New Year, New Lenses, and an Elvis Sighting

On a "Wicked" 2024, Shifting Perspectives, and Seeing Our Crisis in its Full Depth

Welcome back, friends. I hope you’ll excuse my absence over the last several weeks. As countless publications have delivered Best of 2024 and Year in Review articles, I’ve gone silent - hunkering down with family in the darkest days of the darkest year in memory.

With democracy under attack everywhere by an international techno-authoritarian movement, I think we all expected 2024 to be a difficult year - and the dismal prognosis proved accurate. Democratic backsliding continued apace globally. Far-right neofascist parties made electoral gains across Europe. Israel continued its genocidal assault on Gaza, expanding its offensive into the West Bank, Lebanon, and Syria. Russia, and now its ally North Korea, kept feeding men into the meat grinder as Putin’s offensive war on Ukraine drags into its third year with little to show for it. The world’s richest men tightened their stranglehold on media, and thus reality itself. The institutions of American representative government gave way one-by-one, allowing criminal insurrectionist Donald Trump to evade consequences and reclaim the Oval Office. And, with a middle finger raised high on the way out, 2024 claimed former US President Jimmy Carter - the conscience of the last generation of Americans to truly fight for our freedom.

And all of this darkness in the wider world says nothing of the personal anguish that dominated this year. I wrote in this space about losing my son last January, and -though no pain can exceed, or even begin to match, that particular heartbreak - the hits kept coming. My sixteen-year old daughter’s despair at losing her brother manifested itself as academic indifference, chronic truancy, risky behavior, and a questionable new friend group. All of us on her parenting team thought a change of scenery would help, so off she went to live with her biological mom in Oklahoma. My wife’s 93-year old grandmother passed away in August, the same month my friend Dee lost her 97-year old father.

I grieve my son.

I grieve my daughter.

I grieve the Palestinian people.

I grieve the last of the WWII generation.

I grieve our vanishing democracy.

A year of grief.

So with all that hanging over our heads, it was good to have my daughter home over the holiday break. Her visiting friends’ laughter provided the soundtrack a couple of not-expecting-to-be empty-nesters had grown to miss hearing. We played games together, went shopping together, baked Christmas cookies together. We visited one of her brother’s favorite places - the Children’s Museum of Indianapolis - to remember the times we shared there together and make new memories as well.

And as the calendar turned to 2025, we kept making new memories. Though she flew here from Oklahoma, I drove her back. We made a roadtrip of it, making our first-ever visit to Memphis. First, we stopped at the National Civil Rights Museum, located in the former Lorraine Motel - site of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination. An intensely emotional place where you can literally feel the power of history coursing through you, I thought it important she see the unvarnished truth while it’s still allowed. We concluded the day with copious amounts of BBQ and a walk down the city’s famed main drag. Due to the sheer amount of smoked meat, and the effects of gravity, we were only able to walk with our feet about two-and-a-half feet off of Beale.

Dad’s selfie skills are terrible.

The next day, before heading for Oklahoma, we made the all-American pilgrimage to Graceland. We’re not Elvis people in this family, so I was shocked when I suggested stopping in Memphis on the way back and my daughter excitedly proclaimed she wanted to visit Presley’s estate. It turns out her fascination can be traced to the 2023 Priscilla biopic, written and directed by Sofia Coppola, and has nothing to do with the King himself. It also turns out, among the many gift shops at Graceland, you can’t find a single piece of Priscilla merch. There was Elvis on posters and Elvis on coasters, Elvis on stickers and tees. Elvis on magnets. Elvis on mugs. Elvis on tote bags. Elvis on rugs. Elvis on shots, Elvis for tots, and Elvis on chains for your keys. Elvis on velvet and motorcycle helmets - and a couple of Lisa Maries. But not a bit of Priscilla merch. I did find her a t-shirt on Etsy.

And you know, the place is far less tacky than I assumed it would be, understated even - at least the mansion. The dissonance between the Elvis Industrial Complex ($84.99? Per person? “GOOD LAWD THAT’S A LOTTA MONEY!”) that has grown around Graceland and the private, contemplative quality of the residence itself could support an entire essay on its own, but maybe another time. What I really want to focus on here is one of the more mundane activities we undertook over the holiday break - a trip to the movies.

We don’t go out to the cinema very often. Between the availability of cheap big-screen TVs and a near-infinite supply of streaming entertainment, the theater experience is rarely worth the price compared to staying home. I make better nachos. The popcorn at home only costs a quarter. I can drink beer and pause the movie to use the restroom. But this was a special occasion, and the women in my life wanted to see Wicked, so that’s what we did the day after Christmas.

Look, I pride myself on being an open-minded guy, so I’m not trying to gender an entire art form. And I’ve been supporting the LGBTQ community for decades now, so I say this with all due love and respect - but I’ve always thought musicals are totally gay. I appreciate the talent of the performers - the singing, dancing, costumes, make-up, set design, all of it - but let’s just say it’s not my preferred medium. Maybe it’s the spontaneous outbursts of song. Maybe it’s the lack of subtlety. Maybe I’m still not over Hamilton. That’s the last musical that pierced into mainstream consciousness so forcefully that I had to see it.

The music was fine. The story arc was fine. Using performers of color to play a bunch of white people? Fine. Symbolic, but ultimately meaningless. My problem isn’t with who tells the story, but the story they chose to tell, because Alexander Hamilton is just about the worst of the Founding Fathers™️ - an anti-democratic, militarist, elitist dick. And don’t get me started on the Federalist Papers, which he wrote most of. Cited as gospel today by our captured, packed, corrupt Supreme Court - and used to support their pulled-from-thin-air judicial philosophy of “originalism” - that series of essays were a skillful propaganda campaign designed to drum up support for the highly-flawed Constitution drawn up in violation of existing law at the Philadelphia Convention by a group of wealthy merchants and slaveholders - a parchment coup. So, fuck Hamilton and fuck the eponymous musical. It doesn’t reckon with America’s dark foundation so much as paint happy brown faces on it.

Needless to say, I did not have high expectations for Wicked. I counted on stunning visuals, powerful vocals, elaborate choreography, and maybe some bland, surface-level social commentary. But y’all - I could not have been more unprepared! This film, even with its 2hr40min run time, is must-see viewing, offering deep and timely insights into politics, power, and privilege just beneath the shiny veneer.

The film reimagines the world of Oz from the perspective of Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo), who we all know as the Wicked Witch of the West from the original film (spoiler alert: she dies). Born with green skin, she is treated as an outcast, shunned by society and even her own father. She was also born with unique magical skills, discovery of which results in her unexpected admission to Shiz University and the mentorship of Madame Morrible (Michelle Yeoh), the school’s Dean of Sorcery. At Shiz, Elphaba meets Galinda (Ariana Grande), the pretty, popular, self-absorbed socialite. To both of their chagrin, the two are paired as roommates. Over time, this odd couple grow to become close friends.

As the two solidify their bond, it becomes apparent trouble is afoot in Oz. Dr. Dillamond, their history professor (and a talking goat) explains that animals used to hold respected positions in society - teachers, doctors, leaders - but have become a persecuted class in recent years - silenced, stripped of rights, and eventually caged - before he is arrested and removed from the university.

Elphaba, having demonstrated significant progress in sorcery, is invited to the Emerald City to meet the Wizard. Glinda, who has changed the pronunciation of her name in symbolic solidarity with the now-imprisoned Dr. Dillamond, accompanies her friend on the journey. In the city, we learn the Wizard’s mythology, how he arrived from another world and was destined to bring order and prosperity to Oz as its benevolent ruler because only he could read the Grimmerie, the ancient book of magical knowledge.

When Elphaba and Glinda finally meet the Wizard (Jeff Goldblum), we discover (again, spoiler alert) he’s not really great and powerful, but just a guy behind a curtain, using charisma, propaganda, and the oppression of animals, to maintain control. Hoping to recruit Elphaba - and her legitimate magical skills - to his side, the Wizard promises her the acceptance and recognition she has longed for. But with her deep-rooted sense of justice, forged by years of being othered, Elphaba rejects his overtures and flees. Glinda, on the other hand, tried to get her friend to cooperate. Though she allowed Elphaba to escape, Glinda chose not to join her, embracing the Wizard’s regime, who proclaim the dissident Elphaba a wicked witch and enemy of the people. And this is the cliff on which we’re left hanging until next November, when part two comes out.

The overt antifascist themes are impossible to miss, which is why I think this is an important film, and a great introduction to class politics for people not used to seeing things through that lens. I actually think the over-the-top, unsubtle, hit you over the head with each important plot point IN SONG! style for which I normally pan Broadway serves our time well. Collectively, as Americans, we’re a uniquely stupid people. We need the dots connected for us. I’m as guilty as anyone. It’s not our fault. We’re intentionally miseducated, and this movie spells it out like the one Asian kid in the class.

You can’t not see the persecuted magical animals of Oz as stand-ins for marginalized people in our society - immigrants, people of color, queer people, the unhoused. Pick your scapegoat - in the movie it’s a literal goat. The Wizard is plainly a strongman authoritarian - a charming, but ultimately impotent, huckster who stays in power by dividing the population into us and them, by controlling the interpretation of the ancient holy book and rewriting history to suit his needs. I’m glad we’re all on the same page.

Glinda, played to saccharine perfection by Ariana Grande, and I really hope the Hamilton crowd caught this, represents empty, performative liberalism. It turns out the studio wanted to cast Nancy Pelosi, but she doesn’t have the pipes. She might dance with you. She might give you a makeover. She might even change her name. But, in the end, when Elphaba - and the vulnerable and persecuted creatures of Oz - needed her to do the damn thing, she chose herself, her own ambition, her own comfort. The whole experience really left me thinking.

You know, I complained earlier about going to the movies, and how it’s usually better at home. One thing you can’t get at home, short of one terrible Super Bowl Halftime show 35 years ago, is a 3D presentation. Britannica describes how it works:

In the 3-D process, two cameras or a twin-lensed camera are used for filming, one representing the left eye and the other the right. The two lenses are spaced about 2.5 inches (6.3 cm) apart, the same as the separation between a person’s eyes. The resulting images are simultaneously projected onto the screen by two synchronized projectors. The viewer must wear differently tinted or polarized glasses so that the left- and right-eye images are visible only to the eye for which they are intended. The viewer actually sees the images separately but perceives them in three dimensions because, for all practical purposes, the two slightly different images are fused together instantly by his mind.

Now, the primitive 3D technology you could acquire with the purchase of select Coca-Cola products in January of 1989 has certainly evolved. In lieu of those red and blue glasses, modern moviegoers use polarized lenses. Still, it all works by looking at the same thing from slightly different perspectives, so do a little thought experiment with me. Look at this color wheel from 8th grade art class:

Look at the red and blue. Both are primary colors. They sit 120 degrees apart - at 4 o’clock and 8 o’clock. We are very much used to looking at politics through red and blue lenses. The wizards in our universe would prefer we continue to look at the world through red and blue lenses - Republicans versus Democrats; Liberals versus Conservatives - you don’t even need to buy a 24-pack of Diet Coke at participating locations. They give that shit away for free.

But let’s turn the dials clockwise 60 degrees, two hours forward if you will. Purple and Green are complementary colors. They sit 120 degrees apart - at 6 o’clock and 10 o’clock. Let’s try on these lenses. What do we see from this perspective? What I don’t see is working people divided over manufactured culture wars. Destiny Wells, a two-time Democratic candidate for statewide office here in Indiana, frequently describes the state as not a red state, but a purple state with a voter turnout problem. This is good analysis, but still describes a tilted playing field through the old red/blue lenses. Try this one from Sarah Kendzior ,

Since the 2000 elections, pundits have been proclaiming there are “two Americas,” red and blue. This has never truly been the case. There are dozens of red Americas, with extreme variations in demographics and values, and dozens of blue Americas as well. There are endless variations of “America” in St. Louis alone. There is no America that is “real” or “fake.” This insistence that we have an inherent divide has in some respects become a self-fulfilling prophecy. At this contentious point in our history, these divergent Americas are unified most, unfortunately, by a collective sense of pain. America is purple - purple like a bruise.

Through these new lenses I see two Americas I hadn’t seen before. Not a red America or a blue America, but a purple America - the bruised, broken, and beaten masses, left behind by neoliberal policies - held in the bondage of debt and forced to fight each other for scraps. And I see green America, monied America - a small group of small men hiding behind the curtains of religion, resentment, and propaganda - while the Glindas of the world pantomime #resistance. Like the people of Oz, we’ve been duped.

Still, I have hope. Wicked has smashed box office records, so it must be resonating. Whether or not most people can put their finger on it, they know things are not right. They’re beginning to see past the illusions, beginning to embrace a different understanding of power and resistance, beginning to see our crisis in 3D.

So, here’s to seeing things differently this year, to challenging the Wizards and supporting the Elphabas. Let us have the courage Glinda lacked, to choose not ourselves, our own ambition, and our own comfort; but solidarity, democracy, and the collective good. Let our bruises build resilience and let us remember that even in the darkest of times, we can still make good memories.