You can always tell how jaded you’ve become by looking at what makes you laugh. I watched The Wizard of Oz last night and discovered that I am pretty jaded.
It all started when I was wondering what a weird old man travelling in a covered cart would really say to a young girl running away from home. It continued as the Wicked Witch of the East appears for the first time and I’m waiting for a helicopter gunship to strafe the Munchkin Village because someone has “popped red smoke.”
The Cowardly Lion may be picking on Toto but he also takes a run at the Tin Man, a not-so-cowardly move considering that the Tin Man has an ax and body armour.
The poppies that make you sleep and the snow that wakes you up are no surprise to any adult who’s seen even one episode of Miami Vice.
It is hardly a surprise that so many people took advantage of Judy later on in life if she can believe that three co-dependent misfits she’s known for less than half an hour are “the best friends a person could ever have.”
The worst giggle I had during its 101 minutes was when I discovered, totally by accidental bathroom break, that when you pause the movie at the exact moment the water hits the witch in the face, it looks like… well, mevermind.
I still love The Wizard of Oz. I think the flying monkeys are the shit and was amazed while I was watching how the backdrops on the sepia-toned farm shots looked more realistic than any CGI I’ve seen 70 years later. It is indeed the classic of classics. Hope I didn’t ruin it too much. Maybe sometime I’ll tell you about how I spent most of Casablanca remarking about what a fickle whore Ilsa Lund is.