“Shhh!” I admonished her (because I’m a purist, and we don’t talk in movie theaters.)īut, no, as far as I can tell, nothing has been added to the film that wasn’t already there - except the perception of three dimensions. “Oh my God, the Scarecrow has a gun?” my sister whispered. Chief Preservation Officer Ned Price, I saw/heard things in OZ that I never had before: Judy Garland’s freckles Toto’s squeals when Miss Gulch stuffs him in her basket the sounds of the animals on Aunt Em and Uncle Henry’s farm the texture of the Scarecrow’s burlap face the Tin Man’s round, bald head under his funnel hat the weeds on the Yellow Brick Road Dorothy’s flailing legs as the flying monkeys carry her off and the weapons the heroes brandish as they head off to dispatch the Witch. The original source material has been refined to reveal nuances I had never noticed in dozens of viewings on broadcast TV (CBS from 1976 through 1998), cable (TBS, TNT and TCM), VHS, DVD and even in 35mm screenings (including on my third date with Maggie, who obviously had no idea what she was getting herself into.) The result felt, in many ways, like seeing the film for the first time.Īfter a 4K scan of the negative, 3-D conversion, and additional image processing by IMAX, all done under the supervision of Warner Bros. I’m happy to say that OZ in 3-D is the same movie I’ve loved for practically my whole life, only more so. But I summoned up my courage, and off I went, glasses in hand. So yes, despite the positive reports from critics I admire, I had some reservations before seeing THE WIZARD OF OZ in IMAX 3-D. Because I don’t think there’s anything wrong with classic films. I hate it when films shot in the square, 1.37 Academy aspect ratio are stretched into rectangles by modern TV monitors so they don’t look “old.” Basically, I can’t stand anything that corrects the perceived imperfections of classic films. And, as a purist, I do hate things like colorization, or DVDs of black & white movies with color pictures on the box meant to trick shoppers. My sister knows me well, and she’s been watching me watch old movies since I was 10-years-old. You hate colorization and all that stuff. “It’s not because of the price,” Missy continued. And unlike my usual solo excursions to see classics on the big screen, on this occasion there were six of us: my nieces Kate, Laura, and Emily (ages 6, 11, and 14, respectively) and my girlfriend Maggie, my sister Missy, and me (ages unavailable at press time). I should mention here that we were at a suburban, Long Island multiplex, not an elegant New York City movie palace (not that such places exist anymore, but still). “Remember who just paid $105 for the tickets.” “Be careful what you call me,” I interrupted. “I’m shocked you want to see this,” my sister said. It was a crisp Saturday night on the eve of autumn, and I was waiting for THE WIZARD OF OZ.
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