et me tell you the whole story …” Unfortunately, this won’t be the whole story, as this whopping 160-minute film is only the first half – running longer than the original play in its entirety. Plus, it begins at the end, with sweeping vistas of a fantasy realm, buzzing with flying blue monkeys and roaring with waterfalls, like something out of “Avatar.” Munchkinland is booming with buoyancy as news of the death of the Wicked Witch of the West arrives. And sparkling Glinda (Ariana Grande-Butera), also a sorceress, comes to the masses in her gliding bubble-encased chariot to confirm the protestation – with a song.

Why does such wickedness happen? With a flashback to explain, through Glinda’s recollections (though she wasn’t actually present for much of it), a cheating mother and a disappointed father greet a newborn whose skin is a perplexing green hue. The baby is rejected, essentially banished from the household to be raised by a loving bear midwife. Ostracized, bullied, and blamed for every problem, little Elphaba has a horrible childhood, even putting the onus on herself for her younger sister Nessarose’s (Marissa Bode) disability.

Though the initial tunes are energetic and loud, they’re largely forgettable. It isn’t until Glinda skips forward to her own arrival at witch school, called Shiz University, where she accidentally finds herself sharing an exquisite suite with avocado-colored Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo) in an attempt to curry favor with revered instructor Madame Morrible (Michelle Yeoh), that the songs become catchier and more distinguished. The chartreuse woman’s experiences at Shiz remain the same as before: she’s met with apprehension and disgust due to the pigment of her skin, though this inexplicably fails to line up with the world they inhabit; after all, magical elements abound, including talking goats and felines and rodents and more. No one does a double-take for these fantastical creatures, which are far more jarring than a brightly-tinted girl. “As you can see, she’s a perfectly acceptable color.”

The setup is rather straightforward, chronicling the tribulations of being different, striving for acceptance and equal treatment, and realizing the continued futility of that goal even when the locations change. People, it seems, are hateful, fearful, and prejudiced everywhere in Oz. It additionally examines privilege versus neglect, popularity versus social unacceptability, governmental corruption, mob mentalities and societal manipulation, and speciesism in addition to racism – though Elphaba is the only one of her kind, apparently. She’s also capable of miraculous feats of telekinesis, like Carrie, though even these episodes conjure less disbelief than that of her virid visage. “Expect the unexpected at Shiz.” But should anything be unexpected when Oz is basking in mystical qualities? Should anyone bother to question something so undefined as the fashion sense of Elphaba’s crooked black hat?

Fortunately, the story eventually shifts into something more original, particularly as it becomes apparent that this version of Oz is meant to be real, unlike in the 1939 film (which itself took a major conceit from “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”). While it starts with the notion that Elphaba’s powers are fueled by emotions that can be harnessed for good or evil, like a Jedi’s use of the Force, before segueing into a conspiracy about suppressing the ability for animals to speak, it’s soon revealed that the heroes and villains of this tale aren’t as obvious as they might have been. But that doesn’t help the inventiveness of the supporting components, as many of the ideas resemble ones borrowed from the sagas of Harry Potter, “The Lord of the Rings,” and other fantasy staples (predicaments with teachers and a love triangle are comparably routine). Sets may be intricate and far more extravagant than those made for the stage, while computer graphics provide glimmering visuals that were likewise unavailable to Broadway audiences, but these various bells and whistles don’t spice up such boilerplate personas of the downtrodden, the entitled, the rebellious, and the puppetmasters.

Little of that may matter, however, to viewers already familiar with the plot. Instead, they’ll be looking to the faithfulness of the adaptation – or the potential for minimal changes to burden a beloved property. As it turns out, the casting is exceptional; Grande’s bratty, vain, envious, unintelligent witch is consistently delightful, while Erivo musters plenty of admiration and sympathy. Even Jeff Goldblum as the Wizard of Oz is amusing, even if he never once attempts to disappear into the role (“folks have come to expect that sort of thing”). And the music is superb, steadily escalating to more and more enthusiastic, thunderous performances until the booming finale, concluding at a decent stopping point, even if it’s a transparent cash-grab to split this production into two parts (which will be tremendously overlong to watch all in one sitting).

At its heart is a friendship that redefines two women’s outlooks and beliefs (for Glinda, it may be intermittently superficial and self-serving) and the compelling revelations that reshape an understanding of an emerald utopia’s governance. Though this drawn-out runtime brings a hint of yet another unnecessary origin story for a misunderstood storybook antagonist (along the lines of Maleficent and Cruella), it’s likely that “Wicked: Part I” will be best enjoyed for its music, not its storytelling. And it’s difficult to dismiss the fact that “Popular” is easily the best song – fast-paced, upbeat, and effervescent – while also being the most inconsequential to the premise.

– Mike Massie