Since Werth is busy applying his massive brain to the academic world and left me alone in Film Gab Labs this week, I thought I'd switch things up and step away from our usual fare of classic, cult, and outright cuckoo films to say a few things about a movie that's just opened in theaters: Oz The Great and Powerful.
Loyal Gabbers already know that my favorite film is MGM's The Wizard of Oz (1939), and many suspect from the few hints I've dropped how much I've been looking forward to the new film from Disney. But primarily I'm a fan of L. Frank Baum's books, and while the MGM film captures something of the exhilaration and the sentiment of Baum's magical world, it never approaches his weirdness. Because the Oz books are odd, filled with boys who turn out to be enchanted princesses, magical ducks, lonely eccentrics, punning utensils, invisible bears, and an entire race of people who keeps their brains canned and in their pockets.
Sam Raimi, the director of the new film, has a history of bringing wonderfully strange things to the screen: his Evil Dead trilogy is both bloodthirsty and hilarious; his Spiderman flicks (at least the first two) revel in portraying an outsider suddenly gaining superhuman, albeit somewhat sticky, powers. Introducing the filmmaker—who made severed limbs comic—to the writer—who dramatized the Tin Woodman's conversation with his own discarded flesh noggin—seemed inspired.
But the new film is almost unbearably square. Sure, there are a couple 3-D tricks that makes audiences jump, some beautifully designed effects, even the gorgeous black-and-white opening scenes filmed in the pre-Cinemascope Academy ratio, but presenting a "re-imagining" of a much more beloved fantasy that once again reveals a scintillating villain as simply a Lonelyheart badly in need of a hug is absurd. The Grinch is wicked not because of some schoolyard crush gone wrong, but because he's a Grinch. Willy Wonka didn't become a magical candymaker because of bad orthodonture. And Darth Vader didn't become the most terrifying figure in both the Old Republic and the Empire in a plot twist straight out of The Courtship of Eddie's Father (1963).
This defanging of villains is disrespectful not only to the original authors, but more importantly it trivializes viewers' memories of being terrified by what they saw onscreen. Margaret Hamilton may have been a retired Kindergarten teacher, but when she turned up in Munchkinland in a ball of fire and unleashed that chilling cackle she became responsible for generations of nightmares. Even her Winged Monkeys (which are rather obviously short actors in furry pajamas) can elicit screams of terror. Disney's Wicked Witch, on the other hand, is about as scary as the average Judy Blume character, and her evil could have been washed away just as easily by a pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream as by a bucket.
Which isn't to say that there aren't pleasures in Raimi's film. Michelle Williams is excellent, and so is Rachel Weisz even though she belongs in another movie. There's also a scene between James Franco's Wizard and Zach Braff's animated monkey that's marvelous, not because of the dialogue (which is terrible), but because the Yellow Brick Road, framed by an overgrown pasture and a split rail fence, looks so magically real. But the greatest pleasure of the film is also perhaps its smallest: China Girl. Voiced by Joey King and beautifully animated, she is the one character that captures something of Baum's whimsy and weirdness. Despite her porcelain constitution, she is both headstrong and clever like the Dorothy of the books and just as full of longing for home as Judy Garland in the MGM film.
In an interview with Kurt Andersen on Studio 360, filmmaking legend Nora Ephron declared it would be impossible to ever make a movie that got anywhere near the Oz books she loved as a child. It would be a shame if that were true, although so far, she seems to have been proved right.
Werth: Howdy, Wise. It looks like you're all ready for the opening of Oz The Great and Powerful.
Wise: I sure am. I've got my 3-D glasses, my official Glinda wand, my James Franco doll, and even a bucket in case the whole thing turns my stomach.
Werth: But where are your Ruby Slippers?
Wise: Well, as the endless barrage of puff pieces in the press will tell you, the Ruby Slippers belong to Warner Bros., the current owner of MGM's The Wizard of Oz, and won't turn up in Sam Raimi's film which is supposed to be based on ideas culled from L. Frank Baum's original 14 Oz books. But rabid Oz fans needn't fret if they're looking for direct ties to the Judy Garland movie because the talented artisans who worked at Metro Goldwyn Mayer left traces of their handiwork all over scores of great films.
Not only can you see Margaret O'Brien carrying Dorothy's basket in Little Women (1949), Janet Gaynor decked out in Glinda's gown in San Francisco (1936), you can also check out what looks suspiciously like Dorothy's front door in a gangster's apartment in Another Thin Man (1939).
Werth: Not only did props, costumes and set pieces from The Wizard of Oz make their way into other movies, the director Victor Fleming can be found directing oodles of other classic films. In fact, 1939 was a good year for Fleming as he directed both The Wizard of Oz and Gone With the Wind and even won the Best Director prize for the latter. But Fleming was a successful director years before he went to the merry old land of Oz.
When he directed the show business comedy Bombshell in 1933, he was already one of Hollywood's top directors. Teamed again with his Red Dust (1932) leading lady Jean Harlow, Fleming opens Bombshell with a whirlwind montage of Lola Burns: movie star, fashion icon, tabloid cutie and perfume purveyor.
Wise: This was long before most celebrity fragrances stank.
Werth: It's actually kind of amazing how topical this 80 year old movie is. Lola feels trapped by her stardom which includes mobs of autograph seeking fans, stalkers, opportunistic salesmen, and a family of money-hungry vultures—led by her tippling, buttinsky father Pops, played by the Wizard himself, Frank Morgan.
Wise: He didn't spend all his leisure time driving around a Technicolor horse.
Werth: And the man who gives her the most grief is the studio's press agent Space "Bud" Hanlon (Lee Tracy) who places made-up, salacious news stories about Lola on the front page every chance he gets. Of course this doesn't stop the two of them from getting a yen for each other. Bombshell is like a loud, shouting roller coaster ride.
The dialogue is lightning quick with the insults and one-liners flying at a rat-a-tat pace. Frankly, by the time Lola attmepts to escape Hollywood by running away to a desert resort, the audience feels like it needs to join her for a well-earned rest. But Bombshell is a heck of a lot of fun, and even though she isn't as comically smooth as she was in Red Dust or Dinner at Eight (1933), watching Harlow is always a treat. That platinum mop of hair and her wise-cracking, luminous face light up the screen in a way that few stars can.
Wise: Stars who light up the silver screen are blessed with luck, talent as well as an army of off-screen artists who are able to create that Hollywood glow. And perhaps no one had as large and as lasting and impact on the way Hollywood looked as Sydney Guilaroff, the legendary hair stylist to the stars. Discovered by Claudette Colbert and championed by Joan Crawford, Guilaroff became the chief stylist at MGM and worked his magic in over a thousand films.
He designed signature looks for Katherine Hepburn in The Philadelphia Story (1940), Marilyn Monroe in Some Like it Hot (1959), for Liza Minnelli in New York, New York (1976), and had a huge impact on The Wizard of Oz by creating Judy Garland's iconic braids.
Werth: He also kept Joan Crawford company when she won the Oscar for Mildred Pierce... in her sickbed.
Wise: Guilaroff not only made certain that stars looked good, he also helped them create their characters for the screen, and some of his most interesting work resulted when he re-teamed with Garland in Easter Parade (1948). The film follows Don Hewes (Fred Astaire) who is unceremoniously dumped by his dance partner Nadine Hale (Ann Miller) when she is offered a solo in the Ziegfeld Follies. Furious, Don resolves to transform the next women he meets into a replacement for Nadine.
When that woman turns out to be a very unlikely Hannah Brown (Garland), he at first tries to re-do her in Nadine's glamorous image before realizing Hannah's true worth both on- and off-stage, and eventually the two fall in love, all set to Irving Berlin's magical score.
Werth: Judy and Ann starred in lots of projects together, including an episode of Hollywood Hoarder.
Wise: Easter Parade presented a series of challenges to Guilaroff who had to design styles that not only reflected the film's 1912 setting but also Hannah's gradual evolution from frumpy chorus girl to star. Garland begins the picture with tightly wound curls, then switches to an imitation of Miller's slicked and elegant coif, before her hair gradually becomes softer and more natural for the finale.
Along the way she famously dons a short, ratty wig as she and Astaire perform the film's most famous number, "A Couple of Swells," costumed as tramps. It's subtle work, but it's also a reminder of all the myriad talents that go into making a picture great.
Werth: If the box office buzz is any indication, the myriad of talents who worked on Oz The Great and Powerful, will have cause to celebrate.
Wise: We'll celebrate next week with another installment of Film Gab!
This defanging of villains is disrespectful not only to the original authors, but more importantly it trivializes viewers' memories of being terrified by what they saw onscreen. Margaret Hamilton may have been a retired Kindergarten teacher, but when she turned up in Munchkinland in a ball of fire and unleashed that chilling cackle she became responsible for generations of nightmares. Even her Winged Monkeys (which are rather obviously short actors in furry pajamas) can elicit screams of terror. Disney's Wicked Witch, on the other hand, is about as scary as the average Judy Blume character, and her evil could have been washed away just as easily by a pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream as by a bucket. 
Which isn't to say that there aren't pleasures in Raimi's film. Michelle Williams is excellent, and so is Rachel Weisz even though she belongs in another movie. There's also a scene between James Franco's Wizard and Zach Braff's animated monkey that's marvelous, not because of the dialogue (which is terrible), but because the Yellow Brick Road, framed by an overgrown pasture and a split rail fence, looks so magically real. But the greatest pleasure of the film is also perhaps its smallest: China Girl. Voiced by Joey King and beautifully animated, she is the one character that captures something of Baum's whimsy and weirdness. Despite her porcelain constitution, she is both headstrong and clever like the Dorothy of the books and just as full of longing for home as Judy Garland in the MGM film. 
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