Dark Disney does Oz.
If The Wizard of Oz was a Technicolor dream that enraptured audiences with its warmth, whimsy, and timeless tunes, then Return to Oz was its shadow opposite, a starkly different kind of journey—one that many audiences found deeply unsettling. With its darker tone, more complex themes, and a narrative that cleaves closer to L Frank Baum’s original texts – sans eye-poppingly bright colours and ear-poppingly brighter songs, Return to Oz was, and still is, an oddity. It’s a film that boldly goes against the grain of the beloved classic, presenting a sequel far more in keeping with Baum’s occasionally nightmarish vision of Oz.
Directed by Walter Murch, Return to Oz doesn’t waste time trying to emulate the light-hearted spirit of its predecessor. Instead, it picks up Dorothy’s story in a far more unsettling place: back in Kansas, where she is struggling with sleepless nights and the lingering trauma of her trip to Oz. This is not the kindly, bucolic Kansas of Victor Fleming’s film, but a world weighed down by the muted hues of post-traumatic reality and the burgeoning era of industrialisation. The film’s opening scenes see Dorothy, played by a very young Fairuza Balk, on the verge of being subjected to electrotherapy to “cure” her of her Ozian delusions—a plot detail that alone sets a far darker tone for the movie.
The Oz Dorothy returns to after a thunderous squall and a desperate flight from the sanitorium is equally transformed. Gone are the gleaming bricks and cheerful Munchkins. Instead, Dorothy finds herself in a rundown version of the land she once knew. The Yellow Brick Road is cracked and broken, the Emerald City desolate and decaying and its inhabitants turned to stone in a nightmarish turn of events that ironically evokes the aesthetic of The Wiz. The Wheelers, the film’s peculiar villains with their unnervingly wheeled limbs, are emblematic of the new Oz—a strange, often disturbing landscape that feels almost post-apocalyptic. This Oz, full of danger and despair, is closer to Baum’s depictions in his novels, specifically The Marvelous Land of Oz and Ozma of Oz, on which the movie is largely based.
Unlike The Wizard of Oz, which took considerable liberties with Baum’s work to create a more whimsical and accessible narrative, Return to Oz’s fidelity brings with it a richness of imagination—characters like Tik-Tok, the mechanical man, and Jack Pumpkinhead are plucked straight from Baum’s pages, bringing new life and depth to Dorothy’s adventure. These characters are fascinating in their own right, but they are also marked by a sense of melancholy and fragility, in sharp contrast to the charmingly archetypal Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Lion of the earlier film. Where The Wizard of Oz is a joyful journey of self-discovery, Return to Oz is a darker exploration of identity and resilience.
The film’s villains are equally distinctive. Jean Marsh’s Princess Mombi, a wicked sorceress with a terrifying collection of interchangeable heads, is a character whose mere presence exudes a chilling menace, while Nicol Williamson’s Nome King is a brooding, stony figure who embodies the creeping corruption of Oz itself. These antagonists add to the eerie atmosphere of Return to Oz, making it very clear that this sequel is not designed to be a comforting revisit to a beloved fantasy land but rather a much more challenging—and unsettling—experience.
Upon its release, Return to Oz struggled to find its audience. Commercially, it was a disappointment, failing to connect with the generation who had grown up with the 1939 classic. Critics were divided; many were disoriented by its grim tone and lack of musical numbers, which made it feel almost like an anti-Wizard of Oz. What was once a tale of whimsical escape had become something darker, and audiences were unsure of how to react to this more dystopian Oz. As part of Disney’s experiment in darker content, Return To Oz was ahead of its time and its unique appeal lies in embracing the idea that fairy tales aren’t always safe, and sometimes journeys to magical lands can be perilous, even dangerous. The audience and critical confusion that resulted often buries the lede, which is that while dark and oft-times a little disturbing, the realisation of its vision is sensational. Characters like Jack Pumpkinhead, Gump and especially Tik-Tok are wonders of practical effects work. Tik-tok in particular sticks in the memory as the Wilford Brimley droid Star Wars never knew it needed. Little wonder, then, that it garnered an Oscar nomination for Best Visual Effects.
With time, Return to Oz has garnered a cult following—its stark differences from The Wizard of Oz have come to be celebrated rather than criticised. Its loyalty to Baum’s vision, its eerie beauty, and the commitment to exploring Dorothy’s psychological journey have given it a unique place in fantasy cinema. The film is a curious blend of children’s fantasy and psychological thriller, one that continues to resonate with those who find themselves drawn to its peculiar, almost surreal storytelling.
In this film, Oz is a place that reflects Dorothy’s fears and uncertainties—a land that, much like the real world, can be just as full of danger as it is wonder. This is where Return to Oz finds its power: it challenges the notion of a perfect fantasy world, instead giving us a more honest, and in some ways more hopeful, portrayal of what it means to confront adversity. It’s a vision of Oz that asks more from its audience but, in turn, offers a deeper, if occasionally unsettling, reward.
Return to Oz may never enjoy the same universal adoration as The Wizard of Oz, but it has earned its place as a brave, intriguing, and hauntingly imaginative continuation of Dorothy’s story. It’s a film that dared to reimagine Oz as a place of both light and shadow, a land where every step on the Yellow Brick Road is fraught with peril but also possibility. And perhaps that’s why, even today, it retains a small but devoted audience who find solace and fascination in Dorothy’s darker journey through a broken yet still magical Oz.
