When I was a kid, I remember getting to watch the Wizard of Oz each year – I can’t remember which aunt’s house marked the annual occasion, but I can still feel the carpet on my elbows as I propped myself up, the excited butterflies that would come a-flutterin’ when the MGM lion would roar at the start of the film, and the brave face I would (un)successfully put on any time the witch would appear (all I can say is, she had some serious unresolved anger management issues).