Chris Mitchell

by Cast Member Confidential: A Disneyfied Memoir

  I hated the fact that I had fallen for her. Orville had warned me not to get involved. He had told me stories about people like Wigger who shoplifted their personalities from the lovable Disney characters. The day Calico and I went skating, she had said something that sounded like a line from The Little Mermaid. And it probably was. In retrospect, it was clear as Cuban rum: there was no Calico. In her place was only a dull, ordinary girl who took on the personalities of Disney characters the way Silly Putty copied a comic strip from a newspaper. Only she did it in serial succession, one character at a time. As Ariel, she was soft and dreamy, a wedding planner who sought beauty and love. She wished on stars and cried for terminal children. When she was approved in Cruella, she became downright wicked. She wore makeup. She ate meat. Only a woman who killed puppies could lie about having cancer.

  So what kind of woman could lie to cover up cancer? There was no easy Disney archetype for my mother. Walt’s world was a place without maternal influence, an oligarchy of eternally youthful heroes and aging villains. I didn’t for a second think that she was lying to spite me; more likely, she was doing what she’d always done: protecting me from the truth, letting me have my Fantasyland.

  LA smelled like sweaty kneepads and smog, like home. Since it was my first night back in LA, mom insisted on cooking dinner for my brother and me, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Michael lived about an hour east of our parents, so I stopped there and let him drive us the rest of the way. As expected, he forced me to sit through fifteen minutes of well-rehearsed lecturing before he warmed up.

  “I’m glad you came back,” he said.

  “Me too.” I watched the cars move past us on the freeway, shiny imports with polished chrome parts. Of course, the weather was perfect, arid, with just enough sea spray that I could taste the salt. I closed my eyes and felt the sunshine on my face. The sounds of traffic, the radio stations that I had known since I was a kid.

  My brother looked over at me. “Are you still upset that Mom and Dad kept you in the dark?”

  I stretched my fingers through the sunroof. “No,” I said. “Well, yes. I mean, I guess I understand that they didn’t want to scare me.”

  “That’s part of it,” Michael said. “But there’s a part of Mom that doesn’t want to admit she has cancer. She thinks if she doesn’t talk about it, it might just go away.” He shook his head. “I know it sounds preposterous, but it’s true.”

  Actually, it sounded quite reasonable. Hadn’t I been doing the same thing for the past twelve months? “But she talked to you.”

  “Barely!”

  “Really?”

  “If I hadn’t stayed in touch with her oncologist, I probably wouldn’t have had half the information I got. It was really frustrating. She’s like you.” He paused here, and for the first time, I recognized something like envy in his silence. “Living in her own little Fantasyland.”

  Nothing he said could have cheered me up more. “So how is she?” I asked.

  “She’s good.” Michael nodded. “Recovering.”

  “Is she…?”

  He looked at me. “What?”

  “You know.”

  “What? Cured?” He turned down the radio and cleared his throat. “You have to understand something. Cancer doesn’t just go away. The best you can hope for is that it goes into remission.” He took a deep breath. “Right now, it appears that Mom’s cancer is in remission, but we have to wait a few weeks for more accurate test results, and we’ll never know anything with one hundred percent certainty. Not ever.”

  I fidgeted with a loose string on my jeans. “Does she feel better?”

  Michael smiled. “She feels great.”

  I was struggling across the driveway with my bag when she opened the front door. Her hands left little streaks of stuffing across my cheeks when she hugged me.

  “Look at you,” she exclaimed. “Such a nice haircut.”

  “Disney makes everybody wear this haircut, Mom,” I said. “It’s in the Rule Book.”

  “Well, it’s very handsome.” Her hug was surprisingly strong.

  Sure enough, she looked great. Her hair was coming back in, grayer than before, but thick and stylish. She had lost a lot of weight and the wrinkles on her face were a little deeper, but she had a natural flush to her cheeks and she smiled constantly. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she ran around the kitchen fixing dishes, checking the roast, setting the table. She didn’t want anyone helping her, but Dad and I did little chores behind her back, using involvement as an excuse to steal snacks from the table.

  At one point, she caught me watching her. “What?” She stopped mixing a brown sauce and sat down next to me. “What are you looking at?”

  I shook my head. “Why didn’t you tell me you had cancer?”

  She wiped her hands on her apron and frowned thoughtfully. “Didn’t I?”

  “No, you didn’t. You told me you were feeling tired or fluish or had allergies or something, but you never told me the truth. And you never told me about the treatments.”

  She smiled and patted my hands. “Well, luckily, that’s all behind us now.”

  “Really? Because Michael said—”

  “Oh, pishposh,” she waved her hands in the air between us as if my concern were an annoying fly, and she could make it go away by swatting at it. “Look at my hands.”

  Her nails looked strong and healthy again. “Nice manicure,” I said.

  “No, look. Here. No veins. The chemo treatments disintegrated my veins. Don’t my hands look young?”

  I laughed. “There’s a benefit I bet the doctors never thought of.”

  “The wonders of science,” she said, tousling my hair. “I can’t believe how well-groomed you look. You say Disney makes everybody do that?”

  I wanted to know more about her experiences, but I could tell she wasn’t going to subject herself to my questioning. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was the intense nature of the illness and the treatment. Or maybe, like Michael said, she just wanted to have her own little Fantasyland where there was no such thing as lymphoma or sadness. Either way, we had come full circle, not talking about things. I was home and I was happy to be with her.

  “Disney makes their employees do a lot of things,” I said.

  She affected a thoughtful pose. “I seem to remember you telling me something about a girlfriend,” she said. “A lovely mermaid?”

  “A little mermaid,” I said. “It didn’t work out.” It was too onerous to relive the whole escapade, so I left it at that. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too.” She gave me another firm hug and stood up. “But if I catch you or your father ruining your appetite before dinner, so help me!”

  That night, as we ate, I told stories about my Disney adventures, the good stories about Magic and Pixie Dust Moments, not the ones about deviant characters or manipulative Cast Members. Everyone laughed at the funny parts and smiled when it was poignant and begged for more stories even when I couldn’t think of any more to tell.

  When dinner was over, somebody put on Peter Pan, and I sprawled out on the couch to watch. I made it as far as Never Land before I fell asleep, smiling.

  CITADEL PRESS BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2010 Chris Mitchell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  CITADEL PRESS and the Citadel logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2009930447

  ISBN: 978-0-8065-3368-1

  * While Phil Collins went on to receive two Academy Awards—Best Score and Most Original Song with “You’ll Be in My Heart”—for his work on Disney’s Tarzan, the musical score was generally lambasted by his fans, especially those diehard Genesis fanatics, who felt particularly
betrayed by the fact that on one of the film’s main songs, “Trashin’ the Camp,” he performs an instrumental duet with ’N Sync. By the time he composed the score for Disney’s Brother Bear, his fans had either forgiven him or stopped caring altogether, penning reviews on fansites like “just about memorable” and “not too intrusive.”

  * In Iran, a thumbs-up gesture means “go fuck yourself.” It is impolite to point with the index finger in the Middle and Far East. If you show a Brazilian the “OK” symbol, you’re calling that person an asshole. Generally, Disney advocates a policy of no hand gestures, although in a classic “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” twist, it is also against the Disney Rules to put your hands in your pockets.

  * Technically, although they appear to be underground, and Cast Members refer to them as “tunnels,” they are not in fact under the ground. The system of Utilidors and rooms that can only be accessed by Disney Cast Members was built at ground level, and the “onstage” area was built on top of it, making the theme park itself the second story of a massive structure.

  ** Designed in Sweden, the Automated Vacuum Assisted Collection (AVAC) system uses a structure of compressed air and vacuums to move trash through pipes from all the dumping points in the Magic Kingdom to a central processing plant behind the park. The motor runs every fifteen minutes, pushing compressed garbage at speeds of up to sixty miles an hour through the pipes along the ceiling of the corridors. Most of the time, this noisy system is noninvasive; however, there is a legend: One afternoon, on the hottest day of the summer in 2000, the pipes ruptured over the central tunnel, dumping a load of half-eaten turkey legs and discarded ice cream cones right into the hub of underground activity. According to rumor, the hot garbage fell squarely on the head of a Sleeping Beauty who, sick of getting passed over for promotion to Disney management, was about to turn in her resignation papers and start a career in real estate. The AVAC incident bumped her status to “potential litigant,” and she was handed a management position within minutes of stepping out of the shower.

  * Naturally, this point is denounced by Disniacs as a muckraking conspiracy theory. Not coincidentally, these are the same people who swear that Walt’s head is cryogenically frozen, waiting for technological advances in the field of human reanimation.

  ** For example, every night, after the park closed, custodians were assigned to repaint the dulled targets in the shooting gallery. It has been estimated that every year, landscapers replaced 800,000 plants in the park because Walt believed KEEP OUT signs to be the antithesis of Magic. He refused to sell chewing gum on property because he anticipated its inevitable terminus on the bottom of a guest’s shoe. To this day, it is impossible to buy gum at a Disney park.

  * In 1981, the parents of a nine-year-old girl sued Disneyland, claiming that their daughter had received a beating from Winnie the Pooh. Robert Hill, the Cast Member in question, was called in to testify. If any part of the Pooh suit struck the little girl, he swore, it was an accident. Hill’s lawyer then asked for a recess, during which Hill changed into the Pooh costume and remounted the stand. As Pooh, he answered questions by nodding his head and stomping his feet. When asked, “What do you do at Disneyland?” he responded by dancing around the courtroom. Everyone laughed. “Have the record show,” the judge said, “he’s doing a two-step.” At his lawyer’s urging, Hill demonstrated how difficult it was to maneuver inside the bulky suit. Within twenty-one minutes, the bear was acquitted on all charges.

  * Rumor had it that Disney maintained a relationship with all the film processing labs in Orlando and received first word if one of these “illegal” photos turned up anywhere in the city. And it was probably true. In 1989, Disney threatened to sue three Hallandale, Florida, daycare centers if they did not remove murals that included Mickey, Minnie, and Goofy. When Universal caught wind of the impending lawsuit, they stepped forward and offered use of their own characters like Scooby Doo, Yogi Bear, the Flintstones, and the Jetsons. The Disney images came down, the Universal images went up, and life went on in Hallandale.

  * The governments of these countries pay exorbitant rent to Disney, and in exchange, Disney is responsible for the landscaping, maintaining, and staffing of the international pavilions of Epcot with expat Cast Members. These “temps” are housed in one of the college program ghettos, located in nearby Kissimmee. Parties at the CP ghetto are world-class free-for-alls with guest rosters that include Justin Timberlake, Paris Hilton, and, at any given time, half the adolescent population of Sweden.

  * If this sounds obtuse, try spending some quality time with the straight men of Florida during Spring Break, Mardi Gras, or any of the other ostensible “mating seasons.”

  * Christians and conspiracists have long been convinced that Donald Duck is a racist, based on a snippet of dialogue between Disney’s Donald and Warner’s Daffy Duck during a bar scene in Who Framed Roger Rabbit

  .

  DAFFY: I’ve worked with a lot of wisequackers, but you are dethpsicable!

  DONALD: Goddamn stupid nigger! I’m gonna WAAAAAAAAGH!

  DAFFY: This is the last time I work with someone with a speech impediment!

  According to the subtitles on the film, Donald is actually saying “Goddurn stubborn nitwit,” but then again, he is a white-feathered fowl, whereas Daffy is considerably darker.

  * This effect is, in fact, achieved by a system of gears, which attach to bicycle pedals hidden inside the stone. The Little Mermaid works the pedals slowly while sitting comfortably in a padded seat. It’s like a slow-motion spin workout every time she does an autograph set.

  * Gay Day is not an official holiday; Disney does nothing to promote the event, nor does it discourage its celebration. Once a year, usually some time in May, Disney World becomes the destination for the gay community—thousands of boys and girls—from all around the world. All you have to do, so everybody knows which team you play for, is wear a red T-shirt. This event has occurred every year since 1991, and every year, Christian groups work themselves into a lather over its implications. Martin Mawyer is the president of the Christian Action Network. “It’s absolutely impossible to describe the depth of depravity we saw,” Mawyer said after visiting the park during the 2003 Gay Day Event. “Not only did we see men kissing men, but these shirtless homosexuals were twisting the nipples of each other and fondling the butts and groins of their ‘lovers.’ And all this occurred right out in the open at a Disney theme park.” What Mawyer was doing at Gay Day in the first place is still undetermined.

  * A little history: The ground floor of the Magic Castle is a souvenir shop. On the second floor, it’s a restaurant. But the third floor is Roy Disney’s unfinished apartment. In 1971, while they were putting the final touches on the Magic Kingdom, Roy died. Management offered the living quarters to his widow, but she declined, so the space became a storage and dressing room. Nowadays, the bedrooms are piled high with boxes of old costumes and props used in Kids of the Kingdom dance revues.

  * In 2004, a thirteen-year-old girl claimed that she had been molested by Tigger. Within days, character performer, Michael C. Chartrand, was charged with lewd and lascivious molestation of a child and taken into custody. During the course of the investigation, more complaints were filed against Chartrand, but none had sufficient evidence to press charges. Chartrand’s lawyer (who was also a friend of fur) declined a plea bargain and took the case to trial, at which time he donned the tiger costume and demonstrated the difficulty of seeing and moving inside the bulky fur. It took a jury less than an hour to deliver a “not guilty” verdict.

  * Disney does a lot of charity work with the Make-A-Wish Foundation, honoring the final wishes of terminal children, so this is not an uncommon occurrence. More often than you might think, the wishes of these children have something to do with meeting a favorite Disney character.

  * In 1995, the Wall Street Journal published an article that highlighted a piece of whispered dialogue in Aladdin. The piece in question takes place when Aladdin me
ets Jasmine and her pet tiger, Rajah, on the balcony of Jasmine’s palace bedroom. As the menacing tiger approaches our hero, he whispers, “All good teenagers take off your clothes.” Disney’s official interpretation of this line is, “Scat good tiger, take off and go.” On closer inspection, however, the truth seems to lie somewhere in between.

  * Actually, it’s the Reedy Creek subdivision of Lake Buena Vista.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Praise

  Title Page

  Preface

  Acknowledgments

  Contents

  Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah

  Heigh-Ho

  When You Wish Upon a Star

  I Wan’na Be Like You

  I Just Can’t Wait to Be King

  Whistle While You Work

  Cruella de Vil

  We’re Your Friends ’Til the Bitter End

  Yo Ho! Yo Ho! A Pirate’s Life for Me

  Something There That Wasn’t There Before

  You Ain’t Never Had a Friend Like Me

  Can You Feel the Love Tonight?

  Part of Your World

  A Spoonful of Sugar

  You Can Fly! You Can Fly! You Can Fly!

  Just Around the River Bend

  A Whole New World

  Beauty and the Beast

  Painting the Roses Red

  I Will Fly No More

  Circle of Life

  Copyright