So, here I am, fresh from a screening of Wicked: For Good, tissues still damp from Glinda’s final close-up—and my brain is already doing gymnastics about the 2026 Oscars. I’ve been a Glinda apologist since the first film turned her into a pink confection of comic timing, but this sequel? It’s basically The Glinda Show, and if the Academy doesn’t pull its head out of the bubble soon, we’re looking at a mistake so awkward it’ll make the “La La Land” envelope fiasco look like a paper cut.
Let’s rewind. Last year, Wicked: Part One swept in like a tornado, tying The Brutalist with 10 nominations but only grabbing two trophies—Costume and Production Design. The Academy had its usual “we don’t award half a story” noodle arms, and Ariana Grande’s scene-stealing comic Glinda got a nomination but no gold. Everyone nodded sagely: “Oh, they’re saving it for Part Two. She’ll be a lead then.” Flash forward to 2026, and I’m watching Glinda command every emotional beat—childhood flashbacks, guilt-ridden power plays, that devastating bubble-float moment—while Elphaba mostly broods and sings about gravity (she already defied it, what more do you want?). But somehow, Universal is still stuffing Ariana into the Best Supporting Actress category like she’s a bonus track. Honestly, it’s a glittery shove that feels less like strategy and more like denial.
You see, the moment For Good hits the screen, you realize: this is Glinda’s movie the way Part One was Elphaba’s. The first film gave Elphaba the childhood trauma, the outsider arc, the big “Defying Gravity” revelation. Here, Glinda gets the origin story. We see young Galinda (sorry, I still can’t call her that without smirking) wrestling with social expectations, we watch her unravel as the political machinery of Oz chews up her best friend. Cynthia Erivo is still magnificent, sure, but her Witch is now a fixed point—a moral compass that barely wavers. Glinda, meanwhile, shatters into a thousand complex shards, then glues herself back together with something darker than tulle and ambition. If that’s not a lead performance, I’ll eat a bucket of liquid eyeliner.
And yet, award pundits are marching in lockstep, keeping Erivo in lead and Grande in supporting, as if the film itself didn’t just scream otherwise. The narrative has curdled into a cozy little fairy tale: “Ariana Grande is the frontrunner for Supporting Actress, because she’s funny, and look, Jessie Buckley in Hamnet will run away with Lead anyway.” I get it—Buckley is a force of nature, and Erivo might split votes. But that’s not the point. The point is that the category placement is fundamentally broken. If Grande wins Supporting for a role that is, by any dramatic measure, a co-lead—heck, arguably the primary lead—then we’re celebrating a classification glitch, not a performance.
Remember the “make-up” win phenomenon? Zoe Saldaña finally got her Oscar last year for Emilia Pérez, and it felt like the Academy was patting itself on the back for finally noticing a blockbuster veteran. It was a perfect narrative counter to Grande’s breakout moment. Now history is threatening to rhyme, but with a cruel twist. Awarding Grande in 2026 for For Good would be like giving someone a lifetime achievement medal for a thriller when everyone actually loved their comedy pilot. The thing that made her Glinda pop in Part One—the pink-velvet narcissism, the fizzy physical comedy, the “toss-toss” of a hair flip that deserved its own sound effect—that’s not what drives For Good. In this sequel, she’s doing heavy-lifting drama, heartbreaking regret, the kind of close-up where a single tear feels like a monologue. It’s brilliant, but if the Academy is only now ready to reward her for it, they’d be rewarding the wrong half of the performance.
Let’s put it this way: if Grande wins Best Supporting Actress for For Good, the trophy should come with a sticky note: “We meant to give you this last year, but we got cold feet.” The Wicked movies were filmed back-to-back, so you can argue that both performances are one continuous whole. But they feel like two distinct dishes. Part One Glinda is a sparkling champagne flute; For Good Glinda is a dark, smoky whiskey that’s been sitting in a barrel of existential dread. The public fell in love with the pop. The Academy, allergic to rewarding comedic timing on first taste (see: Jim Carrey, forever robbed), now wants to toast the whiskey as if that was always the plan. It’s maddening.
And don’t even get me started on the other contenders. Teyana Taylor and Regina Hall are circling each other in One Battle After Another, probably thinking, “Great, we’ll cancel each other out.” Elle Fanning’s Sentimental Value buzz is fading faster than Glinda’s initial popularity after she actually opened her mouth. So the path for Grande in supporting is unnervingly clear. That doesn’t make it correct—it just makes it easy. The Academy, bless its vintage tuxedos, loves an easy story.
What should happen? Universal should have rolled the dice and campaigned Ariana Grande in Lead, while pushing Cynthia Erivo into Supporting (if not double-lead noms). In a just world, Glinda’s arc—from self-absorbed socialite to the reluctant Good Witch who learns goodness is a costume you wear until it chokes you—would be recognized as the spine of the entire two-part saga. But it’s too late; momentum has ossified. Grande is a “supporting” actress for a film that is blatantly her character’s opera. It’s like calling Elphaba a sidekick in Part One. Please.
So here I am, sitting in my seat long after credits rolled, imagining the awards night. The presenter opens the envelope: “And the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress goes to… Ariana Grande, Wicked: For Good.” The crowd cheers. Grande, gracious and beaming, delivers a speech that refers to her “incredible journey.” And somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m picturing the ghost of Part One’s comedy genius tapping a worried fingernail on my shoulder. “They finally got it,” she’ll whisper, “but they gave the prize to the wrong dress.” I’ll just close my eyes and hope the Academy’s next make-up mistake isn’t as costly. Maybe by 2027, they’ll have learned that categories aren’t candies to be reshuffled. But honestly? They’ll probably get it wrong again. And I’ll be here, with a bucket of popcorn and a thesaurus of sighed disappointments, waiting.
