A review of Oz the Great and Powerful.

The pop-culture prominence of Tolkien’s Middle-Earth and, much more recently, the magical world of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter, stand on the shoulders of two classic fantasy realms: Lewis Carroll’s Wonderland and Frank L. Baum’s Oz. Of the two, Wonderland received much fanfare and reinvigoration in the form of a recent blockbuster movie. Oz had to be content with the musical Wicked, until Disney stepped in.

I cannot say, however, that the renewed interest in the land of munchkins and yellow bricks road did anything to revise my rather lukewarm relationship to anything Oz-related. Given a choice of exotic travel destinations, my unhesitating choice would be Wonderland, period. Where Carroll’s brilliant creation is layered with meaning, infusing its extraordinary surrealism with a clever subversion of language and logic, Baum’s conception of Oz, though undeniably imaginative, always struck me as conventional. Wonderland has fascinating rules and anti-rules underlying the apparent whimsy, whereas Oz is merely deployed as a flight of fancy, a daydream. 

Following in the footsteps of Tim Burton’s highly successful venture into Wonderland, Disney’s attempt to take on another giant in fantasy literature did not enthuse with a trailer that suggested a derivative checklist in place of a vision. Odd but captivating landscapes? Check. Hyperactive flora and fauna? Check. Splashes of whimsy? Check. And so on. Yet Sam Raimi’s directorial hand at the helm, along with later trailers charting more details of the plot, proved persuasive, if not decisive. The result proves the adage that pessimism (or at least skepticism) is a ripe state of mind with which to experience pleasant surprises.

And the skepticism is considerable, especially without a great love of the classic film starring Judy Garland to bolster a positive predisposition. Oz the Great and Powerful has none of the anthropological depth of Tolkien, nor the union of intellect and wild imagination in Carroll’s Wonderland. Sam Raimi, though a clever and witty director, is no match for Burton’s visionary blend of whimsy and pathos – although his Oz is certainly presented with enough vision to distinguish itself in a film both beautiful to watch and suspenseful. Performances are earnest and occasionally affecting, but more often delivered at a journeyman level than not. In Mila Kunis’s case, her delivery as the witch Theodora is contrived until the story requires her to let loose her inner cartoon, whereupon she becomes lively and entertaining, while Rachel Weisz is given a harp with only one string to play. (This being Rachel Weisz, she at least plucks that string well.) We get a more nuanced performance and range of emotions out of the little china (read: porcelain) girl voiced by Joey King than either of the leading ladies.

Thankfully, James Franco – a quirky and sardonic actor – inhabits the lead convincingly, providing the film with its critical anchor. Launching the story as a stage magician with a quick hand for stagecraft and an even quicker eye for the ladies, Oz is the seductive rogue trickster whose selfishness and venal ambitions are tempered by a measure of self-awareness. He’s a confidence man who doesn’t buy into his own scams, often creating the feeling that his lies and deceptions are not so much the product of intention but rather reflexive attempts to maintain leverage in any situation so as to keep from falling down. But an absence of malice does not, by itself, a hero make, and the script slyly allows us to see beyond what Oz presents us. Although he sees himself, often correctly, as far from being a good person, events show us that he does have a conscience and, crucially, a capacity to act out of compassion. Are these the seeds of greatness? The trick, which Franco accomplishes well, is to encapsulate the character’s ambiguity, keeping us in suspense as to whether, in his masquerade as the Wizard, Oz will ultimately prove hero or impostor.

This strong characterization is one of the most compelling traits of Mitchell Kapner and David Lindsay-Abaire’s script, along with the clever world-building that foreshadows Dorothy’s future visit. It is here that the surprise fully asserts itself. Although few characters are profound beyond fulfilling a specific function in the plot, the key players – Theodora (Mila Kunis), Glinda (Michelle Williams), and of course Oz himself – benefit from often surprising growth leading to a multi-faceted interpretation of the characters.

Yet for all that the script occasionally astonishes with the writer’s craft, the true wonder might easily go unnoticed: The film defies the tradition of violent confrontations this sort of epic traditionally invites. True, villains are wicked indeed, although their evil is understated and indirect rather than overt and explicit. Yet in their opposition, the film’s forces of good remain true to their principles. One-upping Burton’s Alice in Wonderland, whose script by Linda Woolverton indulges the tired metaphor of warfare, Oz the Great and Powerful features characters who achieve victory without weapons or death in a thrilling humdinger of a climax. The distinction between the motives and method of good vs. those of evil lends a rare grace to a film that could easily have – to borrow a turn of phrase from the film – followed the bloody brick road of Hollywood violence. Oz the Great and Powerful joins Paranorman, a film whose conflict is resolved through conciliation rather than brutality, as a rare blend of charm, spectacle, entertainment, and conscientiousness. A very pleasant surprise, indeed.