I Spent the Weekend ‘Glicked’ing in NYC

When Greta Gerwig’s clever dressing-down of the patriarchy, Barbie, and Christopher Nolan’s affecting atomic bomb epic, Oppenheimer, hit theaters in July 2023, both Oscar-winning films received a lot more than the meme treatment. Their collective yet singular appeal managed to do what so few other films can pull off: in short, a cultural phenomenon now known as “Barbenheimer.” Since then, audiences have developed an appetite for a similar cinematic event.

It arrived this past weekend with the same-day release of two bet-worthy blockbusters, Wicked and Gladiator II. With “Barbenheimer,” theaters around the world teemed with fedora hats and fuchsia cowgirl-core; box office numbers were unprecedented. Together, the films raked in a whopping $235 million (Barbie with $155 million, Oppenheimer with $80.5 million) that first weekend alone. There seemed little doubt that “Glicked,” as it’s now known, would set the stage for the same spectacle. 

Frankly, even the PR rollout of both films was reminiscent of “Barbenheimer.” Between the auspicious avoidance of a certain on-set romance to the finger-hold felt around the world, Wicked was preceded by one of the most exhaustive, inescapable (and, if you’re me, eye-roll-inducing) press cycles in recent memory. And brand collaborations — from Target to Lush to Voluspa — ensured that not only were fans shelling out at the box office, but they were tempted to every time they used the internet. Similarly, Barbie stole early attention with a stacked cast, secretive plot, and a series of paparazzi photos that showed the film’s stars rollerblading in Venice Beach — and still managed to hold everyone captive until the film premiered over one year later. For an entire month preceding its release, it seemed Margot Robbie was everywhere looking every bit an exact replica of Barbie’s every era. By contrast, Oppenheimer, coasted on the promise of prolonged nudity and award-winning performances. It kind of delivered on both. As for Gladiator II…well, not only is it the sequel to a beloved film, but it’s comprised of at least three of the Internet’s boyfriends brutalizing each other. For many, that’s more than enough.

Would it be for me? Or might I actually prefer the political thriller disguised as a musical about two girlies — one “good” and the other green — that may or may not be a little gay? And what of everyone else? I spent the better part of my weekend at my local cinema in Manhattan in pursuit of the answers…and perhaps a $30.95 souvenir cup.

Here’s what I found:

Thursday

6:45 p.m.: Less than 24 hours ago I learned there was a screening of Gladiator II exclusively for members of the Screen Actors Guild and Writer’s Guild of America. Because the show was followed by a Q&A with Paul Mescal, Denzel Washington, and other cast members, I RSVPed immediately. Now I’m standing in line with a bunch of surly actors and writers soaked from the rain. Seats are limited. Who will triumph?

8:00 p.m.: Me. When given the opportunity to sit mere feet from the subject of much of my saved folder on TikTok, I don’t need a sword or a shield. I’m throwing bows all the way to the first three rows.

8:30 p.m.: Well, we’re thirty minutes in and I’ve already seen pretty much everything I need to. A topless Mescal and Pedro Pascal in a slutty pleated skirt. I maintain that there should be some gladiator-on-gladiator kissing — you know, for historical accuracy. Had there been, I would have become the Steve Kornacki of silver screen thirst traps: Calling it now, I’m slipping right off this AMC plush rocker.

10:00 p.m.: When the theater let out a collective gasp as freaky emperor #1 got beheaded then laughed hysterically when Washington turned the decapitated head around to meet the eyes of the entire senate, I couldn’t help but wonder: Aren’t movie theaters modern-day coliseums?

10:38 p.m.: The Q&A begins. It’s an intimate theater and I managed to get an aisle seat three rows from the makeshift stage, so naturally, my dismal eyesight and delusions indicate that both Mescal and Washington are looking at me. Mescal is asked about the film’s fight scenes and jokes that six fight scenes were cut from Aftersun. Suddenly, I’m that meme of Zendaya laughing too hard at Tom Holland. As if to one-up him, Washington quotes Nelson Mandela and I have to breathe into an empty popcorn bag. I’ve never had men fight over me this way before!

11:02 p.m.: The conversation ends and to my surprise, Washington exits the theater using my aisle. Instead of beelining toward me, he takes the hands of an elderly woman sitting directly behind me and plants a tender kiss on each of her cheeks. “I can’t believe he noticed me…” she says in disbelief afterward. Behind my fake smile, I’m absolutely seething.

12:05 p.m.: After some deliberation, I decide the movie is just fine. Everyone looked hot and the fight scenes were cool. Despite the above, I was occasionally bored. Sorry! The Roman Empire is not my Roman Empire. Thumbs down.

Friday

11:04 a.m.: W-Day has arrived. I bought my ticket three days prior and even then, the only show that wasn’t sold out or wouldn’t cause a migraine from staring up at a screen was Friday at noon. Off we go.

11:59 p.m.: I arrive later than I planned = and hold the door open for a woman in head-to-toe Glinda drag who’s struggling to balance multiple slushes and her plastic wand. She says thank you, but personally, I think my act of kindness entitles me to a new pair of shoes.

12:06 p.m.: Because last night’s dinner was popcorn, I stopped at Zucker’s for a bagel to squirrel into the theater. Have you ever tried to spread schmear on a bagel in the dark? Well, it’s a humbling experience…and during a preview for the Minecraft movie? I can’t find the words.

12:30 p.m.: I would like to sincerely apologize to every critic whom I rolled my eyes at when they said that even Wicked‘s first five minutes are a marvel. If you thought layering cream cheese on a bagel in the dark was hard, eating it while weeping hysterically would put some of you in an early grave. Innumerable exhaustive explanations of the double and triple meanings within “No One Mourns the Wicked” have since flooded my TikTok For You page. I’ve watched every single one.

12:51 p.m.: When Nessarose meets Boq’s eyes for the first time, I horrifyingly realize that I’m grinning as wide as she is at the screen. Could I be…susceptible to the charms of Ethan Slater? I fear, I am. Fuck.

1:00 p.m.: No one is singing along, but people are clapping after every single number as if we’re actually watching Wicked on Broadway. I wonder if there’s anyone here potentially seeing this musical for the first time. This thought makes me cry again.

1:19 p.m.: “I would do anything for you,” Boq tells Galinda (she hasn’t dropped the “Ga” yet). Like, implode your entire family?

2:00 p.m.: It’s Kristin Chenoweth and the wickedly talented Adele Dazeem!

2:59 p.m.: I’m hard-pressed to recall a time in which I’ve seen a theater so inconsolable. To my left, a twenty-something man sitting alone stares at the credits and sniffs. To my right, a pair of high school-age kids cling to each other. 

3:01 p.m.: “I’m a journalist, would you be up for talking to me about Wicked?” I ask two people in the lobby. They’re still collecting themselves, so, no. My third try is more successful. Darius, a twenty-something took the day off from his marketing job to see Wicked with his friends. I notice he’s wearing a pink button-up beneath a green sweater and ask if he identifies as both an Elphaba and Glinda. “Exactly,” he answers. “On the surface, I’m an Elphaba sun, but beneath, I’m a Glinda moon.” I wonder what he thinks I am. “I think you’re an Elphaba people mistake for a Glinda,” he replies. I’m half-tempted to offer my finger to see if Darius will take hold of it, but instead, I ask if he’ll be participating in “Glicked” and seeing Gladiator II. His answer: “Girl, does it look like I’m seeing Gladiator II?”

3:15 p.m.: I hang out in the lobby for a little longer to talk to a few more people. There’s a couple in matching bubblegum pink velour tracksuits, a gaggle of teenagers too cool to commit to the theme, and most heartwarmingly, a father and his tiny daughter who wear a green windbreaker and a pink sweater, respectively. Will any of them be seeing Gladiator II? They all offer similar responses to Darius, except for the father: “Maybe I’ll take mom,” he tells his daughter.

There is not one person dressed as a Roman.

Saturday

1:30 p.m: Because Wicked is — once again — sold out save for the break-your-neck seats and I don’t have much desire to see Joseph Quinn beheaded again until Gladiator II is streaming, I figure I’ll do another vibe check at the theater and perhaps see a Glicked palate cleanser: Heretic.

1:36 p.m.: I spot a woman in green body paint walking into the bathroom.

1:42 p.m.: In line for popcorn, I meet two Wicked-bound best friends. One wears emerald eyeshadow, and the other — of course — dons pink. They tell me they became fast friends when they were both hired at Sephora. Did they bond over Wicked? Does one identify as one character or another? Nope. In fact, before this weekend, neither of them had ever engaged with the story at all. Their names? Aaliyah (pink eyeshadow) and, like the melon liqueur, Midori (green eyeshadow). Are they seeing Gladiator II? Again, no.

2:01 p.m.: I still have yet to see a Roman, but I do spot two thirty-something guys nose-to-glass with the display case of Gladiator II costumes. In it, there are Mescal’s armor plates and Washington’s robes. Surely, they’d seen the movie. What did they think? “Not as good as the original, but I liked it,” one answered. Are they seeing Wicked? They answered me like I was holding Joseph Quinn’s decapitated head.

4:05 p.m.: Still, no Roman. And I could easily get into the next Gladiator II showing.

Sunday

8:oo a.m.: After being at a birthday party the night before where much of the space was held solely for conversations about Wicked, I want to see it again. I check the times. The only show with viable seats available is at 8:30 a.m. and even that is nearly full. Who the hell is seeing a movie before 9 a.m. on a Sunday?

10:02 a.m.: Over the phone, my mother — who saw Wicked the night before — has news to share: Jonathan Bailey has delivered her from post-menopausal asexuality. In her words: “He makes you tingle down there, I’m telling you.” My dad — who happily forwent a Gladiator II screening — concurred in the way only a heterosexual man can: “He’s very talented.”

2:32 p.m.: I’m still on such a Wicked high that when I spot a young girl in pink-tinted glasses and a matching beanie at the bus stop I ask if she saw it this weekend. Without even turning to look at me, she deadpans: “No.”

3:00 p.m.: *adds Wicked tickets to cart for next week*

Did “Glicked” live up to “Barbenheimer”? Well, sort of. According to ABC, Wicked garnered an estimated $114 million in its domestic opening alone. Meanwhile, Gladiator II pulled in an estimated $55.5 million in the U.S. The numbers are spectacular, to be sure. Still, they’re quite obviously nowhere near Barbenheimer. And neither were the theaters-goers.

In fact, in my experience, it seemed there was a lot more enthusiasm among the Emerald City enthusiasts than, well, the Coliseum sickos. After seeing both films, I’m afraid I’m not in any position to argue. As someone who preferred Oppenheimer to Barbie by a yellow brick road mile, I was shocked to find that I side squarely with the Ozians. When it comes to Gladiator II, not even the sight of Paul Mescal’s thigh meat could move me toward a second watch. My pulse is no longer rushing. What is this feeling?