I believe the dance floor is a representation for belonging. And dancing a symbolic act to bridge with whomever is willing to dance with you.
I mean, a dance floor can literally be created anywhere. A street corner or sidewalk plotted down with cardboard. A disco hall or ballroom. A nightclub, a bar. A bedroom. It’s a space, a place where anyone who feels a need to belong can belong simply by dancing.
But have you ever felt what it’s like to dance alone with people watching you, judging you and mocking you? “Othering” you?
Jose Richard Aviles dances at the Dancing Diaspora Festival in East Los Angeles, Calif. (Photo by Bobby Gordon)
I’m sure we all have at some point in our lives, whether literally or metaphorically. But I was reminded of what that felt like recently when I watched the movie Wicked.
The film follows the narrative of the original Broadway production, and is a spin-off of the Wizard Oz, which places the “Wicked Witch of the West,” Elphaba, at center stage. Now available to livestream, Wicked has become a blockbuster hit currently with a box office theatre haul of over $725 million. And with this year’s Academy Awards just around the corner, next week on March 2, Wicked is nominated for 10 Oscars including “Best picture.”
Despite its popularity, I have to admit that as an artist myself, when I first heard the iconic song “Defying Gravity,” from Wicked, it was watching an episode of the show Glee. I had no idea the musical was such a cultural phenomenon at the time. I had never had the privilege of seeing a Broadway show. Born and raised in Los Angeles, Broadway seemed like such a far-off experience for me. So, the film helped me access and fully understand the musical’s impact and cultural relevance to the current world we live in today.
And as the Othering & Belonging Institute’s Arts and Culture Strategy lead, it’s easy to see the connections between Wicked and OBI’s frameworks: Belonging without Othering. Bridging to radically imagine a world where we all truly belong.
So, this blog post is an attempt to understand the film through that lens. But before we get into it, full disclosure. … there will be some spoilers throughout this post. So, read at your own discretion!
Inclusivity and Othering in Oz
As a viewer being introduced to Wicked’s Shiz University, we see a place of inclusion where students with different-abled bodies, racial and ethnic representations, bodies of all sizes come to study magical arts and sciences. And of course, we have to give an applause to all of the gender bending visibility in the uniforms of the students. Regardless of assumed gender identities, students of Shiz have the autonomy to wear whatever uniform aligns with their gender expression resulting in a mix of pants, shorts, and skirts.
We can further appreciate the inclusivity in the details that make up our protagonist, Elphaba: her green nails, her green eyes, her microbraids, and even the freckles that adorned her cheeks created a nuance of self, beyond just the simple distinction of her green skin.
Elphaba is comfortable in who she is and how she appears to people, which causes her to be othered even more.
In fact, Elphaba is othered from the moment she is born due to the color of her skin. While wrestling with the unexplained powers that she has growing up she is continuously mocked by other children her age and dismissed by her own father at birth. However, that othering allows her to have empathy for the animals of Oz, whom the Wizard is attempting to silence, cage and other as villains in the story.
Elphaba’s story is a reminder of the ways in which Othering is internalized. That internalization is perfectly depicted in the script that she recites every time she meets someone new, “no I am not sick…and no, I didn’t eat grass when I was a child.” Elphaba’s response to Othering reminds us that sometimes our only way to confront Othering is by disarming the harm Othering can cause if we get ahead of the harm.
Dancing on my own
No moment in the film is more representative of that than the OzDust Ball scene, a scene that, as I alluded to earlier, I believe has the power to evoke emotions and memories of times we all have been both othered: and seen.
After Glinda, Elphaba's roommate who has othered her throughout the film, gifts Elphaba a pointed black hat as a joke, Elphaba enters the ball in her fit fashioned by the hat that Glinda gave her. Elphaba, excited to participate in the dance with the rest of her classmates, in an effort to belong, is soon met with laughter and ridicule from her classmates. Spatially, this is the most apparent form of Othering as we see a wide shot of the dance floor and Elphaba is the only one in the center whilst everyone around her singles her out and begins to laugh.
In the next cut, the ambient sound of the club is silent, and we are brought in as an audience into the intimate moment that Elphaba has with herself. It’s almost as if we are processing the question, “What do I do?” Rather than trying to justify and disarm the Othering, Elphaba does the courageous act of dancing on her own. She tunes out the laughter and dances to the tune of her silence and channels her own emotions to create a dance that seems to be hauntingly inspired by pain she has experienced being othered throughout her life.
Surprisingly, that prompts Glinda to be the one that is disarmed.
She notices the harm that she has committed against Elphaba as she notices everyone around her laugh. She stays silent. In this moment we see an iteration of Belonging with Othering. One could argue that it was Glinda’s need for approval – her own need to belong – that kept her silent. This is an important note, because sometimes we don’t realize that our definition of belonging is at the cost of others’ dignity.
That silence is complacency.
In a turn of events, Glinda recognizes the harm that she has committed and defiantly decides to join Elphaba in her dance as an act of reconciliation: An act of bridging.
We have to acknowledge the bravery displayed by both Elphaba and Glinda. In Elphaba we see her bravery as she defiantly alchemizes a moment of othering into a moment that is true to her. And in Glinda, by joining Elphaba in her dance and embracing that moment of othering alongside someone she and so many students had othered.
As an audience member we are instantly transported to a moment in our lives where we felt like Elphaba, dancing alone while others laughed. Or maybe even Glinda, to a time when we knew something was wrong and we either took action or stayed silent. You can see the actress Cynthia Erivo (Elphaba) is crying through her performance, and in that moment where Ariana Grande (Glinda) meets her cheek and wipes away her tears we can instantly tell that they’re both transformed and find a place where they both belong in spite of their differences.
I strongly believe that this dance floor sequence alone is worthy of an Oscar. It gives us a literal image of what radical imagination can do to transform a relationship from othering to true belonging.
The price of “Defying gravity”
Elphaba and Glinda continue throughout the film to bridge and become the best of friends, seemingly sisters. But in the end, when Elphaba fully embraces her magic and learns to fly, she asks Glinda to join her. But Glinda is not really the defiant type and has ambitions of her own that don’t necessarily align with the journey that Elphaba is about to embark on. Yet, despite their differences, there is a moment of reconciliation when they both – in an angelic vocal harmony – sing, “I hope you’re happy in the end.”
We are then begged to ask the question “What are the consequences of truly defying gravity? In being defiant?” as we see the act of flying eventually separates Elphaba from Glinda as they both go their separate ways.
In what kind of world could they both defy gravity together? To fly?
That is the type of radical imagination we hope to achieve. And examining cultural phenomena is important to deepen our frameworks and provide accessible examples of the ways in which they exist in our daily experiences. Under this project we believe that imagination is something that is exercised and developed, and due to systems of oppression, the relationship between self and imagination has been hindered.
So, as we look to the western skies we must ask ourselves in times of Othering, are we complacent and laugh in the face of those that are being othered? Or, do we take the defiant first step and join those around us in their own dances?
Othering & Belonging Institute's Belonging Resident Company dances for attendees at last years OBI Conference in Oakland. (Photo by Nicholas Bruno)
Wicked is not only a great film, filled with great performances and great production value, but also, it serves as a metaphor for the ways in which we can truly work to create spaces where everyone belongs.
Let’s cherish the possibilities of that world and live in that space of radical imagination.
And remember that whether or not you are dancing to the same rhythm as those around you, the dance floor is available to everyone.
Let’s dance together.
Editor's note: The ideas expressed in this blog are not necessarily those of the Othering & Belonging Institute or UC Berkeley, but belong to the author.
