The 1910 Wizard of Oz Film Is a Bizarre Delight
Note: This is the fifty-sixth in a series of historical/critical essays examining the best in film from each year. Essentially, I am watching films from the beginning of cinematic history that interest me and/or hold some critical or cultural impact. My personal, living list of favorites is being created at Mubi, showcasing five films per year. All this being explained, what follows is an examination of my favorite 1910 film, THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ, directed by Otis Turner.
L. Frank Baum quickly capitalized on the success of his 1900 novel The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Two years later, a stage musical loosely based on his story premiered in Chicago, complete with some pretty crazy costumes for the Scarecrow and Tin Woodman. The music of the show is relatively forgotten, but it did bring some elements into the story familiar to fans of the incomparable 1939 adaptation, such as Dorothy’s last name (Gale) and a few other plot points. And it primarily served as the inspiration for a 1910 Wizard of Oz adaptation, ostensibly the first Oz film adaptation and a film inspired by an inspiration. Therefore, THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ (1910) serves as a middling adaptation of a beloved story, but also a cramped yet fantastical relic of the pre-(or maybe early) Hollywood American film industry.
Why THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ is “ostensibly” the first Oz film adaptation requires a little bit of background. Two years earlier, Baum, in conjunction with the Selig Polyscope Company, created and toured with a multimedia production called THE FAIRYLOGUE AND RADIO-PLAYS (1908). The tour experienced many sold-out shows, but due to the high cost of the “multimedia” elements (namely, colorized film segments), sold-out shows weren’t even enough to recoup the money spent on the project. Baum’s “magical” presentation of the story of a few Oz books, which included narrating the actions of actors and events both on stage and screen, was critically praised, but the financial failure was a poor start to Baum’s vision for an Oz universe expanded into film.
No film footage (just some stills) exists from THE FAIRYLOGUE AND RADIO-PLAYS, and because the show incorporated this lost film footage into a stage act, it is not widely recognized as a cohesive film. Therefore, the 1910 WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ can fairly comfortably claim its spot as the first Oz film adaptation. It was, however, widely believed the film was essentially put together from clips from THE FAIRYLOGUE until the former was rediscovered. But the 1910 film did only come about due to the failure of THE FAIRYLOGUE, so in that respect, it owes a lot to the failed multimedia project that preceded it.
You see, Baum suffered personal bankruptcy because of THE FAIRYLOGUE’s failure, and so the film rights to The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and several other Oz books were now in Selig’s possession. William Selig, founder of the company named after him, capitalized on this with a series of Oz films, all released in 1910; only THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ still exists today. Baum would not have any creative involvement with these films, although it would appear he gained the rights back a few years later. In 1914, he formed a very short-lived production company called, fittingly, The Oz Film Manufacturing Company.
Although its most notable films were feature-length Oz films, the company made other films and its credo was to essentially subvert the “violent” Westerns of the time (yeah, right) and market wholesome films to children. It was a failure; the company was absorbed into Metro Pictures in 1915, which would go on to become Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, the studio that would eventually produce the iconic 1939 film. Of the few films that exist from this venture, however, a couple are worth watching; more on that in quite a few installments.
Selig didn’t build a vast fortune from its Oz adaptations either. There was a reason Oz was considered box office poison up until MGM’s film, not only because of these 1910s films, but also a miserable 1925 adaptation. Selig’s Oz films didn’t light the world on fire, but neither did it precipitate the company’s failure on the horizon. Founded in Chicago in 1896, Selig was plagued by legal challenges from Thomas Edison from the beginning. Nevertheless, Selig built up steam with films typical of the day (actualities, comedies, travelogues) until THE FAIRYLOGUE, which was by far its most ambitious project to date. In 1909, Selig would set up a Los Angeles studio in Edendale, making it the first permanent film studio in “Hollywood.” Although WIZARD OF OZ came out a year later, it’s not clear if it was filmed in the new LA studio or in Chicago. It’s not even really clear who directed the film.
Otis Turner, along with Francis Boggs, co-directed THE FAIRYLOGUE, and is most commonly cited as the director of WIZARD OF OZ, although the status is ultimately unconfirmed. Bebe Daniels, who is also an unconfirmed part of the cast as Dorothy, was reportedly in California at the time, while Turner was in Chicago, which of course complicates matters when it’s not clear where the film was actually made. Nevertheless, it’s generally accepted that Turner directed the film and Daniels starred in it. It is quite possible that both were in California at the time, but nevertheless, their involvement will always be uncertain, as is the case with the rest of the cast. The case for Turner as director is further solidified, however, by Baum’s thinly veiled reference to the man in his novel Aunt Jane’s Nieces Out West. In it, a director named Otis Werner interacts with the title characters. Baum may have either been blessing Turner’s work or indicting it.
Selig found success with exotic animal and travel pictures through the mid-1910s, and even essentially invented the “cliffhanger” with his innovative treatment of the serial format. World War I put a wrench in Selig’s profits, however, and in 1917, he sold the Edendale studio to Fox. He moved the studio to a zoo he had populated with the animals used for his exotic pictures, but the next year, ended film production to focus on the zoo. Selig’s plans were ambitious, turning the zoo into a larger concept amusement park with rides and other attractions. It went nowhere, really, and Selig had to sell the zoo during the Great Depression. He died in 1948 after working as a literary agent, leaving in his legacy a studio that gave starts to Harold Lloyd, Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle, Tom Mix, and Colleen Moore.
But back to Turner and the actual production of the film. As mentioned at the start of this lengthy historical diatribe, the 1910 WIZARD OF OZ film was slightly based on the 1902 stage musical, which was slightly based on the actual novel. That results in a story that has the general shape of the Wizard of Oz story line, but not the, uh, finer points. For one, Dorothy meets the Scarecrow in Kansas, and she is transported with him, Toto, a mule, and a cow to Oz in a great cyclone sequence. The scrolling background is representative of the early film set design I absolutely love, not quite convincing but creating a reassuring mise-en-scène. The travelers clutching onto a bale of hay are legitimately funny. By the way, the Scarecrow’s design is positively freakish, and his loopy movements carry some tremendously timeless comedic timing.
When they arrive in Oz, the travelers head into a forest. The trees with spooky faces in the background are awesome. Glinda turns Toto into a “real protector,” a giant bulldog that tussles with the Cowardly Lion, who then joins the crew. This is a good time to mention that all the animals are just humans crawling around the floor in giant papier-mâché heads. And I love it.
The crew encounters the Tin Woodman, frees from his oil-less prison, and go on their way to Oz until they come across Momba the Witch’s little hut. That’s right — Momba. As with the musical, the Wicked Witch of the West is not in the 1910 film. Inexplicably, Momba takes her place, and her army is much more boring. It’s just a bunch of dudes. Those dudes capture the crew in the mushroom-infested field in front of the witch’s fairly deeply rendered home. Dorothy, tasked with cleaning the prison, tosses her water on the witch, and she disappears. The crew goes to Oz and the Wizard flies away in his balloon, for some reason, without Dorothy.
Throughout the film, the set design consistently impressed me, as did the design of the costumes and creatures. The silliness of fantasy films from this early in film’s history is just irresistible, and clearly the accuracy of its Oz treatment isn’t really an issue with a 13-minute film. No adaptation from the era was necessarily “faithful” in the true sense of the word, especially not one twice removed from the source material. THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ’s place in the tradition of fantasy and, specifically, Oz films is fascinating, as well as its role in the growth of Hollywood and starting a new decade of film. It touches that same comforting, fantasy-loving, escapist nerve that THE WIZARD OF OZ (1939) does, albeit on a much smaller scale. It’s an incredibly enjoyable film, a fantastic success for its era, and my favorite film of 1910.
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