One of my favorite childhood memories is of the annual broadcast of “The Wizard of Oz.” It was usually shown on a Saturday night and our rich neighbors, the Clancys, who had two daughters the same age as my brother and me, always invited us over to watch it on their color TV. My mom would make a batch of popcorn, Mrs. Clancy made candied apples, my dad would buy soda in a variety of lurid colors, red, purple and green, and Mr. Clancy would drink himself into a stupor.
We were little kids when I first remember this tradition and the four of us would sit on the floor, wide eyed and terrified, trembling at the machinations of the Wicked Witch who, if truth be told, reminded us a lot of our neighbor, the Widow Pickle. Like the witch, Widow Pickle hated dogs and was, we believed, perfectly capable of harming little children — and their little dogs too.
Adding to the drama of the evening was little Cassie Clancy, who was decidedly unstable, and always wept hysterically when the witch put Toto into her bike’s basket, even though she knew how the story ende. Are you surprised that Cassie grew into a world class drama queen with a certain weakness for prescription pain killers?
I had not thought of, let alone watched, “The Wizard of Oz” for decades. But recently I was looking for our electric knife in a box of junk that I had never sorted after we moved last year and I found a DVD of the movie. I was going on a business trip to Seattle, so I popped the DVD into my briefcase, planning to watch it on my laptop on the long flight out West.
How perceptions change: now, watching the movie with my middle aged eyes, I realized that Dorothy was a manipulator with a sense of entitlement, the tin man was a pervert, the scarecrow was passive-aggressive and the lion would probably end up retiring to a condo in West Hollywood.
I was also surprised to discover that Toto, far from being a charming little companion pet, was an annoying little beast that needed both a short leash and a muzzle, as well as a good dose of obedience training. It occurred to me that if I were the lion I would have sued Dorothy and Auntie Em into the middle of next week after the cur bit me. And as for Auntie Em? Obviously one of those clueless parents who felt that her kid could do no wrong; Dorothy could have been spared a whole world of trouble if Auntie Em had just taught her that polite people don’t let their pets bother the neighbors.
Now I admit that my perception right now is somewhat warped because our neighbor has a horrid little dog that barks all night long; when I confronted our neighbor with this fact first she acted surprised, (“Really?”) and then said “I’ll see what I can do,” and then did — nothing. I admit I am not kindly disposed towards annoying little dogs or their inconsiderate owners right now.
Having said that, and you might think this odd, but I found myself rooting for the witch. I felt sorry for this middle aged woman who wanted nothing more than to live in peace with her cat. I could identify with her frustration that the quiet enjoyment of her home was constantly disrupted by the poorly trained dog of her rude neighbor and it seemed perfectly reasonable that she had the pint-sized Cujo impounded. My only question was why she waited so long. If she had just put a lock on her bike’s basket, there would be no movie, just a short story with a happy ending.