Guy behind the curtain in wizard of oz
Back in the day, there was no streaming on demand, so you had to wait until it was shown on television. With few channels available, that usually meant the the movie came to TV about once a year. They bring it to the Wizard of Oz. He had previously promised that in return for the broomstick, he would grant them a ride home for Dorothy, a brain for the scarecrow, a heart for the Tin Man and courage for the Lion.
SEE VIDEO BY TOPIC: The Wizard of Oz Hanging Munchkin SceneContent:
- Wizard Of Oz Man Behind The Curtain GIFs
- Wizard of Oz (character)
- “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!”
- Frank Baum, the Man Behind the Curtain
- FAA’s NextGen: Just like the Little Man in ‘Wizard of Oz’
- Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!
- Undue Influence in Wizard of Oz: Don’t Look Behind the Curtain
Wizard Of Oz Man Behind The Curtain GIFs
We are not optimistic about this, but we think it might be a laugh. Neither of us are gamblers. We have both set ourselves a twenty dollar budget because we value our money and because we do not trust ourselves.
I have been driving by this casino in Chittenango, New York for almost two years. It is painted emerald green and has a wide yellow awning. I am hoping that, inside, the YBR will have a little bit of Oz-y magic to it. We were in communication for many years.
The thing my granddad loved most was The Wizard of Oz , and when I was a child he convinced me that the Land of Oz was real. In any given room, my grandfather would find the smartest, strangest child and put himself in league with them against the adults. He loved: handbuzzers, trick horses, fake vomit, squirting daisies, cowboy curses, knock-knock jokes, and scatological humor of all kinds.
Instead of simply handing out the ice creams, he gave us each a dollar, so we could feel the power of exchanging currency ourselves. I thought of him as a kind of wizard. This is not a metaphor. The thing my granddad, Ed Joyce, loved most was The Wizard of Oz , and when I was a child he perpetrated an obvious but persuasive prank upon my little sister and me in which he convinced us, methodically and across multiple media, that the Land of Oz was real.
Is it fair to call it a prank if he never hoped for a gotcha moment? Inside, there is nothing Oz-like about YBR at all. It looks like clipart of a casino. Worse, it has been so long since I last gambled that everything about how a casino works has changed. This is not the case at YBR.
At the info desk, we are given loyalty cards with our legal names on them. I put my card into a slot and try to load money onto it, only to discover it does nothing other than earn rewards points at a local gas station. The workers, it turns out, are called, I shit you not, munchkins.
My friend and I return to the digital slots, which it turns out are boring. You press a button to pledge your dollar amount, and the digital wheels spin. The analog slots are better. Their tumblers roll and glow: bar, cherries, dollar sign. Is it the hefty thunking of the machine that appeals, or is it that I have seen people win money this way in a movie? Or is it maybe that this machine has, not a button, but a handle?
I lose again. He was the son of a deeply charming military war hero and ex-con called Cap who, when his Arizona dude ranch went bust during the depression, took his family on the road. My grandfather spent many of the early years of his life living out of the family car as Cap joined the Civilian Conservation Corps and ran a wild west magazine. My grandfather often found himself parked at the library of whatever town they landed in, where he found his only friends: Dorothy and the Scarecrow and Tik-Tok and Polychrome and the whole cast of characters in L.
He told himself that someday, if he ever had any money, he would buy all the Oz books. The 13 originals written by Baum, and 26 further written by other authors in the series.
Ed Joyce went from being a child of the depression living out of a car to working in radio. He hosted a jazz program as Jazzman Joyce! When he moved into hard reporting, he was responsible for covering the story of Ted Kennedy at Chappaquiddick. Across these years and successes, he went about acquiring a complete set of the Oz books in first edition. He read them to his own children, and growing up he read them to my sister and me.
We all lived in the same small Connecticut town. There was nothing I loved more than these stories. The Oz readings were only briefly discontinued when my grandparents retired back west to a horse ranch in Santa Ynez, California. I was seven and my sister was four. Every day, after school, my sister and I checked the mailbox for a padded mailer with a cassette tape inside. An Oz chapter. My granddad included photocopies of the illustrations that went with the reading.
He set the scene at the beginning of the tapes—telling us where he was sitting and whether any of his dogs were around. Has he told the kids that Oz is real? But he will, when the time is right. Goodbye, wizard. There is one bit of tape that survives to this effect. In the recording, he receives a phone call, the line bleating stagily in the background. He apologizes for interrupting our reading. When my sister and I first heard this bit of tape we turned to each other and said nothing.
Not one fucking thing. Because to even repeat what we had heard would break the spell. It was possible to believe. Because my granddad did do magic tricks. He pulled scarves from his nose and guessed the color of dice in secret boxes and erased images from coloring books with flourishing gestures. With each trip to California, the illusion grew.
He took us to Figueroa Mountain and led us waist deep into a legitimate poppy field. He pretended he could talk to animals in Oz, animals talk and taught his own horse to nod and stamp responses to his questions—an old dude ranch trick learned from his father.
He hid gemstones around the garden, insinuating that the Nome King had left them there and would be very angry if we took his treasure. My granddad was the sort of man who was always pulling your leg while simultaneously doing real things too amazing to be believed, so where the truth might lie was hard to parse.
Back then, I think I knew I was supposed to believe… but only halfway, the way a good scene partner might. Instead, I believed it desperately, recklessly, as if asking too many questions might scare the fantasy away.
I had my reasons for wanting to believe that the world my grandfather was spinning for us was possible. I was a very ordinary girl who feared I might never become anything different, and in the Oz books even very ordinary girls from Kansas could be whisked away from chores and schoolwork to have adventures with robots and queens.
Back then, I made no distinction between believing in Oz and believing in an American Dreamish world where the poor son of an ex-con cowboy could rise through the ranks of American life. America would see something in you that no one else did and give you a chance at whatever marvelous future you aspired to! Oz was for everyone!
As an adult, the real world often disappoints me. I am a person who prefers to live in my head, in books and fantasies where everything shines slightly brighter than reality. The first cracks in the illusion came in the sixth grade, when we were asked to read a biography by a significant person. We were meant to come to school on Biography Day dressed as the subject of our chosen book and to report to the class about our lives in the first person, in character.
And yet, in a totally warped choice, I chose to appear at school that day dressed not as Garland, but as Dorothy. When the bell rang, my teacher suggested I play-act as Dorothy instead of Garland at the impending character brunch. I love fantasy, but I hate a lie, and even then I knew there was a difference between the two. That day in sixth grade, I was pretty sure which one I was dealing with.
I smelled a rat. Hi Grandad, I was Dorothy at school this week, I told him on our regular phone call. We all laughed. The movie sends a different message—because in the end, Dorothy wakes up. It was all a dream, her family tells her.
And yet here they are, Haley and Bolger and Lahr, with their gorgeous faces, now in the reality of black and white; they are dressed sensibly, the dirt of their work on their faces. They are still down on the farm. Oh no honey , their looks say, not us, we never got to go anywhere like that. I know that all these different kinds of students wound up in my classroom in no small part because they had bought into an American Dream that promised a college degree would open professional doors.
And maybe this was why my belief in the dream crashed and burned. It is easy enough to believe a dream for yourself, and quite another to speak it out loud to a room of students who trust you to tell them the truth.
These days, I cannot bring myself to sell my students any kind of American rhetorical goods which claim to be equally available to all of them. Like I am smelling a rat, and the rat is me. Chittenango is also the birthplace of L. Frank Baum. Had I read a biography of Baum, instead of a biography of Garland, back in sixth grade, I would have learned what I found out the morning before our casino journey, when I looked up his Chittenango connection. When Baum heard of the killing of Sitting Bull and the massacre at Wounded Knee, he wrote editorials calling for killing each and every last Native American.
From his Sitting Bull editorial:. The Whites, by law of conquest, by justice of civilization, are masters of the American continent, and the best safety of the frontier settlements will be secured by the total annihilation of the few remaining Indians.
Why not annihilation?
Wizard of Oz (character)
In the Wizard of Oz, you will recall, the loyal watchdog Toto think media for this brief item , pulls aside the curtain hiding the sham wizard, who is turning wheels and belching smoke from behind his phony throne. Our intrepid heros and heroine the American voters are for the moment stunned that their quest for salvation has been for nought. But the wizard placates the innocents with illusory symbols of their quest a diploma for brains, a medal for bravery and a watch for a heart , only to leave poor Dorothy without a way home.
Frank Baum. Unseen for most of the novel, he is the ruler of the Land of Oz and highly venerated by his subjects. Believing he is the only man capable of solving their problems, Dorothy and her friends travel to the Emerald City , the capital of Oz, to meet him. Oz is very reluctant to meet them, but eventually each is granted an audience, one by one. In each of these occasions, the Wizard appears in a different form, once as a giant head , once as a beautiful fairy , once as a ball of fire, and once as a horrible monster.
“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!”
We are not optimistic about this, but we think it might be a laugh. Neither of us are gamblers. We have both set ourselves a twenty dollar budget because we value our money and because we do not trust ourselves. I have been driving by this casino in Chittenango, New York for almost two years. It is painted emerald green and has a wide yellow awning. I am hoping that, inside, the YBR will have a little bit of Oz-y magic to it. We were in communication for many years. The thing my granddad loved most was The Wizard of Oz , and when I was a child he convinced me that the Land of Oz was real. In any given room, my grandfather would find the smartest, strangest child and put himself in league with them against the adults.
Frank Baum, the Man Behind the Curtain
Dorothy becomes a staunch believer in the Wizard before she even meets him; when she encounters the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion in turn, she convinces them that they, too, can have their every wish granted by the magical Oz. When Dorothy and her friends arrive at the Emerald City, the Wizard first puts them off, refusing to see them; when they insist on an audience, he uses intimidation and isolation, seeing each of them alone, and appearing as a giant ball of fire, a beautiful woman, a horrific monster, and a giant head to the travelers — when they compare notes they find nothing in common in their experiences. Like many con artists and manipulative groups, the Wizard assures the heroes that he can give them everything they wish, promising the Tin Man a heart, the Scarecrow a brain, courage for the Lion, and a way home for Dorothy. Although Dorothy and her friends never seem to see the Wizard as the manipulative predator he really is, those who practice healthy skepticism can learn from this American classic, and beware those who promise us our wishes, only to use us for their own ends. What do you think about this article?
Sharing the journey of rediscovering wholeness. Jamie Lynn Tatera is a mindfulness and self-compassion teacher who shares her experience, strength and hope in integrating mindfulness and self-compassion in her everyday life. RSS Feed.
FAA’s NextGen: Just like the Little Man in ‘Wizard of Oz’
Source: The Wizard of Oz. Speaker: The Wizard. If you were in Dorothy's shoes or should we say slippers?
When the National Museum of American History reopened last fall after an extensive renovation, ruby slippers danced up and down the National Mall. Posters displaying a holographic image of the sequined shoes from the MGM film The Wizard of Oz beckoned visitors into the redesigned repository. Reflecting on all the things that Oz introduced—the Yellow Brick Road, winged monkeys, Munchkins—can be like facing a list of words that Shakespeare invented. It seems incredible that one man injected all these concepts into our cultural consciousness. Schwartz Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.
Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!
Undue Influence in Wizard of Oz: Don’t Look Behind the Curtain