Wicked: Part One has landed with a splash, captivating audiences and critics alike with its vibrant spectacle, powerful musical numbers, and the undeniable star power of its lead performers. With a Rotten Tomatoes score that speaks volumes, it’s clear the film resonates broadly, delivering much of the magic fans of the beloved Broadway musical have longed for. Yet, even in its success, Wicked inherits and, by its very premise, reinforces a narrative dilemma that has quietly lingered since the original novel and stage production: the inherent “wickedness” of Elphaba Thropp.
The story, as currently told, posits that Elphaba is born with green skin, immediately marking her as an “other” and setting her on a path of perceived villainy. While this birth defect is meant to symbolize society’s prejudice and her eventual misunderstanding as the Wicked Witch of the West, it inadvertently introduces a deeply problematic undertone. The very idea that a physical trait, present from birth, could predestine a character to be feared or labelled “wicked” feels narratively unsatisfying and, to many, philosophically flawed. It clashes with the very notion of free will and personal accountability, suggesting a character’s destiny is sealed by biology rather than choice. This presents a unique challenge for a story striving to champion individuality and fight against predetermined roles. If her greenness is innate, her journey becomes less about active transformation and more about reacting to a fate she never chose.
This intrinsic conflict within the narrative often leads audiences to wish for an alternative resolution for Elphaba. One might argue that it would be far more believable and emotionally resonant to see Elphaba truly struggle with her uniqueness—whether it be her magical abilities or an initially ambiguous physical trait—and eventually own it, transforming into a positive, even admired, figure for her defiance and power. Such an arc would celebrate self-acceptance and show society learning to appreciate what it once feared, aligning perfectly with the musical’s overarching themes of prejudice and acceptance. This version of Elphaba would become a symbol of triumphant individuality, a beacon of hope for all “others” in Oz, truly embodying the spirit of “defying gravity” by carving her own noble path.
A True Path To Villainy
However, there is another, perhaps more powerful, narrative road less traveled—one that fully embraces the tragic arc of a villain, making Elphaba’s descent into “wickedness” a chillingly earned consequence of her own choices, rather than an unfortunate destiny. Imagine a version of Oz where Elphaba is born as any other child, perhaps with an extraordinary magical talent, but otherwise outwardly normal. Her journey to becoming the vivid green figure of legend would then be a visceral, physical manifestation of her own moral corruption.
In this reimagined narrative, Elphaba’s powerful abilities would initially lead her to explore the boundaries of free will—and perhaps, the temptation of control. She might delve into creating a destructive spell or curse, one that allows her to manipulate events or individuals to her advantage. At first, like any brilliant mind unburdened by ethical constraints, she might revel in this new power, enjoying the ease with which she can achieve her desires. She might use it in small, seemingly innocuous ways, then escalating, rationalizing each step as she pushes the limits.
The first hint of her true descent would manifest as a subtle, almost imperceptible physical change. Her skin might acquire a faint green tinge, a barely noticeable discoloration. This would serve as a grim, outward sign, a consequence of her actions and the internal toxicity of her negative thoughts. It’s a metaphorical poisoning of the liver, as it were, reflecting the spiritual and moral decay within.
The critical turning point, the true “uprising of a villain,” would occur when the destructive nature of her curse is finally exposed, and she is confronted with the undeniable evidence of her misdeeds. Faced with the truth, instead of admitting fault or seeking redemption, Elphaba would double down on her malevolence. She would lie, cheat, manipulate, and relentlessly weasel herself out of any accountability. This moment would define her as a true antagonist: a refusal to repent, a stubborn unwillingness to amend her ways. Her descent would not be a misunderstanding, but a deliberate choice to embrace self-preservation and power over truth and morality.
It is at this point, as she fully commits to this path of unrepentant villainy, that her physical transformation would be complete. Her skin would turn a vivid, unmistakable green, an irreversible mark of her soul’s corruption. She doesn’t become wicked because she’s green; she becomes vividly green because she has chosen to be wicked. This makes her transformation not just visually dramatic but profoundly earned, a powerful and tragic symbol of a great talent consumed by her own dark choices.
This fundamental re-imagining of Elphaba’s core arc would ripple through the entire narrative, imbuing every interaction and choice with deeper meaning. Glinda’s struggle would become even more poignant as she witnesses her friend’s active embrace of darkness. The Wizard’s propaganda would gain more traction because it’s based on a visible, earned consequence. Ultimately, this approach would transform Wicked from a story about a misunderstood hero into a far more complex and compelling exploration of how free will, unchecked ambition, and a refusal to take responsibility can tragically create a true villain, directly leading to the unequivocally evil Wicked Witch of the West from the 1939 film, making her eventual fate a devastating, yet utterly earned, reckoning. This revised arc would also resolve the inherent cognitive dissonance viewers might feel, where the original film famously celebrates the Witch’s demise, by providing a tragic yet justifiable end for a character who actively chose a path of wickedness.
Thanks,
Ira
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