Embracing Complexity: Lessons from Elphaba and Imogene

In the past three weeks, I’ve seen three movies in the theater with my thirteen-year-old daughter. A personal record, for sure. I noticeably cried in all three, too—another personal record. Strong female characters who overcome obstacles or face adversity with determination will always strike a chord within me. I now find myself moving through Advent with Elphaba Thropp and Imogene Herdman deep within my heart.

I read Gregory Maguire’s first novel about Elphaba, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, twenty years ago, saw a traveling theater production five years later, and logged many hours listening to the original Broadway cast recording with my children in their younger years. The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson is equally familiar. I’ve read the short book aloud to my two children during countless Advent seasons. I know both stories well and also the feelings that their dialogue and lyrics conjure within me. And yet, I still wasn’t prepared to see Elphaba and Imogene on the big screen.

Even with the popularity of villain origin stories right now, I long for more. All people are created in the image of God, and no one is born inherently evil. So I appreciate the backstories of these fictional characters and learning what led to their marginalization. The movie version of The Best Christmas Pageant Ever deviated from Robinson’s book only momentarily, but among the additions are glimpses into the Herdman’s homelife. Perhaps these six children are “absolutely the worst children in the history of the world” for a reason.

While people in the Herdman’s orbit fear them too much to hand them a dose of their own mean medicine, Wicked begins with an opening song completely packed with cruelty. I watched and listened with my mouth agape, waiting for Glinda’s intervention. C’mon, c’mon, I thought, tell them the whole story. Elphaba’s not that girl, the wicked witch you believe her to be. People are so much more complicated than we perceive .

My favorite moments in both movies are the scenes when we see these strong, assertive girls, Elphaba and Imogene, as tender and vulnerable. Both scenes broke my heart wide open. Elphaba dancing alone in the ballroom while people audibly laugh and point at her at once reminded me of Wednesday Addams and Jenna Rink. All three dances begin awkwardly and cringeworthy, but only Elphaba’s felt painful to watch. Wednesday and Jenna don’t seem to care what other dance-goers think of them, but Elphaba, mustering up every ounce of courage possible with tears trickling down her face, absolutely does. While her tears may have fallen slowly and singularly, my eyes became running faucets. I whispered to my daughter the questions I knew we were both thinking. Why are people so cruel? Why do we treat the people who differ from us as an unholy other? What is wrong with us?

The Best Christmas Pageant Ever builds to the moment that eventually broke me. As Imogene and her siblings learn more and more about the circumstances of Jesus’ birth, they grow more and more invested in his story. Imogene, in particular, feels drawn to Mary, whom she insists on playing in the pageant. She both humanizes and reveres Mary in a way that allows viewers to see the mother of Christ with eyes anew. When Imogene walks onto the church stage, a congregation full of judgment and scorn stares her down. Imogene looks terrified and confused and completely overwhelmed. She looked, I realized, a lot like Mary. And with that, tears flooded my face once again. My daughter noticed me crying this time and whispered a very sincere question, “Why are you crying?” “It’s just so perfect,” was all I could say.

These movies don’t disprove the existence of bullies or villains, but they do ask viewers to question our judgments of such people we classify that way. What biases have we formed around those who behave aggressively or speak directly and prophetically? How have we limited potential friendships because of someone’s reputation? As the recipient of such prejudice, Elphaba reminds us, “No one should be scorned or laughed at or looked down upon, or told to keep quiet.” While no one may mourn the wicked, Elphaba herself mourns the mistreatment of the marginalized—showing compassion rather than contempt.

As we move towards Christmas, the cultural narrative of rewarding good children with toys and wicked ones with coal grows louder and louder. It feels like the opportune time to talk with children about the consequences of binary categories like good and bad. Whether or not you’ve seen these movies, they offer many conversation starters for all of us to consider.

How might I foster compassion, trust, forgiveness, and courage within the children in my care?

How am I allowing people opportunities to prove themselves before I judge them?

How might we offer respect and understanding to people when it’s not shown to us?

What friendships do my children or I share with people who appear to be quite different? What have we learned from one another?