A meditation on all the 'Wicked' women
...and the "best friends" who betray their hearts.
The film adaptation of the hit Broadway musical, “Wicked,” was one of the best and most successful films of 2024. Ariana Grande was a vision as the iconic “Galinda the Good Witch.” The film made all the clever choices. Casting was impeccable. And, the costumes were perfect.
If you want to read a full breakdown of all the adaption choices and get a comparison between the musical, books, and film, see my friend Brooke Obie’s write-up. That’s not what I’m here to talk about. This post is about Cynthia Erivo and her portrayal of “Elphaba” or “The Wicked Witch of the West.” This is an ode to her. The underappreciated, deeply powerful, incredibly authentic character who, when portrayed by a Black woman, tells so much of the story of what it means to be a Black girl in a white world.
There will be spoilers for folks who haven’t seen the film yet. But, again, this isn’t about analyzing the ins and outs of the movie. Here, I want to share why this film is resonating so deeply for all the Black women, the women who have been cast aside, the “angry” women, the ones who are misunderstood. Women like me. The “wicked” ones.
This article has been brewing in my body since the first time I watched the film. Immediately after it came out, people on social media rightly labeled Galinda as the true villain. But, no one was putting to words what it meant that she wasn’t just a “mean girl.” Galinda's actions were rooted in efforts to harm, shut down, exclude, and hurt Elphaba. It wasn’t because Elphaba deserved any of that treatment. It was rooted in resentment, animus, and a sense of superiority. In her efforts to fight her own mediocrity (because she was a powerless witch when she arrived at school with nothing more than a hair flip and clothes to her credit), she stomped on someone who she saw as less fortunate, less protected, and less cared for than herself. The worst part is: she kinda won.
As the film opens, we are introduced to the Land of Oz via a celebration. But, as the ominous elegy ensues, we realize that this celebration is actually about the death of Elphaba, The Wicked Witch of the West. The townspeople are celebrating their lack of care and grief for the Wicked Witch’s passing in a public display, one that includes a giant, snarling green witch with her hands outstretched, fingers curled like claws. Small children yell, “Good news, she’s dead!” as the chorus reminds that their collective enemy has passed away. At that very moment, Galinda floats in, clad in her signature bedazzled pink ball gown, crown atop her head, and sparkling scepter in her hand. We should have known some foolery was on the way.
The crowd cheers as Galinda strides along the road between them. She sings melodically, “And, Goodness knows, the Wicked’s lives are lonely. Goodness knows, the Wicked die alone. It just shows when you’re Wicked you’re left only, on your own.” The crowd dances and hands Galinda flowers, repeating these verses. Though Galinda appears warm and loving, the song is nothing but cold and callous. They cheer about the lonely life the Wicked must live. Perhaps the most vile line in this scene is “No one mourns the Wicked.” But, is that true?
The film itself is actually a lens into Galinda’s mourning. It’s her rendition and retelling of a friendship (one hidden from the public under her shame) that she can no longer have. Not because of Elphaba’s wickedness but because of her own cowardice in supporting and protecting her “best friend.” Even as she retells the story of Elphaba as a misunderstood child, one whose own father emotionally abused and refused her, Galinda leads this dark elegy, and throws the fire that ignites her edifice in the town’s center. There is no empathy for Elphaba. She isn’t treated as a person capable of making mistakes. She’s just a dark villain in the fantasies of others. And, that’s all she gets to be.
Galinda is the same “best friend” who introduced herself to Elphaba on the first day of school by saying, “I am so sorry that you have been forced to live with…this,” pointing to Elphaba’s green skin. Her actual skin. In this scene, we are first exposed to the ways that Galinda’s privilege besets her couth, tact, and compassion. Some people have said that Galinda is the typical white woman, well-meaning and out-of-touch with Black women with whom they are seeking “allyship.” Perhaps this is made most clear when Galinda offers to “help” Elphaba with her “problem” (her skin color which she has had her whole life) to which Elphaba replies, “Offering to help someone you don’t know with skills that you don’t have. I’m sure everyone is duly impressed.” This is precisely how so many white women (and frankly, lighter skinned Black women and other women of color with proximity to whiteness) treat darker-skinned Black women. It is as if we are projects. Not people.
As the film proceeds, we see semblances of a relationship develop between the two protagonists. Elphaba attempts to water herself down, fighting the magic that lives inside her body and trying to “behave” before the judgmental eyes of her peers. Galinda, instead, treats Elphaba as if she is an alien, attempting to change her clothing, her demeanor, and secretly plotting to embarrass her just for the fun of it. So, who really is the “Wicked” one? There is something to be said here about how Galinda is permitted to be passive aggressive. She can behave in violent and oppressive ways as long as she accompanies her harm with a hair flip and a smile. Meanwhile, Elphaba is punished for holding her boundaries and remaining confident despite the world’s attempts erase her.
As the plot develops, Elphaba’s powers are usurped by nearly everyone: her mediocre “best friend” Galinda, her quietly diabolical instructor, Madame Morrible, and even the the Wizard of Oz himself. They all see Elphaba’s talents as an opportunity to further their own agendas, none of them ever considering that Elphaba is a person independent of what they think she can do or provide for them. If this isn’t the quintessential Black woman experience in the United States, I don’t know what is. We are frequently included insofar as others see us as tools for their own goals. We are rarely centered or valued unless a white woman or Black man validates our existence. Far too often, we are left out altogether in favor of a spicy white person or a fairer-skinned “POC” whose proximity to whiteness is less disruptive or intimidating.
After the Wizard of Oz manipulates Elphaba into using her powers for his purposes, both Galinda and Elphaba are faced with a choice. Elphaba, hoping that her “best friend” will choose her, tells Galinda that, together, the two of them can change everything. She looks into her friend’s eyes, still not knowing all the evil that lay behind them, and begs for Galinda to hold true to who she’s pretended to be. At this point, Elphaba has been cast out by society. She has been criminalized and identified as the mastermind of a plot to harm the city. And, Galinda, is nothing more than a coward. She chooses the Wizard. She chooses the status quo. She chooses a society that wants her “best friend” dead.
As Elphaba begins to realize that her “best friend” is actually not the friend she thought she was, she becomes more powerful. She begins to free herself of the obligation she feels to empower and support Galinda, the lesser witch. We hear this in the words Erivo sings, “I hope you’re proud how you would grovel in submission to feed your own ambition…” Galinda implores Elphaba to shrink once more. But, by now, Elphaba has outgrown the mediocrity of her “best friend.” That’s when we see Elphaba change. She’s done “playing by the rules of someone else’s game.” And, she’s through, “accepting limits because someone said they’re so. Some things I cannot change. But ‘til I try, I’ll never know.” In a moment of triumph, Elphaba chooses herself.
Then, Madame Morrible says, “Citizens of Oz, there is an enemy who must be found and captured. Believe nothing she says…She is evil. Her green skin is but an outward manifestorium of her twisted nature. This distortion. This repulsion. This Wicked Witch.”
I can’t emphasize enough how that last announcement, the one tethering Elphaba’s skin to her perceived evilness, broke me open. Erivo masterfully showed us the hurt Elphaba carried because of a society that refused to understand her and only saw her as a villain, no matter how good she truly was. As a big, queer, darker-skinned Black woman, I live this life every day. The ways people project onto our bodies, searching for evidence of their own hatred, looking for ways their fantasies might be made true. It’s a complicated and violent existence that many people will never understand.
Us “Wicked” women are frequently assumed to be aggressive, volatile, confrontational, and mean. Our actions are deemed hostile even when we mean nothing by them. Our questions are seen as argumentative when we intend them genuinely. Our mere presence is a threat because we are not seen as human beings. We are wicked.
Perhaps the most tender moment of the film happens when Elphaba is falling from the tall tower at the end of the movie, trying to get her broomstick to hold her weight. As she is falling, maybe to her death, she sees her own reflection in the building’s windows. But, it isn’t a reflection of her as she is. The reflection is little Elphaba, the girl who was turned away by her father, who was misunderstood for the first time. She reaches out to herself, to hold her own hand, and catches the broomstick. A lifeline. She heals the inner child still hurting from all the years of other people’s projections, violence, and vitriol. And, that’s when she learns to fly.
I know that is supposed to be the moral of the story. I do. I truly get it. We wicked women are always expected to overcome the burdens placed on us by others. But, that doesn’t make any of this fair. It doesn’t right the wrongs of the wicked world. Learning to fly above is still hard. Overcoming means taking it on the chin. No one wants to do that. We shouldn’t have to.
We wicked women deserve real friends. We deserve real love. Love in public. We deserve protection. We shouldn’t have to overcome our enemies, seen and unseen, just to walk around in our skin. And, we certainly shouldn’t have to learn to fly while everyone else is walking on the ground.
This is an ode to those wicked women. I’m sorry they don’t understand us. I’m sorry that we are often made martyrs to the tragedies in their imaginations. I dream of the day when we will no longer have to fly to survive. And, when celebrations won’t be because we died but because we lived.