Opening on Broadway in 1975, The Wiz was a Black retelling of L. Frank Baum’s 1900 book The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, which was adapted by William F. Brown with a score by Charlie Smalls. The slap-happy result didn’t wipe away memories of the classic 1939 movie, but the show became a Tony-winning hit for its mixture of humor, heart, and catchy tunes, like the rollicking “Ease On Down the Road” and the plaintive ballad “Home.” The story of misfits being sent on a wild adventure that brings out virtues they didn’t realize they already had took on a special appeal with characters whose color made them societally underprivileged. Their bond was skin-tight, and their communal trek to personal freedom against all odds gave a new texture to an old warhorse.
Three years later came the ghastly movie version of The Wiz, set in gussied-up NYC locations and weirdly starring 33-year-old Diana Ross as a Dorothy who was full-grown but emotionally stunted, googling her eyes in awestruck fashion at everything she saw in the land of Oz. It was a diz-aster.
What’s different from the 1939 movie is that in The Wiz, Dorothy’s Oz experience isn’t a dream — it’s real.
I became hopeful on learning that the new Broadway revival, directed by Schele Williams, stars 24-four-year-old Nichelle Lewis, making her Broadway debut, and sure enough she more accurately conveys the innocence of adolescence, with big sad eyes burrowing into the audience at odd moments. The earnest Lewis can also sing like an angel, though at times her Dorothy is so lost that she tends to become a cog in the aggressively flashy happenings around her.
The show starts with a black, white, and gray palette, in Kansas, where Dorothy reveals that she’s been bullied at school, prompting Aunt Em (Melody A. Betts) to remind the girl that she’s loved and that in fact, “You do belong here.” But she’s not there for long. A tornado — basically some swirling dance moves and lighting cues — lands Dorothy in a place festooned with garishly festive sets and costumes, coming off almost like Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras. This turns out to be Oz, where her flying house has stomped out the mean queen Evillene’s equally vile sister, making Dorothy the town hero. But to get back to Kansas, she somehow has to journey to the Emerald City and nab permission from the big poobah known as the Wiz (Wayne Brady). In the meantime she’s granted a pair of magical silver slippers — you heard me — and gifted three companions along the way: a brainless scarecrow (Avery Wilson), a heartless tin man (Phillip Johnson Richardson), and a spineless, nelly lion (Kyle Ramar Freeman), all joining her dance down the road to try and erase Evillene’s evil curses.
What’s different from the 1939 movie is that in The Wiz, Dorothy’s Oz experience isn’t a dream — it’s real, and doesn’t include alternate versions of the farmhands (and creepy landowner Almira Gulch) she knows back home. The symmetry of all that is lost, and the heartfelt ending (“And you, and you, and you, and you were there!”) might be less heartfelt as a result, but it does make for more economical storytelling — plus, it’s faithful to the original book. So The Wiz can’t have Gulch, who resurfaces in the ’39 movie as the Wicked Witch of the West, because she was created for that film. Instead, we get the Oz-only Evillene (Melody A. Betts again), a raucous Patti LaBelle type, who’s terrified of water but even more so of disrespect. She’s boisterous, cartoonishly nasty, and perfect for this venue, especially when belting out the manically uptempo warning “Don’t Nobody Bring Me No Bad News.” Perhaps proving her point, when Dorothy tells Evillene that she really needs to lift her spells and free the people, the witch bluntly replies, “All I got to do is stay Black and die.”
What’s changed from the original Wiz: no more munchkins (not PC), no Toto (too messy), some songs have been sliced, tweaked, or reprised, and everyone’s ornate singing style seems ready for Simon Cowell to grade them afterward. Despite this, the sound mix bizarrely doesn’t always highlight the lead vocals enough to overcome the orchestra, but that can probably be fixed as easily as finding a heart for this critic, if not a brain, lol.
Comic/actor/writer Amber Ruffin — who co-wrote last year’s musical version of Some Like It Hot so that one character was trans and felt “seen” — has worked on the material to add references to things like karaoke, The Lion King, and chamomile tea, and choreographer JaQuel Knight has thrown in some voguing ball touches, when it’s time for the exuberant scene at the Wiz’s nightclub.
The three companions are terrific — Richardson convinces as squirts of oil ease his stiffened muscles, and Freeman soars on the rousing “Be A Lion,” abetted by Dorothy’s powerful urgings (“You’re standing strong and tall / You’re the bravest of them all”). But Act Two is better, with an array of show-stopping numbers, including the aforementioned Evillene explosion and two slick tunes performed by Emmy-winning actor/TV host Brady, who displays real musical comedy chops as the title charlatan. (No surprise: Brady has previously starred in Chicago and Kinky Boots.) The moment when Brady’s Wiz casually touches the Lion, who practically orgasms, is a scream. Best of all is the final reprise of “Ease On Down the Road,” done slowly and soulfully by the four leads as they’re saying goodbye to each other in perfect harmony. Lyrics like “Come on legs, keep movin’ / Don’t you lose no ground / ’Cause the road you’re walking / Might be long sometimes” are suddenly laden with poignancy and insight.
I never cared for Wicked — the very white (I mean, green) prequel to The Wizard of Oz — but this Wiz mounts in appeal and becomes so alternately giddy and moving that after a while I forgot to be annoyed by the “Believe in yourself” homilies and the endless succession of overripe set projections. Still, I was perfectly happy to go … you know, “Home,” to watch The Wizard of Oz one more time. ❖
The Wiz
Marquis Theatre
210 W. 46th Street
Michael Musto has written for the Voice since 1984, best known for his outspoken column “La Dolce Musto.” He has penned four books and is streaming in docs on Netflix, Hulu, Vice, and Showtime.