Within minutes, I was greeted by a wave of stories that could rival a natural disaster warning system. Influencers crying. Voice notes cracking. People typing paragraphs that felt like they were experiencing a personal rebirth in the middle of the cinema. Somewhere between the tears, the sobbing selfies, and the dramatic captions, I found myself staring at Rachel Zegler’s exuberant reaction. According to her story, this movie healed her, saved her, reshaped her DNA, and brought peace to the seven kingdoms. Or at least that is how it sounded.
And I sat there thinking, I mean, please. Dial it down. Not every movie needs to be a full spiritual awakening. Sometimes you can just watch something and say, Yeah, that was nice. You are allowed to enjoy something without turning it into a therapy session.
The funniest part is that the people rating it five stars are loud enough to make you wonder if you watched the same film. Meanwhile, the rest of us are sitting with thoughts like, well, the songs were beautiful and Cynthia Erivo is a force of nature, but also wow, this movie is kind of a structural mess. And that is the quiet opinion. The private one. The one Instagram refuses to hear over the sounds of influencers narrating their trauma release journey.
Here is the thing. I love Wicked. Truly. The original musical is brilliant, the world building is rich and the story is strong enough to survive even a mediocre staging. So, of course, I was always going to watch Wicked For Good. There was no version of reality where I skipped it. I wanted closure. I wanted the big emotional beats. I wanted to see how they tied this thing together.
But walking in with love for the material is different from walking out pretending this sequel is flawless.
Let us start with the obvious: Cynthia Erivo is the gravity of the film. She is the anchor. She is the pulse. Every scene with her feels grounded and meaningful, even when the pacing decides to run off into the woods without warning. Ariana Grande also brings warmth and sincerity. Her performance is gentle, honest, and more layered than people expected. Those two together carry a story that threatens to wobble every fifteen minutes.
The rest of the cast, though, feels strangely sidelined. Jeff Goldblum gets presence because Jeff Goldblum always gets presence. But the others fade into the background. The script gives them moments, but the film never commits to them. It is like watching someone flip through a scrapbook too fast. A name appears, you expect resonance, and then we are already somewhere else.
This brings me to the pacing. Oh, the pacing. There were moments when my attention drifted so far from the screen that I genuinely considered whether I forgot to take my Ritalin. The story has heart, yet the structure keeps tripping over its own feet. You can feel the movie trying to justify its runtime at every corner. Long scenes that do not need to be long. Side conversations that lead nowhere. Emotional beats that could have hit harder if the buildup had not drifted off into the wind.
I am not saying it was boring, just inconsistent. And inconsistency in a movie this big feels incredibly loud.
Meanwhile, online, the only voices you hear are the ones proclaiming it the best thing humanity has ever produced. My favorite genre of post is the dramatic crying photo with captions like “I have never felt so seen”. These posts always come with shaky camera angles, mascara streaks, and a whole paragraph about childhood healing. I am sorry, but at some point, the oversharing becomes performance. And when something becomes performance, the sincerity melts away.
Here is my theory, though. A lot of people react that intensely because Wicked means something personal to them. If you grew up with the musical, or if Elphaba’s story was the first time you felt emotionally punched in the heart, you are walking into the movie ready to have a big moment. And when you want a moment badly enough, your brain manufactures one. Even if the film itself is not actually giving it. Nostalgia has a powerful filter. Nostalgia can make anything look deeper, richer, and obviously more brilliant than it really is.
When I set aside the noise and sit with what I truly felt, the answer is simple. Wicked For Good is good enough. It is not groundbreaking. It does not change cinema. It does not match the original musical’s emotional weight. It is a sequel that needed to exist because the story needed to finish. And that is completely fine.
People forget that a three-star experience can still be enjoyable. I did not hate it. I did not regret watching it. I did not walk out angry or disappointed. I walked out thinking, thank God the story is done, and also, wow, I would shave at least thirty minutes off this thing if someone handed me the remote.
Maybe we need more of that honesty. The version that says I enjoyed parts of this and other parts made me want to wiggle out of my seat. The version that does not turn every emotional beat into a public meltdown. The version that knows it is okay to feel lukewarm. Not everything is life changing. Sometimes it is just a movie.
And when you strip away the noise, that is exactly what Wicked For Good is. A movie with breathtaking performances from Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande, gorgeous visuals, uneven pacing, and a conclusion that feels necessary but not transformative. The internet can cry, scream, chant, and convert it into another personality trait, but deep down, the truth is quieter.
A solid three stars. A sigh of relief. A sense of closure. And finally, a sequel that lets us move on