The Wizard of Oz movie 1939 cast and the strange reality of what happened behind the scenes

It is almost impossible to look at a pair of ruby slippers today without hearing that iconic, warbling "Over the Rainbow" melody in the back of your head. We treat the film like a warm blanket. But honestly, when you dig into the Wizard of Oz movie 1939 cast, the cozy vibes start to evaporate pretty quickly. The production was a beautiful, Technicolor nightmare. People almost died. Actors were replaced in the middle of the night. It was a chaotic alignment of once-in-a-lifetime talent and studio-system brutality that somehow resulted in the most-watched film in history.

Judy Garland wasn't even the first choice for Dorothy Gale. Think about that for a second. MGM originally wanted Shirley Temple, the biggest child star on the planet. But Temple’s vocals weren't up to the operatic demands of the score, and a deal with 20th Century Fox fell through. So, the role went to a sixteen-year-old girl named Frances Gumm—the world knew her as Judy. They taped her breasts down. They put her on a diet of black coffee, chicken soup, and cigarettes. It’s a miracle she gave the performance she did, considering the studio was basically trying to manufacture a "childlike" innocence through sheer physical exhaustion.

The Wizard of Oz movie 1939 cast: A rotating door of actors

The casting of the four companions wasn't a straight line. It was a mess. Ray Bolger was originally cast as the Tin Man, but he was obsessed with the Scarecrow. He grew up idolizing Fred Stone, who played the Scarecrow on Broadway in 1902. Bolger threw such a fit that he eventually convinced the studio to let him swap roles with Buddy Ebsen.

Poor Buddy Ebsen. He’s the "forgotten" member of the Wizard of Oz movie 1939 cast. He recorded all the songs and rehearsed for weeks. Then, nine days into filming, his lungs failed. The silver makeup was made of aluminum powder. He breathed it in until his lungs were coated in metal. He ended up in an iron lung, fighting for his life, while the studio—without a hint of irony—replaced him with Jack Haley. Haley wasn't told why Ebsen left. They just switched the makeup to a paste so he wouldn't breathe it in, though he still ended up with a severe eye infection.

The Cowardly Lion, played by Bert Lahr, had it just as bad. His costume was made of actual lion skin. It weighed about 90 pounds. Under the 100-degree heat of the early Technicolor lights, Lahr was literally dripping in sweat. The suit smelled so bad by the end of the day that two people had to spend every night drying it out. Yet, Lahr’s vaudeville timing remained impeccable. He improvised half of his lines. That "If I Were King of the Forest" speech? That’s pure Lahr.

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Margaret Hamilton and the villainy that almost cost her a face

We have to talk about the Wicked Witch. Margaret Hamilton was a former kindergarten teacher who loved children. She was also a brilliant character actress. But playing the green-skinned menace was hazardous to her health. During the scene where she disappears in a cloud of smoke in Munchkinland, the trapdoor failed to open fast enough. The pyrotechnics went off. Her copper-based green makeup ignited.

She suffered second and third-degree burns on her face and hands.

When she finally returned to the set, she refused to work with anything involving fire. Can you blame her? She was playing one of the most iconic villains in cinema history for a relatively small paycheck, and she almost burned to death for it. Meanwhile, her counterpart, Billie Burke (Glinda the Good Witch), was 54 years old at the time—more than double Hamilton's age—playing a youthful, ethereal being in a dress that was recycled from another movie.

Beyond the Yellow Brick Road: The supporting players

The Wizard himself was played by Frank Morgan, but he actually played five different roles in the film. He was the Wizard, Professor Marvel, the Doorman at the Emerald City, the Cabbie driving the Horse-of-a-Different-Color, and the Guard. Morgan was a notorious "tippler." He reportedly had a hidden cabinet in his dressing room filled with gin. Despite his wandering focus, his performance as the "man behind the curtain" gave the film its heart. It’s a specific kind of bumbling, well-meaning fraudulence that feels very human.

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Then there are the Munchkins.

There were 124 little people cast to play the citizens of Munchkinland. The stories about their "wild parties" at the Culver Hotel have been exaggerated over the decades—mostly by Judy Garland in interviews years later—but they were certainly a rowdy bunch of vaudevillians. They were paid $50 a week. For context, Toto (the dog, whose real name was Terry) was paid $125 a week.

• Terry (Toto): A female Cairn Terrier who was stepped on by a guard and had to be replaced by a double for two weeks.
• The Winged Monkeys: Several actors suffered injuries when the piano wires holding them up snapped, dropping them several feet to the concrete floor.
• The Winkie Guards: Led by Mitchell Lewis, these guys had to march in heavy wool uniforms under those blistering lights for hours.

The lasting trauma of Technicolor

Working on the Wizard of Oz movie 1939 cast wasn't a career highlight for everyone involved at the time. It was grueling work. The "snow" in the poppy field scene? That was 100% pure asbestos. They were literally showering the actors in a known carcinogen because it looked good on camera.

The director situation was just as unstable. Richard Thorpe was fired. George Cukor came in and changed Judy’s look—getting rid of the blonde wig and the heavy "baby" makeup—and then he left to do Gone with the Wind. Victor Fleming then took over and did the bulk of the work, only to leave to finish Gone with the Wind after Cukor was fired from that movie. King Vidor finally stepped in to film the Kansas sequences.

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It’s a miracle the movie has a cohesive vision at all.

Why the cast chemistry still works in 2026

The reason we still care about these people isn't just nostalgia. It’s the archetypes. The cast leaned into the "Vaudeville" style of acting, which is broad and physical. If they had played it "grounded" or "realistic," the movie would have aged terribly. Instead, they played it like a living storybook.

Jack Haley’s stiff-jointed movements, Bolger’s rubber-legged stumbles, and Lahr’s operatic weeping create a physical language that transcends the 1930s. They weren't just actors; they were specialists. They knew how to work a costume. They knew how to play to the back of the house.

Actionable Insights for Fans and Historians

If you want to truly appreciate the work of the Wizard of Oz movie 1939 cast, you need to look past the finished film and see the mechanics of the era. The studio owned these people.

1. Watch the "Deleted" Scenes: Specifically, look for footage of "The Jitterbug." It was a massive dance number that was cut to save time. You can find the home-movie footage of the rehearsals online. It shows just how physically demanding the roles were for Bolger, Haley, and Lahr.
2. Research the Makeup Artistry: Jack Dawn was the head of makeup. He pioneered the use of foam latex prosthetics for this film. Before this, actors just had stuff glued to their faces. The Tin Man’s "look" was a breakthrough in special effects technology.
3. Read the Biographies: Specifically, Get Happy: The Life of Judy Garland by Gerald Clarke. It paints a much darker picture of the production than the MGM PR machine ever allowed.
4. Identify the "Multi-Role" Actors: Next time you watch, try to spot Frank Morgan’s five characters. It’s a masterclass in character acting that often goes unnoticed because the Wizard is so dominant.

The film was actually a box office disappointment when it first premiered. It didn't become the cultural behemoth it is today until it started airing on television in the 1950s. That’s when the world finally fell in love with the Wizard of Oz movie 1939 cast. We see them now as legends, but at the time, they were just exhausted professionals trying to survive a dangerous set, poisonous makeup, and a studio that viewed them as property. Their survival—and the joy they managed to project through the pain—is the real magic of Oz.

To explore more about the technical side of 1930s filmmaking, you should look into the history of the three-strip Technicolor process, which required three times the normal amount of light to expose the film, explaining why the sets were so dangerously hot for the actors.