It is said if you play The Dark Side of the Moon alongside The Wizard of Oz, certain confluences appear. Donald Clarkeconducts an experiment to celebrate the classic film's enduring influence.
The Wizard of Oz, Hollywood's great meditation on how unfavourably the monochrome drabness of home compares with the delicious temptations of fantasy, camp and bad behaviour, is receiving yet another welcome re-release in cinemas this Christmas.
It is often argued that 1939 was the annus mirabilis for American cinema. That year saw the release of such classics as Stagecoach, Mr Smith Goes to Washington, Ninotchkaand Gone with the Wind. None - not even the Civil War epic - has exerted the same degree of influence on popular culture as has The Wizard of Oz.
MGM's film, to an even greater extent than Frank L Baum's source novel, features characters whose simplicity renders them suitable for endless re-interpretation. The great authorless text, juggled around between directors before being buffed into a classic by Victor Fleming, has been alluded to in countless songs, TV series and films.
You could write a book on the allusions to Oz in The Simpsons alone. When Homer adopts the persona of a boffin after happening upon Henry Kissinger's spectacles, he misstates Pythagoras's Theorem in a similar manner to the Scarecrow. In another episode, Mr Burns seeks to persuade tragically flightless monkeys to hunt down errant employees.
Matt Groening, creator of The Simpsons, exhibited his obsession with The Wizard of Ozeven more promiscuously while making his next show, Futurama. This tragically short-lived science-fiction comedy featured characters closely modelled on those in the film. Fry, the drippy 20th-century loser, is the Scarecrow. Bender, the frisky robot, is the Tin Man. Leela is Dorothy. The Professor is the Wizard. The writers even delivered an episode in which Leela has a fantasy where she and her friends mutate into their Oz counterparts.
In 1974, John Boorman put Sean Connery in a nappy and sent him forth into a future that carried traces of Oz. Zardoz was as odd as it sounds. Four years later, Diana Ross and Michael Jackson appeared in a tiresomely groovy version of the story entitled The Wiz. More recently, Wicked, a right-on musical prequel to the story, has colonised separate venues on Broadway and in London's West End. An image from The Wizard of Ozappears on the cover of ELO's album, Eldorado. Sir Elton John, who surely would not mind being described as a Friend of Dorothy, clearly had the route to Oz in mind with Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.
The oddest expression of The Wizard of Oz's continuing influence must surely be the strange composite entity known as "the Dark Side of the Rainbow". It is said that if you play Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of the Moon while watching the film, certain uncanny audiovisual confluences manifest themselves. The legend dates back to an early discussion group on the internet. In 1994, contributors to a Usernet message board began tabulating the various points at which the Floyd's music seems to echo action and dialogue in the film. Before long, 100 such connections had been made.
As we hear the words "balanced on the biggest wave", Dorothy begins tiptoeing along a precarious fence. When the Wicked Witch of the West and Glinda, her pious counterpart, confront one another, the line "and who knows which is which" booms out of the speakers. Brain Damage, a song about mental collapse, which contains the phrase "the lunatic is on the grass", begins just as the scarecrow launches into If I Only Had a Brain. Most impressive of all, the album's fading heartbeats sound just as Dorothy begins listening to the Tin Man's empty chest.
David Gilmour, the Floyd's genial guitarist, has expressed himself bemused by the story. "Some guy with too much time on his hands had this idea with combining Wizard of Oz with Dark Side of the Moon," he laughed in a recent interview.
So are the apparent associations between the album and the film just a manifestation of the human need to establish patterns where none exist? Does it result from the same instinct that brings us astrology, palm-reading and phrenology?
We decided to set up a counter-experiment featuring a different, randomly generated combination of album and film. It will be interesting to discover quite how comfortably Hex Enduction Hour, the classic 1982 album by Mancunian sour-pusses The Fall, will meld with Team America: World Police, Matt Stone and Trey Parker's mighty puppet drama.
Right away we have a spectacular success. The opening bars of The Classical churn along as the film's credits hurtle toward the viewer. Then we are shown a classic Parisian street scene: men in berets, children in stripy shirts, the Arc de Triomphe. Mark E Smith bellows aggressively. "This is the home of the vain!"
Two subsequent incidents appear to confirm the psychic bond between Hex and Team America. Listen as Gary Johnston ventures into the terrorist stronghold wearing a scraggy beard. "I had a beard which was weird," The Fall comment. Still not convinced? Observe the scene where Kim Jong Il tries to convince Hans Blix to step "a little to your left" and onto a trap-door concealing a shark-infested tank. At this point The Fall launch into the raucous tune Just Step Sideways. "Just step sideways from this world," Mark urges as the unfortunate weapons inspector elects to do just that.
All of which proves little else but, to paraphrase Dave Gilmour, that some of us have a little too much time on our hands. Be warned, though: if you do decide to go along to The Wizard of Oz this Christmas, watch out for Floyd fans wearing iPods.
• The Wizard of Oz is at the IFI, Dublin
