Say After Me: There’s No Movie Like ‘Oz’

So here we are, gathered in front of the TV, the entire family, which only happens for really big events, like Super Bowls or significant wars.

Only this occasion is something else entirely, “The Wizard of Oz,” a movie so old my wife and I saw it when we were kids, just like this, our families camped out around the TV with the lights down low.

“This is my all-time favorite movie,” my wife says wistfully as she pulls a blanket over herself on the couch. “Just look at those sets.”

So we look at those sets.

“Just look at the attention to detail,” she says.

So we look at the attention to detail.

“Shhhhh, here it comes,” she says.

“The song?” my lovely and patient older daughter asks.

“The song,” her mother says.

And Dorothy sings “Over the Rainbow,” which ranks right up there with “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” as the greatest song ever.

It is a song they’ll be singing 100 years from now, a song our grandchildren’s grandchildren will sing in the shower in the 22nd century. Which is not as far off as you might think.

“I love that song,” my wife says when it is over.

“She’s pretty,” says the little red-haired girl.

“Yeah, I think her name was Garland,” I say. “Judy Garland.”

“Never heard of her,” the little girl says.

We watch the rest of the movie in near silence, a tribute itself to this fine film, that it can silence a family like ours, a family that is never completely quiet.

Nearly 60 years after it was made, the film still seems fresh, the language current, the characters original. Even the special effects are seamless. All this from a movie that predates computers, multiplexes, perhaps even popcorn itself.

It’s hard to imagine how “The Wizard of Oz” might have been handled today.

Nothing out there now, including the finest Disney flicks, even comes close. They are either too childish or too adult, never right between, which is where “The Wizard of Oz” was.

“I have this script,” the screenwriter today would say as he pitched the project.

“What’s it about?” the producer would ask.

“A young girl who gets swept up by a tornado,” the writer would explain.

“Like ‘Twister’?” the producer would ask, his eyes brightening, his brain flashing “sequel, sequel, sequel.”

“No, nothing like ‘Twister,’ ” the screenwriter would say.

And the producer would take the script anyway, then give it to his wife to read, who would give it to her housekeeper to read.

“Pretty lame,” the housekeeper would report.

“Does it have special effects?” the producer would ask.

“Tons,” the housekeeper would say, prompting the producer to call a meeting with a studio exec that same day.

And the producer and studio exec would agree that it’s an OK script, but it needs a little work. Some edginess. Definitely more violence. Some brief nudity wouldn’t hurt.

“I see it as Oz noir,” a producer would say. “Dark. Creepy. Maybe Tarantino can direct.”

So they would order another round of mineral water and move on to casting this film, which is where a project like this becomes a true art form.

“I see Demi Moore as Dorothy,” the producer would say.

“Is Demi available?” the studio exec would ask.

“I’ve talked to Demi,” the producer would say. “She wants to see this happen.”

“That’s great,” the studio exec would say.

“But she sees Dorothy as a little less innocent,” the producer would say.

“I hate innocence,” the studio exec would say.

“Demi wants to play Dorothy as a buff biker chick. With lots of tattoos.”

“Would she be bald?” the studio exec would ask.

“Probably,” the producer would say.

And they would call for more mineral water, and maybe an assistant to take notes. Because this is looking more and more like a huge hit. Especially if they could get rid of all that innocence.

“We could get DiCaprio to play the Wizard,” the studio exec would say, his excitement growing.

“He and Dorothy could fall in love,” the producer would say. “Forget Kansas. They like Oz. They get married. They take a cruise.”

“Could the Munchkins all die?” the studio exec would ask. “At the end, I’m seeing some sort of Munchkin massacre.”

“Probably,” the producer would say.

And the rest, as they say, would be movie history.

* Chris Erskine’s column is published on Wednesdays. His e-mail address is chris.erskine@latimes.com.