It's always a good sign when a film starts out with stunning opening credits. The down side? When that’s the movie’s high point, the disappointment feels even greater than it should.

Of course, in simply choosing to create a new back story about how the infamous humbug wizard traveled from Omaha to Oz, Walt Disney Pictures set itself a high bar to clear. From the moment the visually groundbreaking novel appeared in 1900, The Wizard of Oz has exerted a cultural impact as oversized as the phantom head that appears above the wizard's Emerald City throne. From L. Frank Baum's original series to the smash-hit revisionist prequel Wicked a century later (which spawned its own successful book series for adults, not to mention a behemoth Broadway tuner), Oz runs deep. And although they all owe a debt to each other, no singular version has such a grip on our collective consciousness than MGM's 1939 movie musical, which stunned audiences with its Technicolor palette, witty-yet-moving score and, of course, a long list of legendary performances. That film took a roster of already beloved characters and made them immortal.

Judy Garland's star-making vehicle is clearly where Disney turned to for inspiration with Oz: The Great and Powerful, its own would-be prequel. But adding to such a storied legacy is no small feat, and despite some appropriately inspired visuals from director Sam Raimi, the rest of this uneven film melts into mediocrity.

The trouble starts with a shoddily constructed script by Mitchell Kapner and David-Lindsay Abaire. From there, it inexplicably sinks further into mush courtesy of washed-out performances from a list of actors all capable of much better. James Franco (as the slippery prestidigitator), Michelle Williams (as Glinda the good witch), and Rachel Weisz and Mila Kunis (as a pair of not-quite-yet-fully-wicked witches) deliver flat performances. Franco might have the looks to attract most women, but his character’s self-satisfied and semi-stoned behavior makes it hard to believe he could sustain any con for long. And considering the witches are just as central to the plot, it seems strange that we don’t get more scenes with their interactions. Williams in particular is strikingly bland, and Weisz seems always on the verge of stealing the show without ever quite getting the screen time. It’s hard to shake the notion that we’re missing short, key scenes depicting the sisters’ plotting, or Glinda’s rivalry with them. Maybe they ended up on the cutting-room floor, in favor of more action scenes with the truly scary flying baboons. (If you ever had nightmares from Margaret Hamilton and her brood of actors in monkey suits, wait till you see what Raimi’s CGI team whip up. Leave kids under 9 or 10 at home.)

That’s not to say the film's irredeemable. No, it's got just enough lovely touches to make us long for the film that could have been. Like its predecessor, The Great and Powerful starts with a first act set in the sepia-toned Great Plains. As we meet Oscar Z. Diggs (whose first two initials conveniently give him a nickname identical to the land he’ll come to rule), we also meet a few characters who will soon show up, in another guise, over the rainbow—like Oscar’s assistant, Frank (Zach Braff, a highlight), who becomes Finley, a cute winged monkey.

After Oscar gets sucked into a terrifying tornado (in a hot-air balloon apparently made of tungsten, given its durability) and transitions into Oz, Raimi unveils one of the film's most inspired moments. Not only does it segue sweetly into Oz's saturated color palette, but the picture's aspect ration shifts, too: The image, previously much more square in shape, slowly expands into widescreen glory. It’s an inspired way to announce: We’re not in Kansas anymore. Coming on the heels of the gorgeously animated opening credits (a category, by the way, for which there really oughtta be an Academy Award)—with everyone’s names appearing in a black-and-white puppet theater—it's clear that Raimi has a great affection for the source material.

Alas, however, the flat characterizations and nonsensical plot developments undermine the visual magic. And where’s the whimsy? It’s fine that Disney didn’t want to try to make a musical, but CGI special effects are not a substitute for the whimsy delivered by Judy Garland, Ray Bolger, Jack Haley and Burt Lahr. All the missed chances of the entire enterprise can be summed up in one inadvertently meta scene: When Oscar meets the Munchkins, they launch into the film’s lone song to Glinda's (and our) delight. Just as this moment of joy picks up steam, Franco barges into the frame, hollering, “Stop!” And they do.

Oz: The Great and Powerful? What a humbug.

Twenty-two local high school students will soon get the chance to tread the boards at the prestigious Goodman Theatre. They’re finalists in Chicago’s August Wilson Monologue Competition—and depending on how they do Monday, they might be headed to the contest’s national finals in New York City. 

The nationwide competition calls for high school actors to perform two- to three-minute monologues from August Wilson’s “Century Cycle” plays. Those ten works by the legendary playwright describe the African-American experience across each decade of the 20th century. “I think his legacy is an important piece of Americana,” says Derrick Sanders, assistant professor at UIC’s department of theatre and music, about Wilson, the two-time Pulitzer Prize winner who died in 2005. 

“I think [his legacy] needs to be protected,” continues Sanders, who coordinated the competition in Chicago. “I’m glad to be a part of it.”

Chicago’s first-place finalist will receive a four-year partial scholarship to the University of Illinois in Chicago. Meanwhile, the city’s top three finalists will fly to New York City in May, where they’ll deliver their monologues at the August Wilson Theater, and they also receive prize money: $500, $250 and $100 (for first, second and third place). Schools new to the competition also receive August Wilson’s full Century Cycle for their libraries, courtesy of UIC.

Sitting in the darkened nosebleeds at UIC’s theatre February 11, I watched almost 60 high school students perform stirring monologues from Wilson’s compendium at the semi-finals. Most walked in, greeted the judges with cheery smiles, and then disappeared fully into their characters, sometimes shouting their lines or sobbing between them. Varied performances made monologues (even those acted out once, twice or three times before by different students) feel poles and personalities apart. Some actors made surprising choices that paid off: specifically, one young woman performed the part of Shealy, a male character from Jitney, with convincing flair.  

To whom the monologue belongs matters less than a student’s connection to its message. Sanders advises students pick one that feels honest to them—that they identify with, or which has elements they recognize from their environments—and fire themselves into it. “It’s kind of like jazz, or anybody that plays an instrument,” he says. “It’s really like trying to speak your spirit, your truth through those words…like the great musicians do, through that instrument.”

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The city finals for the August Wilson Monologue Competition—Monday, March 11 at 6pm—are free and open to the public at Goodman Theatre, 170 N Dearborn St (312-443-3800). For more info on the event, also sponsored by the League of Chicago Theatres, visit the league's website at chicagoplays.com/august-wilson-monologue-competition.html.

 

Some professions go together like peanut butter and jelly: Singer-songwriter. Model-slash-actress. Roller rink owner and movie producer. 

That last combination’s decidedly less common, but accurately describes the occupations of Tinley Park’s Carey Westburg. Owner of Tinley Park Roller Rink, Westburg balanced his business with show business to produce My Lucky Elephant, out now on VOD, DVD and iTunes. Set in Thailand, My Lucky Elephant follows the story of an orphan boy who finds a friend in a painterly pachyderm. Granted the Dove seal of approval, the movie’s been lauded for its adventuresome spirit and presentation of family values. “We wanted to make a movie that you can share with your whole family,” says Westburg. “And not have to worry about ‘Oh God, do I have to turn this off, do I have to mute the sound, is there something violent here? Is there a swear word there?’” 

As for Westburg, don’t expect an identity crisis anytime soon; he’s found strong ties between suburban skating and moviemaking. “Roller-skating is an extension of family entertainment. We’ve been in the skating business for over 50 years. We cater to just about everyone,” he says. “We try to provide a nice, safe, clean family environment for everyone, and making movies is an extension of that. Now we have a much broader scope of reaching out to different families.”

Look for more from him and his team in the future, especially as they’ve found their calling matches up with the call of the wild. “We’re going to definitely stay in the family genre, making kids' movies that are also appealing to all family members,” he says. “With the animals and exotic places, I think we found our niche…we’d like to go back to Thailand and do another family movie.” Not a bad way to spend a Chicago winter. 

 

You'd have to be insane to want to jump into Lake Michigan in the Ides of March, when the water is so cold the asian carp regret their invasion. And by the looks of these photos, these people probably fit the profile, especially the guy in the full Smurf body paint.