#10 ‘The Wizard of Oz’
There’s No Place Like the Patriarchy
Let’s click our heels and chant it together: There’s no place like home... especially if “home” is a dustbowl farm where a young girl’s desires, dreams, and inner life are so thoroughly dismissed that she needs a tornado-induced hallucination just to be taken seriously for five minutes.
Yes, I’m talking about The Wizard of Oz—that 1939 Technicolor fever dream that’s been sold to generations of children as a tale of wonder, courage, and self-discovery. But scratch the sepia-toned surface and what you really get is a gaudy morality tale about staying in your place, keeping your shoes on, and trusting the nearest fraud in a hot-air balloon to tell you what’s best.
Dorothy Gale, played by the luminous Judy Garland (herself a tragic case study in the Hollywood machine’s abuse of young women), is the only person in the film who asks questions, challenges authority, and dares to dream of something more. So naturally, the narrative gaslights her at every turn. She’s told that leaving Kansas is selfish, her instincts are wrong, and her emotional turmoil can be solved with footwear and a smile. She literally goes on an interdimensional journey of growth and empowerment, only to be told at the end: You had the power to go home all along—you just didn’t know how to obey properly yet.
And let’s not ignore how The Wizard of Oz treats women in power. Glinda the Good Witch? Patronizing and passive-aggressive, floating around in a bubble of smugness while withholding vital information for “Dorothy’s own good.” The Wicked Witch of the West? A woman with boundaries, ambition, and a broomstick—so obviously she must die. This film demonizes powerful, assertive women while rewarding the ones who smile sweetly and don’t ask questions. A tale as old as patriarchy.
Meanwhile, the men Dorothy meets—Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Cowardly Lion—each represent the classic male crisis of confidence. Their arcs are solved not through actual growth but by being told they already had what they needed. Because of course they did. They’re men. Even when they’re spineless, heartless, and terrified, they’re still complete. Dorothy? She has to risk her life, kill a witch, and get emotionally manipulated by a carnival huckster just to be told to go home and shut up.
And the Wizard himself? A lying conman hiding behind curtains and cheap effects who still gets forgiven without question. We’re supposed to find his cowardice charming. It’s not. It’s just another man bluffing his way to power and getting away with it.
Yes, the songs are iconic. Yes, the set design is groundbreaking. Yes, “Over the Rainbow” deserves every accolade it’s ever received. But don’t be fooled by the sparkle. This is a story about conformity dressed up as fantasy. A shiny, sugarcoated reminder that women should stay grounded, accept their lot, and not dream too loud—or they’ll wake up exactly where they started, with fewer illusions and no shoes of their own.
2.5 out of 5 flying monkeys
(One for Judy. One for the music. Half a star for the queer-coded camp of the Emerald City. The rest got swept up in a tornado of glitter and cultural gaslighting.)
