The Wizard of Oz - 75th Anniversary

ON THE DVD:The film itself doesn't really need reviewing, and yet the bulk of this monstrous review is dedicated to it. I'll admit my own personal selfishness and a desire for catharsis that lead me to write so much; but hopefully those who love Oz will find it a worthy tribute. The real question is about the new discs themselves; available in no less than 3 editions (6 if you count the blu-ray / standard as separate) in 2 and 3 disc sets as well as a 70th Anniversary Box set; which is the one I bought. All I really need to say is that this is the kind of treatment the film deserves. Others have already provided a thorough account of the box's contents and the extras; I especially commend William Sommerwerck for his detailed review on the quality of the image transfer, the blu-ray/standard disc comparison and his review of the extras. Really, the box is a seemingly inexhaustible treasure trove that's as gorgeous to look at as it is fun to dig through and use. The 3 discs themselves have hours and hours of extras; none of which I've experienced yet besides the excellent commentary for the film. The bottom line is that if you're a huge fan of the film, buy the box set now before supplies run out; I got set #242,200 of 243,000. If you don't want to invest in the whole shebang, the 3-disc Emerald set has the same DVD features without all of the extras like the huge, beautiful booklet, the watch, the production packet and notes, etc.ON THE FILM:Ultimately, this review will have to be less of a review and more of a celebratory ode to one of my absolute favorite films; currently #7 on my Top 200 list. How does one review a work of art that has been an integral part of their life since their earliest memories of childhood? I vividly remember my early viewings of the film which I shared with my cousin. First on TV, then on VHS recorded from TV. Over and over again. We memorized every song, every line, every background musical queue. When I got older and my mom took me to school we would walk part of the way singing "We're Off to See the Wizard". My cousin and I would put on plays of it for our family. My mom could entertain us for ages with her "If I Were King of the Forest" impersonation. And I get the sense that I am far from alone in my experiences of the film being one of those indelible parts of my life. Indeed, it seems that The Wizard of Oz is less a film that belongs to cinema and more a work of art that belongs to American mythology. Like all great mythology it works on the simplest of levels; with age-old archetypes and themes. If one were to distill them from the film itself it would appear little more than a cliche. But the beauty of The Wizard of Oz, like all mythologies, isn't the simplistic truths expressed through it, but the unforgettable way in which they're expressed. In truth, The Wizard of Oz almost perfectly follows what Joseph Campbell termed the monomyth; starting with the familiar, lead by some call to adventure, advancing to the realm of the unknown by a supernatural force, there encountering mentors and helpers, facing the evil the world has, vanquishing it, and returning home with the gift one achieved there. It's even complete with the magical item MacGuffin in the form of the Ruby Slippers.But Oz is infinitely more than some archetypal structure. Ultimately, form is only as effective as what an artist chooses to fill it with, and I would argue it has rarely ever been filled as brilliantly as in Oz. Oz's production is so magnificent, so grand, so majestic, so startlingly beautiful that I can only feel humbled and grateful that we now have the chance to see it in such a pristine print on high-definition blu-ray. For my money, no film has ever topped the art direction and production of Oz; not from the first frame to the last. To call it perfect would almost belie what a visual feast it is. There are fewer films, if any, that show off the kind of overwhelming magic the Hollywood studio system once possessed. How does one possibly pick a favorite set-piece? The sepia hues of the opening Kansas section seems to perfectly evoke the dusty earth and wood feelings of rural Kansas; turning it - if not supplanting itself completely - into one's imaginations of such a place. But it's truly the emergence into Oz and the Munchkin city itself that provides one of the most magical, mythical moments in all of cinema, as Dorothy opens the door and steps into not just a world of color, but a world of glorious Technicolor. It's transcendental cinema if not for the least of reasons because it's done entirely through visuals with only the slightest of musical queues; though, of course, perfectly punctuated by the "I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore" line. Munchkin city is the kind of design that one could stare at for hours analyzing every edge of the frame and never exhaust the innumerous visual detail and complexity. It's the kind of set that modern screenwriters have forgotten how to conceive, or film-makers forgotten how to create. It's one of those eternal art creations that I don't suspect will ever lose its power and charm.But the brilliance is hardly limited to the Munchkin City. The somewhat sparseness of the first Scarecrow scene allows for ample room for the characters to play freely in. From there we begin advancing into the edge of the forest where the Tin Man resides. I always loved this set if only because I always wondered who lived in the house that the Wicked Witch appears on. The set is punctuated by a cornucopia of various exotic birds inhabiting the trees; many of which really stick out now thanks to the clarity of blu-ray. In fact, that clarity helps to debunk one of the famous myths that a blurry shape in the background was a disgruntled munchkin actor who hung himself, but one can clearly see now it's just another bird. Those talking trees were a wonderful, if even minor addition to the section. I love the subtle change as we move into the realm of the Cowardly Lion; now in the deep, dark part of the forest. In both section the range and richness of the greens and blues are a supreme treat for the eye. Then there's the Emerald City. Unlike the rainbow-themed Munchkin City, Emerald City is, of course, based around the color green. It was actually built on the studio's largest soundstage and the film appropriately utilizes the enormous space of the set; filling it to the brim with extras and design nuances. The foreboding hall that leads to the Wizard and the Wizard's throne room itself were two of the sets that really frightened me as a child; and, indeed, the efficacy of the special effect floating head still hasn't lost its potency. The Witch's castle is appropriately dark, grey, gothic, and creepy. But even there one can admire the attention to detail such as the shimmering river far below the parapets, and the ominous textures of the stone walls.Beyond the physical sets it's easy to miss or ignore the stunning works of art that are those matte paintings. They're brilliant because Warren Newcombe treated them as legitimate works of art done on a grand scale. Even if one can look at them now and spot where the set stops and the painting begins, they are so magnificent that it's nearly impossible to criticize it for any artificiality. The level of detail is astounding as they seem to stretch the set out into the infinity of the Land of Oz. One wonders if Welles' innovative use of mattes in Kane would've been possible without this film. But if Oz is a masterpiece it is so because that kind of attention to detail, artistry, and craftsmanship was applied to every possible level. The special effects by Buddy Gillespie were revolutionary; with the pinnacle being "the twister" that had to be shot separately, but was so effective it scared children and was even reused years later in Minnelli's Cabin in the Sky. The costumes and makeup were equally accomplished, especially considering that there were almost no elaborate makeup specialists back then like there are today. It certainly had to be one of the first films that begun the trend of actors sitting for hours upon actors just to get their costumes and makeup applied. The costumes were even more elaborate; the Lion's being made of real lion fur, weighing around 90lbs. and the Tin Man not being much lighter and even stiffer. One also has to consider that the film was shot on ASA 5 speed film, which is EXTREMELY slow (it's not uncommon to shoot in ASA 400 today) but was used because it could capture the detail and beauty of the production in deep focus. But in order to make low speed work they had to use extremely high output lights that heated up the set considerably and the actors had to suffer (and still act and perform!) under those costumes and heat. Top it all off with a camera that weighed a fourth of a ton and one gets an appreciation for what a technical marvel the film is.Capturing the production genius was one of Hollywood's master craftsman directors in Victor Fleming. It's amazing that when one considers how many films he made that he's primarily only remembered for two; The Wizard of Oz and Gone With the Wind. Both were made the same year, and both were two of the earliest uses of Technicolor in a grand, big-budgeted production. Fleming was known as a master at saving troubled films and, indeed, both Oz and Wind were two infamously troubled productions which he (arguably) saved. Richard Thorpe was originally assigned to direct, but when Buddy Epson quit and shooting halted, Mervyn LeRoy (the producer; and a fine director himself) reviewed the shot footage and thought Thorpe was rushing the production with negative results. So George Cukor was called into direct. But Cukor was never able to shoot anything because of his prior commitment to do Gone With the Wind. Although we can thank Cukor for the eminently improved look of Garland's Dorothy (anyone who's seen production stills from before Cukor's arrival will undoubtedly agree). Fleming did the bulk of the shooting, though when he left to take over Gone With the Wind from Cukor, King Vidor was called in to finish shooting the sepia-toned Kansas scenes. Despite the turbulent history of directors, the film seems uniformly and superbly directed. There's nary a wayward shot (much less scene) in the entire film. It thoroughly showcases Classic Hollywood's mastery of economy in which there are no superfluous scenes, shots, or cuts. If one were to find any criticism with the film it would only be that it was too judiciously edited to conform to typical 1939 film lengths.Missing the cut were two musical sequences; A jitterbug that was to take place when Dorothy and her companions reach the forest before the Wicked Witch's Castle, which doesn't seem like much of a loss given how it would've conflicted with the dramatic tone. The other was a reprise of "The Witch is Dead" done by her Winkie Guards as "Hail, Hail! the Witch is Dead". But there are two scenes particularly missed. One was an early scene in which Hickory shows Dorothy a machine he's built that's supposed to ward off storms, but it only needs "a heart" to work. This was meant to be his Tin Man character foreshadowing, the same way in which Bolger's Hunk had his ("Now lookit, Dorothy, you ain't using your head about Miss Gulch. Think you didn't have any brains at all.") and Lahr's Zeke had his ("She ain't nothing to be afraid of. Have a little courage, that's all."). It's an effect that I, for one, really miss. The other was an extended take of "If I Only Had a Brain" featuring a marvelously choreographed dance by Bolger that has him bouncing off the wooden fences near the cornfields like ropes in a wrestling ring. Not to mention a wayward pumpkin that tosses him sky high. It was cut for pacing and length, but it's really these two scenes that prompts one to ask: "How long is too long?"The writing was as fraught with problems (or, at least, complexities) as the direction; primarily adapted by Noel Langley but with contributions from a long list of names. But much like the direction, the writing doesn't seem to suffer any holes or gaps that often plague screenplays that has so many helping hands. It's a film full of sparkling dialogue that is never ostentatious. Of course, it's right up there with the most quoted films of all times, though through the years I've come to admire the smallest moments that are rarely mentioned, such as Uncle Henry's short exchange with Elmira Gulch:UNCLE HENRY: "Dorothy? Well, what has Dorothy done?"MISS GULCH: "What's she done? I'm all but lame from the bite on my leg!"UNCLE HENRY: "You mean she bit you?"MISS GULCH: "No, her dog!"UNCLE HENRY: "Oh, she bit her dog, eh?"The touches of comedy like this are always superbly executed. But perhaps the aspect that should be most highly praised is the attention to character detail. Unlike modern films, there aren't any words that were put to page only because they were cool. One of the brilliant touches of the screenplay was to utilize the same three actors for Scarecrow, Lion, and Tin Man for Hunk, Zeke, and Hickory; the farmhands at the beginning of the film, giving their appearances later in Oz a deeper relevance. In fact, Oz must be one of the first films in which a characters real life experiences manifests itself in a different form inside their dream; one of the film's many innovations. It's also that structure that manages to deepen the impact of the themes of finding the courage, wisdom, and heart to face life and all its hardships and trials; because if Dorothy, in fact, never actually left home and visited Oz, then it's very true that all of those things were in her to begin with.Oz is also one of the extremely rare musicals that somehow makes me forget that it actually IS a musical. Musicals are not a genre I'm naturally drawn to, but the best like Singin' in the Rain and those by Robert Wise, George Cukor, and Vincente Minnelli work because of their cinematic quality. Indeed, no musical has the pervasive cinematic quality of Oz, but even without it the music could stand alone. Freed actually took a gamble in hiring the team who produced the songs (Harold Arlen and EY Harburg) and music (Herbeert Stolhart). Arlen and Harburg's style of mixing spoken dialogue in music and sophisticated, complex uses of linguistics ("If ever, oh, ever a Wiz there was the Wizard of Oz is one because."), counterpoint and variations was thought to be box office poison, but we can all be thankful that Freed's risk paid off. I doubt I could say a thing of fresh relevance about their greatest achievement, "(Somewhere) Over the Rainbow", that hasn't already been said. The miracle is that it made it into the film at all and only did because Arthur Freed fought for it to stay when others felt it slowed the film down. Now, after being named the #1 Song of the Century by RIAA, The #1 film song of all time by the AFI, and has become one of the most recorded and covered songs in history Freed's fight to keep it in seems like one of the greatest battles ever won. The song and scene is one of the few that King Vidor filmed, and instead of using a static camera - as was traditional in early movie musicals - he gently swayed the camera to Garland's movement; perhaps prefiguring the rapturous, gliding, movement and dance of Singin' in the Rain. But it provides just the right amount of dynamicism without imposing itself onto the scene. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about the song is that no matter how familiar it becomes, no matter how eternal and immortal it is, no matter how many times it appears #1 on various song lists, it is ultimately a personal and poignant piece of work that captures something so timeless and ephemeral that's ineffable. Shakespeare once wrote that "We are such stuff as dreams are made on", but he could just as easily have been talking about Over the Rainbow. It's a song that seems to capture man's eternal and wistful dreaming of a better life in far off dreamlands through a combination of the most simple melodies and lyrics.In contrast, the songs in Oz are full of a joyous, jovial, bursting spirit and vitality that seem to fulfill the plaintive longing of Rainbow. From the gentleness of "Come Out, Come Out" sung by the angelic Glinda to awaken and alert the munchkins onward. The medley of "It Really Was No Miracle" and "We Thank You Very Sweetly" leads to one of the unforgettable numbers in "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead". It's one of those roaring chorus pieces that's still fun to howl along with; aided tremendously by it showcasing the production of The Munchkin City. It's interrupted by the cute "As Mayor of the Munchkin City" and "As Coroner, I must Aver", and then reprised and followed by the short and memorable "Lullaby League" and "Lollipop Guild" sections which seem to echo a kind of balletic interlude in opera. "Follow the Yellow Brick Road" was inserted as a transition piece to "You're Off to See the Wizard", which, of course, gets 3 reprises when Dorothy meets The Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Cowardly Lion (all choreographed slightly differently). "If I Only Had a Brain / a Heart / the Nerve" is the superb echoing trio delivered by the Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Lion; with Brain arguably being the best of them. Optimistic Voices is the short, ethereal piece we hear at the end of the Poppy Fields right before we reach the Emerald City. "The Merry Old Land of Oz" is The Emerald City's answer to the Munchkin City Medley and it's just as effective. Like its predecessor it's superbly aided by the outstanding production which gets to really show itself off. "If I Were King of the Forest" is the last musical number (two others were cut) and is delivered with masterful comic timing and affectation by Bert Lahr.But for all the musical, writing, design and directorial genius, the film would've failed without its supreme cast, and one has to dedicate the appropriate time and space to them. Ray Bolger famously fought for the role of the Scarecrow, eventually winning it from the original choice which was Buddy Epson. Epson was then scheduled to play The Tin Man but contracted poisoning from the makeup and was forced to resign the part. Bolger himself said that the reason he wanted Scarecrow so badly is because he felt only he could perform the actions and routines mimicking the brainlessness of Scarecrow that fit the character so well. Indeed, it's hard to imagine another performer playing the role and playing it as if he was in full control. Jack Haley was eventually given the role of the Tin Man; perhaps the most overlooked and underappreciated of the trio. It's a tough role because by design the character's mobility is limited so he lacks the kinetic quality of Bolger's Scarecrow or Lahr's Lion. Yet I remember him being my favorite as a child if only because he had an axe. These many years later I find a deeper appreciation for his performances, because he is constantly doing more with less. Bert Lahr often gets the most acclaim for his role as The Cowardly Lion, and not undeservedly so. Lahr said that he brought everything from his background training in theater and vaudeville to the part, and from his entrance until the end his performance is a tour-de-force, but a rather nuanced one. With Lahr there's a constant play between his physical and vocal acting that's phenomenal; only he could've pulled off the If I Were King song and made it so hilarious a parody. We can be thankful the film broke the rule of "never work with children or animals" as Toto may be the most famous mascot ever. But equally so because there are few animals that are as amazing an actor as Terry the Dog as Toto. It's amusing to just sit and watch the film totally paying attention to her (yes, Toto is a girl) actions and reactions on screen. Frank Morgan was inspired casting in a quintuple role as Professor Marvel, the Doorman, The Cabbie, the Wizard's Guard, and, finally, the Wizard himself. He offers the kind of witty, wise, and warm personality that fits right into the tone of the film and he manages to shine in every scene he's in despite being surrounded by a cast that seems to cast an incandescent glow across the screen.I imagine most every child can testify to the effectiveness of Margaret Hamilton as Elmira Gulch and The Wicked Witch of the West. Truly one of the most terrifying performances ever captured on film in what was, essentially, a children's film. In fact, she was so scary that during editing her part suffered the most because the producers were worried about frightening children TOO much. If the Wicked Witch didn't do the trick then there was the nightmare inducing flying monkeys. Though for me, The Witch's Winkie Guards were even scarrier; perhaps because of that unidentifiable but threatening chant of "Oh-ee-oh". Billie Burke is an enchanting Glinda. Even though the character was originally intended to be much younger, Burke brings the kind of intelligence to the part that only an older actor could, and yet she appears ageless more so than aged. Charles Grapewin as Uncle Henry and Clara Blandick as Auntie Em bring an earthy rightness to both parts. Both are utterly believable as such rural, farm owners and guardians to Dorothy. Speaking of Dorothy Gale, with her we have the perfect representation of a Midwestern, Kansas farmgirl who dreams of that magical place over the rainbow that so many people can't even think of without tearing up (myself included). Judy Garland was always Mervyn LeRoy's first choice for Dorothy, and perhaps it's only from the perspective of familiarity that one can say such a thing, but it's impossible to imagine anyone else in the role. Many members of the cast have testified as to her brilliance and humanity, some going as far as to say that without her, the film - for all its other greatnesses - would've failed. There's an innocence and plainness to Garland that I think is eternally relatable; especially from those who find themselves in a very similar situation. I may not have grown up on a farm, but the suburbs of Oklahoma sometimes don't seem that far removed from the farmlands of Kansas. One marvelous anecdote was the day in which she brought a huge box of chocolates and shared it with the entire munchkin cast that numbered into the hundreds. It's that true-to-life element that Garland brought to the film that shines through in her performance from beginning to end. Despite the film's pervasive magic, it's truly Garland's Dorothy that holds it all together and whisks us believably into the most unbelievable of adventures.Oz is less of a film and more of a fully realized other world we step into; one that's both startling because of its warmly inviting familiarity and inexhaustibly, rich alien fantasy. It's beauty, poignancy, and profundity isn't something that can't be reviewed or analyzed or deconstructed or expressed logically; and that's a statement that I reserve for the rarest works of art, as I'm a believer in that if it can be felt or experienced it CAN be expressed in words. It is something that remains eternally pure and innocent, and perhaps it's those qualities that continue to touch audiences. It's a work like fine wine that only gets richer with age. It's a work that means much more to me now than it ever did as a child or teenager. It's a work that bursting at the seams with imagination, magic, vitality, and this effervescent and omni-illuminating light that I suspect emanates from the brilliance of every aspect of the production; from the design to the characters and cast to the music. There are very few works of art, much less films, that I would say this about, but I genuinely feel that those who don't like it or (unthinkably) never get to experience Oz are missing one of the greatest gifts life has to offer; and it really joins Shakespeare, War & Peace, the music of The Beatles, Mozart and Beethoven and a handful of others on the tremendously short lists of artists and works I've ever thought or said that about. It's had an incalculable influence on American culture; finding its way into the most diverse of arenas. But it's really its penetration into the hearts and minds of countless people that makes it such a treasure. To borrow a line from the commentary, which itself borrowed a line from the film, "If a heart is measured not by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others, then surely The Wizard of Oz is the most beloved film ever".