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There are movies, and then there are movies like The Wizard of Oz. Classics so eternal and reinvigorating that terms like “masterpiece” or “beloved” don’t justify their rarefied space. They sit high upon the top shelf of the canon, projecting the highest artistic heights of which we may achieve. Since 1939, hasn’t The Wizard of Oz been a seminal film in the sparking of our collective imagination? I would argue that it has.
What’s so shocking watching the film is knowing how tumultuous and hazardous the production was. Cast members and directors cycled through, earlier drafts wanted to downplay the magic and fantasy, and it seemed doomed to live its life out as massive creative folly. A zeppelin primed for exploding. Yet, the cinematic gods smiled down upon it, and through this strife emerged a perennial, deeply cherished film.
Free from the clutch of a single auteur, The Wizard of Oz combines the best elements of several creative minds working in pieces to make something beautiful. After Richard Thorpe was dropped as the original director, George Cukor was brought in to fix many of his mistakes. It was to his credit that we got Judy Garland in a more naturalistic performance mode. Thorpe originally wanted her in a blonde wig, complete with baby doll affectations, and Cukor stripped it all away by not only removing the wig, but telling Garland to play it as if it were really happening to her.
After only a few weeks as a creative adviser to the project, during which time he also brought in Jack Haley to replace Buddy Ebsen as the Tin Man, changed Margaret Hamilton’s witch makeup, and put more energy in Ray Bolger’s vocals on “If I Only Had a Brain,” he left the project entirely. Cukor’s influences stayed when new director Victor Fleming was brought in to resume filming. Fleming was the main directing force for the project, although he was replaced at a late stage when he left to takeover Gone With the Wind, another 1939 classic that is more a product of its producer’s creative vision than the numerous directors. King Vidor mainly took part in shooting the Kansas footage.
I bring up these turbulent production notes to simply ask you question: where are the stitches? Do you ever see these fractures in creative types? No, the completed film is a surprisingly sophisticated musical fantasy. If anything, the anchor that keeps The Wizard of Oz’s various twists and turns from tearing the film into any direction is Judy Garland’s touching, essential performance.
Garland was one of cinema’s greatest artists, and her performances in other films like A Star Is Born or Meet Me in St. Louis attest to this. Her most widely seen film is this one, though. She’s utterly magnificent, whether believably expressing terror in the witch’s castle or belting out “Over the Rainbow,” a moment of quiet movie magic that’s indispensable, she find the correct tone to play every scene. Garland was a performer who could bring her personal troubles into any role, and her vulnerability, a certain wistfulness makes lines about troubles melting like lemon drops feel spectacularly real.
While much of the film belongs to Garland, The Wizard of Oz is populated by characters both good and bad that are a joy to revisit. Jack Haley, Ray Bolger, and Bert Lahr make the Tin Man, Scarecrow, and Cowardly Lion memorable by finding all the various shades to play in their characters hooks. Haley’s Tin Man is such an open-hearted romantic that it’s impossible to think of him as lacking in that department. Bolger’s Scarecrow may be a scatterbrain, but he still proves to be an Idiot Savant, giving us the eternally quotable line about people without a lot of brains doing an awful lot of talking. And Lahr plays his scaredy cat for comedic heights, and you just want to give him a big hug. Frank Morgan plays all the rest of the supporting players in Oz in various costumes and elaborate make-ups. He finds unique voices for each of them, including the titular Wizard.
Even better is Margaret Hamilton, the equal of Garland here, giving a monstrous performance for the ages. If the fantasy world of Oz is eventually revealed to be a projection of Dorothy’s psyche maturing and facing down problems plaguing her, then the Wicked Witch and Miss Gulch are bullies that must be faced, oppressive forces that threaten our very innocence. Hamilton’s cackle is just as famous as Garland’s rendering of “Over the Rainbow,” and she appears to delight in playing up her wickedness. She’s unrepentantly toxic, and one of the great villains in cinema. Even her death scene is horrific.
Orbiting around these performances and delightful musical numbers are special effects, costumes, and locations that take permanent residence in your imagination. Billie Burke’s Glinda arrives in a bright pink bubble, or is rear-projected upon our heroes in the poppy field while waving her wand to send help; did these scenes pop into your mind just now? More than likely, as they are unforgettable representations of helpful witchery to contrast the wickedness of the other one. The Muchkins are a parade of whimsical clothing and hairstyles, with a certain general look about them but a pronounced individuality in the details. The Emerald City, the tornado that destroys Dorothy’s Kansas farm, the yellow brick road, flying monkeys, the witch’s castle, there’s a veritable artistic feast here.
All of these fantastical elements would amount to nothing if The Wizard of Oz didn’t touch us in some primal, deeply felt mythic part of our brains and hearts. The Wizard of Oz is about growing up, finding our inner strength, and the poignancy of returning to home a changed person. I think this is part of the reason why we continue to return to it and introduce new generations to it. It’s not just that it’s a wonderful movie, or that it’s a point of nostalgia for all of us, but that it profoundly represents something we will all go through. Entering adulthood is tough for all of us, and this bittersweet film tells us that is okay.
