WoZ musings

"You're not in Kansas, anymore!  Eh?"

This is the response to my answer of where are you from?  I heroically put on a grin and say, "Nope, I guess not.  What!"  But deep inside, I'm thinking, how original, you schmuck.  That's not fair, because they actually think they are being original.  And funny.  So what's the harm in that?

Kansas seems to suffer from The Wizard of Oz syndrome.  That's what I call it.  It's where one famous thing follows you around and defines your entire existence.  This happens to actors all of the time, like George Reeves (the TV Superman) or Bob Saget.  I think some people deal with it better than others.  When I think of Kansas, I don't think of that totally kick-ass movie, but of my favorite childhood memories:  riding in a combine, fields of sunflowers, hot summers, snowy winters, church potlucks, and lots of dirt roads in mile grids.  

However, according to the first chapter of the The Wizard of Oz, Kansas blows.  Disregarding the terrible pun, Baum talks about how much life in Kansas is like a soulless, colorless hell.  Everything, including the mud, grass and house paint had been turned grey by the omnipresent sun.  Aunt Em, once a pretty girl with a sparkle in her eye, is now old, gaunt, without a smile, and all of her features are grey.  She doesn't even know how to react to a child's innocent laughter, except by clutching at her heart and being horrified at that alien sound.  L. Frank Baum on Kansas:  it's where hopes and dreams go to die.

Admittedly, after all of her adventures, Dorothy realizes "there's no place like home."  So, I guess that makes it all okay, or something.  I can't fault Baum, he wrote a captivating kids story that spawned many book sequels and several movies, including that one in 1939 which is nothing short of amazing.  But one that many people don't know about was directed by Baum, himself (at least, in the credits).  It's called His Majesty, The Scarecrow of Oz (1914).  And it's frightening.  The makeup from the silent era, being very overused to compensate for the poor camera quality, was way too much, and the general clunkiness of the other costumes made it look like halloweens gone by.

Over the years, many academics have written literary criticism over this delightful story.  Some say the silver slippers were a dig at the gold standard.  There is also some mention that Baum's populist beliefs litter the story.  When I was a kid, I thought that was a load of bulljive.  How could a kid's story say one thing, but be about another?  Also, politics and economics were really boring, and I would never, ever be concerned about those.  Never.  Now I find myself following such matters with a tiny interest, but nonetheless interest just the same.  It seems possible to me that Baum, despite his protestations to the contrary in the introduction, did write in some allegory and such.  I don't want to wade too far into the river of literary criticism on this one, lest I get too big for my britches.  Wait, that metaphor doesn't even make sense.

One time in college, I took a class on the history of the book.  In it we had to use an old printing press to print a bunch of pamphlets, just like printers did before the industrial revolution.  Our instructor split us up into groups and let us decide what text our group would print.  What would be appropriate?  Well, I thought, a passage from The Wizard of Oz would be fitting.  I can't remember what it was now, but it was on the money, I promise you.  And so did everyone else in my group, except for Walt R_____.  This older gentleman complained that L. Frank Baum was a racist who advocated the extermination of the American Indian, and we shouldn't use that passage because of that.  Thus, all my support in the group dwindled and we went with something from The Little Prince, instead.  That was a cool book, too, so I didn't feel so bad.  But Walt, you damn rascal, made me look like a fool!

Anyway, this was all just a meandering afternoon's thought on the strange and exciting effect one man's creativity has wrought upon my life.  I hope that after reading it you feel like sitting down with some popcorn and watch the movie.  Or maybe buy some poor little orphan a copy of the books.  Give him some popcorn, too.  He's probably hungry.

Shhh!  I'm trying to scare children!  Because that's all I'm good for.