By: Tina Hassannia
Grade: C-
Warner may keep a draconian eye on any cultural product with a smidgen of resemblance to the beloved classic The Wizard of Oz–for which they have owned the rights since 1996–and while that particular film has comprehensively permeated popular culture, the original L. Frank Baum book franchise offers a wide, colourful universe full of imaginative creative fodder for fictional adaptations.
Disney presciently snapped up the film rights for the rest of the canonical Oz books by Baum and has since created several works based on the franchise, though none have ever gained the cultural significance or acclaim of the 1939 classic. In what appears to be another example of Disney mining its properties for new works, the studio decided to revive the Oz franchise for the new millennium. It may seem initially strange that with Oz the Great and Powerful the company did not set out on adapting one of the novels. Instead, Disney created its own prequel to The Wizard of Oz based on elements from the franchise that focus on Oz’s origins story, from demoralized circus magician to wizard/leader of a fantastical land.
Taking the approach of a loose adaptation in the creation of something new is a practical and smart approach, in many ways: it absolves the studio of sticking to any stories or ideas in the Oz books that are outdated in 2013 (say for example, the cutesy, condescending depiction of little people in the Munchkins); it gives Disney a chance to reboot a beloved fictitious universe and give us new reasons to love it; and in a way, it allows Disney to one-up Warner by creating the “first” Oz story.
Unfortunately, hypothesizing the notion that Disney can churn out something even remotely decent and imaginative is, well, naive and hopeless. Oz the Great and Powerful is not a new, contemporary take on the Land of Oz, but a sad, bloated, strangely misogynistic tale without any of the Sam Raimi magic that usually accompanies his best works. James Franco plays Oz like a conniving schmuck whose demoralization in his own profession and character is a springboard for positive-psychologizing bullshit about how he truly is magical even if he doesn’t think he’s a wizard by Land of Oz standards. Yet his talents in chicanery are exactly what is needed to save the Land from the evil witches tyrannizing the citizens.
He may be a washed-up circus magician in Kansas, but in this alternate universe, where things are actually magical, Oz’s knowledge of early-1900s “magical” inventions and experience in wooing crowds can turn a sleight of hand into millions of helping hands to defeat the Wicked Witches. Not only is this kind of story a gateway in forcing the viewer into a condescending, holier-than-thou perspective, it’s completely derivative–sure, common knowledge in the real world becomes the stuff of magic in an alternate universe where people don’t know what “cinema” means–and yet it is exactly the film’s ending climax, a war battle strategy that saves the day and that turns Oz from a cowardly pessimist into a hero.
What’s worse than contrived storytelling–nothing new for Disney, after all–is the reason why the war is started in the first place. The Wicked Witch has been secretly terrorizing citizens for some time under the pretense of being a good witch named Evanora, but it’s the jealousy experienced by her sister Theodora, who falls in love with Oz, that triggers the war, turning her from a sweet, beautiful, innocent good witch looking for love into the wicked, ugly-on-the-inside-and-outside green-skinned evildoer she was always meant to be. Unlike Hell, the Land of Oz hath the fury of a woman scorned.
Oz’s womanizing ways are just an extension of his natural morally ambiguous nature, but getting revenge on a two-timing fake magician can only be imagined in the eyes of Disney through the evil sorcery of ugly, vain women. It’s a disturbing message for youngsters, for whom the film is ostensibly made.
These are some of the most pressing issues in the film but there are many more, perhaps the most obvious and consistent one having to do with a lack of world-building awe and magic that usually befits such fantastical stories. The production design and 3D effects are fine, but they look a little too fine, as if over-polished, as if Raimi spent most of his budget getting the technical details to look great, instead of focusing on a better overall production.
Thus, we have sequences in which spectacle effaces itself to the point of embarrassing oblivion. Take, for example, one memorable chase scene wherein Oz and company are almost bitten by Alien-like distending flower monsters with lightbulbs for eyes, at one point turning their chomping maws to the camera for an additional three-dimensional moment of terror. Oz the Great and Powerful is flimsy puppeteering masquerading as 3D filmmaking, in which the director cannot be found anywhere, be it behind the curtain or in the artistic signature of the film itself.
By: Sam Fragoso
Grade: B
I’d like to preface my thoughts on Oz the Great and Powerful with an apology: typically the lovely and talented Ms. Tina Hassannia is correct when it comes to her opinions on movies. Alas, I suppose even the most gifted of critics get a film wrong every now and then.
Onto this rebuttal.
Since reiterating the plot of Sam Raimi’s latest film, along with discussing each well-written point Tina makes would be an exercise in futility on par with watching Jack the Giant Slayer, I’ll attempt to tackle the heart of my colleague’s argument: Oz’s “morally ambiguous nature.”
She insists that the depiction of Oz, “through the evil sorcery of ugly, vain women” will provide a “disturbing message for youngsters, for whom this film is ostensibly made.” Naturally, I would wholeheartedly agree with her claim; if it were, in fact, how I viewed the character.
There’s no mistaking that Oz begins as someone who dehumanizes women. We see this early on in the film, in silky smooth black and white, where in a span of fifteen-minutes Oz throws away one woman for the sake of profit, and dismisses another in fear of commitment.
As you may expect from a Disney film, there’s a change that transpires within Oz. It’s perhaps a bit too sweeping and bombastic for its own good (aren’t all Disney movies?), but it’s genuine. The malevolent depiction of the leading women (Ms. Weisz and Ms. Kunis) is, however, problematic. They both coming off as raging lunatics, satanic cartoons resembling anything but humans. But this is not the fault of Oz, but director Sam Raimi, or rather screenwriters Mitchell Kapner and David Lindsay-Abaire.
Also problematic, though, is this statement that insists Oz, by the end of the film, transmutes from a “cowardly pessimist into a hero.” Without revealing any significant plot details, I’m rather shocked by Tina’s assessment of the ending (which in and of itself has tonal and pacing issues). He’s only a hero in the eyes of Emerald City, and the many people that populate it. Conversely, we see Oz as he truly is: a flawed human being, still plagued by cowardice and greed. After everything is said and done, I found James Franco to portray a man whose morality shifts with each experience that pushes him to introspection and reevaluation of what he stands for and believes in.
Now, to shift gears just momentarily, I’d like to briefly expound upon what I found Oz to encapsulate.
We’ve been told ad-nauseum that film is the manipulation of images to tell a story. However, while movies may be inherently artificial, elements of humanism consistently surface. Characters and problems we can identify with, themes and ideas we can be enlightened by, transcendent narratives that can force us to contemplate our own existence, mistakes, and lives.
Oz the character is essentially an extended allegory for this conceit. He’s a cheap-trick magician who unexpectedly finds himself in this new world. Thrusted into the spotlight upon his arrival, Oz is crowned the mighty and powerful magician the prophecy predicted – sent here to save the people of Emerald city from the evil witch that plagues this once beautiful, blissful society.
Like cinema, Oz has to go about convincing these people, through artful trickey, optical illusions, and faux-magic in the vein of Houdini, that he’s strong enough to banish all evil. And yet, while his whole performance is just that – a performance – he provides genuine compassion and inspiration to the citizens of Emerald City.
Oz the Great and Powerful does this too. Despite being a mere prequel (or origin story) to the 1939 Judy Garland classic, The Wizard of Oz, Raimi taps into a story that makes us care. Antithetical to the horror excursions Raimi built his name on, Oz the Great and Powerful is a heartwarming fantasy drenched in opulence.
Perhaps I’m being a bit too apologetic. But this film critic, one who far too often acts and writes like a curmudgeon triple his age, was won over by Oz’s spirit and charm. It’s an entertaining escape from reality.