Fairy Tale and Film

Oz, the Great and Powerful
(Sam Raimi, 
2013), Disney’s prequel to 
The Wizard of Oz
(1939) and an evident 
attempt to take advantage of two key trends in recent years: postmod-
ern revisions of established fairy tales and scenarios able to showcase 
the latest 3D effects. The title character, Oscar Diggs (James Franco), 
is a carnival huckster and philanderer who finds himself transported 
to a strange land during a tornado and quickly reverts to his old tricks 
with the first young woman he meets. Eleonora (Mila Kunis) falls for 
his charms yet is transformed into a wicked witch when he betrays 
her. Losing her beauty as she succumbs to rage – her tear-scarred face 
adopting a frightening green hue – she rejects the option of magically 
fixing her looks, crying: ‘No! Let him see what he has done!’ However, 
rather than punish Oscar, the film figures her sister, Theonora (Rachel 
Weisz), as its villain: having killed the former ruler of Oz, blaming the 
good witch Glinda (Michelle Williams) for the crime, and additionally 
encouraging Eleonora’s transformation by revealing Oscar’s infidelity. 
Gregory Maguire’s novel 
Wicked
(1995) may serve as apparent inspi-
ration in presenting a familiar character from a new perspective, yet 
while Maguire specifically sought to challenge conceptions of virtue 
and evil, giving the Wicked Witch of the West a name (Elphaba) and 
a sympathetic backstory, Raimi’s ‘prequel’ simplistically reinstates the 
inherent wickedness of its witches. Theonora is motivated by ruthless 

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Postmodern Revisions 
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self-interest – similar traits to the film’s hero, ironically, yet clearly 
evil in female form – and while Oscar cruelly breaks her sister’s heart, 
Eleonora is additionally demonised for allowing bitterness to take over. 
By contrast, approved females are the fragile china doll (who elicits 
Oscar’s caring side) and the equally passive Glinda (who refuses to 
engage in violence and piously waits for the Munchkins’ promised man 
to come to their deliverance). Their faith is rewarded as Oscar eventu-
ally rids the Emerald City of its wicked witches and becomes its ruler, 
yet, in contrast to Dorothy’s rite-of-passage, his triumph is far from 
endearing. Although he acquires a newfound sense of responsibility he 
is also set up for life, with a fortune in the city coffers and Glinda serv-
ing as meek new love interest. Despite pulling back the curtain on the 
enigmatic ‘Wizard’, the film fails to make him very likeable, especially 
in his relations with women. Ultimately, the Wicked Witch of the West 
remains more threatening than sympathetic, while the man who hurt 
her oddly becomes the film’s hero. If he is chastened by his conduct this 
is not apparent (we know from 
The
Wizard of Oz
that he will authorise 
Eleonora’s murder), and making him such a contested object of desire 
smacks of an egotistical male fantasy, evidently aiming to appeal to 
male viewers rather than women.
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The film’s producer, Joe Roth, stated that a key intention behind the 
film was to find a story with a male lead, contending that ‘during the 
years that I spent running Walt Disney studios I learned how hard it was 
to find a fairy tale with a good strong male protagonist. You’ve got your 
Sleeping Beauties, your Cinderellas, your Alices, but a fairy tale with 
a male protagonist is very hard to come by’ (see Hill, 2013a).
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Having a 
male character at the helm is presumably motivated by an aforemen-
tioned interest in securing male viewers, yet we might justifiably protest 
when a female-centred narrative is appropriated simply to allow male 
characters to take precedence, as occurs in Raimi’s