Just a wide-ranging rumination mostly on Disney World

which I don’t think is universally the happiest place on Earth

I’m looking forward to the new Haunted Mansion movie. Odd coincidence: when Jay checked out the new trailer today he immediately recognized an image. The Oldest Tavern in America, or something like that, which is in New Orleans. And today that same image popped up in my “memories,” even down to the angle of the shot. We stayed across the street from it on one of our trips over there. (It’s one of those places everyone should visit at least once if they can, for the Bananas Foster at The Court of Two Sisters if nothing else. As a huge Anne Rice and Preston & Child fan, it’s happy for me and oddly familiar, so good are they at evoking it.)

The movie does look good and creepy and fun. I’m not a big fan of horror films, but I am an enormous fan of the Haunted Mansion ride. I remember, when I was very young, maybe 6, I had been on it many times but that was the first time it scared me. It clicked. I cried throughout, terrified, particularly at the enormous neon-in-blacklight spiders. But once we got off, I thought about it, and heard what other people were saying about it, and I decided to be brave. I insisted on riding again. I loved it, though I did close my eyes at the spiders. I’m still deeply creeped out by the stretching elevator, and the real screams at the hanging figure, because I am very suggestable. (Which is why I can’t do things like Bug’s Life at Animal Kingdom. Fuck me. I was curled up in my seat, crying. In my mid-20’s. I bit someone – not a stranger, I’m not that demented – on the Tower of Terror. There are things I won’t do twice. And no one wants me to.) The cast members working at the Haunted Mansion are really good at their jobs and totally add to the atmosphere. I imagine if I were working at Disney it’s where I’d want to be because they never crack a smile and I’m more of a curmudgeon than a chipper superconscientiousfriendlydisneyworldemployee – a joke from the original comedy spot on Pleasure Island that actually works. Sing it, go on, you want to. Fun, huh?

Disney World is not, contrary to the ads everyone likes to mock, necessarily the happiest place on earth; I’ve spent way too much time there in way too many stages of life to call it that. But it contains several of my “happy places.” First and foremost, the entrance to Main Street, Magic Kingdom. You enter under the big train station, past old-timey posters for the rides and shows. You emerge in a circle, and round the beautifully planted, seasonally appropriate middle, lean on the low cast-iron fence. You look down the length of the street to Cinderella’s Castle. There’s bustle and people every which way, stores across the way and lining the length of the street – to the right my favorite hat store. In front of it, in the street, is a balloon seller, and the smell and sound of popcorn wafts from the left where there’s a rolling stand, popping constantly. I stop there. I close my eyes. I stand there. I remember all the times I’ve stood there and who I’ve stood there with and I always tear up, as I am now. The dozens and dozens of times I’ve taken that first moment, breathed it all in, and felt everything loosen. Because for that one moment, life is timeless and suspended and it is magical to be that free and that connected at the same time.

Like anyone who’s been somewhere many times from childhood on, it builds upon itself, part of one’s personal mythology. It just so happens that for me that place is at Disney World.

That clear memory is the bonus of acting training, the irritating “coffee cup” exercise I was forced to do at the Strindberg Institute. Perfectly recalling your morning cup of coffee, being able to exactly reconstruct it and your first sip in your mind at demand, involving all the senses but far less so sight. I didn’t drink coffee at the time so I recalled a glass of orange juice, but the point is the same. I can go to that spot in Main Street anytime I want and feel my shoulders drop, stress drain away.

But that’s not what this post is actually about. It is rather the aspect of DW that is most magical to me and I think is to anyone in the theatrical world. No, not the pageants, parades, shows, games, and character appearances – though it is present there too – but the idea that the entire thing is a performance. From the design of the tiled floor in the lobby of The Grand Floridian, to the intricate model train set in front of the Germany pavilion at EPCOT, to the meerkat habitat at The Animal Kingdom, to the details engaging you through any ride line – like the graveyard puns in front of the Haunted Mansion, to the dude who gets the entire audience of the old Captain EO show to sing you happy birthday. That sense of the theatrical and pursuit of perfection is present in everything and everyone everywhere.

I’ve heard many people complain that DW is fake. That instead of going there you should visit national parks, and interesting cities, and foreign travel destinations. And my answer is: of course you should. Days spent staring dizzyingly down the Grand Canyon or out at the wilderness of the ocean, eating your way through Manhattan or Vegas, watching an afternoon misting rain from a pub in Ireland or looking up at the Parthenon lit up at night can be life-altering. But I like Disney World because it is artificial. It is the most immersive performance on earth. For a director, actor, producer, writer of theatre? That is a damn happy place.

Every last employee is a “cast member,” the office of hiring called “casting.” Everyone is in unique costumes, kept and cleaned on-site. Everywhere you look is an incredible, perfect, immaculate set. From the girl doing hair wraps on the Boardwalk, to the dancers and singers, to the Imagineers, gardeners, and janitors, the sheer amount of talent and skill present at all times is incredible. I have been what you could call backstage, to the underground passages that run all under the Magic Kingdom. They open up in through hidden doors at Space Mountain or the Magic Shop on Main Street. How else would the characters appear and disappear so smoothly? There is nothing quite like seeing Tweedle-Dee with his head under his arm, holding hands with his girlfriend, and smoking – something I’m sure he wasn’t supposed to do in costume. “Actors,” she says, with a sigh. Even off-stage is fascinating to me and in no way damaged the magic, because I am highly familiar with the difference between the real people sitting in the green room and who they become under stage lights.

Every nook and cranny is considered, a result of painstaking decision, design, and execution. Anywhere you look is perfected, from natural waterways and swamp grasses, to man-made lakes and rivers; from a fleur de lis design in grass and flowers on the slope leading up to the France pavilion, to shade trees almost everywhere. The horticulture alone is simply mind-blowing. The choices like dark red concrete that soaks up sun, rather than white concrete that reflects it back up at you, is further evidence of their providing the most comfortable experience possible. Look around. Find a fail in terms of theatre or creature comfort. Even plentiful, easily found, and – especially – large accessible bathrooms are thought of.

Inclusion. I’ve seen people far more disabled than me ride the Haunted Mansion – there are accommodations everywhere. I’ve used them. As accessibility goes, it doesn’t get much better. I’ve seen a man lay down his rug on the lawn in front of The Land pavilion at EPCOT, face east, and pray, utterly unmolested. I’ve seen every possible type of person there, getting along, watching and riding and laughing and eating together. I’ve heard dozens and dozens of languages and accents. I am, remember, not saying it is the happiest place on earth. It is not even a perfect place, but it is a good one. It tries. Does it try because the more welcoming it is the more money it makes? Of course. Money is always the prime mover.

But does it give satisfaction for the cash? That’s really the question. You know my answer.

Also: in Disney v de Santis, I think you know my answer there too, and not just because I’m a life-long Disney kid, but largely because I effing love inclusion and diversity. I don’t just think it’s important, I enjoy it. All those people, together, whoever they are, working and playing, make the experience what it is. Anyone making a concentrated effort to destroy that - and in consequence financially ruin his state - is despicable.

This is not a paid advertisement, certainly not a political one, and not even a recommendation. By all means, go to New Orleans. It’s just a reflection on what makes it the place I return to again and again. I am not confused about the corporate nature of it or why some people don’t buy in. But like theatre games with non-theatre kids, if you’re willing to suspend your adult dignity and just let it be what it is, it can be a revelation.