If you’ve spent any time in a theater seat recently, you know the feeling. The lights dim. The broomstick rises. Elphaba hits that impossible high note, and the screen fades to black just as your adrenaline hits its peak. It’s a bold move. Splitting one of the most successful musicals of all time into two cinematic experiences was always going to be a risk, but the ending of Wicked Part 1 isn’t just a stopping point—it’s a massive tonal shift that redefines everything we thought we knew about the Land of Oz.
Honestly, it’s a lot to process.
Most people going in expected a straightforward adaptation of the stage show’s first act. What we got was something much denser. Director Jon M. Chu didn't just film a stage play; he expanded the lore of Gregory Maguire’s original 1995 novel while keeping the emotional heartbeat of the Stephen Schwartz songs. By the time the credits roll, the bright, candy-colored world of Shiz University has basically dissolved into a political thriller.
The Emerald City Isn't What It Seems
Let's talk about the Wizard. Jeff Goldblum plays him with this sort of frantic, "aw shucks" charm that hides a genuinely dark core. When Elphaba and Glinda finally make it to the Emerald City, they think they’ve reached the finish line. They think they’re going to solve the "Animal" problem—the crisis where talking animals like Dr. Dillamond are losing their voices and their rights.
But the ending of Wicked hinges on a brutal realization: The Wizard is the problem.
He isn't a magical being. He's a con man from Omaha who uses "thaumaturgy"—mechanical tricks and propaganda—to maintain power. He needs a scapegoat to keep the Ozians united. Animals are that scapegoat. Elphaba realizes she wasn't invited to the palace to be his apprentice because of her talent; she was invited because her raw, natural magic is the only thing that can make his fake mechanical "Great Head" actually work.
It’s a gut-punch.
Imagine finding out your hero is just a guy with a giant steampunk robot who wants to use your soul to power his PR machine. That is the exact moment Elphaba stops being a student and starts being a revolutionary.
Madame Morrible’s True Role
While the Wizard is the figurehead, the ending of Wicked makes it clear that Madame Morrible is the true architect of the chaos. Michelle Yeoh plays her with a chilling, calculated elegance. We see her using her weather-controlling powers to manipulate the narrative. She isn't just a headmistress; she’s a Master of Propaganda. When Elphaba refuses to join them, Morrible doesn't just let her leave. She immediately starts spinning the lie. She frames Elphaba as a "Wicked Witch" before Elphaba even leaves the room.
It happens fast.
One minute, she's the star pupil. The next, the Palace Guards are breaking down the door. This isn't just a misunderstanding—it’s a state-sponsored character assassination.
Defying Gravity is a Point of No Return
The song "Defying Gravity" is the climax for a reason. In the film, this sequence is expanded to show the physical scale of Elphaba’s escape. She isn't just flying; she’s breaking the laws of physics that the Wizard tried to cage her with.
She takes the Grimmerie—the ancient book of spells—and realizes that her power doesn't come from the Wizard's approval. It comes from within. When she shouts "It's me!" as she soars over the Emerald City, it’s a declaration of war.
But there’s a cost.
Glinda stays behind. This is the heart of the ending of Wicked. It’s a breakup. Not a romantic one, but a soul-deep fracture between two people who love each other but choose different paths. Glinda chooses "Goodness"—which in this context means social status, safety, and staying within the system to try and change it (or just survive it). Elphaba chooses "Wickedness"—which really just means the truth, regardless of the cost to her reputation.
The Grimmerie and the Spells
You might have noticed that Elphaba’s magic looks different in the final scenes. It’s darker, more erratic. In the lore established by Maguire and the film’s visual language, the Grimmerie is hard to read. It requires a specific kind of "inner eye." When Elphaba casts the spell to fly, she’s tapping into a primordial force that Oz hasn't seen in centuries.
It’s powerful, yeah. But it’s also isolating.
By the time she reaches the balcony, she is completely alone. Glinda is back in the palace, essentially becoming the face of the Wizard’s regime, even if her heart isn't in it. The contrast is staggering. One is draped in white and pink, surrounded by adoring crowds, while the other is silhouetted against a thunderstorm, branded a monster.
Why Part 2 Will Be Much Darker
If you think this was a fun romp, buckle up for the next chapter. The ending of Wicked Part 1 sets the stage for a much more political and tragic Part 2. We’ve already seen hints of the Gale Force—the Wizard’s secret police. We’ve seen the cages for the Animals.
Here is what is coming down the pipe:
- The Time Dragon Clock: In the book and hinted at in the film, this is a massive mechanical theater that predicts the future and tells the "truth" through puppets. Expect it to play a bigger role in how the Wizard controls the masses.
- Fiyero’s Transformation: We see him helping Elphaba escape, but his journey from a shallow prince to a resistance leader is only beginning. His fate is inextricably tied to Elphaba’s "Wicked" reputation.
- The Nessarose Factor: Elphaba’s sister is currently at home, but her descent into tyranny in Munchkinland is a major plot point for the sequel. The "Wicked Witch of the East" title isn't just a name; it’s a tragedy waiting to happen.
The film ends with Dorothy’s arrival being teased—not directly, but through the shifting winds and the sense that a larger "cyclone" of change is coming. But this isn't Dorothy's story. It's the story of the woman who was framed by history.
What to Do Before the Sequel Drops
Waiting for Part 2 is going to be a test of patience. If the ending of Wicked left you wanting more context, there are a few ways to dig deeper without spoiling the specific plot twists of the next movie.
First, look into the "Animal" subplot in the original 1995 novel by Gregory Maguire. The movie spends more time on this than the stage play did, and it’s the key to understanding why Elphaba is so angry. The book is much more "adult" and cynical, which might help explain the darker tones Jon M. Chu is hinting at.
Second, pay attention to the lyrics of "No One Mourns the Wicked" again. Now that you’ve seen the ending of the first half, that opening song takes on a totally different meaning. It’s not a celebration; it’s a cover-up.
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Finally, keep an eye on the "Yellow Brick Road" imagery. In this version of Oz, the road isn't a path to your dreams—it’s a trail of propaganda leading to a fake god. Understanding that shift in perspective is the best way to prepare for the inevitable showdown between the "Good" and the "Wicked."
The real takeaway? Don't trust the narrator. In Oz, the person telling the story is usually the one with the most to hide. Elphaba didn't choose to be the villain; she just refused to be a puppet. And in a world run by a Wizard who loves strings, that’s the most dangerous thing you can be.