Jon M. Chu’s Wicked, the long-awaited cinematic adaptation of the smash Broadway hit, arrives as a spectacle so bloated, so mired in indulgence, it often feels more like a strobe-lit fantasy than the heartfelt tale of friendship it once promised. For a musical that thrives on the tension between soaring ambition and quiet vulnerability, this film too often settles into a sugary, overstuffed delivery that detracts from its most intimate moments. Wicked, in its current form, is a tale of two witches; one of whom struggles, the other of whom delights—in an Oz less full of wonder than of chaotic spectacle, exhausted dance numbers, and CGI so overdone it could give a Star Wars prequel a run for its money. From the outset, Wicked sets itself up as a kind of visual feast, a film that promises both spectacle and substance, a soaring combination of magic and heart. However, as the running time creeps beyond the two-hour mark, it becomes clear that director Jon M. Chu has sacrificed much in the name of excess. The original stage show, with its brisk pacing and effervescent energy, has been stretched beyond recognition, into something almost unrecognizably overblown. What was once a tight, two-and-a-half hour journey is now a bloated, meandering saga, dragged out to over four hours of screen time split across two films. The result? An endless succession of bells, whistles, and choreographed dances—many of which feel like empty filler rather than necessary narrative beats.
At its core, Wicked remains a story about the unlikely bond between Elphaba, the misunderstood Wicked Witch of the West, and Glinda, the sparkling, naive Glinda the Good. These women are at the heart of the story, their fragile friendship serving as both the emotional and thematic center. While there are brief, poignant flashes of their connection—such as during the Shiz dance or in the climactic moments high above Oz—the overarching focus of the film is often diverted by unnecessary CGI wizardry and overly contrived musical numbers that diminish the emotional resonance of those quieter, more intimate moments. Cynthia Erivo’s Elphaba is a solid, though somewhat stiff, performance that never quite rises to the emotional height her character demands. She sings with power, yes, but the film’s Defying Gravity—which should be the emotional crescendo; ends on a muted note, robbing the song of its earlier stage majesty. Arianna Grande’s Glinda, by contrast, offers a much more nuanced performance, revealing the character’s transformation from a shallow, narcissistic cheerleader into something more complex and caring. Her portrayal is tender, even if it occasionally veers into self-parody in moments of absurdity. Grande’s voice, of course, remains an undeniable highlight—Popular is the lone tune in the film that sticks, though it’s more due to her performance than the song’s own merits.
The film’s visual effects are perhaps its most divisive feature. As the screen is filled with fantastical creatures and landscapes, the CGI is, unfortunately, far below the standard one might expect from a film of this scale. The talking animals; most notably the goat-like creatures; are particularly jarring, resembling something from a ’90s animated feature rather than a film made in 2024. Such lapses in visual coherence only underscore the disconnect between the film’s technical ambition and its emotional depth. There is simply too much attention given to the glitzy, the shiny, the surface-level, and not enough to the story at hand. At times, the narrative feels directionless, distracted by unnecessary side plots and performances that add nothing to the core themes. Jeff Goldblum’s turn as the Wizard is a curious misstep. Though charming in his own right, his presence here feels misplaced, as though a different film entirely was struggling to break through. Michelle Yeoh, though captivating in many of her roles, feels equally out of place, unable to balance the mystical gravity of her character with the whims of the production. The moments of humor and lightness that ought to spring from their characters instead get lost in the shuffle, buried beneath layers of choreography that seem to serve only as filler.
If anything, Wicked serves as a reminder of how fragile the balance between spectacle and emotion can be. At its best, when the focus is squarely on the bond between Elphaba and Glinda, the film soars. In the quieter, more introspective moments—particularly when both women find themselves at a crossroads, literally and metaphorically—the film taps into something deep and affecting. But these moments are often drowned out by the incessant demands of the visual effects, dance routines, and a relentless pace that seems more intent on impressing than connecting. Ultimately, Wicked leaves behind a sense of unfulfilled promise. The magic that made the original stage production such a revelation is muted here, buried under a mound of grandiose dazzlement and unearned spectacle. While there are glimpses of the Wicked we could have had; a film that digs into the characters’ complexity and allows their bond to shine; Jon M. Chu’s film often feels more like a vanity project than a genuine retelling. The end result is something that, while far from terrible, is a far cry from the magical experience one might have hoped for. Better than I expected? Perhaps. But that’s a bit like saying a firecracker’s pop was louder than its fizz. There’s magic in Wicked, but it’s buried under too much glitz and too little heart.