Ears and loafing in Disneyland
Nobody could get close to Goofy that morning. The children, dragging their parents around the breakfast buffet at Disneyland Hotel, would spot him head-bopping his way through the crowd; then — shucks! — he’d be gone.
You wouldn’t think Goofy had that kind of animal magnetism. It’s usually Mickey who makes the kids’ eyes light up. We were there at Hong Kong Disneyland with our six-year-old daughter, one of those rites of passage I managed to avoid until I was 16, when I was already immune to its effects. Isobel, our daughter, had earlier run into Snow White and Mulan in the upstairs lobby. She’d had her photo ops, and now was stalking non-human characters in the breakfast buffet.
Seeing Goofy, Pluto, Donald and Daisy traipsing around an otherwise ordinary hotel buffet room is somewhat disconcerting. It reminded me of X-Men — all these mutants living and dwelling among humans. But it’s something you get used to in the Enchanted Kingdom.
Mickey strutted by in his coat and tails. I thought Mickey would elicit the most attention because he’s impeccably dressed. He bothers to put on formal attire, even for breakfast. But after hugging Pluto and Daisy, Mickey and Minnie, Isobel still hadn’t had her quality moment with Goofy, who had a way of ducking cameras not unlike Johnny Depp. I started thinking of the Disney characters as a ‘toon “Rat Pack” with Mickey, obviously, in the Sinatra/Chairman Of The Board role; Donald as the wiseacre, either Sammy Davis Jr. or Joey Bishop; and Pluto as Peter Lawford, clearly.
That left Goofy as Dean Martin, I suppose. We approached him one more time. My daughter mutely pushed me forward; she had become tongue-tied. Goofy was surrounded by what appeared to be goons, flunkies. One was a Chinese woman who barked, not unkindly, “Later, baby, later!” when I presented Isobel before His Goofiness. I noticed the goons were carrying a cake, and then it all made sense: Goofy was being shanghaied to a kid’s private birthday party somewhere at the buffet; all photo requests would have to wait. Goofy’s bodyguards trailed behind him, pushing through the crowd with the cake.
Goofy was the one that got away that morning.
As immersive experiences go, Disneyland ranks right up there with the best. Pass through the gates of the Enchanted Kingdom, and you’ll pretty much forget you’re on earth — at least until your daughter asks you to shell out P1,200 for an ice cream bar or P30,000 for a walking/talking Ariel doll. That brings it all back down to the material world.
I knew this trip would be a great chance for us to see the world through our daughters’ eyes, with all the wonder and abandonment of childhood; and so my wife and I did. But I couldn’t help simultaneously recording it through an adult’s eyes. Some of the Disney experience makes you snicker with ironic nostalgia, some of it elicits cynicism, some of it just makes you smile, and a lot of it makes you feel shock and awe at the military precision of the Disney Machine. This is a corporation, after all, that manages to work a representation of the iconic Mickey Mouse ears into almost every item at Hollywood Hotel and Disneyland Hotel — the two domiciles located near the Hong Kong theme park. Stare at the walls of the lobby long enough and you’ll spot the ears. Look down at the carpets, you’ll spot the ears. Check out the grillwork on the glass elevator, you’ll spot the ears. Even in the Chinese restaurant, look down at your vegetables: the sliced carrots are meticulously cut into the shape of rodent ears. Disney will not miss a single opportunity to remind you that this is one of the most-branded images on the planet earth. You can bet your ears on it.
Hong Kong Disneyland exists in a remarkable time warp. Political correctness skipped right over this place. March down Main Street USA and see a good old-fashioned cigar store Indian on the sidewalk. Except he’s dressed in a pimp cape and carrying what looks like a pimp’s walking stick. So, somehow, the place manages to convey a very dubious image of both Native Americans and pimps. It’s almost like they never saw that Seinfeld episode where Jerry tries to get rid of Kramer’s cigar store Indian because he’s trying to date a Native American. But the laughs come irony-free here at Disneyland; nobody gets it even if you try to explain.
One of the most famous attractions remains It’s A Small World, a truly enjoyable boat ride through Animatronic exhibits depicting small-scale peoples from a hundred or so different countries. Visitors here might just float by thinking that a) all Filipinos live in nipa huts and b) tarsiers routinely cling to every nearby tree. True, the American experience is also summed up, if memory serves, by a barbecue taking place next to the Statue of Liberty, which I’m sure is how most Americans do not spend their weekends. But cynicism aside, it’s a magical, colorful experience. Our daughter’s eyes lit up, and I held my snarkiness in check.
E.L. Doctorow once wrote (in The Book of Daniel) about how Disney managed to take everything dark and mysterious in Western folklore and fairy tales and turn it into a benign, precise marketing tool. (“The original Alice in Wonderland is a symbolic and surreal work by a benign deviate genius. Mark Twain was an atheist and a pornographer, and his great work, Huckleberry Finn, is a nightmare of confrontation with social reality. In this light it is possible to understand the aesthetics of [Disney’s] cartoon adaptations as totalitarian in nature.”) A bit heavy, but Doctorow could have had Hong Kong Disneyland in mind.
There is something about being inside Disneyland that seems to inspire rebellion, dissent, simple acts of subversion, at least in some of us. Watching the hotel TV, which seemed to show only The Disney Channel and associated wholesome fare, I couldn’t help wondering how many adults actually book themselves into these hotels (there were a lot of childless couples that weekend) just to get their freak on. There must be some folks who look upon Disneyland as a kinky theme-motel experience, a place to push the boundaries (wearing costumes, for example). But such thoughts are quickly pushed aside by the unrelenting perkiness of Disney Channel programming.
I do recall a trip to the Anaheim, California Disneyland long ago in which a visit to Space Mountain unearthed a curious fact: people apparently like to flash rude gestures at the camera that takes your picture during the ride’s ultimate plunge, when your face is supposed to be arranged into frozen expressions of shock and terror. This photo is then displayed for intended purchase by the consumer, to indicate how nakedly terrified they were on the ride. But many people have braved Space Mountain enough times to be prepared for that exact Kodak moment, and it’s not unusual for guys to flash a middle finger or women to flash a breast or two for the camera’s benefit. The curious thing is, Disney won’t let you purchase those photos. We tried this out at the Anaheim park (the middle finger part, not the bare breasts thing), and sure enough, our photos were not displayed among the rest at the ride’s exit. The photo guy just shook his head, saying those weren’t for sale. Apparently Disney does not want the image of Space Mountain (or any other ride in its theme park) sullied by such uncouth behavior. To be fair, the crowds at Hong Kong Disneyland seemed less interested in pushing the vulgarity envelope at Space Mountain; they seemed cooperatively terrified in the photos that were displayed.
Certainly the fireworks show is one of the most spectacular Disneyland experiences. Hong Kong, as you might expect, pulls out all the stops. There is something almost elegiac and sad about the fireworks show; it comes shortly after dusk fades, when all eyes are fastened on Sleeping Beauty Castle, the spires of which are illumined from behind in a battery of flashes, while blue and purple lights cascade across the front in orchestrated bursts. You feel a nostalgic sadness while watching this, perhaps in knowing that the park will be closing soon, and that crowds will be shuttling towards the exits, hotel buses and waiting trains to the city; but also, it seems, because you have been immersed in an experience that you thought your years of calloused living had made it impossible to enjoy. And now that chapter is about to close again.
