Like the masses, we flocked this past weekend to the
megaplex for the opening of another would-be blockbuster, pleased to discover
that the much-heralded and sometimes-maligned Oz prequel is even more good and wonderful than it is great and
powerful.
Acting, plot, intrigue, color, mystery, and special
effects: all these measure-up under the fantastic mastery of director Sam
Raimi. But beyond the eye-candy, sensitive audience members might be as
mesmerized by the movie’s deeper myth and redemptive meaning as by its
cinematic technique.
Of course, if we remember the original movie and its
myth, the wizard has issues, for there’s a man behind the curtain who is much more
about a confession of subdued humility than a profession of supernatural
agility. The prequel takes us back before the main myth—to see the man inside the
man behind the myth.
Somewhere in the magical middle of this movie, the
not-yet-wizard Oscar Diggs (James Franco) makes his confession: “I'm not the
wizard you were expecting, but I may be the wizard you need.” We can apply this
maxim everywhere. This truth uncovers the human simplicity of the Oz legend and
its relevance to all our longings in realms related to power and spirit.
The wizard we wanted fulfills a prophecy. The wizard
wanted would be a warrior and a king. The wizard wanted would be a real superhuman
shaman, but we get stuck with a Kansas carnie showman. What really great
leaders come out of Kansas?
In our early glimpse of the black-and-white Oscar
Diggs, he’s truly a second-rate trickster, a lusty lecher, and fumbling fraud.
By the time the Technicolor would-be-wizard admits his powerlessness, he slowly
finds his power. At first, he learns his better nature out of a devious
desperation to survive, but then before our eyes, he thrives. Through courage
and love, he transforms into the fullness of his revelation and thus Oz’s (and
our) liberation.
The wizard wanted relieves us of our responsibility
and complicity in matters of theology and ideology. The wizard wanted removes
our role in realizing our own freedom, to instead, conquer our enemies and
quench our desires.
But we don’t get the wizard we wanted. We get the
wizard we need.
The wizard we need becomes our leader by being first
our friend, ally, and brother. The wizard we need finds power only through
admitting powerlessness.
The wizard we need offers transcendence not through
tricks but via a thick, messy, human love and uncommon courage. The wizard we
need finds faith in himself to finish the mission not by an isolated hubris but
by the more pure hope, solidarity, and trust that others offer him.
I recall learning about other times and places when
the wizard we wanted didn’t show up to shun all inner contradiction or shut
down external forces of unfreedom.
We wanted fullness. We needed emptiness.
We wanted to take what was ours. We needed to give
it all to You instead.
We wanted lust. We needed love.
We wanted bling. We needed nothing.
We wanted a conquering king riding a chariot. We
needed a peasant king riding a donkey.
Not every piece of intellectual pop-culture candy
needs such a dissection to find the rich religious and political allegory
buried in its center, but I could not resist this one. Sadly, I still see so
many religious-types zealously promoting the wizard they wanted and killing the
wizard we need.
After my recent journey to Oz, I am reminded that it’s
the time of year on the religious calendar when we prepare to meet the one that
we need, whose message about God’s power is ultimately revealed as total emptiness
and abandon, true love as solidarity with human powerlessness. We still don’t
want to admit that truth, which is why we need it still evermore.