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That One Kick Heard Round the World
You know you've witnessed something special when a single high kick from Ariana Grande stops the internet dead in its tracks. Within hours of Wicked hitting theaters, that moment—Glinda's sudden burst of confidence during "What Is This Feeling?"—had been dissected, celebrated, and recreated by millions. But here's what most people missed while they were busy learning the move in their living rooms: that kick was never just about flexibility. It was a character choice. A declaration. The physical embodiment of Glinda finally owning her power, even if just for eight counts.
Christopher Scott, the choreographer tasked with bringing Jon M. Chu's vision to life, understood something that separates great musical theater choreography from forgettable stage filler: every movement should tell you something about who's moving. "Dance in film isn't decoration," he's said in interviews. "It's dialogue. It's plot. Sometimes it's the only honest thing happening on screen."
The Man Behind the Magic
Scott isn't new to this. He's been crafting movement for cameras for years—music videos, television, live performances—but Wicked presented a unique beast. The stage version had been locked in audiences' minds for two decades. The dances were beloved precisely because they were familiar. So how do you honor that legacy while making it feel urgent and new?
By rethinking what dance means in this context.
The "Dancing Through Life" sequence offers the clearest example of his philosophy in action. In the Broadway production, it's a whimsical romp with acrobatic flourishes and plenty of wink-wink energy. Scott's film version keeps the joy but adds layers. Watch Boq's hesitation before joining in. Watch Fiyero's reckless, almost defensive energy. Watch how the movement slowly corrupts as the night progresses. "No books were harmed in the making of this sequence," Scott joked in a Dance Magazine interview—and he meant it. Every piece of that routine was invented in the room, built from scratch to serve this specific story.
That's unusual. Movie musicals often lean heavily on existing stage choreography, adapting it rather than reimagining it. Scott refused that shortcut. He watched the original, respected it, and then asked: what would this look like if we built it for film from the ground up?
The Accessibility Problem (and How He Solved It)
Here's where Scott's background in commercial choreography becomes crucial. Musical theater has a fearsome reputation. The vocabulary can feel exclusionary—too Broadway, too trained, too "other." Scott's moves don't scream expertise; they invite participation.
The "What Is This Feeling?" ensemble work is technically demanding. Anyone who's tried to replicate those synchronized hand movements knows that. But the choreography also looks achievable. There's a physical logic to it. A grounded quality that says, "Hey, you could do this. Not well, maybe, but you could try." That accessibility matters. It transforms passive viewers into active participants.
And participation is exactly what happened.
When TikTok Became a Stage
The choreography's viral success on social media isn't accidental—it's designed. Scott and his team deliberately created moments that were "TikTok-able" without dumbing down the craft. Those isolations during "The Wicked Witch of the East" number? Perfect for close-up phone videos. The full-body commitment required for Glinda's kicks? Nothing gets views like ambitious physicality.
But here's what excites Scott most about this phenomenon: it brings musical theater to people who would never buy a Broadway ticket. A teenager in rural Ohio watching a dance breakdown on their phone isn't the typical Wicked audience. Yet now they understand, on some visceral level, what it takes to pull off that choreography. They've felt the burn in their quads trying to replicate it. They get it.
That's the democratizing power of short-form video applied to an art form that has always felt intimidatingly elite. Whether that translates to long-term engagement with musical theater as a whole remains to be seen—but the door is open wider than ever.
Why This Choreography Will Outlast the Hype
Trends fade. Viral moments get buried under the next viral moment. But good choreography endures because it does something social media can't: it tells a story that unfolds over two hours, across character arcs, through moments of failure and triumph that build meaning incrementally.
Scott's work on Wicked isn't just a collection of impressive moves. It's a narrative strategy executed in bodies and space. The way Elphaba's movement language shifts as she becomes more isolated. The way Glinda's "popular girl" choreography slowly becomes more vulnerable as the film progresses. By the time the curtain falls, the dancing has been doing emotional work that words couldn't quite capture.
That kind of choreography doesn't need to go viral to matter. It matters because it works—on the biggest screen, in the darkest theater, in the minds of anyone who ever sat in a seat and felt something shift during a perfectly timed turn.
The internet will move on to the next dance craze next week. But Wicked? That one has staying power.
