The 1939 cinematic masterpiece The Wizard of Oz achieved many distinctions. It is among the most watched and beloved films of all time, and it is often ranked as one of the 10 best movies ever made. Its story has also shaped America's cultural consciousness to an extent that may transcend any other movie. This year, the seventieth anniversary of The Wizard of Oz's film debut, we find its story alive in the memorable quotations it passed on, the spinoffs such as The Wiz and Wicked it inspired, and even in the number of irreverent, audacious spoofs it has engendered on YouTube and elsewhere. "Over the Rainbow," its signature song, was voted the greatest movie song of all time by the American Film Institute, and every day Judy Garland sings it on a million TV screens and computer monitors throughout the world. Forever young, this classic musical fantasy continues to delight with an archetypal depth and richness that is inexhaustible and endlessly adaptable to new storylines of childhood innocence imperiled by evil and the failure of adults.
One of the film's insufficiently recognized themes is that of exile. Yet it is a dominant motif in The Wizard of Oz—
Significantly, Dorothy's homegrown loneliness and terror are absent from L. Frank Baum's 1900 children's classic, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, which inspired the movie. There, a cyclone carries Dorothy's house away to a real (not imaginary) Oz, and her ordeal begins only after she lands. In the film, events are quite different. Dorothy picks Toto up and runs away from home through a sepia-colored landscape, feeling alone and unloved by caregivers who barely listened to her. Clearly, no adults will help her. Or will they?
Soon Dorothy encounters a fascinating man with silver hair. Professor Marvel, played by Frank Morgan, is the kindly prototype for the Wizard that Dorothy's subconscious mind will later conjure up in Oz. As she did with her aunt and uncle, Dorothy seeks adult help and comfort from Marvel. She asks the good professor to take her away with him so she can "see all the crowned heads of Europe." Unfortunately, as Marvel gazes into his crystal ball, he does not see Dorothy as a traveling companion. While she will eventually go into exile, it won't be in this world but in a land over the rainbow. Told by Professor Marvel that her aunt is deeply worried about her, Dorothy is forced to return home.
Unfortunately, home brings no comfort and no relief from her sense of being alone. Enter the tornado, which despite the "primitive" special effects of the time, is scary and effective. The terrible loneliness that children sometimes feel in an adult world comes to life with unforgettable power. Those who have seen the movie will never forget the dark twister as it weaves and snakes across the gloomy, howling Kansas prairie, drawing ever closer to Dorothy, who becomes separated from her aunt and uncle. Suddenly Dorothy finds herself helpless and adrift in a world totally hostile and indifferent to her survival. She tries desperately to enter the cellar and find shelter with her aunt and uncle, but the door refuses to open. It is a terrifying archetypal experience that children everywhere can empathize with, imbued with a feeling of being abandoned and left behind by the very adults who should give their life security and meaning.
After dashing into the house for refuge, Dorothy is knocked unconscious by a flying window. She has a dream in which she wakes up and sees the house swept high into the sky by the tornado. Then the house falls and lands with a thump. Dorothy cautiously opens the door to behold a wondrous sight. It is a beautiful world of gorgeous flowers and glorious trees, and she soon meets adorably cute people named Munchkins and a lovely "good witch" named Glinda. Three loyal friends come next: the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the humorous Cowardly Lion, all of whom would give their lives for her. It is a child's wish come true: a magical, joyful realm blessed with loving friends. It's also a strange land where Munchkins sing unforgettable songs such as "Ding Dong! The Witch Is Dead" and "Follow the Yellow Brick Road." Surely here, in the merry old land of Oz, Dorothy's exile will be over, and she will find the sense of home and belonging that eluded her back in Kansas.
But even in the milder, less angst-filled book by L. Frank Baum, Oz is not Eden. In The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Baum describes Oz as a "strange land," and despite the close friends Dorothy finds, she remains in many ways a stranger in a strange land who yearns repeatedly to return home. From the beginning, Dorothy feels "lonely among all these strange people," (26) and the Witch of the North informs her that to reach the Emerald City, she will have to make "a long journey, through a country that is sometimes...dark and terrible." (27)
In the movie it is far worse. Though Dorothy is welcomed by the Munchkins as a "national heroine" for killing the Wicked Witch of the East when her house landed on her, the Witch's far more evil sister, the Wicked Witch of the West, is both a constant, ominous threat and a subconscious recreation of the loathsome Elmira Gulch back in Kansas. "I'll get you, my pretty," the Wicked Witch later threatens, "and your little dog, too!" Even in the safe haven of the Emerald City, Dorothy sees the Wicked Witch riding across the sky on her broomstick, writing, "SURRENDER DOROTHY," in dark letters. For Dorothy, the distance back to Kansas and home is infinite and unknowable, not to be measured in finite units such as miles. She even recognizes that "I can't go the way I came." In addition, she knows that if she ever removes her ruby slippers, she'll be at the complete mercy of the Wicked Witch.
Anyone who has seen The Wizard of Oz remembers the scene in which Dorothy, captured by the flying monkeys, is left alone by the Wicked Witch in her castle. An hourglass rapidly measures out the last minutes of Dorothy's life. As she waits to die, she sees Aunt Em, the greatest symbol of the home she has lost, crying out for her in the Witch's crystal ball. But of course, Aunt Em can't see or hear Dorothy. Dorothy's terror may exist only in a dream, but it represents an extension of her aunt and uncle's failure back in Kansas to notice her misery when she feared for her dog's life.
A moment later, the image of Aunt Em disappears and is replaced by the hideous green face of the Wicked Witch, laughing and shrieking in mockery at her. Oz, it seems, is not only hostile to Dorothy, but ultimately, it will prove fatal to her—
Fortunately, Dorothy's three friends rescue her, and she throws water on the Wicked Witch, melting her into nothing. The guards are glad to let her go, and she returns to the Emerald City where the greatest disaster of all occurs. Toto jumps out of the hot air balloon's basket to chase a cat and Dorothy leaps after him, thereby stranding herself in Oz forever—
But of course it is only a dream, and the Glinda the Good Witch reveals to Dorothy that she has possessed the ability to return home all along. All she has to do is tap her ruby slippers together three times and keep saying, "There's no place like home."
Dorothy follows Glinda's directions and wakes up back in Kansas, still repeating the magic words. The conventional interpretation of the movie's conclusion is that Dorothy's exile is over and she has ultimately learned that happiness is not to be found in other countries with Professor Marvel or in an imaginary realm beyond the clouds. She herself says, "If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own backyard; because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with!" In the end, despite the beautiful, poignant melody, "Over the Rainbow," The merry old land of Oz simply cannot compete with earthbound Kansas, where Dorothy truly belongs and where alone her destiny lies.
Or is this interpretation of the movie's ending too pat? Is it really how we should view Dorothy's homecoming? If we look again at the movie's conclusion, we see that while the adults are loving, they are still not listening to Dorothy or taking her seriously. "Doesn't anybody believe me?" she asks, after telling them of her adventures and seeing their disbelieving smiles.
Salman Rushdie, one of the most famous exiles of all, wrote that "When I first saw The Wizard of Oz it made a writer of me" (The Wizard of Oz: An Appreciation, 2). To him, the movie is about "the inadequacy of adults," even "good" ones, and how their "weaknesses force [children] to take control of their own destiny" (4). Rushdie's interpretation of the movie's ending differs from that of most viewers because he feels it is both false and cloying. He believes the movie emphasizes leaving rather than coming home, joyful migration and escape rather than assimilation. In "Out of Kansas," he writes:
Anybody who has swallowed the scriptwriters' notion that this is a film about the superiority of "home" over "away," that the "moral" of The Wizard of Oz is as sickly-sweet as an embroidered sampler—
"East, West, home's best"— would do well to listen to the yearning in Judy Garland's voice as her face tilts up toward the skies. What she expresses here, what she embodies with the purity of an archetype, is the human dream of leaving, a dream at least as powerful as its countervailing dream of roots. At the heart of The Wizard of Oz is the tension between these two dreams; but as the music swells and that big, clean voice flies into the anguished longings of the song, can anyone doubt which message is the stronger? In its most potent emotional moment, this is unarguably a film about the joys of going away, of leaving the grayness and entering the color, of making a new life in the "place where there isn't any trouble." "Over the Rainbow" is, or ought to be, the anthem of all the world's migrants, all those who go in search of the place where "the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true." It is a celebration of Escape, a grand paean to the uprooted self, a hymn— the hymn— to elsewhere" (25).
How then should we view the message or moral of The Wizard of Oz? Is it ultimately more about going away to a wonderland or coming home to a family? Is it about being a stranger in a magical world or being a child who joyfully returns home? The answer lies with the beholder, but there can be no doubt that Salman Rushdie is right when he says that the movie is also about the tension between both dreams, for exile seldom exists without the yearning, ambivalent or otherwise, to return home.