REVIEW: ‘Wicked’ Is A Rollicking, If Too Synthetic, Hollywood Musical

Jon M. Chu’s Wicked (2024), the first of a two-part adaptation of the same-titled Tony award-winning Broadway musical (and novel series), opens with a titling that directly recalls Victor Fleming’s own canonical adaptation of The Wizard of Oz—and, by extension, Hollywood’s Golden Age. While this nod to its cinematic predecessor initially feels little more than fan service, it’s part of a grander recontextualization of Author L. Frank Baum and Fleming’s work.

Across a gaggle of enchanting numbers, Chu’s musical adaptation thrusts its original source material into the present with a sturdy examination of prescient themes. Its skepticism of charismatic leaders, innate sense of justice for the oppressed, and timely look at our ceaseless penchant for scapegoating all culminate in a film constructed for this moment.

Yet, on a visual level, the same technicolor magic it repeatedly harkens back to is lost due to its utter dependence on computer-generated imagery, which often dilutes the charm and detail of its practical set design. This results in a washed-out and overly digitized production that often feels as fabricated and soulless as the bigotry it criticizes. For all it does well, it’s a shame that almost every frame of Wicked (2024) feels like it was designed by a committee rather than with hand-crafted care.

Wicked (2024)  is an origin story of the two famed witches of the Land of OZ. Powerhouse Cynthia Erivo stars as Elphaba, a young woman who is a talented sorceress yet teased and ostracized because of her unusual emerald-green skin. While attending Shiz University to hone her abilities, she butts heads with the popular young woman-pampered and privileged Glinda (global superstar Ariana Grande), sparking an unlikely but powerful friendship.

In these early moments, the film’s snappy sense of wit takes center stage, much of it led by Grande’s charismatic turn. Her register and physically attuned performance nails the ditsy, naïve, and self-obsessed aura Glinda brings to each encounter. Along with cohorts like Bowen Yang, Bronwyn James, and Jonathan Bailey as the love interest for both budding witches, the ensemble strikes the perfect balance between theatricality and earnestness. Peter Dinklage’s voice performance as Dr. Dillamond, a lecturing goat whose race is facing persecution, lends a stirring and somber timbre to the film’s examination of oppression and dehumanization.

Elphaba quickly becomes the star pupil of headmistress Madame Morrible (Michelle Yeoh), setting her on a path to meet the legendary Wonderful Wizard of Oz Himself, ultimately played charmingly by Jeff Goldblum. Yet, when she realizes her idol is not who he claims to be, her determination to stay true to herself comes at a great cost: being dubbed the Wicked Witch of the West.

Wicked’s greatest strengths lie in the material it draws from its source stage production, especially in the rollicking song-and-dance sequences it luxuriates in. Exuberant compositions like the rousing “The Wizard and I” or the hysterical “Popular” imprint themselves on audiences, fostering goosebumps that remain well into the next number.

Chu’s film equally succeeds in translating the stage play’s universal commentary on class, propaganda, and complacency, rendering its fantastical world indicative of the flawed one we inhabit. But with Wicked (2024) running a beefy 161 minutes—almost the entire runtime of the original stage production, let alone its first half— the bloated nature of Chu’s adaptation slowly works to undo the goodwill of its source material.

The same effect underpins the film’s technical and visual design. While the world of Wicked (2024) is fascinating and bustling with inventive ideas—seamlessly shifting from spinning libraries to OZ’s dark, mechanical chamber— its sheer dependence on CGI undercuts the whimsy and texture it hopes to foster. The details of each locale often blur and blend into one another, failing to carry the same wonder of the 1939 classic it seeks to evoke at each turn. In moments Wicked (2024) should be bright and full, it feels dull and hollow, dragging itself through computer-crafted muck to finally arrive at its most memorable sequences.

Wicked finds its saving grace in Erivo, whose singing voice is so exalting and shimmering that it practically breathes life into a film running on fumes during its sagging second act. As she regales, “Everyone deserves a chance to fly,” she lifts audiences away. Her performance could have so easily leaned into extremes but teems with layers and nuances, immersing us in character slowly and surely pushed to the recesses of her environment. Erivo serves as both a blessing and curse, highlighting miscast ensemble members like Yeoh, whose limited vocal performance leaves much to be desired.

As if echoing the musical range of its two stars, Wicked (2024) is full of exorbitant highs and lows. Chu’s film is constructed with a clear reverence for its source material, but its pure dependence on computer-generated trickery zaps the real magic away. In peeling away these unneeded filters, there exists a version of this film that not only sings with conviction but does so with a unique identity—much like the heroines at the heart of it.

Wicked (2024) is in theaters, nationwide.