Everyone should see “Wicked” once. That’s partially as it has become a touchstone for younger women who feel powerless or misunderstood, and partly as a result of it is the Incredible Hulk of musicals: loud, nearly by no means still, seldom subtle, irresistibly robust and very, very green.
I have now noticed it twice, and that’s when seams start to show. Winnie Holzman’s guide turns out extra clunky, with undeveloped helping characters behaving in ill-defined ways. The half-dozen anthems in Stephen Schwartz’s score — numbers where singers tip again their heads, point their hands at the sky and belt — strike the ear like hammers, although so much are rousingly effective. (The rating has one hauntingly beautiful song, “I’m Not That Girl,” which he’s smart sufficient to reprise.)
Gestures that were large on the first nationwide tour are now BIG on the second. Giggling has turn out to be whinnying in spots, and those that had been at all times Evil at the moment are Eeeeeevil, as if Austin Powers were visiting Oz. Perhaps the trustworthy audience (and “Wicked” undoubtedly has one) wishes more stimulation to succeed in the similar degree of pride as before.