The Wiz (1978)

"No one home in Soulsville, baby."

I admit a bit of hesitancy in reviewing this film, as I expect someone, somewhere, believes this movie made significant contributions toward equality in civil rights. Quite frankly, I am not going to display any bias for a movie because it caters to a particular minority or contributes to social progress. A bad movie is a bad movie, whatever it's stripes.

That said, grab a terrier, your best pair of sequined stilettos and let's ease on down the road (yes that obscenely citrus-colored road) and into The Wiz (1978).  The Wiz is a revamping of Frank L. Baum's classic The Wizard of Oz. The story is a cultural icon at this point, and if you're like me, your mother subjected you many a trip to Oz with Judy Garland during your childhood. In fact the Wizard of Oz has become such a phenomenon it's been the subject of multiple additions and re-workings in films, broadway musicals, and Sci-Fi channel miniseries over the years.  The Wiz is another such a re-imagining. An African American re-imagining.

However (yes there's a however), this movie is a stylistically far cry from it's roots. It actually began on the stage in 1975 where it garnered all sorts of praise and Tony Awards. The musical remained mostly true to the regular story line, the only notable differences being the musical numbers and a completely African American cast. I should mention it was also very successful. Well, success like that has to be tampered with and it when Motown Productions acquired the rights, they set out to make a film version filled with the hottest black stars of the time. And this, gentle viewer, is how I came to be watching an afro'ed Diana Ross in blue polyester running around Oz with her companions: Nipsey Russell as the carney Tin-man, the cowardly lion as played by Ted Ross, and a trash-filed scarecrow named Michael Jackson. Oh yes.

As this is a musical, filled with music artists, maybe we'll start with the music. Let's get one thing clear: I do not hate musicals. I don't mind a well crafted story with a few toe-tapping numbers, so don't think I'm pre-disposed to hate this based on those grounds alone. I know the songs are carried over from the broadway show and won some recognition in bygone eras, but god-oh-god the songs. My major complaint is with the length of every number - the ballads carry on for FAR too long. About the time you're checking your watch odds are the song still has a good five minutes left. With the exception of "Ease on Down the Road," none of the tunes are particularly catchy ("Ease" probably isn't all that catchy either except it WILL get stuck in your head. Thanks to the 17 reprises after any and every pit-stop, it will be impossible for you not to be singing this song days afterward)and even the big names don't seem to add much. Diana's vocal work often sounds raspy and weak, and MJ's awkward gyrations on his t.v. antenna pole in his first scene will just serve to make you uncomfortable. Maybe not as uncomfortable as when Michael-Jackson-Scarecrow later asks "Where the little boys at?" but still awkward. I can honestly say that this movie would be greatly improved without the music. Every time a new number began I'd sigh deeply. "Another one?" became my mantra while watching this movie, and I even found myself muttering it on the very first number. Suffice it to say, be glad you're not seeing this show live and I recommend that any future viewers consider keeping a remote control in hand for those lengthy, forgettable moments in song.

Now you might ask yourself, why was this film made? Let's talk shop. Back in 1975 someone decided that the African American community needed its own version of Wizard of Oz. In 1977 someone else decided that the musical should be adapted for film, and that it really ought to address its demographic and sought to make the story even more... relatable, perhaps? You know, not that "white man's" Land of Oz filled with cute singing munchkins, evil apple-throwing trees and a green Wicked Witch of the West, all in glorious Technicolor.

No, our Dorothy a.k.a. Ms. Ross is a Brooklyn suburbanite, and the movie opens on a lovely Thanksgiving feast in their apartment filled with friends and family. After the obligatory heartwarming musical number, we get filled in on a few details about Dorothy's past: she's a 25 year old kindergarten teacher, never been south of 125th street, shy, and just doesn't fit in. How do you fix a problem like Dorothy? If you're Glinda, you create a snow tornado that sweeps down the street, whipping her and Toto up in a flurry of bad special effects and even worse wirework. Why anyone thought that the most realistic way to make Dorothy "fall" onscreen was to horizontally pull her sideways, is beyond me. It does make for an enjoyable moment when her blanket "floats away" or rather is obviously yanked from her by two strings tied to the corners. It's seriously bad, and my description cannot do it justice. I'm no expert, so they didn't consult me, but isn't it easier to makes someone seem to fall by dropping them in the direction gravity is pulling them anyway?

Dorothy crashes through a giant light-up Oz sign in the sky which falls and kills the witch. After all, we can't scoop up Dorothy's Brooklyn apartment building and drop it her; it'd kill all the munchkins as well. As for Dorothy, luckily she breaks her fall in a giant pile of... cornmeal? Yes, Cornmeal. Which happens to be set in the middle of what looks like a dangerously rundown playground surrounded by a high rise sprawl. Remember that magically colorful world Dorothy finds herself in The Wizard of Oz? In The Wiz its a muted, dilapidated place full of graffiti and rubble. That's right, the black version of Oz is a dump. Thematically its supposed to appear as a surreal New York City, and locations like the NYC Public Library or the yellow brick road leading to five (count 'em) Chrysler Buildings, crop up throughout the film.

All the locations and ideas get an urban revamping here and my favorite scene occurs when Dorothy and her companions are forced into the subway system only to be pursued by dastardly tile pillars who detach themselves from their moorings, garbage cans with teeth, and snaking electric wires. Luckily the Cowardly Lion was bluffing about his courage issues and systematically saves everyone. The scene is so ridiculous, so over the top, and so the antithesis of peril you can't help but laugh. When they finally emerge from the subway they land themselves in the poppy field. Oh, my bad. A "field" (or nightclub) full of "poppies" (or prostitutes with poppies on their dresses and hot pants). Obviously whores and the perfumes they love will make you tired.

While it is interesting to see a different take on characters who are part of our film vernacular, these incarnations just don't hold water for me. They're more ridiculous than intriguing. Take the monkeys, for example. These "winged" creatures roar their way onto the screen on oversized motorcycles while wearing freaky monkey face-masks. Then there's Glinda the Good, played by Lena Horne, who spends all her time hanging out in space, rarely making an appearance except at the beginning and the end. Considering she whisked Dorothy here, its unfortunate that she's far too busy to aid their journey whatsoever. Busy with what, you ask? Why, with all the star-babies, naturally. Star babies are infants who don't look terribly pleased to be stuffed in a fleece star suit and hung from the rafters. And they look even less pleased when Lena starts in on her song, giving the camera looks that clearly read, "Here this bitch goes again..."

Despite all of these changes, the one I pondered most was why this mystical world looks way shittier than the Brooklyn she grew up in. And moreover, what is this supposed to say about African Americans? Why is their Oz in the ghetto? Of course, things improve the closer they get to the Emerald City, which by the way turns out to be a city square surrounded by more high rise office buildings (it looks eerily similar to Munchkinland, the playground equipment being traded out for giant crystals and walking cameras). Is this some sort of oppression message? Maybe, except that the man is hardly keeping these citizens down. And by the man I mean the Wiz. And by the Wiz I mean Richard Pryor. Yep. He's more sad than funny in this go-around however.

I admit that this movie isn't lacking innovation in the alterations made. And personally I'll always trade lavish magical beauty for decay and post-apocalyptic theming. But it doesn't make sense here. Either the director believes that all black people are poor urbanites, or these were the easiest/cheapest locations to film at. It might be both. But either way the ruined NYC scape dominates the movie. There also might be a slim chance that the message here is that New York goes to hell without white folks, but that seems a bit racist.

Which is kind of the point I'm driving home here. For a movie that was made for the black community, with all black actors, this film will make your average viewer a might bit fidgety if only for the fact that it plays off black stereotypes. Surprised? Maybe you shouldn't be given that the director was Sidney Lumet, a white man. The screenplay, which, by the way, is completely original and draws nil from the stage version (songs aside), is written by none other than Joel Schumacher. You know, of Batman & Robin and fame? And also a white man. If you're planning on rewriting a script and want it to reach a particular demographic, wouldn't it be prudent to ask someone who is connected with said group? Instead they asked a couple of white guys to make a movie for a black audience... It should be no surprise that this movie comes across as racist.

You'll find it in small details, like the many taxi cabs to the Emerald City who won't stop for Dorothy and her crew, or the Cowardly Lion being named "Fleetwood Coupe de Ville" (which, when revealed to the others is followed by the Lion's explanation that "Mama had high ideals"), or even the crows (who look ready to break out in "When I See an Elephant Fly" from Disney's Dumbo) who are a parade of laziness and apathy. If that wasn't enough, some parts are seriously questionable. Take the Evillene scene, for example. I'm not sure where this name for the Wicked Witch came from, but she looks nothing like you might remember. In fact what she looks like is a bad blackface cartoon. Evillene also rules a sweat shop with an iron fist, dramatically demanding that no one give her bad news (in song, naturally) as her freakish looking workers (complete with enormous behinds) work and dance and sing along. And when the witch is finally melted in the end, the workers shed their wear to dance in loin clothes. The scene plays out so offensively all you can do is stare with your mouth open.

While there are many aspects of the film that just aren't up to par - like the music or the acting (Was Botox available this early? Diana Ross seems to only have one frozen expression throughout the entire film; her acting is so mechanical if you aren't watching carefully you may mistake her for the Tin-man), what really pushes into the bad movie cannon is how socially backwards it comes across. The argument might be made that the message of all of this is not to accept the circumstances you are dealt and to rise above them. It that is the case, why build the film on negative stereotypes? Shouldn't it buck those traditions instead of embracing them? Maybe back during original release The Wiz was speaking to the black community, but today it seems a big ball of racism.

The Wiz gets a 3 on the "So-Bad-You-Must-See-It-Immediately" scale for using African Americans to pander to what Caucasians think they should be.