A Beautifully “Wicked” Approach to Disability

When I went to see Wicked, which is on Sunday, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Of course, the film’s inescapable buzz piqued my interest, but I was mostly driven to the theater by my curiosity about how sisters Elphaba and Nessarose Thropp would be portrayed. I was specifically interested in Nessarose (Marissa Bode), a disabled character, because she’s being played by —a .
However, as the movie progressed, I shockingly began relating more to Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo) than Nessarose, though I am also a wheelchair user. While Elphaba and Nessarose have the same mother, Elphaba was conceived when their mother has an extramarital affair with a man who gives her a green elixir to drink.
From the moment Elphaba is born with green skin, her father, Frexspar (Andy Nyman), rejects her and begins treating her like an outsider. He even delegates her child-rearing to an anthropomorphic bear named Dulcibear. At the same time, Frexspar dotes relentlessly on Nessarose, his biological daughter, and discourages Elphaba from using magic in public.
Elphaba is treated as an outcast because of her green skin, which the film regards as a disability. Whenever Elphaba encounters a person for the first time, they often visibly gasp because her skin is so different from theirs. “Fine, let’s get this over with,” she always retorts. “No, I am not seasick; no, I did not eat grass as a child; and yes, I’ve always been green.”
When Elphaba first meets Glinda (Ariana Grande-Butera) and offers this spiel, Glinda says: “Well I, for one, am so sorry that you have been forced to live with … this.” She then offers to fix Elphaba’s “ailment,” saying, “It is my intention to major in sorcery. So if at some point, you wanted to address the, um, problem, perhaps I could help.”
Elphaba’s green skin, which , is treated by the people around her as a liability or something worthy of being pitied. The inability of Elphaba’s father and classmates to connect with her because of her exterior difference made me recall the many times over the course of my life where I have been pre-judged because I use a wheelchair.
The hesitation to acknowledge Elphaba’s existence is something I’ve experienced as a Black woman with a physical disability. People have judged and misjudged me before they even learned my name or heard me speak; the world isn’t kind or thoughtful to people whose physical presentations are different.
It’s painfully familiar for me to be ridiculed before being embraced. I’m always in a cycle of wondering what others think and if they’re being genuine. That’s a sadness that never leaves, even as I’ve grown immune to what others think about me. Throughout the film, Elphaba is isolated, which fuels loneliness—another emotion that’s particularly resonant. Being the “only” in your family and community with such a striking difference is a bold act of existing in a world that demands conformity.
And yet, despite the fact that Elphaba’s stepfather treats her as if she’s a burden, she’s still incredibly protective of Nessarose. When the sisters first arrive at Shiz University, where Nessarose is enrolled, an overbearing teacher attempts to push Nessarose’s wheelchair before she even asks for assistance. When Elphaba sees this transpire, she becomes upset about her sister being infantilized and conjures powerful magic that gains her impromptu admission into Shiz and gets the immediate attention of Madame Morrible (Michelle Yeoh), a professor who begins mentoring her.
Elphaba respects Nessarose’s autonomy, though other people in their lives fail to do so. It’s an example of what I call “The Good Samaritan Gone Wrong” factor, wherein people overextend themselves to help a disabled person without pausing to interrogate why. I am often forced to ask: Did the disabled person ask for help, or are you projecting a sense of helplessness onto them simply because they’re disabled?
The latter is incredibly ableist, and a disabled person has a right to rebuff that projection. But seeing Nessarose deal with ableism in a whimsical film about magic reminded me that ableism is always lurking, even in Oz.
But Nessarose doesn’t reciprocate Elphaba’s protective impulse. When Elphaba begins sounding the alarm about anthropomorphic animals losing their ability to speak, she’s disregarded and then silenced, an all-too-familiar reality for Black women in our real world who are constantly attempting to save our society from itself and its cruelty. Since Elphaba is also an outlier who’s isolated and disbelieved, she’s able to easily make the connection between how she’s been treated and how these animals are being treated. She understands that the push for conformity is closer than anyone recognizes.
This parallel is even more relevant during our current political climate. During the 2024 presidential election, Black voters, especially Black women voters, considered harm reduction while some other voters leaned into—and even relished—the harm. It can be isolating to point out injustice, especially when others can’t see or don’t believe it’s happening.
As a disabled activist, I know that the people—including your fellow comrades, who should understand the misgivings of the world—will choose a less friction-laden route rather than directly addressing the injustice. When I began speaking out against , I realized that people with privilege can be severely conflict avoidant and would rather “play nice” than hold people accountable.
Glinda, who has built a friendship with Elphaba, knows the animals in Oz are losing their ability to speak. And yet, we see her internal conflict around making noise about the issue because she’s worried it could negatively impact her social status as the most popular student at Shiz. Like Glinda, people don’t confront injustice because they still want access to the resources, money, and connections of those who cause harm. It reflects a scarcity mindset in which one believes an oppressor is worth keeping around because of potential gain.
When Elphaba tries to bring attention to the issues occurring in Oz, she’s first scrutinized, then disbelieved, and eventually betrayed by the Wizard (Jeff Goldblum) and Madame Morrible. She’s coerced into using her magic to further discriminate against the animals in Oz—and neither Glinda nor Nessarose come to her defense. Instead, she’s forced to go it alone, even as Madame Morrible calls her a “wicked witch” across Oz’s radio waves.
Elphaba is villainized simply because she’s attempting to stop powerful people from causing more harm. There’s a deep “know your place” tone when Elphaba bucks against the Wizard and Madame Morrible—it costs her deeply and shifts the public narrative of who she is. In this moment, we see Elphaba’s undesirability in a new light; it’s no longer just the micro (her interpersonal relationships). It’s now on a macro level, as she’s being treated as a political enemy of the state.
The parallels in Wicked regarding the ways disability, disabled people, and overall differences among people (and other species) mirror the hardships people who cannot (and do not) conform endure in our society. I left the theater better understanding that the people we view as villains may not be the true or only villain in their story. Erivo breathtakingly embodied Elphaba through every emotion and every moment of rejection and frustration, a commitment that will hopefully continue in Wicked: For Good when it’s released in November. Ultimately, I hope that our collective understanding of Elphaba expands as we uncover what happens to her—and how her story is further shaped by those who failed to view her with care.
Vilissa Thompson
, LMSW, is a contributing writer at ý Media. A macro social worker from South Carolina, she is an expert in discussing the issues that matter to her as a proud Black disabled woman from the South. Follow her on the socials: @VilissaThompson.
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