Your Souvenir Guide

Ah, but I have been posting about Disney.

I've posted a number of Disney-related pieces over the past few weeks. It's only that none have them have been posted here, where a Disney fan might have read them (or might not have, judging by my stats). Today in The Spellout, my Seattle-based bargain entertainment bl-g, I have a short review of "Walt & El Grupo," Ted Thomas' documentary film of Walt Disney's 1941 goodwill trip to Argentina, Brazil and Chile. Yesterday in Monkey Goggles -- a literary site from Archie McPhee, the novelties company that brought you the Yodelling Pickle and the Fuzzy Pink Skull (for girls!) -- I wrote about "Captain EO," and why I think we'll never see it in a Disney theme park again. Also in Monkey Goggles: I reviewed the "Walt Disney and the 1964 World's Fair" CD set, cracked wise about Disney's acquistion of Marvel, and wrote an homage to the late, great ABC Family show "The Middleman." Collect all five!

Ten things Disney could have done to geek up without buying Marvel

By now we've all heard that Disney is buying Marvel Entertainment, home to two dozen popular superhero characters and three thousand near-anonymous dregs. My Facebook friends list is awash in the blood of comic book geeks slitting their wrists in anticipation of the inevitable Wolverine/Bambi team-up.

Here's what I think will happen to Marvel's properties under Disney's cape: next to nothing.

To my mind, the purchase of Marvel is one of the few missteps the Mouse has made under Bob Iger's reign. Disney isn't getting a hell of a lot for its money. The theme park rights to the characters will continue to be held by Universal. And the movie properties that Disney could use to keep Bruckheimer on the lot -- "Spider-Man," "X-Men," "Fantastic Four," "Hulk," "Iron Man" -- will remain the properties of Sony, Fox and Paramount for the forseeable future. (According to Variety, Fox's deal allows them to keep the film rights to "Fantastic," "X-Men," "Daredevil" and "Silver Surfer" in perpetuity, just as long as they keep making the films. For Disney's purposes, that means forever.)

Buying Marvel was an audacious move on Disney's part -- if you can't lure the Comic Con geeks to your tweenaged-girl fairyland, just buy 'em. But it may not have been the right one. Superhero films are big-money gambles -- you can't make one for under $150 million and if it doesn't make half that money back in its opening weekend, you won't see profit for years, if at all. And Disney doesn't have the big names to play with -- I mean, they may be able to develop a "Nomad" franchise or get the publishing side to start up an "Incredibles" title, but I think that's it and that's all. Four billion dollars spent to wait out contracts and to see if Avi Arad and Jerry Bruckheimer will duke it out in Thunderdome.

I can think of ten ways off the top of my head that Disney could have spent that money to win tweenaged boys and geeks -- ways that build on existing assets. Maybe I'm right; I'm probably not. Still, you can't deny that these things would make you happy:

1. Remake "Condorman" with Sam Rockwell or Patton Oswalt. Only, y'know, better than the first time.

2. Revisit the "Oz" books. The two-decade-old "Return to Oz" is only just beginning to find its cult audience. Give the stories to Henson's crew, to Tim Burton or to your own animators, front them $150 million and let 'em rip.

3. Lock down two more "Tron" films now. You're going to have a "Matrix"-sized hit with "Tron: Legacy," and probably a "Rebooted" and "Revelations"-sized critical and commercial dropoff with the sequels -- but they will still make you a lot of money if you move fast.

4. Own your steampunk heritage. "20,000 Leagues!" "Island at the Top of the World!" "Atlantis!" Fast-track these reboots and remakes while the goth kids are still wearing top hats and rust-colored leggings.

5. Put a billion into updating f--king EPCOT, already. Fill it with snazzy hi-tech shtuff that will appeal to Wired's readership. Every geek kid has geek parents that will fly halfway around the world to see the world of tomorrow.

6. Give Javier Grillo-Marxuach a deal and let him do something wonderful. You worked with him on "The Middleman," a series that is now finding its audience on DVD. By the time he gets around to making a nice, cheap Middle-movie, the demand for it should be strong.

7. Bring back "Duck Tales." Hew closer to the Carl Barks stories and cast Billy Connolly as the voice of Scrooge. I don't know if that'll bring the tween boys to the yard, but also, I don't care. Bringing back "Duck Tales" is something Disney should already have done.

8. Make a movie based on "Split Second," the car-chase video game you're working up for the XBox 360.

9. The Disney Princesses: Teach them kung-fu and arm them with wrist-holstered blades and pistols.

10. You've got Nathan Fillion and Morena Baccarin on the lot working on "Castle" and "V" respectively. Marvel favorite Joss Whedon has worked with Disney on "Atlantis" and "Toy Story." Do the math.

'This is our planet/you're one of us.'

I did not know him. One could argue that his own family didn't know him. But there are two ways in which I could begin to understand Michael Jackson, if I were to put my mind to it. Like me, Jackson was raised a Jehovah's Witness, and like me he rejected that faith when he realized that there was a deeper well of art and imagination that the Witnesses wouldn't ever allow him to touch. And like me, he loved Disneyland.

I was there on the day he moved in. Even then, my friends and I had no difficulties in making Michael Jackson the butt of jokes -- crude stories that placed him in sexual congress with everything from Emmanuel Lewis to Bubbles The Chimp. Even then, we knew that Jackson's world had gone sideways, and that there were things about him that we probably didn't want to know. But none of that prevented us from showing up at Disneyland late on the night of September 20, 1986, hitting up the Main Street Candy Palace for a bag of sour balls ("because long lines mean sour balls," said one of my friends), and getting into the ninety-minute queue for Captain EO.

We cracked wise about Michael Jackson as the line rolled up Main Street, past the building that would become Star Tours ("Get ready for the ULTIMATE THRILL EXPERIENCE!") and into the Magic Eye Theater, recently converted from the Space Mountain Stage. We talked shit about Michael Jackson even as we put on our 3-D glasses and the Magic Eye Theater darkened to an enveloping canvas of stars. We snickered nervously as Jackson entered the film and issued an unconvincing ultimatum ("We're goin' in").

And then, suddenly, Michael Jackson was dancing and singing, and every one of us was struck dumb. I was amazed, even giddy, as I watched the consummate performer do what he was put on this planet to do. He jackknifed his body in ways that made it seem like his voice and movements were coming through him, not from him. In a film packed with $16 million worth of special effects, he was the only one that was absolutely convincing. We were scarcely out of the theater for thirty seconds before we decided to get in line again.

In the wake of Michael Jackson's death, I find that I'm several distinct states of mind on the entertainer. There are those who mourn the last mega-star the music industry is likely to produce, and I understand that. There are those who say good riddance to bad rubbish, who say that we shouldn't mourn the loss of a man who mutilated his face out of self-loathing and conducted personal relationships whose intensity became a matter for the courts, and I understand those folks, as well. I sympathize with those who pitied him, those who worshipped him and even those who didn't get a flying fuck about him. Michael Jackson tried to be all things to all people, and his passing is the passing of an idea.

Today, though, I'm thinking of the overgrown kid who was raised in a prohibitive religion, dreamed of flying in a spaceship and battling aliens, and achieved a dream a bunch of us had as children: He wanted to live at Disneyland. For ten years, he did just that. And though I'm just likely to cringe at the thought of what he became as I am to marvel at the thought of what he once was, I'm glad he had me to his housewarming party.

'Disneyland for Haters'

A few weeks back I got a voice message from my father, who to my certain knowledge is the only person on this planet who bothers to check this bl-g from week to week. He commented on the last post -- my hat-tip to Pogo's luminous "Expialodocious" --  with a Wally Boag imitation: "Buenos dias, senor. Your entries are getting chorter and chorter."

And further and further between, yeah, I know. The thing is, the life of a freelance writer is one of constant, er, writing, and I've been focusing my energies on writing assignments that get me paid. Also -- and here I'll appropriate Al Lutz's tired refrain -- I only post entries here when there's something to post. In Lutz's case, that's when he has a tall-enough stack of third-hand information, while I only make posts when I'm feeling it. I started this bl-g because I was missing Disneyland, and I thought that writing about the place would bring me closer to the Park.

I don't imagine I'm your only conduit to the Anaheim?Orlando/Burbank megalopolis, and there are plenty of other excellent Disney theme park bloggers out there to keep you current, from the Disney Blog crew to Those Darn Cats. If you're keen to read about Disneyland on a daily or weekly basis, visit them, along with the many fine sites listed in my sidebar. if you're keen on reading me every single day -- hey, stranger things have happened -- read The Spellout, my Seattle-based guide to keeping yourself entertained for $25 or less.

Having said all that, I didn't start this post to tell you that I'm too busy to write this post. I have been writing about Disneyland, just not here. The latest edition of the Las Vegas Weekly features a travel piece, "Disneyland for Haters," that I wrote in response to the many people I know who refuse to go to Disneyland for reasons either material ("too expensive") or ideological ("I hate the way Disney sanitizes fairy tales"). In the piece I make attempts to refute the more popular arguments against -- the cost issue, the crowd issue, the "I heard Disney's California Adventure sucks" issue -- and to get these Disneyland haters to drop their guard long enough to get a Dole Whip and a ride on "Pirates of the Caribbean." In my experience, that's all you need.

I wish the piece could have been longer. There's a strong chance that this idea -- a Disneyland guide for stuck-up hipster assholes with a core of pure nerd, like myself -- could expand into a full guidebook, if I ever manage to find the time. There's a bunch of stuff, including a novel that's going through first edit, queued up before it. But I wouldn't rule it out. There's a lot of Disneyland haters out there, and I'm never too busy to take one under arm, lead him to Dole Pineapple's fountain of Castalia, and make him drink.

Read "Disneyland for Haters" here.

"Never give. And done. Oh! Never be. This sings songs, us. Sings this."

Last year I posted a link to the work of Pogo (nee Nick Bertke), the Perth, Australia-based electronic music artist who sampled bits of dialogue from "Alice in Wonderland" and refashioned them into downtempo techno jams. He's done it again, this time with "Mary Poppins," and it's one of the most beguiling, hypnotic and frankly gorgeous pieces of techno I've heard. It puts me in mind of The Field, but with more charm and feeling. (That spoonful of sugar really does go a long, long way.) Download "Expialidocious" free here*, and when you're done, check out what he did with "The King and I."

EDITOR'S NOTE, JUNE 30, 2009: As of yesterday, "Expialodocious" is no longer available for download. I might suggest that Disney find a way to partner with him to get this music on iTunes, but I know better than to ask the Mouse to smile upon adaptive use.

Life Imitates Pixar

This photo was taken this morning in my Seattle neighborhood of Ballard. The house is real, and the balloons were added by a local PR firm promoting "Up." Many of them had popped by the time I took this photo, but you get the idea.

The house belonged to a local hero, the late Edith Macefield. The 86-year-old refused to sell her longtime home even as the offer topped $1 million, and stayed put as that grotesque commercial development went up around her.

Edith's life story is here, and is as bittersweet as Edith's life was long. And while I don't want to tell Disney its business, I think Edith's story would make a fantastic movie, too.

"Boys, this is Bob Benchley."

Once again, my good friend E invited me onto the Walt Disney Studios lot to have lunch at the studio commissary. I managed to take a few more shots before that conspicuous-tourist-with-shopping-bags feeling got the better of me. (I also paid a visit to the studio store.) I love both faces of the Disney Studio -- the original buildings and bungalows from Walt's time, which gives the Studios the feel of a homey state college campus, and the huge f---ing buildings from Eisner's time, which gives the Studios the feel of a southwestern gothic cathedral. The full set of images is here.

S. C. Jones draws the line at "Disneyland Week"

Here's a right pretty thing: My friend S.C. Jones, an illustrator with a distinctive line and a mind that more often than not strays into the bizarre, is creating a series of Disneyland illustrations in anticipation of a family trip to Anaheim. He's posting them in his Facebook group, "Sarcasm Nightly," here - a fresh one every day. Be sure to check out his other illustrations, as well - they honor subjects of equal social importance, from pandimensionality to Falco.

It's a small, small world of anecdotes

Here we go again. Bob Welch, a columnist with Eugene, Oregon's Register-Guard, writes:

A friend of mine once experienced the ultimate Disneyland fear: getting stuck for an hour on the Small World ride. The theme song repeated itself so many times that the guy was permanently traumatized regarding international relations.

This is only the most recent appearance of the most persistent of the urban myths associated with Disneyland. The "stuck on It's a Small World" story is the "call is coming from inside the house" of Disneyland horror stories, and it refuses to die. Every time a columnist or brick-wall standup comic needs a shorthand for "I went to Disneyland, but I swear to you I have a penis," this workhorse is put into service.

Frankly, I'm sick of hearing it. If you hate the repetitive song or are squinked out by the singing dolls, fine. And if you've been stuck in the backup of boats near the end of the ride for ten minutes or so, hey, welcome to the club. But enough with this "My friend/cousin/tax attorney was stuck on Small World for an hour" crap. I don't believe it ever happened. Generally speaking, Disney attractions are evacuated in the wake of a shutdown, and cast members mercifully shut off the music while they clear the ride.

I'll tell you what. If you have a video of a Small World breakdown that is longer than a half-hour in length - continuous footage, no edits - I want to see it. I will eat every last one of these words with rooster sauce on 'em if you produce the film. I've searched the living crutons 'n' fondue outta YouTube and have yet to find a "stuck" video longer than three minutes in length.

I would wager that many of you have been stuck on It's a Small World for up to 15 minutes. And I freely admit that those 15 minutes could seem like an hour. But surviving a real-time, one-hour breakdown? I should think that's a story you wouldn't waste it on your friend, the newspaper columnist who's stuck for a lede on his Disneyland story. That's a story for Guinness.

Where's the "Cat from Outer Space" reboot?

 

WALT DISNEY PICTURES

Disney delivered a one-two punch of fan service today. They cast the lead in the 150-million-dollar "Tron" reboot and announced a McG-helmed prequel to "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea." This is the geek equivalent of the Rapture. As I write these words, Harry Knowles is prostrate on the floor of his office with his venerated articles of Disney memorabilia, and he's speaking in tongues.

I am modestly excited for the "Tron" redux. Roger Ebert once suggested that remakes should be made of recent films that didn't quite meet expectations, and though "Tron" is close to thirty years old, I think it qualifies in that regard. It took years for Hollywood to catch up with "Tron's" breathtaking visual design, and longer still for the film to find an audience halfway conversant in the language of computers - so by that reckoning, "Tron's" time is now.

Director Joseph Kosinski needs only do three things to preserve the goodness of the original "Tron," and to improve upon it. He needs to cast Jeff Bridges, and he has. He needs to make the sequel look as good, if not better, than the original movie - and judging from the product reel on his website and the bootlegged trailer from last year's ComicCon, he's going to nail it. And most important, he needs an ear for dialogue, which the original film doesn't have.

It's this last element that has me concerned. If the "Narnia" films taught us anything, it's that Disney has no problem launching a submarine with screen doors.

That awkward segue brings us to "Captain Nemo." I've often wondered what a "20,000 Leagues" reboot would look like, but now that a prequel is actually in production I have to admit to a sinking feeling. Nemo's pre-story is a magnificent tragedy, which James Mason reveals in pieces over the course of the original film.

I am not what is called a civilized man, Professor. I have done with society for reasons that seem good to me.

What you fail to understand is the power of hate. It can fill the heart as surely as love can.

You call that murder? Well, I see murder, too. Not on those drowned faces out there, but on the faces of dead thousands! They are the assassins, the dealers in death. I am the avenger!

Here's a question: Do we really need to see Nemo's heart being broken in any detail? One of Nemo's defining qualities is his mystery - while he had no problem with destroying the warships that represented the death of his family and his original self, he didn't feel the need to sign his work, preferring to allow civilization to believe the destruction to be the work of some occult hand. Delving too deeply into that mystery in a prequel may not change the course of "20,000 Leagues," but it will surely change our approach to it - perhaps robbing the 1954 film of the very thing that gives it a soul.

And by the way: McG, if you're gonna make this thing, please have the decency to bill yourself as Joseph McGinty Nichol. McG isn't an auteur's name; it's a nom de cheeseburger.