After watching the Wicked movie, I found myself reflecting on the profound implications of perspective in storytelling. The film, much like Akira Kurosawa’s iconic approach to narrative in Rashomon, reminds us that truth is rarely absolute. It is shaped by who is telling the story and their motivations.
Rewriting a Classic: Wicked’s Perspective Shift
In Wicked, we revisit the world of The Wizard of Oz, but this time through the eyes of Elphaba, the so-called Wicked Witch of the West. By shifting the narrative lens, the film transforms our understanding of the story. Elphaba, once the villain, emerges as a misunderstood protagonist, while characters like the Wizard and Madame Morrible are revealed to be the real antagonists.
This change in perspective forces us to re-evaluate the original Wizard of Oz, which is largely presented from Dorothy’s viewpoint—a viewpoint heavily influenced by the Wizard’s self-serving narrative. Wicked unravels this bias, showing us how “facts” can be manipulated depending on who holds the power to tell the story.
Kurosawa’s Rashomon: The Truth Through Many Eyes
This theme of subjective truth isn’t unique to Wicked. Akira Kurosawa’s Rashomon famously explores how perspective alters our understanding of reality. In the film, a single event—a crime—is recounted by several characters, each offering a different version of the truth. These accounts are often contradictory, yet each feels sincere to the one telling it.
Kurosawa’s storytelling mirrors Wicked’s central message: that truth is not a monolithic entity but a fluid construct shaped by experience, emotion, and bias. Both works challenge us to consider how much of what we accept as truth is simply a reflection of the storyteller’s perspective.
The Truth as a Reflection of Experience
Both Wicked and Rashomon highlight a vital concept: our truths are deeply shaped by our experiences. In Wicked, the Wizard’s “truth” serves to consolidate his power, while Elphaba’s truth stems from her struggle against injustice and misunderstanding. Similarly, in Rashomon, each character’s account of the crime is influenced by their desires, fears, and self-image.
This understanding extends beyond fiction. In our own lives, truth often feels like a fixed point—a clear and objective reality. But in practice, it is more like a kaleidoscope, refracting into multiple perspectives based on who is looking and from where. This doesn’t mean truth doesn’t exist, but it does mean that it is layered and complex.
Navigating a World of Competing Truths
In a world where “my truth” and “your truth” frequently coexist, we face the challenge of determining what to believe. How do we define reality when every perspective offers a different version of it? Who gets to decide what is true?
Perhaps the answer lies not in seeking a singular truth but in embracing the multiplicity of perspectives. By considering the biases, motivations, and contexts behind each narrative, we can piece together a fuller, more nuanced picture of reality. This requires empathy, critical thinking, and an openness to question even our most cherished assumptions.
Why Perspective Matters
Ultimately, Wicked and Rashomon teach us a crucial lesson: perspective shapes reality. Whether in fictional worlds or real life, the stories we tell—and the ones we choose to believe—are never neutral. They are imbued with the storyteller’s intentions, shaped by their values, biases, and worldview.
Understanding this doesn’t make truth less significant—it makes it even more so. It encourages us to approach truth with humility and curiosity. It reminds us to listen to other perspectives, even those that challenge our own. And it urges us to critically examine the narratives we consume, recognizing that every story has its own angle.
The Elusive Nature of Truth
So, what is truth? If Wicked teaches us anything, it’s that truth is rarely singular. It is shaped by perspective, experience, and context. The “truth” of The Wizard of Oz is not invalid, but it is incomplete—just one side of a multifaceted story.
By acknowledging this complexity, we can approach the truth with greater empathy and discernment. In doing so, we move closer to understanding not just “my truth” or “your truth,” but the many shades of truth that make up our shared reality. Wicked reminds us that the stories we tell—and the perspectives we choose to embrace—can redefine not only the way we see the world but also the way we understand ourselves.