The Critical Drinker Gives Wicked A Pass

The Critical Drinker’s review of Wicked Part 1 might be the most surprising take he’s had this year—and we’re talking about a guy known for kicking down hot takes like a drunken philosophy professor at a wedding. While he’s generally not someone you’d expect to vibe with high-camp musicals dripping in glitter and whimsy, his verdict on Wicked as “pretty good” shows his fairmindedness, if nothing else.

This is a guy who walked into Wicked with every expectation that it would drown itself in what he calls “The Message”—his shorthand for the heavy-handed infusion of progressive ideologies that he believes overtakes good storytelling in modern pop culture. Yet, his review paints a picture of surprise, begrudging admiration, and slight confusion. Because, while Wicked is undeniably flamboyant and campy, it takes a soft touch with its social commentary, and The Drinker gives it an unexpected nod for that decision.

While we actually agree on some points, there’s a big difference in how Wicked landed for him and how it landed for us. Consider this editorial a comparison of hangovers after different cinematic drinking games.

The Drinker hit the nail on the head when he described Wicked as “a big, colorful, flamboyant over-the-top” spectacle. No arguments from us there. You’d have to be in a literal coma to miss the kaleidoscope of eye candy this movie serves up. The sets, costumes, and overall production design are a labor of jaw-dropping, heart-stopping love. But here’s the thing—when all the visuals serve one purpose and one purpose only (to dazzle you), the actual movie underneath starts to feel like it’s gasping for air.

The Drinker, to his point, was pleasantly surprised that the stylistic excess wasn’t drowning him in agenda. While we agree that Wicked doesn’t grab you by the collar to shout about DEI or other radical political narratives, it’s not entirely innocent in how it smuggles its ideology past the emerald gate. The progressive touches are there, just dialed back enough to earn a “Woke-ish” stamp rather than a full-on Woke on our Woke-O-Meter.

Take, for instance, the highly diverse backdrop of characters, the occasional awkward attempts at social justice commentary (Glinda’s 1619-adjacent jab in history class comes to mind), and the literal parade of queer-coded extravagance in the background. These elements simmer quietly instead of boiling over, but they’re still a flavor in the brew whether the Drinker tastes them or not.

As per his usual thoughtfulness, The Drinker gives credit where it’s due when it comes to Cynthia Erivo’s performance. Erivo’s Elphaba is the emotional anchor of the film, with a performance that somehow manages to be vulnerable and commanding at the same time. The Drinker’s take on Grande was interesting because he initially pegged her as Wicked’s weakest link but came away surprised by her depth and presence.

Here, we’re going to take different paths on the Yellow Brick Road. While Grande’s portrayal of Glinda wasn’t the complete disaster we feared it might be after watching her drip syrup in the trailers, it also wasn’t entirely suited for the screen. The Drinker lauded her for her surprising “nuance” in performance. We’ll raise him this—her gestures and over-the-top delivery might work in the nosebleed section of a Broadway theater, but on a 40-foot cinema screen, it felt like being smacked in the face by a sparkly pink mallet. Grande has charisma, sure, but she never really sold us on this Glinda.

Where we sharply diverge from the Drinker’s review is with the music. He wistfully calls the musical numbers “good.” Sure, they’re choreographed to near perfection, and vocally, the cast hits all the right notes. But great performances can only do so much when the songs they’re given to sing have all the memorability of elevator music. Ask anyone humming the melodies from Munchkinland Medley Pt. 8: “Oh wait, what was that melody again?” Exactly.

It’s a shame because the original Wizard of Oz soundtrack has woven itself into the cultural fabric of humanity. Meanwhile, Wicked’s score will likely fade like stage lights after closing night.

One interesting revelation in The Drinker’s review is that he didn’t spot the undercurrent of progressive ideology we picked up on. Maybe it flew under his radar because it wasn’t overt, but it’s undeniably there if you’re looking. The many flamboyantly FABuLOUS background characters, the peppering of woke commentary (a side-eye at Glinda’s college moment), and the over-diverse casting in an isolated Ozian village make Wicked’s inclusivity feel more like a production checklist than a tapestry of storytelling choices. Subtle? Maybe. Deregistered? Hardly.

The Drinker seems relieved that Wicked refrains from fully throttling the plot with social justice sludge. It’s a victory worth acknowledging, but make no mistake—this movie still came to play with its woke coloring book in the back pocket of that dazzling Oscar-bait costume.

We’d be remiss not to mention the Drinker’s earlier video roasting Cynthia Erivo for her frothy outrage over a fan-edited promotional poster. He was primed to dismiss Erivo entirely on account of this bizarre debacle. And look, we felt the same way—Erivo’s overreaction (calling it the “wildest, most offensive thing” she’s seen) was the emotional equivalent of setting Munchkinland on fire because someone moved a scarecrow. Despite that, she proved herself entirely capable of carrying Wicked through its meandering, overlong runtime with aplomb. If nothing else, this is an excellent example of divorcing the artist from their less-than-Ozianly-behavior moments.

Ultimately, The Critical Drinker’s review and ours are gazing at the same emerald-green spectacle, but our takes don’t quite line up. We respect his ability to see past Wicked’s flamboyant noise and write it off as a visual win that didn’t beat him over the head with “The Message.” We’re just not as easily won over by those dazzling visuals when the substance behind them remains as thin as a stage curtain.
Where the Drinker saw surprising performances and some great production, we saw a bloated runtime, forgettable music, and ideology discreetly woven like a green thread into Glinda’s sparkly pink prom dress. Still, Erivo’s performance was stellar enough to make us (almost) forgive the missteps.