Overscaled and underwhelming, Sam Raimi’s Oz the Great and Powerful traffics in big bucks, big bangs, and small ideas. Unlike recent eye-popping spectacles like James Cameron’s Avatar or Martin Scorsese’s Hugo, the simplistic, emotionally empty origin story is neither magical nor dreamlike. Oz has no brains, no heart, no courage and, perhaps even sadder, no imagination.
The
film, written by Mitchel Kapner and David Lindsay-Abaire, hews faithfully close
to its flashy forbearer, Victor Fleming’s lavish The Wizard of Oz, but the comparison is not in Raimi’s favor. For
all of the director’s energy and exuberance, the frenzied marketing and
promotion of the movie are more enthusiastic and original that its clichéd plot,
and one might suspect more thoughtful as well. The film repeats all the
mistakes of Disney’s Alice in Wonderland,
only does so without the redeeming qualities of Johnny Depp or Tim Burton.
Oscar Diggs, or Oz (James Franco), is a small-time magician and big-time womanizer with serious commitment issues. The handsome, self-serving, fast-talking illusionist is charming enough we’re almost willing to let him get away with his cheap tricks, but not quite. As Oz opens, in an extended sequence of windy, dusty Kansas filmed in black and white on an almost square screen which acts as a tribute to the 1939 film, Oscar is working for a traveling circus, but seems more interested in his assistants than his act.
Fleeing
an angry strongman—whose wife he prestidigitated into his bed—he hops into a
hot air balloon, getting caught in a tornado that lands him safely in Oz. Theodora
(Mila Kunis), a gentle, naïve witch tells the charismatic conman about the
prophecy anticipating his arrival to rule Oz, and immediately proceeds to fall
in love with him. Her older sister Evanora (an icily beautiful Rachel Weisz)
has altogether other plans for the wizard.
On
his side, the hero has a flying monkey called Finley (voiced by Zach Braff), a
beautiful, delicate, somewhat creepy china doll (Joey King), and the good witch
Glinda (a luminous Michelle Williams). The characters wear out their welcome,
however, and the jokey banter and crowd-pleasing quips are not nearly as witty
as the filmmaker would like to believe.
At
first the vivid, vibrant visuals and the way the scene changes almost
imperceptively from monochrome to color is enough to hold our attention, but
after a while the hues seem garish and overdone, like a Technicolor experiment
gotten way out of hand, as pinks, reds, yellows and oranges collide, combine
and clash mercilessly.
The
studio backlots of the classic Wizard of Oz were perhaps no more real than the
digital wizardry and technological illusion that goes into Oz the Great and Powerful, but they were enough to make it look
like a live-action film instead of an artificial, colorful cartoon. For all its
outdated, low-tech flamboyance, the older film was richer and more fun. At
their simplest, movies are still sometimes the most magical.
Oscar
basically takes on the role of Dorothy as an outsider embarking on a quest of
self-discovery, aided by new friends and old companions—or technically both, since the supporting cast pops up, as it
had in the original film, on both sides of the rainbow.
Franco
at times seems uneasy, perhaps recognizing the idiocy of the dialogue, perhaps
uncomfortable working against a green screen with an imaginary flying monkey in
a bellhop outfit, perhaps wondering why Johnny Depp gets all the Tim Burton
films and how he pulls off this kind of roles.
Raimi
has never met a flying, jumping, squirting, falling object he didn’t
like—especially if it’s in the direction of the screen’s three dimensions—but
he’s not sure what to do with people while they’re standing or sitting still.
Oz values special effects and
spectacle over storytelling. It’s supposed to sweep you up into its fantastical
world of witches and wonder, munchkins and mystery. For certain isolated
moments of haunting beauty, the movie succeeds in transporting viewers to a land
filled with psychedelically colored flowers, blossoms that turn out to be
butterflies and birds hued to an almost radioactive intensity, but we are swept
up in flights of fancy, not feeling.
The
final act is not without its surprises and delights, as Oscar, relying on the scientific
wizardry of men like Thomas Edison, demonstrates that pluck, luck, and a few
firecrackers can be magic enough if people believe in them. The problem is we
never quite believe in Raimi’s film. His Oz
is neither great nor powerful; by the end we regret we’re not in Kansas
anymore.
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