The entire shutout of Wicked: For Good by the Oscars this year is one of the most mystifying (and quietly telling) snubs of the entire awards season. Zero nominations. Best Original Song? Nope. Costume Design? Production Design? No and no. For what is meant to be the final film in arguably one of the most popular Broadway-to-movie franchises of the last decade—and one whose first film was met with multiple nominations and awards—it’s not just shocking, it’s a statement.
By Allan R. Ellenberger
On paper, the snub makes little sense. Wicked: For Good is a lavish, technically sophisticated studio musical with an enormous fan base, striking visual design, and craftsmanship that even its detractors largely acknowledged. Many critics who were cooler on the film’s emotional impact still singled out its costumes and physical environments as among the year’s most elaborate. So how does a production of this scale fail to place in even the Academy’s most craft-friendly categories—especially in a year where spectacle was not exactly discouraged?
The answer lies not in conspiracy, but in the way Oscar momentum works when taste, timing, and institutional psychology align against a film. The Academy didn’t collectively decide to “punish” Wicked: For Good. Instead, the film suffered the most dangerous fate in awards season: it failed to become any branch’s priority.
Buoyed by novelty—the first-time audiences had seen Oz realized at scale—the original Wicked rode into awards season with an impact its sequel could never quite match. Opening in a landscape where critics were more splintered and enthusiasm was tempered, Wicked: For Good faced an uphill battle. Coming up against movies that felt riskier, more personal or formally audacious, there was less urgency.
Why does this matter? Because Oscar nominations aren’t awarded based on some mystical bar of merit. Nominations are rankings. Every branch votes based on what they love, not what they respect. In that respect, apathy—not antagonism—is the death of a contender. While far from disastrous, the film’s reception cooled considerably from the first film. Some reviews applauded the return of the craftsmanship while critiquing the story substance and momentum of the back half. Others mentioned highs weren’t quite as high and the drama was more spread out. Big admission: These aren’t criticism that will bother the average moviegoer — but they’re deadly sentences when it comes to awards season, where these conversations gain momentum like snowballs rolling downhill.
That perception was compounded by the lingering skepticism surrounding the decision to split the stage musical into two films. While Universal defended the choice as creatively necessary, many Academy voters reportedly viewed it as an overextension. That sentiment doesn’t need to be unanimous to matter; it simply needs to exist often enough to drain passion. And once a film is seen as a continuation rather than an event, it has to fight twice as hard to justify its place on a nomination ballot.
Nowhere was that struggle more evident than in Best Original Song—the category many assumed would be Wicked: For Good’s safety net. Instead, it became one of the film’s weakest links. Several critics remarked that the new songs failed to embed themselves culturally in the way voters respond to. They weren’t broadly criticized, but they also didn’t feel indispensable. In a year where the Best Original Song field was unusually competitive—drawing from films across genres and tonal registers—being “solid” simply wasn’t enough.
This is an important distinction. The Academy’s music branch is often caricatured as pop-friendly or commercially minded, but its voting history tells a different story.
Songs that win nominations tend to announce themselves as emotionally essential or narratively unavoidable. When a musical’s new material is perceived as functional rather than revelatory, voters move on quickly. Wicked: For Good didn’t fail here because it lacked effort—it failed because it didn’t dominate the conversation.
The same dynamic played out in Costume Design, where outrage among fans was perhaps loudest. How, many asked, could a film so synonymous with fabric, silhouette, and fantasy be passed over—especially when a science-fiction epic like Avatar: Fire and Ash made the cut?
The answer, uncomfortable as it may be, is that the Costume Design branch doesn’t reward abundance; it rewards distinction. Avatar offered a specific, newly articulated visual language—one that voters could easily point to as an advancement or expansion of the craft. Wicked: For Good, by contrast, was seen by some as extending an aesthetic that had already been honored. Still beautiful, still meticulous—but not surprising.
If Oscar voters have one Pavlovian reflex, it's hatred of repetition. If you win with a look, you better iterate on that look in a way that feels revelatory. Many in the branch simply didn't think Wicked: For Good got there. This wasn't about being snobs; it was whispering sports fandom.
Production Design followed a similar path. This year’s nominees reflected a clear appetite for authored worlds—films where the physical environment wasn’t merely impressive, but central to the storytelling identity. Period reconstructions, radical reinterpretations, tactile sets that became characters in their own right. Against that field, Oz—however grand—may have felt too familiar, too safely executed, too expected.
There’s also the issue of digital perception. Several critics noted that the sequel leaned more heavily on virtual environments than the first film. Whether that perception is fully accurate is almost beside the point; awards voting is driven by impression as much as reality. When production design feels less “physical” in the cultural imagination, voters often respond accordingly—even if the work itself is formidable.
Add to this the psychology of sequels in Oscar culture. The Academy nominates sequels all the time—but rarely as acts of completion. Part twos are often judged against the memory of part ones, and when the earlier chapter already received accolades, voters instinctively look elsewhere. The unspoken question becomes: What is new here? What is essential now?
For Wicked: For Good, the answers weren’t loud enough.
This is where the idea that “every branch agreed” becomes misleading. There was no unified verdict, no coordinated dismissal. Each branch voted independently, based on its own priorities and shortlist mechanisms. In several categories, films must survive preliminary rounds before nominations even occur. Wicked: For Good didn’t fail because it was rejected—it failed because it never emerged as a top-tier choice in any one pocket of the Academy.
Campaigning likely played a role as well. Awards seasons are finite, and studios make strategic decisions about where to apply pressure. With multiple contenders in play, enthusiasm can thin. If screenings feel obligatory rather than electric, if the narrative becomes “respectable but stalled,” the nomination ballot is where that quiet disengagement shows up.
But frustrating about this shutout is that Wicked: For Good wasn't bad. It wasn't ugly. It wasn't cynical or corporate. It was just simply released at the wrong time with the wrong story with the wrong expectations. There have been plenty of those movies in Oscar history. Movies that fall into that passion territory, movies we appreciate but don't love, remember but don't reward.
It's particularly painful to think about from a purist perspective. Among other things, the Academy is supposed to honor achievements in craft. When something that so obviously showcased blockbuster filmmaking, costume design, and musical prowess gets completely wiped from contention, you have to wonder what that says about their priorities.
But Oscar ballots have never been morality plays. They're frozen markers of taste, exhaustion, style and momentum. And this year, it seemed like the Academy was whispering something sternly: that moving forward, however shiny, has to earn its keep justifying existence.
Ironically, the shutout may secure Wicked: For Good a longer afterlife than a single nomination would have. It transforms the film into a grievance, a reference point, a “how did this happen?” moment that will be revisited whenever Oscar blind spots are discussed. History is often kinder than awards bodies—and audiences, unlike voters, don’t forget what moved them simply because it failed to place.
The Academy didn’t reject Oz out of malice. It moved past it out of restlessness. And that distinction—subtle but decisive—is what ultimately explains why Wicked: For Good, against all expectations, found itself standing outside the gates.
If this review sparked your interest, I’d love to hear your take—leave a comment and share it with others who enjoy thoughtful criticism.
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I refused to see either film. I loved the show on stage, but when they made it into TWO films, I balked. Forcing me to see two films made from one great show, I said no. I felt that was too obviously a money grab.
Thanks for sharing, Steve. I'm sure many feel the same way.