I’m so excited to be going to see enhanced, interactive version of the 1939 film The Wizard of Oz at the Sphere in Las Vegas soon! It had been a while since I’d seen it, so I scheduled it for a Mortality Movie Night at my home. Is this children’s classic a Mortality Movie? You bet your ruby red slippers it is!

Think about it – dead witches, the Munchkin Coroner making the pronouncement, the hourglass with the red sand which spells doom for Dorothy. Her longing to go “home.” It’s got mortality in spades!

Mortality in The Wizard of Oz

For discussion points, I checked with my Chat GPT account for some insights. Here’s what we came up with.

The Wizard of Oz has more death lurking in the Technicolor shadows than we usually realize. While it’s not a “death-centric” story, mortality themes swirl through the film in ways that make it a sneaky Mortality Movie candidate:

1. Dorothy’s Near-Death Experience
A tornado lifts her into another world. Many scholars argue Oz is essentially Dorothy’s dream (or even a brush with the afterlife)—a fantastical vision after being knocked unconscious. If you squint, Oz looks a lot like a liminal space between life and death.

2. The Wicked Witch of the East (and West)
The story literally begins with a death—the Wicked Witch of the East crushed under a house. The ruby slippers pass to Dorothy, setting off the whole plot. Later, Dorothy kills the Wicked Witch of the West by accident (a very “unintentional mortality” moment).

3. The Quest as a Mortality Metaphor
Each companion fears a kind of death-in-life:

• The Scarecrow worries he has no brain (oblivion).
• The Tin Man fears having no heart (emotional death).
• The Cowardly Lion fears his lack of courage will prevent him from living fully.

Their journey in The Wizard of Oz is about confronting those fears—classic existential territory.

4. “There’s no place like home”
The ultimate message can be read as a gentle meditation on mortality: life is fleeting, and at the end, what matters most is the love and belonging of “home.” It resonates with the idea of a good death—returning to where one belongs.

 Discussion Questions:

· Is Oz a dream, an afterlife realm, or Dorothy’s “trial run” at death?

· How do the witch deaths frame the story’s moral arc about power, justice, and mortality?

· Do the companions’ fears reflect common human fears about death and meaning?

· How might “There’s no place like home” echo the longing for peace or transcendence at life’s end?

· Might a will have helped the Wicked Witch of the East transfer her ruby slippers to the Wicked Witch of the West upon her death?

The Wizard of Oz is a Mortality Movie in candy-colored disguise, luring us into thinking it’s just about rainbows when it’s really about mortality’s storm clouds. ?

The Facebook page Silver Screen Hub did this interesting take on Glinda, the Good Witch of the North, as a movie villain in The Wizard of Oz!

Who’s the greatest movie villain of all time? Forget Darth Vader. Forget Hannibal Lecter. Forget Voldemort. The real answer? Glinda — yes, Glinda the so-called “Good Witch” of the North. The one in the sparkly pink gown, smiling sweetly, pretending to be everyone’s friend. It’s always the ones with the tiaras you’ve got to watch out for.

Think about it. She shows up all floaty and radiant in her bubble like some kind of celestial savior, and within minutes she’s playing a game of cosmic chess where Dorothy is the disposable pawn. The poor girl has just been dropped into a land of technicolor nightmares, barely processing the fact that a house killed someone, and Glinda’s already scheming. First order of business? Magically slap those ruby slippers onto Dorothy’s feet. Without permission. No explanation, no warning, just — zap. And then, with a perfectly innocent smile, she casually drops the bombshell: “Oh, and by the way, you can’t take them off.” Convenient, right? Almost like she wanted the Wicked Witch of the West to lose her mind. Almost like she knew Dorothy was about to become a walking bullseye.

Then comes the kicker: Glinda sends this Kansas farm girl — armed with nothing but a dog, a picnic basket, and questionable footwear — on what is essentially a suicide mission. “Follow the yellow brick road,” she says, like it’s a Sunday stroll. No mention of flying monkeys. No mention of poison poppies. No mention of, oh, I don’t know, the murderous sorceress who now has a personal vendetta against her. Dorothy doesn’t need a travel itinerary; she needs a restraining order and maybe a Kevlar vest. But Glinda? She doesn’t care. As long as someone else handles the West Witch problem, she’s free to keep floating around in her glitter bubble, polishing her crown and humming lullabies to herself.

And here’s the real punch in the gut: Dorothy didn’t even need to go through any of it. Not the trek. Not the Wizard. Not the entire Technicolor death march. She could have clicked those heels and gone home from the start. But Glinda conveniently leaves that little detail out until Dorothy has risked life, limb, and sanity. Why? Maybe Glinda wanted her occupied. Maybe she needed a distraction. Or maybe — and this is where it gets delicious — she wanted the West Witch weakened, distracted, and ultimately destroyed, without lifting a perfectly manicured finger.

But you want real proof of Glinda’s dark side? Go back to their very first exchange. Dorothy, sweet, polite, Midwestern Dorothy, says: “I’ve never heard of a beautiful witch before.” Innocent, right? Glinda doesn’t miss a beat: “Only bad witches are ugly.” Read that again slowly. What she’s really saying is: good equals beautiful, bad equals ugly. And then, later, Glinda actually asks Dorothy, “Are you a good witch or a bad witch?” So, let’s unpack this. That means, in Glinda’s sparkly little worldview, if Dorothy were pretty, she wouldn’t even need to ask. But since she does ask, well… she clearly doesn’t find Dorothy’s looks reassuring. Yikes. Subtle, Glinda. Real subtle.

By the end, she sails back in like she’s been orchestrating this entire saga from her crystal ball. Smiles sweetly, waves her wand, and says, “Oh, silly me, you’ve had the power to go home all along.” And she has the audacity to act like she’s teaching Dorothy a valuable lesson about self-reliance, as though all those near-death experiences were some kind of personal growth seminar. No, Glinda. Dorothy didn’t need a lesson; she needed a straight answer and maybe a cup of tea.

So yes, while movie history loves to paint her as the benevolent fairy godmother, I’m not buying it. Behind that saccharine smile is the cold calculation of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. She wasn’t helping Dorothy. She was using her. The Wicked Witch of the West may have worn black and cackled like a Saturday morning cartoon villain, but Glinda? Glinda played the long game. The quiet ones always do.

And somewhere, high above Oz, she’s probably still floating in that ridiculous bubble, humming to herself, wondering how long it’ll take before anyone else catches on.

What are your thoughts on The Wizard of Oz as a Mortality Movie and Glinda as a villain? Share your comments below!

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