WICKED (in theatres)

Never has wickedness been served so mellifluously, deliciously, supercalifragilisticexpialidociously sensational as in director Jon M. Chu’s “Wicked”; a film so splendidly crafted, acted, choregraphed it was impossible to breathe with the breath, depth of its wonder. Every glittering glorious moment resonates with truth, integrity and lessons for living, understanding and embracing the goodness of the unknown, outlier, no matter their hue, gender, faith.

Two women, phenoms, reside at the pinnacle of “Wicked’s” triumph: Ariana Grande as the narcissistic “Glinda”, reminiscent of those little blond girls, with limpid eyes surrounded by drooling dummies so popular in grade and high school; Ariana sinks her unblemished ivories into a simple role exponentially transcending its benignity into “a woman of substance”, immaculately fascinating; Cynthia Erivo, is mystifyingly magnificent as “Elphaba” a green goddess, whose aerial acuity has yet to be birthed, with concentrated, concrete skill she shuns dreams, not worthy to be requited, doffs the charlatans and leaves her heart, a remnant of what was, behind.

There is one intimate scene, stirringly ardent where the two women dance in an ether created solely for them, Elphaba cries, experiencing love. Sobbingly rich.

I loved the movie, the plethora of timely messages, but primarily how profoundly touched, emotionally fulfilled, satiated with happiness as I regretfully exited the fantasy.

FIVE STARS!!!!!

Peneflix