The lights dim. A low, synthesized rumble vibrates through the floorboards of the Gershwin Theatre. For over two decades, that specific frequency has signaled one thing: Elphaba is about to fly. Honestly, if you haven’t sat in a dark room and felt the collective intake of breath when that broom starts to levitate, you’re missing out on a cornerstone of modern culture. Defying Gravity: The Curtain Rises on Wicked isn’t just a song title or a marketing tagline for the new film; it’s a blueprint for how musical theater redefined itself for a cynical 21st-century audience.
It’s loud. It’s green. It’s complicated.
When Stephen Schwartz first sat down to adapt Gregory Maguire’s revisionist novel, people thought he was a bit nuts. Taking the "wicked" witch—a character defined by her melting point and a pursuit of a pair of slippers—and turning her into a misunderstood revolutionary was a massive gamble. But it worked. It worked because it tapped into that universal feeling of being an outsider looking in at a world that doesn’t want you.
The Engineering of a Masterpiece
How do you actually make someone "defy gravity" without it looking like a cheap circus trick? Most people think it’s just wires. It’s not. In the original Broadway production, the "levitator" is a complex piece of hydraulic machinery hidden behind the massive black dress worn by the actress playing Elphaba. It’s a physical feat. The actress has to stand perfectly still, strapped into a harness, while singing a high A-flat that would make most professional vocalists pass out from the sheer pressure.
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You’ve got the technical side, and then you’ve got the emotional side.
The song itself is a masterclass in musical tension and release. It starts with a series of jagged, argumentative notes between Elphaba and Glinda. They’re fighting. They’re crying. They’re saying goodbye. Then, the music shifts. The time signature stabilizes. We get that iconic "Unlimited" motif, which, if you’re a music nerd, you’ll recognize as a clever inversion of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." It’s a subtle nod to Harold Arlen’s original 1939 score, but it’s twisted into something new and defiant.
Why the Movie Version Changes Everything
With the 2024 and 2025 film adaptations starring Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande, the stakes for Defying Gravity: The Curtain Rises on Wicked shifted from the stage to the screen. On stage, the spectacle is limited by the proscenium arch. In a film, Jon M. Chu had to figure out how to make that scale feel intimate yet infinite.
Erivo’s performance isn't just a carbon copy of Idina Menzel’s legendary run. She brings a grounded, almost weary grit to the character. When she sings about "trusting her instincts" and "closing her eyes," she isn't just belt-singing; she’s making a choice to be a villain in the eyes of a corrupt government. That’s the political layer people often skip over. Wicked isn't just about friendship. It's about how propaganda turns a whistleblower into a monster.
The "Green" Factor and Social Impact
Let's talk about the makeup for a second because it’s a nightmare. Or at least, it used to be. For years, the actresses had to endure hours of MAC Chromacake application. It gets everywhere. It’s in the ears. It’s under the fingernails. But that green skin is the central visual metaphor for the entire show.
- It represents racial "othering" and systemic prejudice.
- It serves as a literal mask for the character's vulnerability.
- It’s a brand. You see that shade of lime, and you think Wicked.
The show arrived on Broadway in 2003, right in the shadow of 9/11 and the start of the Iraq War. Audiences were primed for a story about how "truth" is often just a narrative spun by those in power. The Wizard isn't a magical being; he’s a conman with a megaphone. That resonance hasn't faded. If anything, in our era of deepfakes and misinformation, the story of a girl who refuses to play along with the Wizard’s lies feels more urgent than ever.
The Vocal Gauntlet
Ask any Broadway belter about "the song." They know which one you mean. Singing "Defying Gravity" eight times a week is a recipe for vocal nodules if you aren't careful. It requires a specific mix of chest voice and head resonance that allows the singer to pierce through a 40-piece orchestra.
I’ve seen vocal coaches break down the "C-sharp" at the end of the song like it’s a forensic science project. You have to breathe from the "basement"—the very bottom of your lungs—to sustain that final note while being hoisted twenty feet into the air. If the harness pinches your diaphragm, you’re done. It’s a high-wire act in every sense of the word.
Misconceptions About the Ending
People often think Elphaba "wins" at the end of Act One. She doesn't. Not really. She loses her best friend, her reputation, and her home. She chooses exile.
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Basically, the "gravity" she’s defying isn't just physical weight; it's the weight of social expectation. She’s dropping the need to be liked. That’s why the song hits so hard for teenagers and anyone who’s ever felt like they didn’t fit the mold. It’s an anthem of "fine, I’ll be the bad guy if it means I can be myself."
The Cultural Legacy
Wicked has grossed over $5 billion. That’s billion with a B. It’s one of the most successful pieces of intellectual property in history, right up there with Star Wars and Marvel. But why?
Is it the flying monkeys? Sorta. Is it the catchy tunes? Kinda. But mostly, it’s the relationship between the two women at the center. Before Frozen gave us Elsa and Anna, Wicked gave us Elphaba and Glinda. It proved that a "romance" between friends—the complicated, messy, jealous, loving kind—could carry a multi-billion dollar franchise.
Moving Forward: How to Experience Wicked Today
If you’re looking to dive deeper into this world, don't just stop at the movie trailer. There are layers to this onion.
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First, go back to the source material. Gregory Maguire’s book is much darker than the musical. It deals with philosophy, sexual politics, and the nature of evil in a way the "Popular" number doesn't touch. It gives you a much better appreciation for the choices the musical made to become a global phenomenon.
Second, if you can, see it live. There is a specific energy in the theater during the "Defying Gravity" sequence that a camera simply cannot capture. The way the air changes in the room when the ensemble starts the "Look at her, she's wicked!" chant is visceral. It’s communal.
Third, look at the orchestrations. Listen to the 20th Anniversary cast recording versus the original 2003 version. Notice how the synth sounds have been updated and how different actresses play with the phrasing. It’s a living, breathing piece of art that continues to evolve.
The curtain is rising on a new era for this story, but the core remains: a girl, a broom, and the courage to stop playing by other people's rules. Whether you’re seeing it on a 70-foot IMAX screen or from the back row of a touring production in Des Moines, the message is the same. You don't have to stay on the ground just because everyone else is afraid to fly.
To truly appreciate the depth of this story, compare the Wizard's rhetoric in the song "Sentimental Man" with Elphaba's lyrics in "No Good Deed." It reveals a fascinating contrast between performative goodness and the messy reality of trying to do the right thing. This nuance is why the show remains a staple of theater education and a recurring subject of academic study in pop culture.
Investigate the "Clock of the Time Dragon" lore if you want to understand the deeper political machinery of Oz. Understanding the geography of the Munchkinlands versus the Emerald City adds a layer of socio-economic context that makes Elphaba’s rebellion feel much more grounded in reality. This isn't just a fairy tale; it's a world-building exercise that rivals Middle-earth or Westeros in its own glittery, green way.