“Wicked” (Or, How I’d Rather Walk Into a Burning Theater Than Sit Through This Again)
“Wicked” isn’t just bad—it’s a cinematic war crime. From the moment the opening notes blared through the speakers, I knew I was trapped in a nightmare that even Glinda’s glitter bombs couldn’t salvage. If you told me my two options were to watch this film again or stroll into a burning theater, I’d happily grab a marshmallow and head for the flames.
Let’s talk about the performances. The actress playing Elphaba doesn’t act so much as scream, stomp, and wave her arms like she’s auditioning for World’s Most Annoying Mime. She takes “Defying Gravity” and turns it into a relentless assault on eardrums everywhere. Her emotional range seems to go from “slightly annoyed” to “completely unhinged,” with no stops in between. I get that she’s green, but did she really have to make every single second on screen so painful to watch?
And then there’s Glinda—dear, sweet, unbearable Glinda. Imagine the most saccharine, high-pitched voice you’ve ever heard, now crank it up to 11, and add a layer of smugness so thick it practically oozes off the screen. Her endless giggling feels like an elaborate torture method cooked up by the Wicked Witch herself. If Glinda floated down in her bubble and started talking to me in real life, I’d pop it with a dart just to make it stop.
Their chemistry? None. Zero. Zilch. It’s like watching two performers in entirely different movies. One’s trying to out-scream a banshee, and the other’s trying to out-annoy a swarm of mosquitoes. The result? A migraine-inducing mess that makes you wonder if the casting director secretly hated us all.
The worst part? These two actresses seem to think they’re delivering career-defining performances. News flash: you’re not. You’re delivering the acting equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. By the end of the movie, I didn’t care if Elphaba defied gravity or spontaneously combusted—I just wanted her and Glinda to go away.
Even the visual effects were terrible. The flying monkeys looked like they were cobbled together with duct tape and desperation. The costumes? A parade of glittery garbage bags and bad prom dresses. Honestly, the best thing about this movie was the moment it ended, because that meant I could finally leave.
If you’re thinking of watching “Wicked,” don’t. Save yourself. Walk into a burning theater instead. At least the fire will be over quickly, and it’ll probably be less painful.