'Wicked' -- The Passion play of the cool true faith

I'll be blunt: I don't like musicals. Do I need to go see this cultural steamroller?

I have never been a fan of classic movie musicals.

I just don’t have the ability to suspend disbelief. I was the Southern Baptist preacher’s kid in the theater balcony who, when allowed to see “The Sound of Music,” had an unusual reaction when Julie Andrews did her spinning in the Alps thing. As she burst into glorious song, I turned to my mother and asked: “Where is the orchestra?”

Part of the problem was that, starting at age five or so, I was a singer who walked onto stages in choirs, at church and at school. I think I sang my first solo in the second grade, or thereabouts. I guess I became a musical literalist. If you wanted to sing, you needed a choir (I loved a cappella choral music), a piano, a pipe organ, an ensemble in a stage pit or something real. Something other than an invisible orchestra.

I do understand the allure of Broadway musicals — because that’s the real thing.

All of this is to say that there are multiple reasons for me having little or no interest in joining the crowd that will march into movie theaters to watch “Wicked,” even though I do recognize the blue-zip-code hymnody status of “Defying Gravity.”

As you would expect, I have done some reading on this debates about this movie, which are way, way bigger than the usual Strong Female Character riff.

Thus, let me ask: Do I need to go see this movie?

It’s a cultural signal, for sure. But it’s a signal from our culture’s Powers that Be and they get to send the signal, define the signal and then frame the reactions of anyone who dares suggest that this is not a wholesome signal that all loving parents should teach their children to embrace.

Right or wrong? Is there anyone in our midst who can help me out here?

At the moment, I am tempted to run away, run away — while pointing parents, pastors, teachers and counselors to this provocative Brett McCracken essay at The Gospel Coalition website: “The Post-Christian Morality of ‘Wicked’.” The overture establishes the Big Idea:

One of the most noteworthy theological trends in 21st-century pop culture has been the rehabilitation of the “villain.” From Cruella to Maleficent to the Joker and more, iconic villains are now routinely given spinoff movies and sympathetic backstories that complicate our categories of good and evil. This has dovetailed with the rise of the “trauma plot” and a narrative fixation on how destructive choices (let’s just call it “sin”) can be explained by past trauma.

Part of why Hollywood has gravitated toward this narrative is simply that it makes good (and financially lucrative) drama. Giving villains origin stories is intriguing. But I think this trend’s rise is also connected to the post-Christian culture’s confusion about sin and evil, morality and justice. In this world, the theological word “sin” has been replaced by the psychological word “brokenness,” and transcendent concepts of justice have been replaced by oppressor-oppressed power dynamics.

All this is on full display in Wicked (out today in theaters), the Jon M. Chu–directed movie about the Wicked Witch of the West’s origin story. The Wicked franchise (first a book, then a popular Stephen Schwartz Broadway musical, and now a two-part cinematic saga) is perhaps the clearest example yet that contemporary pop culture struggles with the category of evil. The title alone playfully probes the concept, redefining it as a word of empowerment (think “Wicked awesome!” as Bostonians might say).

Let me put this in journalism terms.

For decades (certainly during the 20 years of GetReligion.org), I have heard critics of the mainstream press say that the big problem with religion-news coverage is that most journalists “hate” religion (or “religious” people), which is a totally different thing than saying that journalists don’t “get” religion.

That explanation is way too simplistic. I worked with some great newspaper editors, when it came time to cover religion news and trends, and some that didn’t have a clue. I met very few who were genuinely messed up, when it came to their attitudes about the faithful. Apathy was more common than that.

What I did discover, was that many journalists — maybe most — have decided that there is “good” religion and there is “bad” religion and that, when push would come to shove, the principalities and powers at The New York Times and National Public Radio get to tell the public (and executives in most newsrooms) which religion was which.

The bottom line: Good religion was defined by “good” people who believed “good” things, and “bad” religion was defined by all of those “bad” people who were on the wrong side of history.

This brings us to the thesis statement of “Wicked,” which opens the movie. All together now: “Why does wickedness happen?”

That, friends and neighbors, is a theological question.

Let me point readers to a few key passages in the McCracken review:

This question opens the film, posed by a munchkin in Munchkinland to Glinda the Good Witch (Ariana Grande) following news that ends the original Oz film: the Wicked Witch of the West is dead. Glinda answers the question by narrating the life of her frenemy, Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo), from her birth in a broken home to a childhood marked by bullying to adult years when she and Glinda attended Shiz University — an institution reminiscent of Hogwarts for would-be witches to learn magic. …

“I’ve decided to make you my project,” Glinda informs Elphaba, exuding the sort of condescending liberal guilt of a privileged “do-gooder” whose altruism is largely about virtue signaling. She represents privilege, power, and Karen-esque entitlement; even her gestures of allyship and solidarity feel opportunistic.

Meanwhile, Elphaba is a marginalized icon of intersectionality: born with green skin, the daughter of an unknown father, ostracized in childhood, prone to quirky dance moves. It’s no doubt intentional that Elphaba is played in the film by a queer black woman (Erivo). Her character doesn’t neatly fit mainstream society’s binaries and norms. And as the story progresses, she becomes a freedom fighter for the oppressed, a “villain” only insofar as those in power mischaracterize her cause.

In other words, up is down, down is up, and “wicked” is the rebellious new “good,” because the “good” religion that drives the wicked is a rejection of the “bad” religion of the oppressors who have made life hell for the week, the wounded, the misunderstood and, well, the green.

In this musical, the “bad” religion includes, of course, the Oz world’s ruler and semi-god — the fake Wizard. The old Oz guard is very judgmental (#DUH) and this tribe also has some serious Nazi vibes. They see things in white vs. green absolutes.

Now, the anti-heroine is a complex person, as people damaged by “bad” religion often are. She is wicked for valid reasons.

I could go on and on with McCracken quotes, but I will end with these two:

If Elphaba has a flaw in Wicked, it’s that she cares too much. Unlike many in the film who live decadent, thoughtless lives (“dancing through life” rather than “studying strife”), Elphaba can’t turn a blind eye to injustice. Her “wickedness” emerges out of an earnest passion that begins to consume her. Her character is emblematic of the hyperserious, humorless stereotype of the “woke.” How can one smile and make jokes when the world is so cruel and unjust?

Indeed, vice in the world of Wicked isn’t just embodied by powerful people who actively oppress; it’s also evident in those who don’t care enough that this is happening—the privileged who can eat, drink, and merrily dance while nefarious forces ruin the world. Silence is violence. In Wicked’s view of sin and culpability, some individuals are actually heinous and Hitler-esque; but entire classes of people are culpable for their willful ignorance; guilty on account of their naive, comfort-prioritizing “complicity” in an evil system.

And then there is this take on the musical’s show-shopping anthem.

Everybody sing along?

Elphaba defies gravity literally but also philosophically, rejecting higher authorities and moral norms: I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game . . . / I’m through accepting limits / ’Cause someone says they’re so. She asserts her “woken up” virtue (Too late to go back to sleep), moral autonomy (It’s time to trust my instincts) and “born this way” self-acceptance (Some things I cannot change).

It’s not surprising “Defying Gravity” has become a favorite anthem of the LGBT+ community, often performed at Pride events. The song (and Wicked generally) has a campy ambiance of naughtiness and shameless transgression. But it also narrates the choice many LGBT+ people make to sever relationships and separate from “nonaffirming” communities (including families) so they can live in freedom, on their own terms. …

Glinda recognizes the sadness of it but doesn’t necessarily think Elphaba is making the wrong choice. She sings, I hope you’re happy / Now that you’re choosing this / I hope it brings you bliss. Glinda’s way of loving Elphaba is, in the end, to affirm her choice — however destructive it may be for her and others. Indeed, “I hope it makes you happy” has become the grid of moral evaluation in a post-Christian world. You do you. Be yourself. Follow your heart. As long as you’re happy.

So back to my question: Do I need to see this movie? Is there anything that the leaders of traditional religious institutions can say about this “classic” that will not fit neatly into the white vs. green structures that have been woven into the musical itself?

What I would like to do is ask readers to send me URLs to other pieces about the religious elements of this cultural steamroller. I would be interested in hearing from people with other points of view, including those who can express what makes the musical truly “great” in terms of its cultural influence.

One of my favorite history professors in college used to say that, for a message to be truly dangerous, it needed to be excellent and about 90% true.

Is that what we are dealing with here?