Saw Wicked at QPAC last Friday night and was not entirely convinced that what I watched was entertainment. There were many excellent aspects to this production, however, there were one or two key points which rendered the evening a political farce.
Not one Ozzie accent the entire evening so it was a fine production by immigrants or visitors. Not sure how the antagonist was so egotistical yet became the protagonist, vaguely. The final act abandoned all pretence at narrative and realism. There was a problem with representation, too.
At times, I could not understand what was being sung. Those elongated strong ‘r’s in the middle of words strangle the vowels around them and impact the consonants. Incredible that a globally touring troupe could not alter a few words, such as ‘girrrrrrrrrrrl’ to ‘gehhhhl’ so the locals could grasp the singing, which was usually very good. The orchestra, however, was exceptional. I had to consciously notice the musical accompaniment and when I did, I was astonished.
The invisible victim of Elphaba was misplaced in tone, warbling through spoken lines, and monologue lyrics which highlighted an incredibly conceited personality. I could only resolve this mismatch by allowing for her childhood neglect to result in such an unsavoury disorder, but cannot reconcile the personality with the character’s in-story choices.
Galinda was a mash-up of Legally Blonde and Clueless, and there was a third one in there, too, but the character was written with spite regarding its references. Three different Glindas from Wizard of Oz movies have invariably made me love them for their charm and goodness. Galinda encouraged no awe or veneration but merely a resentfulness toward the writers at killing four birds with one stone. What kind of mindset throws excellent women under the bus just to prove that, um, something?
The dancing, choreography, set designs and set changes were up there with the orchestra, dazzling in both presentation and presence. The allusion of Galinda and Elphaba being lesbian was a great point and was initially handled well, stirring my enthusiasm for a pointedly delicate handling of what it means to be different. Seems like that initial storyline was dropped and the rest of the show was given to different writers.
With an agenda.
I really enjoyed the allusions to the blonde women of Legally Blonde and Clueless up until the writers smudged the authenticity and fortitude of Elle and Cher for the moral positioning of Elphaba. Once the Wizard had been filleted, I lost interest with only uninspired confusion emerging with the creation of the Lion, the Scarecrow and the Tinman. Where pride is replaced with spite, we have only toxic femininity to blame.
And while the writers were so eager to virtue signal how innocent and horribly egotistical Elphaba could hand the Wizard his comeuppance, they did not notice that there was only one black actress in the show, and she was murdered by a house.
The final note: I viewed the evening as a fun way to be wicked and to show our wickedness. Sadly, in an horrific case of de ja vu a la Pentatonix’ gig, I was the only one in the theatre who stepped up and tried. No, I’m not counting the two white straight women behind me who kept chatting and rustling plastic through quiet dialogue. That was simply rudeness.
A D R A N 