will be no place like home.