WICKED MANILA: The Review

-Rocky Christopher Fajardo

January 22, 2014, Manila, Philippines--- it was an all-consuming rebirth in color as cascades of lush and
textured emerald lights sprung to life in an intense surge from the heart of the stage, as a map of Oz,
especially rigged as a stage curtain for CCPs Main Theater, drew open to unravel a fantastic tale: one
told in the Philippine premiere of the blockbuster megamusical, WICKED. Witnessing the opening of the
first act is an experience in itself so vibrant that it gives spectators the sensation of diving headfirst into
the Technicolor world of classic MGM, the same film outfit that immortalized Judy Garland in her iconic
role as Dorothy Gale in 1939s The Wizard of Oz.
Locked in an elaborate embrace, the overlapping waves of the almost breathing colors of the set design
and costumes (of characteristically twisted Edwardian aesthetics), and props, all magnificently topped
by the ominous Clock of the Time Dragon glaring forebodingly from up above (as if an oracle of only bad
omens), gives birth to an effect purely primal and instantaneous in its nature: a cold and deep
awareness that this is no prologue to a fine fairytale romance or an impassioned moment kindling a saga
of love at first sight. The opening musical number takes you straight to the ruins of a second political
assassination, one committed by an innocent young girl from Kansas: the murder of the solitary figure
amidst the hurricane of unionist upsurges; the primary cause of fear in all of Oz; and through this
unwarranted crime, the genesis of a backstory now about to take a frontseat is told.
The initial flourishes of Maestro David Youngs baton leading the orchestra into the overture of No One
Mourns the Wicked ushers in the flawlessly choreographed chaos of the Ozzians heralding the news of
the death of the Wicked Witch of the West, Elphaba. To the discerning ear, the first few bars of the
rousing overture appears oddly tinged with an undertone of sadness, as if intentionally held back from
realizing its potential for a full explosion of unbridled celebration. In a recent interview by BWW with
Schwartz himself during his recent trip to Manila, he acknowledges the duality of the song: the carefully
interlaced pathos within the Ozzians triumph over Elphabas death; and the dual substance of strained
compassion and dark victory within Glindas role in the celebration of the Wicked Witchs demise. An
impeccable antithesis of sorts to the chirpy Munchkinlander ditty Ding-Dong the Witch is Dead (The
Wizard of Oz, MGM, 1939) one might even boldly see No One Mourns the Wicked as in a way (owe it
to the musical genius of Schwartz) tinted with an inhumane savagery; overwrought with an
unacknowledged remorse (and for good measure) shadowed by each joyous thundering of the phrase
Shes Dead. Only until the effervescent entrance of Suzie Mathers Glinda does the jubilation reach its
ultimate height as she whips the diluted fear and intensifying relief into an escalating frenzy. Clad in all
her cheeky and pompous splendor as she floats down in her gigantic bubble (one among many feats of
engineering brilliance in set design by Eugene Lee), Glinda tackles the multi-faceted roles of journalist,
narrator, moralizer, and unauthorized personal historian of the fallen foe.
No One Mourns the Wicked holds the central key in unmasking what is left to be understood about
Elphaba. Schwartz genius as a lyricist with a remarkable gift for story-telling is outspoken and organic
here. In a matter of minutes, Schwartz plunges in quick, steady pace, into the depths of the most crucial
aspects of Elphabas mysterious conception; the extenuating circumstances surrounding her birth; and,
the roots of the repulsion that the long-misunderstood green-skinned heroine have endured. By the
songs denouement, one is in grips, with a feeling of wonder at the seemingly dual roles that Glinda
takes on within the number. How is it possible that a champion of all that is good, also harbor a subtle
and unassuming compassion for her adversary? Did we miss an important glitch in the bigger, brighter
picture? The opening song accomplishes just that: make room for a plethora of questions and proving
just how big a can of worms has been opened. Glinda, and in the longer run, WICKED, attempts to
answer these and more throughout the course of the musical. As for the most pressing query of all Is it
true that you and the Wicked Witch were really friends? Glindas edgy reply proceeds to take the
Ozzians back into her days with Elphaba in Shiz Academy, and farther beyond into her rebirth as the
Wicked Witch.
It is important to understand why the Holzman book is a compelling story in itself. WICKEDs deliberate
pace and sympathetic determination is solid in its nurturing undertaking of plot and character
development; it manages to flow naturally on its own, especially for the audience member who comes
into the theater bearing predetermined notions on the history of Oz and its pioneering figures. Four or
possibly even five alternate worlds of Oz may align or collide spectacularly on the stage of Wicked. If one
has read the Maguire book or even possesses a substantial amount of schema based on L. Frank Baums
original chronicling of Oz, an inclination to be wary towards Wicked is foreseeable. Yes, there are subtle
tweaks and minor alterations in the interweaving of certain backstories to certain characters and
locations (necessary all) in the adaptation of the Maguire manuscript into the Holzman book for the
stage. Be not afraid, they are not nearly blatant enough to send you screaming out in blasphemies out of
the theater. Karen Mortimer Johnsons impeccably measured and executed stage direction speaks
volumes about the characters unspoken motivations. Whatever disturbing bleakness in the climate of
the political quagmire in the Oz of the Maguire novel that may seem to have been toned to a degree of
blandness in Winnie Holzmans book for Wicked, other key elements of the musical (lighting, effects,
and stage direction; stage design; costumes and props; choreography and movement; and the music)
more than make up for it in impartial proportion.
Pivotal points in character development are intertwined in the brilliantly crafted lyrics and dramatic
undertones of each song. Take for example Elphabas very revealing No Good Deed and Glindas
multidimensional declarations in Thank Goodness. The wealth of backstories, motivations, personal
dreams and demons, and epiphanies all abound within the inferences that a keen observer can
accumulate throughout one number alone. Cyphering these golden nuggets is the basic (and perhaps
one of the most enjoyable) challenge for the seasoned musical theater lover. These songs will take you
on a veritably engaging treasure hunt (if you allow them to), with the entire ensemble providing
excellent cues throughout their interpretations. Be wary however because some lyrical signposts are so
deliciously and intricately weaved into Schwartz harmonies, sweeping orchestrations, and
arrangements, that at times you will find yourself just mesmerized to distraction by the miasma of the
masterful combination of the live audio and visual experience of it all. It would be a pity to miss out on
how your favorite Ozzian encounters his personal epiphany. In case you do get pleasantly dreamy,
theres no harm in catching Wicked a second time around, after all, the season has been extended.
The stage lighting itself is a living organism that expands and matures along with the plot and the
principal characters. Its crescendos are delicate yet powerful enough to be operative conveyors of depth
of mood and resonance in setting that the dialogue or lyrics may have deliberately skimped out on for
the sake of efficiency. The understated magic of the lighting and effects is that it subtly catches you
unaware: emblazoning onto the subconscious a deeper appreciation and fuller comprehension of what
is transpiring onstage, even within the characters. Like the role that actual light plays in the processing
of a photograph, the lighting in Wicked is in effect sublime in its majestic capacity to burn lasting images
of key scenes onto the mind. Add that to the inspired set design with its overall inner workings
functioning exactly how it is designed to work and look like: precisely engineered clockwork, and we
have a perfect concoction. The intricacies of the sets combined with the lighting direction and effects
fully complement the pacing of the musical, swift in its ingenuity at adjusting its well-oiled gears to
accommodate the quick costume and scenery changes.
Suzie Mathers and Jemma Rixs Glinda and Elphaba (respectively) are both transcendent onstage.
There is genuine chemistry to be seen and appreciated in this pairing, owe it to what the quick eye can
catch in the subtle infinitesimal hints. Mathers and Rix have uncannily honed an almost persistently
perfect timing: playing on each others personal cues, slightly evident in the most miniscule of side
expressions they give one another. From the precise smoothness in their exchange of lines on how
loathsome they find each other in their first duet What is This Feeling? to their homage to the
friendship they are about to bid adieu to in their final duet, For Good. In this number, the pressing
question at the end of No One Mourns the Wicked (is it true that you and the Wicked Witch were really
friends?) is finally answered: yes, they are good friends, two best friends.
The chemistry between Mathers and Rix does not end simply in their adeptness at picking up where the
other one has left off: it also expands farther into their well-complementing vocals. The sleek texture of
Mathers voice marries perfectly with the gaudiness of Glindas character. Mathers complex shifting
from ditzy dialogue to sudden melodious bursts of purely crystalline soprano notes are so immaculate
and natural that it lulls the audience into a comfortable listening stance. All attributing to her vocal
technique just the appropriate amount of a conversational style of singing, that there are times when
one forgets that she is indeed skillfully taking on a difficult song that demands intricate vocal maneuvers
and phrasing. She masterfully accomplishes all these rigorous vocal tasks with the gifted instrument she
possesses. Even her shrill cheerleader gasps are melodious. Her take on Popular incorporates just the
right flair of physical comedic skill into her rendition, so as to not completely overshadow the songs
relevance to her character development. She outdoes herself even more in her well-seasoned and
heartbreaking reprise of Im Not That Girl; and ultimately, in the rollercoaster ride of moral
ambiguities that she goes through as her vocals reach a luxuriously thick and emotionally matured
tonality in Thank Goodness. Jemma Rix on the other hand, has a lush, earthy, and almost sensual vocal
resonance. Elphaba, as characterized in the Maguire book, is a natural-born singer. The casting of Rix
justly satisfies this prerequisite. Her low notes have stunning velvety strokes that, throughout all her
songs, add the effect of a primordial creature in a calculating, crouched position, all ready to strike. And
strike it does as she effortlessly thunders out challenging notes with her powerful chest register in the
songs The Wizard and I and the tamer Im Not That Girl. Her careful and well-planned dramatic
buildup to the climax of Wickeds banner song Defying Gravity, is fully transformative and
breathtaking in its tantalizing effect, in her self-ordainment as the Hanna Arendt of Oz. She revitalizes
the song with a confident and compact veracity in humanizing its heavy themes of self-actualization and
determination. In totality, Rixs and Mathers combined performances in this Manila staging of Wicked
are the perfect audio-visual embodiment of a tug-of-war between grim and glitz.
Steve Danielsens Fiyero is an understandably befuddled and delicious romp of sorts, typical to the
charismatic boy-next-door archetype, effectively mirroring the shallow Glinda. Danielsen bears an
almost teetering, diluted reticence to his vocals, but there are unabashed moments however when he
surprises the audience with his vocal stamina. Bolstered by his impressive control and endurance in
sustaining emphatic notes, his befittingly relaxed demeanor in the song and dance showcase of the
rambunctious Dancing Through Life, allows him to deftly exude and retain a certain Spartan rigidity in
his manner. Danielsen as Fiyero oozes with a rare appeal that rewards him with an ephemeral devil-
may-care chemistry with both leading witches of Wicked, in that any outsider looking in would be happy
to see him end up with either girl.
Australian theater luminary Maggie Kirkpatricks brave take on an out-and-out imperturbably rigid
characterization of Madame Morrible, surprisingly works well. She gives no pretense of being motherly,
and her sternness from the first moment she steps onstage endows her with a tight-lipped veneer that
leaves you with an uneasy feeling that her coldness and severity has deeper, wickeder roots.
Kirkpatricks turn as Morrible is perhaps best described as resulting from a careful study in the
integration of two highly-contrasting landmark Bette Davis characters --- producing a mutation of the
devious Regina Giddens in Little Foxes and a slight hint of the nurturing Lily Moffatt in The Corn is
Green.
Seasoned theater, film, and TV actor Jay Lagaaia is in full form in his deceptively avuncular Wizard, a
pure delight in the giddy flaunting of his flirtatious dancing chops. The vitality in in his portrayal cements
a stark contrast to Kirkpatricks Morrible, and an even blunter one to the gargantuan mechanical head
that he peruses to intimidate all of Oz --- leaving one to wonder who among them authors the most
sinister pages in the devious duos grimmerie of evil manipulation: the Wizard or the Press Secretary?
The ensemble rightly earns high acclaim for their back-breaking brilliance in all their strong
interpretations, heavily contributing to the backbone of the entire production. They hold nothing back
when it comes to consistency in the gusto of their performances. Such is also evident in the well-studied
and delivered interpretations of other members of the supporting cast: Edward Grey as Boq, most
notable in his transformation from loyal and adulating schoolboy to embittered caretaker to Emily
Cascarinos Nessarose, who also seamlessly metamorphoses from spoiled ingnue into a power-hungry,
political iron lady.
A bigger role is cast for the Clock of the Time Dragon with its glowering head and menacing red eyes, as
it becomes fully alive in the second half leading to the climax, re-animating the entire stage into a haze
of dread. It becomes a fitting, accompanying omen to the rebirth of Elphaba as the Wicked Witch, when
she recites her first spell under the bidding of the Wizard and Morrible. The lighting and stage direction
escalates in steady glory in No Good Deed and reaches its sublime peak when Elphaba ascends to the
heights of Defying Gravity, as the whole of Emerald City is plunged into a darker shade of green:
murkier and more sinister. The entire display seemingly engulfs and baptizes the audience in an
Ozzianesque rite of passage. Thus fulfilling a prophecy from the first act, this is precisely the something
bad happening in Oz: political propagandas fueled by dastardly manipulation and sham. Once again, art
imitating life.
In the moments leading to the bittersweet happy ever after of the musical, Mathers uninhibitedly took
to the elaborate duality of Glindas anguish in full spectrum. Having just witnessed the fall of her
bestfriend, her weariness was in essence palpable. Mathers visage, a full-rounded reflection of grief and
subdued exasperation at being brazenly manipulated by Morrible and the Wizard, was indeed
completely human that one genuinely aches for her. Here it is seen that it was not only green that grew
up, glitz grew up as well.
This Manila staging of Wicked is as prodigiously, even more so, enthralling and entertaining to behold as
witnessing an intact Kansas bumpkin house transported via hurricane to a Technicolor land is. Its
enchanted lures draw you into its thick vortex of magic and splendor, yet all the while, successfully
nurturing and keeping its heart intact. In the Maguire book, Elphabas conjecture What you call
conscience, I prefer to call instinct is a decisive pre-determinant to Elphabas musical creed let all Oz be
agreed Im wicked through and through in the song No Good Deed. This is the sad shadow of the
musicals heart, the dual substance of human nature as exhibited within the throes of Elphabas
insistence on ignominy and her contradicting, all-consuming need for love and acceptance. The entire
spectacle of Wicked, in its beloved proclivity to warm the hearts of its patrons, is in itself a pulsating
looking glass; fully pregnant with the power to make one understand and believe that the central
characters are after all, still human. Regardless of skin color, fantastic pedigree, or personal ghosts, like
its audience, they too are bound to acutely mortal and selfish aspirations and personal quests for a place
over the rainbow. For both Elphaba and Glinda, and for the rest of us, whether the quest brings meaning
and purpose, or a temporary calm from the harsh torrential rulings of this sometimes one-dimensional
world, what truly matters is that the journey has been set; whether taken to it on a an ostentatious
bubble, a gaudy technicolored balloon, or a self-effacing broomstick,.