It is 1978. Sidney Lumet is directing a massive, $24 million production of a beloved Broadway hit, and he has a problem. He needs a Wizard. He doesn’t just need a guy in a cape; he needs someone who can embody the hollow core of a charlatan while standing in the middle of a technicolor dreamscape. He calls the funniest, most dangerous man in America. He calls Richard Pryor.
When people talk about Richard Pryor in The Wiz, they usually mention the makeup or the giant metallic head. They talk about Michael Jackson’s breakout as the Scarecrow or Diana Ross’s controversial casting as a thirty-something Dorothy. But Pryor’s role is the pivot point of the whole movie. It’s the moment the fantasy collapses into something painfully human.
Honestly, it’s a bizarre bit of casting. Pryor was at the height of his powers, a stand-up philosopher who could set a stage on fire with a look. Putting him behind a curtain felt like a waste to some. To others, it was a stroke of genius.
The Man Behind the Giant Tin Face
The Wizard of Oz is supposed to be terrifying. In the 1978 film, Lumet reimagines him as a massive, booming projection. It’s a literal "Man Behind the Curtain" situation, but with a gritty, New York City edge. When Dorothy and her crew finally breach the inner sanctum of the World Trade Center (the movie's version of the Emerald City), they don't find a god. They find Herman Smith.
Pryor plays Herman as a failed politician from Atlantic City. He’s a small-timer. He’s a guy who got lost in a balloon and ended up ruling a kingdom he didn't understand.
What’s wild about his performance is the vulnerability. If you watch his face when the curtain pulls back, he isn't playing for laughs. Not really. He looks terrified. He looks like a man who has been caught in a lie that lasted a decade. It’s a specific kind of "Pryor" energy—that frantic, wide-eyed realization that the game is up.
Most people expected Richard Pryor to be "on." They wanted the profanity, the voices, the kinetic energy of his live shows. Instead, they got a quiet, almost pathetic performance. He’s a broken man. That choice makes the movie's message about self-worth actually land. If the Wizard was just a cool guy with a trick, Dorothy’s journey wouldn't mean as much. Because the Wizard is a fraud, Dorothy has to be her own hero.
💡 You might also like: Why This Is How We Roll FGL Is Still The Song That Defines Modern Country
Why The Wiz Was a Turning Point for Pryor
By the time 1978 rolled around, Pryor was dealing with a lot. He was the biggest star in the world, but his personal life was a chaotic mess of health scares and addiction. Joining a family-friendly musical was a pivot. It was a chance to show he could play within the studio system without losing his edge.
The production was famously difficult. They filmed at Astoria Studios in Queens and on location at the World Trade Center. It was hot. The costumes were heavy. Michael Jackson was outshining everyone. Yet, Richard Pryor in The Wiz remains the emotional anchor of the final act.
Critics at the time were brutal. They hated the pacing. They hated the urban setting. But look at the casting now. You have Quincy Jones handling the music. You have Lena Horne as Glinda. And you have Pryor, the king of R-rated comedy, playing a G-rated failure. It’s a cultural time capsule.
The Contrast of the Emerald City
The movie represents a specific era of Black excellence and "Blaxploitation" era crossover into mainstream blockbuster territory. Before this, you didn't see Black casts with this kind of budget. Ever.
Pryor’s character represents the "fake it 'til you make it" ethos that dominated the gritty 1970s. He’s the ultimate New York hustle personified. When he tells Dorothy he can't help her, he isn't being mean. He’s being honest. He’s just as stuck as she is.
- The Wizard's lair was filmed in the lobby of the World Trade Center.
- Pryor’s makeup was designed to look "ordinary" once the mask was off, contrasting with the disco-glam of the rest of the city.
- He reportedly struggled with the script's sincerity, often trying to find ways to make the character more "street" before settling on the humbled version we see.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Wizard
The biggest misconception is that Pryor was just "phoning it in" for a paycheck. If you watch his eyes during the "Believe in Yourself" sequence, he’s doing some heavy lifting. He has to react to Lena Horne—a literal goddess of cinema—while looking like a guy who just got off a Greyhound bus.
📖 Related: The Real Story Behind I Can Do Bad All by Myself: From Stage to Screen
It’s an acting challenge. He has no props. He has no jokes. He just has his own face and the crushing weight of his character’s shame.
Some fans of his stand-up felt betrayed. They wanted the "fire." They wanted the guy who talked about the police and the streets. But that’s exactly what he gave them. Herman Smith is the streets. He’s the guy who tried to dream bigger than his station and ended up hiding in a closet. It’s a deeply Black American story disguised as a fantasy trope.
The Legacy of a "Failed" Movie
The Wiz didn't set the box office on fire. It actually lost a lot of money. Universal was terrified that "Black films" couldn't have massive budgets after this.
But history has been kinder. For a generation of kids, Richard Pryor in The Wiz was their first introduction to the legend. They didn't know about the Sunset Strip or the comedy albums. They just knew the man who told Dorothy that home is a place in the mind.
It’s also worth noting the sheer technical scale. The "Emerald City" sequence alone featured hundreds of dancers and constant costume changes. Amidst all that noise, the quiet scene in the Wizard's bedroom is the only time the movie actually breathes. Pryor’s stillness is the reason the scene works.
If you go back and watch it now, forget the 1939 version. Forget Judy Garland. Look at it as a gritty 70s drama that happens to have singing. Pryor fits perfectly into that world. He’s the weary soul of a city that has seen too much.
👉 See also: Love Island UK Who Is Still Together: The Reality of Romance After the Villa
How to Appreciate This Performance Today
To really "get" what Pryor was doing, you have to look at his career trajectory. This was a man who was constantly told he was "too much" for Hollywood. In The Wiz, he proved he could be "just enough." He showed restraint.
If you’re a film student or just a fan of 70s cinema, pay attention to the blocking in his scenes. Lumet keeps the camera tight on Pryor. He wants you to see the sweat. He wants you to see the regret.
Actionable Ways to Revisit The Wiz:
- Watch the "reveal" scene on a high-quality screen. Look past the giant head and focus on Pryor’s physical acting when he’s hiding behind the console. His hands are constantly moving—a sign of the character's anxiety.
- Listen to the soundtrack separately. Quincy Jones’s arrangement of the Wizard’s theme is haunting. It captures the loneliness of the character in a way the dialogue sometimes misses.
- Compare it to his 1982 concert film. Notice the difference in energy. It’s the same man, but in The Wiz, he’s intentionally dampening his charisma to serve the story. That takes a massive ego-check for a superstar.
- Read "Wait Till I'm Dead" or other biographies. Authors like David Felton have touched on this period of Pryor's life, noting how his exhaustion during the late 70s actually helped him play the "tired" Wizard.
Richard Pryor didn't need to be the funniest person in The Wiz. He needed to be the most human. In a movie filled with lions, tin men, and flying motorcycles, he was the only one who reminded us that being "great and powerful" is usually just a front for being scared and alone. He nailed it.
The film remains a polarizing piece of art, but Pryor’s contribution is undeniable. He gave the story a heart by showing us a man who had lost his own.
To explore this further, you can track down the original 1978 production notes often cited by film historians like Donald Bogle. These notes reveal that Pryor was specifically chosen because Lumet wanted someone who could project "shattered authority." It remains one of the most interesting, if underrated, chapters in the history of American film casting.
---