Or “When Wicked is Good”

“If she had seen the shoes first, the Witch would never have been able to listen to the girl or her friends. But the girl’s legs had been tucked beneath her skirt. Now the Witch was reminded of her need. The shoes should be hers!—hadn’t she endured enough, hadn’t she earned them? The Witch would fall on the girl from the sky, and wrestle those shoes off her impertinent feet, if only she could.”*

You may already be aware of my deep and abiding love of musical theatre. And of all the musicals I’ve heard and seen (which is a lot), Wicked is one of my absolute favourites.

Now, I could gush on and on about the clever lyrics, the amazing melodies, the brilliance of Stephen Schwartz (the composer and lyricist, thus responsible for both) and the heart-wrenching, dazzling plot, and, um, well, I do. At least about the plot (a little later on).

First, though, I want to talk about the evolution of this story, and how each iteration (whether good, bad, or Wicked—sorry, I had to) has made the land of Oz richer, deeper, and has wedged it even further into the psyche of our modern culture and elevated its timelessness.

In other words, each iteration has been the story its audience needed. And maybe even the one it deserved.

“I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too!”

The history of the Wicked Witch of the West begins in the 1900 novel by L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. (You thought it was about Dorothy, didn't you?)

Two years later, the book was made into a successful Broadway musical. Since then, it has been adapted over and over again with varying success, followed by dozens of sequels (thirteen written by Baum and, after his death, another twenty-one written by Ruth Plumly Thompson), and has been an entrenched presence in popular culture in the West for over a century, especially after the runaway success of the 1939 film starring Judy Garland.

It was basically the Harry Potter series of its time, right down to the resistance from Fundamentalist Christians. You can read about the whole fascinating and expanding history of the original story and subsequent versions on Wikipedia.

About a decade ago, I was looking for some new, modern, popular musicals to study as my co-writer and I worked on our own musical stage production. Having loved the stories of Oz since I was a kid, I was thrilled to find that a musical had been written about the Wicked Witch, so I ordered the soundtrack for Wicked from Amazon.

I fell in love. After a while, I had to know how those songs were connected together—what was I missing in narrative between what the music didn’t convey? Thank goodness, Wikipedia came to my rescue. And I fell in love with this story even more.

I mean, what’s not to love about turning the traditional tropey idea of the evil green witch, archenemy of all that is good, on its head, having her become college roommates with Glinda the Good and turn them into unlikely best friends?

Since I live very far from New York and have yet to fulfill my dream of going there to see all the shows, I still have not seen this musical performed. (I’m very excited about the movie version slated for 2021!)** But several years ago, I read the novel on which the musical is based—Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire.

Sadly, I loved it, ahem, less. At the time, anyway. Because of the musical, I expected something different in the novel than what it was.

(Note: The next three paragraphs contain minor spoilers about both the book and the musical, but primarily the musical. It’s an overview, though, and I tried to include only enough for you to understand my point. You should still see it! Or listen to it! Or read it! This is like a trailer. Sort of.)

The story in the musical fills out the backstory of all the characters in the original Wizard of Oz that aren’t Dorothy, weaving a tale of two young women from very different backgrounds who are thrown together by circumstance in college. Popular Galinda (as she was known then) takes on the socially awkward and weird Elphaba (whom Maguire named after her original creator, creating her name from the initials of L. Frank Baum) as a charity social project.

Galinda seems destined for a life of influence and popularity with all of her dreams naturally falling into place, whereas Elphaba—who was rejected by her own father—has always striven for social acceptance in a world that has cast her out. (She is green, can’t touch water, and has magic of a sort that isn’t common in Oz). She dreams of one day meeting the Wizard, whom she sees as the one person in Oz who (being a man of magic himself) might accept her as she is. Unfortunately, when she finally does meet him, he turns out to be not only a fraud but the person at the root of some troubling social problems in the country, which changes everything for Elphaba.

We see these two women’s lives—one who values her reputation more than her honour, and the other who can’t ignore a wrong no matter what it may cost her—entangle with characters who eventually become the Cowardly Lion, the Tin Woodsman, and the Scarecrow. We see why Elphaba’s crippled sister needed enchanted shoes. And we see how every attempt Elphaba makes to do good only ends up creating more problems for herself and those around her, and seems to do little to sway popular opinion from the despot she is striving to overturn. In the end, we see how Elphaba and Glinda’s friendship has changed them both for the better, despite their very different viewpoints.

The musical is a family-friendly production with some more mature themes than the original story had, but still overall something that makes you cry good tears and think about the value of friendship and giving others the benefit of the doubt because we don't know the hard road they’ve walked.

The book is much darker and more sprawling, which is unsurprising—in a musical, you don’t have time to convey the complexity of a book, even less than a movie would allow. However, it was precisely those elements that the musical’s adapters worked hard to knit tightly together that made me love their version of the story so much.

The book is enjoyable and well-written, but I would say that Maguire aimed it at adults. It focuses much less on the relationship between Elphaba and Glinda (and Fiyero, a love interest for both girls) and more on how Elphaba’s eventual fall from grace was more complete and intentional and less public perception, based on the repeated and multitudinous disasters of her life.

What holds true in both versions is that Elphaba was a woman who was trying to do good but who continually got it wrong, until the wickedness of her reputation and circumstances finally overcame her.

As an exploration of what could turn someone into the cackling green hag who seems hell-bent on destroying a young girl for a pair of shoes, it is brilliant. But when I was finished, I missed the more touching elements that make the stage musical truly special.

If you’ve never read the book, I do recommend it. (I gave it 4/5 on Goodreads.)

And here’s where I bring this back around to my point.

Batman, Elphaba, adaptations, and the Dark Hero

This might just be my perception, but I am not sure any one franchise has been adapted into movies more often than Batman. I have been completely ambivalent about most versions, but the Christian Bale reboot had some great moments.

One was when, at the end of the second movie (The Dark Knight), Police Commissioner Gordon says of Batman, “He’s the hero Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now. So we’ll hunt him. Because he can take it. Because he’s not our hero. He’s a silent guardian. A watchful protector.”

This quote also applies to Elphaba, the woman who fought a silent, unappreciated war against the conman destroying a naïve and accepting country.

And, in a strange way (you’ll have to bear with me for a minute here), it can also apply to any given adaptation of any film or movie, ever.

Adaptations are usually updated to reflect the values of the era in which they were created. They can be done well. They can be done poorly. They can take a story we love and twist it into a deformed mess, or they can elevate it even more into something that will shine through the ages, a cultural classic in its own right.

But whether an adaptation is done poorly or well, it often sends us hunting for the original, the author’s own words, to see how true the adaptation remained to the author’s intent. In so doing, the world of the original story is expanded and immortalized, either by exploring that intention deeper to contrast with a failed representation, or by lauding the way the adaptation has done so.

In the end, I think that no matter the result of the adaptation, each iteration of a story should be judged on its own merit. For it is through this land of story that we humans connect most easily. And stories bringing humans together is a good thing.

As for The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West? I think it’s time I read it again, with a more open mind. That’s the reading it deserves, after all.

“She would emerge. She always had before. The punishing political climate of Oz had beat her down, dried her up, tossed her away—like a seedling she had drifted, apparently too desiccated ever to take root. But surely the curse was on the land of Oz, not on her. Though Oz had given her a twisted life, hadn’t it also made her capable?”*

*Maguire, Gregory. Wicked: Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West (Wicked Years Book 1) (p. 6). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.

** 2025 addendum: They missed that deadline by a few years, but it’s here at last. From the reviews I’ve heard, it was worth the wait. I’m so excited to see it!

What do you think of Wicked, the Wizard of Oz movie or books, or this post in general? Have you seen the movie? What did you think? Let me know in the comments below!

This post was originally published in the Books & Inspiration Newsletter on 2019-07-11.

Want to show your support? Join my community or buy me a coffee. You can also subscribe to this blog or buy one of my books.