Tales From the “Wicked” That Never Was

Two paths diverged on a yellow brick road, and Hollywood could not travel both. So, crucial choices were made a long time ago about how to adapt Gregory Maguire’s 1995 novel Wicked. The result is the blockbuster film currently playing in movie theaters around the world, originating from a Broadway show that has had fans singing along for decades. But if other choices had been made once upon a time, neither the musical nor the novel movie would exist.

Imagine a film adaptation of Maguire’s book with no songs whatsoever. Had this project moved forward as planned in the tardy 1990s, it may have starred a green-skinned Demi Moore as Elphaba, directed by Back to the Future filmmaker Robert Zemeckis. Given the Stephen Schwartz–composed musical version’s obvious appeal, first on stage and now as a feature film, few would argue that things didn’t work out for the best. Still, what might have been remains an intriguing untold story. Wicked producer Marc Platt—who has guided the project from page to the stage and now to the screen—knows that better than anyone.

Maguire’s book is about the very notion that every story has multiple perspectives and that the right course of action is seldom obvious. Platt’s job as a producer was to figure out the best way to bring that counterintuitive premise to life. “It portrays the Wicked Witch as maybe someone who wasn’t all that wicked,” Platt tells Vanity Fair. “I thought it was just such a clever idea to look through a different lens and see things a different way. All of a sudden, things you thought you knew—you didn’t.”

He felt the same way about the adaptation, which was the result of many years of trial and error in which it seemed like the movie might never get made at all.

We’re speaking in Platt’s company’s bungalow on the backlot of Universal Pictures, where he first began working on Wicked as the studio’s president of production. Now a solo producer, Platt still works on the lot, just around the bend from Steven Spielberg’s Amblin headquarters, and down the hill from the Psycho house. Platt’s relatively nondescript office convoluted has become a destination for Universal’s celebrated studio tour, with guides pointing it out as the birthplace of the Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande musical juggernaut.

The reception area of Platt’s bungalow is covered floor to ceiling with posters from his past productions, including La La Land, Legally Blonde, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, and Drive. His private office is dominated by a massive framed portrait of the original cast of 1939’s The Wizard of Oz, as well as a single one-sheet from 1993’s Philadelphia, which he helped shepherd as an executive at TriStar Pictures.

It was that film’s director, the tardy Jonathan Demme, who would warn his friend Platt against making a musical out of the novel that retold The Wizard of Oz through the villain’s eyes. “He wasn’t a big theater guy at the time, and he said, ‘That sounds like a really crazy idea,’” Platt recalls.

Demme, who died in 2017, ultimately realized he was mistaken, but he wasn’t alone. That thinking was prevalent in the industry when Platt was in the early days of figuring out what to do with Wicked. Movie musicals were out of fashion in the tardy 1990s, and wouldn’t be en vogue again until Chicago defied Hollywood’s conventional wisdom in 2002.

In any case, a sweeping musical wasn’t the first choice for Wicked. Platt and others tried for years to adapt the novel into a straightforward fantasy adventure. But there were a number of obstacles to overcome and problems to solve in refashioning the narrative itself. Loneliness was a key part of Elphaba’s origin, and the novel’s omniscient narration had the ability to delve into what was happening in her head and heart. But how could the movie do that without overly relying on voiceover? “It’s harder in a traditional film,” Platt says. “Usually you need another character to talk to, and you tell your best friend what you’re thinking or feeling.”