The Musical Blockbuster That Didn’t Play By the Rules

When Mean Girls, the musical remake of the 2004 film, hit theaters in January, the film appeared to shock audiences for, well, being a musical. Theatergoers recorded the moment that their fellow viewers realized what kind of movie it was; in one video, the crowd groans loudly as soon as a character starts singing, before laughing at their own reactions. But the studio behind the remake wasn’t surprised by these responses. “We didn’t want to run out and say it’s a musical,” Marc Weinstock, Paramount’s president of global marketing and distribution, told Variety of how Mean Girls was advertised, “because people tend to treat musicals differently.”

They certainly haven’t always gone to see them in theaters over the past five years. In part, cinema closures during the coronavirus pandemic’s various waves contributed to weak box-office returns across the board, regardless of quality or classification. Even the Best Picture–nominated, Steven Spielberg–directed remake of West Side Story failed to turn a profit. But on top of low ticket sales, the backlash to and mockery of poorly made entries such as Cats and Dear Evan Hansen—adaptations that once seemed poised to become surefire hits, given their popularity on Broadway—seem to have left studios anxious about the genre’s viability. At least, the way that studios are marketing these movies lately appears to indicate nerves: Promotional campaigns have been disguising the films’ true identity, relying instead on what else might make them recognizable, especially when they’re part of an existing franchise. Mean Girls’ title graphic features a tiny eighth note inside the a as the lone hint at the remake’s Broadway origins. The first trailer for Wonka, the backstory of the Roald Dahl character, didn’t show anyone singing a single word. The Color Purple billed itself as a “bold new take,” without clarifying what that take would be. (The film immediately answered the question by opening with a duet.)

But Wicked, which opened this past weekend, has worn its genre on its sparkly sleeve. The film’s trailers have featured its renditions of the beloved Broadway production’s ever-popular songs, and its seemingly endless promotional barrage over the past months—have its stars Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande ever not worn green and pink, respectively?—has included lyric videos featuring performances from the film. As it turns out, Universal’s unabashed embrace of Wicked captured the film’s ethos: This is a full-throated movie musical, balancing the crowd-pleasing appeal of extravagant sing-alongs with quieter, more private character moments. And it didn’t have to fool audiences into seeing it: Last weekend, the film topped the box office, raking in $114 million domestically and $164 million worldwide—the highest-grossing debut for a movie adaptation of a Broadway production in history.

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Wicked’s stage show is based on the novel by Gregory Maguire, which reimagines L. Frank Baum’s classic The Wonderful Wizard of Oz through the eyes of the Wicked Witch of the West. In Maguire’s telling, she was once the young outcast Elphaba, who developed an unusual relationship with the bubbly blonde Galinda (future Glinda the Good Witch) before becoming Baum’s notorious antagonist. Both the book and the Broadway version ultimately span years of plot machinations, but the Wicked film has chopped the story in half to handle its heft; Part 2 is set to arrive in theaters next year. The movie also streamlines the show’s first act—into a straightforward coming-of-age tale of two women who build a deep bond—which ensures that the film still feels complete.

The resulting adaptation satisfyingly combines the grandiosity of a musical and the intimacy of filmmaking. Big sequences make clear just how different the women are: Introverted and withdrawn, Elphaba (Erivo, marvelous) conveys her innermost thoughts through towering ballads; extroverted and self-obsessed, Galinda (Grande, hilarious and spectacular—sorry, lar) expresses her overdramatic tendencies through vivacious numbers. The camera, meanwhile, carefully reveals how Elphaba and Galinda’s connection evolves, showing that Galinda’s forced smiles eventually reflect true kindness and that Elphaba is often holding back tears while trying to put on a confident front. A lingering shot of them meeting each other’s gaze in a mirror carries as much power as one of their stirring harmonies.

The director, Jon M. Chu, who previously made the gorgeous but underseen In the Heights, also knows how to take advantage of a film’s wide canvas. Oz may be a familiar backdrop, but Chu borrows from a diverse array of musicals to conceive the world of munchkins and talking animals. During “The Wizard and I,” Elphaba twirls atop a cliff like Maria in The Sound of Music. The camera tilts and whips around during “Dancing Through Life” to track the performers’ Busby Berkeley–like choreography across a rotating set. And the surreal, underwater Ozdust Ballroom, where Elphaba and Galinda dance a duet, looks like it’s built to host dream ballets. At times, the maximalism threatens to overwhelm the film, but excess makes sense for this fantasy realm, even if the visuals can’t quite compare to The Wizard of Oz’s stunning explosion of Technicolor.

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Maybe that sense of escapism is why, even at a lengthy run time of 160 minutes, Wicked has become both the buzziest adaptation of a Broadway show in years and a bona fide hit with critics and crowds. Unlike other movie musicals, which tend to tweak the original soundtrack or apply a “realistic” sheen to a genre built upon sensationalism, the film celebrates its medium rather than straining to justify its use. Making the sequel just as successful will be the bigger challenge: As those familiar with the stage version know, Wicked’s second act covers a much more convoluted plot that not only retells The Wizard of Oz but also wades more deeply into political allegory. (Oz’s denizens worship a con artist who calls himself the Wizard.) And with this installment’s hyper-focus on Elphaba and Galinda’s sisterhood, it leaves plenty of subplots, revolving around a large cast of supporting characters, unresolved. Even the overarching theme of Wicked itself has only barely been introduced. “Where does wickedness come from?” a character asks early on. This first film doesn’t offer a response.

In place of an answer, however, is a testament to the true power of a movie musical—perhaps best encapsulated by the film’s rendition of the Act I closer, “Defying Gravity.” The song became Wicked’s signature anthem quickly after its Broadway debut; its message about embracing individuality and its culmination in Elphaba taking flight for the first time have carried musical-theater fans to emotional highs. Here, it’s the film’s finale before its year-long intermission, and it’s just as magnificently rendered, buoyed by Erivo’s tremendous vocals. But unlike the stage version, this one also includes close-ups of Elphaba picturing her younger self in a reflection right before she figures out how to soar. The shot captures how far Elphaba has come: She yearned for so long to be seen for who she is, but she couldn’t get there until she saw herself. It’s a moment so small yet so sentimental, demonstrating why the movie-musical genre should endure. On a big screen, a character such as Elphaba is no longer just belting before an enthralled audience, playing to the back row. Now she gets to let everyone into her mind.