Jade-faced and ominous, the wicked witch looked better with age.

Sort of like technological Botox.

For the 70th anniversary of “The Wizard of Oz,” digital masters cleaned up the movie to high-def form. Or what passes for that.

Don’t ask me how something with Technicolor origins gets refashioned for a Blu-Ray world. Cinematic transference proves confounding, and the technophiles in charge of this project had a job like the restorationists of Michelangelo’s David.

It takes nerve to tinker with a classic.

Actually, the high-definition “Wizard” that showed Wednesday night at the Hollywood Stadium 10 in St. Joseph lacked a little in visual clarity.

Sure, you could see in sharp relief Dorothy Gale’s tears on having to leave the Scarecrow. Sure, the orchard where the Tin Man rusted had apples of the most vivid red.

The yellow brick road showed lines of mortared depression, and the ruby slippers shone like a sequined Valentine.

But snobs of modern viewing applications might find the picture muddy, the effort unworthy. Satisfaction of some would be reserved until moviegoers could spot a blemish on Judy Garland’s youthful face.

That’s the 70th anniversary hook, of course. Newer and crisper sells ... most products, at least.

With “The Wizard of Oz,” though, the story sold everything from the beginning.

Oft-told and pleasingly old, the narrative speaks to home and hope. Aside from an occasional cyclone and a spiteful neighbor, life can grow tedious in the hinterlands of Kansas.

A concussion-induced dream might hint at flying spider monkeys, sky-writing crones and spark-throwing shoes, but the heart knows its own desires. A shabby bedroom will sometimes do.

People paid to see a movie they could recite along with the players. After a one-time-only showing on the big screen, the audience that neared capacity applauded.

Almost everyone to be applauded was dead. It didn’t matter.

People in the St. Joseph theater clapped to acknowledge their own joy.

When “The Wizard of Oz” premiered in 1939, the world existed in prelude of a global conflict. The war would end with advanced technology, bombs that did not exist when oppressors from Europe and attackers from Asia began their aggression.

The movie remains. So does the nuclear threat.

Last week, the United Nations hosted sessions in which world leaders strolled to a dais in various conditions of reconciliation, menace and comedy.

Libya’s Moammar Gadhafi landed in New York, a city with more than 75,000 hotel rooms, wanting to camp in Central Park. When he addressed fellow delegates, his speech outdistanced the 20-minute limit by roughly five times.

Conventions of clocks seldom worry despots.

The week ended with American, British and French leaders lining up against Iran for secretly manufacturing nuclear fuel.

No biggie, said Iran’s president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.

The world replied, “Yeah, we’d prefer loonies not mess with radioactive stuff.”

Years advance and fears persist, from wicked witches to atomic annihilation. In high-def or the blur of events, people never really catch up to what frightens them.

“Over The Rainbow” is only a song sung in a barnyard. Dorothy wanted back in this world. The rest of us have no choice.

Ken Newton’s column runs

on Sunday and Tuesday.