Rating:
by Derek Smith 4/1/08

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How to begin a review of The Wizard of Oz? I’ve dreaded writing about this for a while because there’s simply no possible way I can review as I would just about any other film. I’m too close to it, too connected, as it’s burned images and emotions into my heart and mind since I was a young impressionable child. Part of getting older and growing as an individual is, to a certain degree, a rejection of who you were in the past and as an avid film lover, that often includes coming to the realization that when I was a kid, I had pretty awful taste in movies. I’m not ashamed to admit it; especially because if I had the same preferences as an average boy, I might be giving girls wet willies or doing God-knows-what with the hip, new over-the-counter medications. But this is all very much beside the point, a way for me to avoid talking about the film and confront why I still love it to death when I’ve turned my back on so many other films that I loved back in the day.

If you’ve ever been camping, you probably know what hitchhikers are. Not the thumbs-up, looking for a ride hitchhikers, but those annoying little brown balls with points that stick to your socks and pants. I’d say the past 15 years of my life has, in part, been devoted to shaking and picking most of those little adolescent buggers off to make more room for the adult ones. The Wizard of Oz, however, is one that simply refuses to let go, so I’ve adopted it as my own. It’s no longer stuck to my sock – it’s part of me and whether it’s watching it with my parents for the umpteenth time growing up or in the slightly altered state of a Pink Floyd laser show set to Dark Side of the Moon, there’s something about seeing Dorothy atop that barnyard fence or opening the door to Technicolor or one of 100 other moments, that touches me like few other films.

Sure, there may not be much to its conservative “there’s no place like home” message, but Dorothy’s journey, even if it’s all a dream, is really about the necessity of confronting the outside world and the importance of new experiences. Although she returns to the bland, black-and-white Kansas in the end, she at least returns with a new appreciation for it. And even if wasn’t the intention of the film, I like to imagine Oz as the bevy of experiences we’re missing out on if we remain contented at home. Whether those experiences are internal or external, they exist in order for us to grow and while sometimes they bring us face to face with a wicked witch, sometimes we might be lucky enough to come across something as awesomely unexpected as a couple hundred midgets willing to sing and dance before giving us directions to our next destination. So whether or not you return home to your roots is unimportant in the larger scheme of things. It’s following the yellow brick road that’s the heart of the film for me and while that message isn’t delivered with a ton of ambiguity or complexity, it could not be more heartfelt. As cynical as I can be at times, this is one of those films that not only reminds me of the hopeful innocence of my youth, but actually allows me to experience those feelings and emotions, even if fleetingly until I once again awake to the black-and-white world of adulthood. That, to me, is one hell of a valuable film experience and the reason why I’ll continue to return to it in the years to come.