Posts Tagged With: the wizard of oz

Have I Got Whos For You (series 12 edition, part one)

Halloo! There will be fresh a conspiracy theory roundup very soon – of course there will – but to tide you over until then, here’s the first bi-weekly edition of memes from this year’s Doctor Who series, along with topical stuff that simply couldn’t wait. I am tapping this while waiting for the shopping to arrive, and Tesco do have a tendency to be early, so let’s crack on, shall we?

‘Spyfall’ first: and, in a joke that is probably going to appeal to a maximum of three people, there’s a major upset when the Doctor tries to decode the Kasaavin signal.

In the year 200,000 there’s much hilarity on Twitter when Billie Piper botches an easy question.

Taking refuge during a Kansas cyclone, young Dorothy Gale gets a nasty shock when she looks out of the window.

And fresh from his appearance in a Japanese TV trailer, Baby Sonic dashes from the Green Hill Zone to the fields of Provence to give his flower to a very special painter.

In a Trenzalore cemetery, a whispered conversation reveals the truth behind the controversy around last year’s Christmas blockbuster.

And stranded on Earth and forced to live through most of the twentieth century, the Master takes a job at the BBC.

“Do you know any sci-fi?”

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How The Wizard Of Oz should have ended, if everyone had stopped to think for a minute

Author’s note: this is an old post from a different blog that’s now privacy-controlled. It goes in here because…well, because it goes in here.

A couple of years ago, my friend Rachel posted about The Lion King. Her alternate ending is frankly wonderful, if nothing else because it finally explains exactly why Simba feels responsible for the death of Mufasa – he thought he’d started the wildebeest stampede. And yes, I know you knew that, but I didn’t. And yes, that’s monumentally thick. I’d missed the woods for the trees. Decades of watching that over and over, learning the songs (and even the orchestrations) by heart, and I’d never even noticed. I just thought Simba blamed himself because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Missing the obvious has always been one of my character flaws.

Anyway, this set me thinking, and I’d like to talk today about The Wizard of Oz – a film we watched just the other week, at Daniel’s insistence, and a film which, while I know it more or less off-by-heart, has always bothered me. It’s only partly to do with Wicked– which, as you may be aware, will completely change the way you look at The Wizard of Oz, and which neatly solves the mystery of why a witch with a chronic allergy to H2O would keep a bucket of water in the middle of a walkway where someone could easily trip over it (never mind the melting, what about slippery floors?). No, it’s the ending of Oz that I’ve never really understood. And rather than explain why in a load of preamble, we will instead jump straight into The Emerald City, just after the Wizard has sailed off in his balloon. Cue Glinda.


Dorothy: Will you help me? Can you help me?

Glinda: You don’t need to be helped any longer. You’ve always had the power to go back to Kansas.

Dorothy: I have?

Scarecrow: Then why didn’t you tell her before?

Glinda: Because she wouldn’t have believed me. She had to learn it for herself.

Dorothy: Hold on. What the hell?

Glinda: I’m sorry?

Dorothy: [hesitantly, but with growing menace] You…knew…all this time…that I could get back…by myself. Without you. And you…didn’t…tell me.

Glinda: You wouldn’t have believed me.

Dorothy: You didn’t even try!

Glinda: Well, no, because it was your journey that was important. You didn’t really want to go back at first, did you? You wanted the adventure.

Dorothy: No I didn’t! What, you’re going to give me some sort of Joni Mitchell shit about how I couldn’t appreciate home until I had to leave it?

Glinda: Yes, but –

Dorothy: The cyclone taught me that, Glinda. The cyclone. All I could think of up there was Kansas. I was borderline concussed. I experienced levels of nausea that I don’t think have been scientifically documented. Then I landed in Midget central and I just wanted to go home again. And instead of helping, you let me go through hell to get this far. I had apples thrown at me. I was drugged. The monkeys carried me by my hair!

Glinda: My dear, I’m so sorry. But you see, you had to go through that to realise –

Dorothy: TO REALISE WHAT? To realise that you’re a horrible person? Jesus, you’re worse than the witch. And she wanted to cook my dog!

Glinda: But you defeated her. As I knew you would. And now you’re safe and sound, and you can leave these fictional constructs behind.

Scarecrow: Hold on, hold on there. Just a minute. I’m a construct?

Glinda: Why, of course you are. When Dorothy wakes up she’ll be back in her farmhouse in Kansas and no one will believe this will have happened. She’ll have years of therapy which will bankrupt her aunt and uncle, but think of the book deals!

Tin Man: But we’re real!

Glinda: No, you’re doppelgangers. You look like people she knows, but you’re a figment of her imagination. You’re the farmhands. Although here you’re the parent figures she doesn’t feel she has in her Aunt and Uncle. Except for the Lion, who appeals to her maternal instincts.

Scarecrow: So Oz isn’t real?

Glinda: Probably not.

Lion: Gee. This didn’t happen in the book.

Dorothy: It doesn’t?

Scarecrow: No, in the book you unambiguously go to and return from Oz. Eventually you ship your family out there. This ending’s only minimally ambiguous.

Tin Man: The weird part is, I don’t think anyone’s gonna care about such a colossal change.

Scarecrow: The film has basically usurped the popularity of its source material. The songs, the quotes, the costumes – they’ll last for decades. It means this catastrophic deviation will be held in far less contempt than the changes in, say, Lord of the Rings. Oh joy, this placebo brain is wonderful!

Dorothy: And the witch? I suppose you’re going to tell me she’s Miss Gulch, aren’t you?

Glinda: Absolutely right, my dear.

Dorothy: Who will still kill my dog?

Glinda: …Well…

Dorothy: Oh, fuck this shit.

[She socks Glinda on the jaw.]

Dorothy: Well, so long, imaginary friends.

[She starts to fade from view.]

Dorothy: Oh, Glinda – one more thing. Is this really happening in my head, or is it real?

Glinda: Of course it’s happening inside your head, Harry Dorothy. But why on earth should that mean it isn’t real?

[Roll credits.]

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The Monster Mash

And you have an earworm now, don’t you?

It’s the season for Christmas TV, which means old favourites get dusted off. In our house, at least when I was a kid, it was always The Wizard of Oz and Mary Poppins – both of which I’ve written about before – along with Scrooged and at least one of the Herbie films. We’ve had quite a lot of luck with Oz, but just yesterday I was trying to show them why Albert Finney’s musical version of A Christmas Carol is actually worth watching in its entirety, and that if they just go through the scene where Scrooge goes to hell on a loop they’re missing out on the context. It fell on mostly deaf ears. I will try again next December.

Certain things do hold their attention. The other week the boys were watching a Loony Tunes Christmas special in which a cantankerous Daddy Duck was taught the error of his miserly ways by three Christmas spirits, aided by Bugs Bunny. It was top-heavy (there is way, way too much messing around in the department store before the ghosts turn up) and the ending was only vaguely satisfying, but it was enjoyable, largely because there’s a substantial supporting role for Marvin the Martian.

And then I thought – well, they’re basically from the same place, aren’t they?


But why stop there? Why not acknowledge the design roots of the Adipose, for example, and mash one of them with the Pillsbury Doughboy?


And well, let’s just say that Madame Vastra wasn’t always based in Victorian London.


Happy New Year, however you spend it.

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The Doctor of Oz

OK. Watch this first. Better yet, watch it and then go to the YouTube page and click the ‘like’ button. God knows I could use the hit count, and I’d rather get it fairly than resort to artificial inflation.

The Wizard of Oz is one of those films that has followed me round for most of my life. You may remember, some months ago, that I blogged about our household’s first video recorder and the many viewings of Ghostbusters that followed. The Wizard of Oz may have been the fourth or fifth pre-recorded tape we bought. I’d already got through the book and wasn’t quite prepared for the glossy Technicolor buoyancy that followed. It would be years before I learned about the mythology that sprung up around the film, with the in-fighting amongst the cast, the problems with Garland’s breasts, the near-omission of ‘Over The Rainbow’ and the urban legend about the dead Munchkin.

I was saying to sj only the other week that the interesting thing about The Wizard of Oz on film is its utter trashing of the ending. While it takes a number of liberties with the book, with many characters dropped and many adventures abandoned, the biggest thing that happens is the solidification of Dorothy’s Kansas life, giving her a reason to come home. But it’s more than this: the very end of the film is a direct reversal of the very end of the novel, in which Dorothy arrives out of nowhere and lands on the grass outside the house that her parents are rebuilding. In the film, the entire journey to and from Oz – and, crucially, all the inhabitants therein – are seemingly imagined constructs, with friends and nemeses taking on counterpart roles when she and Toto set off along the Yellow Brick Road.

In other words, in the film Dorothy doesn’t actually go to Oz. She only thinks she does. The novel – and its many sequels – establish Oz as a real place that’s not on any map, but which anyone can visit (and indeed, Dorothy and her Aunt and Uncle eventually uproot and take up permanent residence there in one of the later books). In the film, she gets concussion during the cyclone and wakes up in her own room some hours later none the worse for her ordeal, with no one willing to believe that she’s been gone for days. This isn’t revealed until the very end of the film, unlike, say, Life on Mars – a show that was in many ways a direct homage to Oz – which featured a protagonist who spent most of his time trying to work out whether he had in fact time-travelled or was merely trapped in his own subconscious. The show’s sequel, Ashes to Ashes, explained everything (and nonetheless posed as many questions as it had provided answers), but perhaps the best explanation to this conundrum came from Albus Dumbledore near the end of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, in which he reassures our eponymous hero that “Of course it’s happening in your head, Harry. But why on earth should that mean it isn’t real?”.

And I’m rambling.

This all started with the scarecrow. I picked him up in Cancer Research one Friday evening for a bargain price. As I snapped the lid on the plastic tub that contains the Doctor Who figure collection, making a mental note to do another photo-shoot some time, I noticed that if you were to team him up with one of the Cybermen, and – ooh, I don’t know, the Werewolf from ‘Tooth and Claw’, you’d have the three sidekicks from The Wizard of Oz. And after that, all you really need is Dorothy and Toto.

Casting was the real joy here. Pantomime is a big part of Christmas – at least it is in this country – and The Wizard of Oz is on every holiday, so I took the approach of the Who figures staging their own amateur dramatics production, sort of like the characters in Toy Story: Hawaiian Vacation. There was no question of who to cast as Toto, and with that in mind there was really only one choice for Dorothy (unless I can find a Leela or Romana figure, anyway). Sarah Jane’s a bit long in the tooth here, admittedly, but so was Garland.

The Wizard of Oz features an amusing turn by Frank Morgan, who not only plays the Wizard himself (and his real-world counterpart, Professor Marvel) but also the Emerald City gatekeeper, the cab driver and the weeping sentry outside the Wizard’s inner sanctum. It’s the sort of multi-role casting that Eddie Murphy now seemingly does in every single movie he makes, but in 1939 it worked beautifully – and when it came to casting the Wizard (which obviously has to be the First Doctor, who looks the part), it made sense to cast some of his other regenerations in these supporting roles. The wish-fulfilment scenes of John Barrowman getting run over by the pirate ship / eaten by Joshua’s Playmobil clam were something I stuck in at the last minute when I realised I really wanted to feature Jack, without having anything for him to actually do. (Those familiar with musical theatre will have worked out that he’s singing – or attempting to sing – ‘The Doctor and I’, an adapted version of ‘The Wizard and I’, from Wicked, itself an unofficial prequel to Oz. I love joining up those dots!)

MGM are notoriously hot on copyright when it comes to The Wizard of Oz. They allow for short scenes on YouTube, but will block certain iconic moments (like Dorothy’s arrival in Munchkinland) and I read of several people who had seen videos deleted or audio disabled because it infringed copyright. So I took no chances and stuck instead to a four-minute summary of the entire film, in short bursts that tell the story (sans music) without ever telling too much of it at once. The result is a video that jumps all over the place, but it works, more or less.

I shot this over an evening and a morning, and then it was just a question of synching the photos with the narrative. I didn’t feel confident enough to venture into stop motion on this occasion, so you’re stuck with the pictures, but they do – wherever possible – mimic the positioning of the actors in the film. The sets are dreadful, of course, but I was working with Duplo and Playmobil. Likewise the lighting is second-rate – if I’m going to start doing this properly I really ought to invest in a decent studio area with spot lamps, but at least you can see it.

It’s the credit visuals I’m quite pleased with. Here they are again, without all those words getting in the way.

The scarecrow, as a friend of mine pointed out, is a surprisingly good breakdancer. Who knew?

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