Last week, I took my mother to see the broadway play “Wicked”, which I thought would be a nice treat. Although she enjoyed doing something with me, neither one of us really cared much for the show. Instead, we were treated to a daringly garish display of counterculture themes dressed up as entertainment because it was set to a catchy and popular score. Like when I saw “Sweeney Todd” in Vienna in 1999, I was completely unprepared for the wickedness on display, but that’s not the saddest part. The worst part is that most of the crowd probably didn’t even notice.
The play showcased all sorts of aberrant and abhorrent human behavior. From the first scene, where we learn how the wicked witch was born of an affair to the final scene, where we learn that the wizard who ordered her demise was her own father, the play depicted man’s inhumanity to man. Rumors are believed by the somnambulant public. Racism appears in the form of animals being banned from teaching at university. The people bully the witch for her green skin. Her own stepfather distances himself from her. Her roommate presumes that there must be something wrong with her and insists that “it’s not aptitude, it’s how you’re viewed” as she performs a makeover to help her become more mainstream. Glinda gets mad at her one time friend for “stealing” the man over whom she swooned when he chooses her for her personality over Glinda’s presentation. The wizard and his inner circle attempt to strongarm her into immoral acts and then slander her to Ozians when she refuses to take part. The play was positively primeval. After the final curtain, they then had the audacity to stand on stage and petition us for donations to their pet causes. I sat there because it was the genteel thing to do.
Rather than stand back aghast at the unabashed audacity of the author to address wickedness, most of the people will comment on the play itself. While the actors genuinely performed admirably and the songs are catchy, that does not redeem the wickedness of “Wicked”. I remember as a youth people justifying and rationalizing the ruderal by saying, “It’s great except for that one part…” Well, I have often wondered why, if material is inappropriate for children under the age of 13, it’s acceptable for the rest of us. No matter how “popular” the songs are and the score and the acting, it was a smutty story, largely jejune, celebrating malversation over morality. The people in attendance stood in applause. I felt uncomfortable. They seemed to have a good time. I felt out of place. Maybe it was that I was overdressed, having worn a suit.
The one redeeming feature to "Wicked" came in the final act. Glinda, who begins the play as a selfish ingrate and floosy of a woman, remains true to her friend and does what she can to make things right. The actress seemed genuinely sad with how things turned out between her and the wicked witch, despite her best attempts to first persuade her to come along “for fellowship’s sake” and then to warn her against Dorothy’s crusade to kill the witch. I don’t know if that’s true to the story (since I discovered this was based on a book), but it did end the play on as positive of a note as possible. I’m glad I know, because I won’t see it again. I was taught to avoid the appearance of evil, and I’m ashamed a wee bit that I witnessed something “wicked” and felt it was culture. Now I know better.
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