The Wizard of Oz

Ah, the Sunday evening movie hour approaches, and for probably the 57th time in my life, I will sit down and watch the Wizard of Oz. This time, however, I will not be tripping my ass off, nor will I be desparately sync’ing the soundtrack with Dark Side of the Moon. And this time, it will be the third time after reading Gregory MacGuire’s wonderful book, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West. If you are not familiar with this work, I highly recommend picking it up – particularly if the anti-witch propaganda presented in the L. Frank Baum version seemed a bit one-sided. Hear of the dear one, Elphaba, unfortunately born at birth with a VERY olive complexion, fighting for the rights of Talking Animals, trying to return power to Queen Ozma after it had been usurped by the dictator Wizard, and wonder over her interactions with a very insipid, vapid and over-the-top nincompoop roommate at college, Glinda. Mourn as she accepts the death of her sister thanks to a know-it-all meddler from Kansas.

Ah, the humanity …

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