You may have missed my previous blog, where I reflected on my six years working at Walt Disney World. You can either feel shame, or visit this link to catch up, or both; whatever makes you happy.
I was about a month into my entry-level position, working attractions in Tomorrowland, when I heard about the routine auditions for the character department. I'd seen the performers in the Magic Kingdom's tunnel with their heads off, often dripping in sweat. Knowing my stamina and body strength, I didn't really think I had a chance. But damn it, I was at Disney! I would have regretted not at least trying.
So I went to the audition with a bunch of other hopefuls, and did the basic dance steps across the room, and I forget what else. At the end of the performance we were divided into smaller groups, presumably so security could chase off the useless ones without upsetting the rest of us. And then I was taken to meet with an individual representative who thanked me for coming in. He informed me that they could use me as a character, just not at the moment due to a hiring freeze. Truthfully, I had no idea he meant that literally. I just assumed it was the pixie dust translation of "piss off, bumbling twit".
Thus I went back to Alien Encounter. Three months later I was bored to the point of pulling up stakes and running home. Then came an opportunity to transfer to Space Mountain, which I jumped on. By the end of my week of training I was pleading to go back to Alien Encounter, but the damage had been done. Two more months and I was spiraling into depression.
Now I know it sounds like I'm knocking Disney attractions, and I don't mean to do so. There's nothing wrong with working by the E-stop buttons and the merge point stations (except for the E-stops and the merge point traffic), but I was the wrong fit for it. Despite my introversion, I really can't handle going for great lengths at work with no real human contact. In attractions, you don't get to talk to the guests unless there's a problem. The rest of the time, you're herding them. So a good day was when nothing happened, and it was beginning to break me.
So then I got the call that the Gods on Mount Olympus had spoken, and the character department was finally taking in new performers (that's not my sarcasm, it's literally what the guy on the phone said). By that point I had forgotten I'd even auditioned, and I swear I saw animated flowers blooming throughout my dismal little apartment.
Five and a half years in all four theme parks and the occasional resort. I fell asleep on the parade route in a Miss Piggy costume, got my Prince John chest felt up by two Brazilian women, and I even went out as Walt Disney a couple of times. Sean Astin visited the Magic Kingdom shortly after the release of Return of the King, and someday I'm going to tell him it was me in the Ursula costume who blew him a kiss during the Share a Dream Come True Parade.
One thing that has really stayed with me as a character performer is the way you get to see a side of people you wouldn't see any other way, kind of like how they interact with a big dog. To the smallest kids, I may as well be a monster. To the ones a bit more autonomous, I'm Eeyore, plain and simple. The teens start to branch into different subsets. There's the heartfelt "Eeyore, I love you," the optimistically cynical "Eeyore! My main donkey!" and the I-left-my-head-in-my-hormones "Eeyore! *BAM*" I'll never understand what beating on a fiberglass head accomplishes for some people.
Adults are a different breed altogether. We're supposed to be playing with the kids and selling ultra-expensive autograph books and poorly balanced pens with Mickey's head and torso attached to the end that break after half a signature. But when you manage to reach the paying adult's sense of wonder (be it through a laugh, a smile, or scaring the hell out of them) it makes for a bizarrely transcendental connection. So here then are a couple of my favorite characters that I've briefly inhabited and the encounters they collected under my jurisdiction.
Kenai
Brother Bear came and went, and I seriously doubt the bear makes any current appearances, but once upon a time he roamed the Canadian pavilion at Epcot Center. Shortly after the release of the movie, Disney let all of its hand-drawn animators go to focus on computer generated films. Progress. Sad, sad progress.
But there was this one day, one of Disney's former animators (whose name unfortunately eludes me) was visiting Epcot. This was a man who was likely looking for a new job, but he was still doing what he loved. He drew. He had worked on Kenai for the film. I saw him on my set, but I had no idea who he was or what he was doing, until I went backstage and popped my head. My greeter handed me a drawing he had done showing an encounter between the bear and a little girl whose autograph book I'd signed. And he'd written at the bottom "It was nice working with you".
It always amazes me how much someone can love what Disney stands for so much that they see past the bureaucracy of the company. He'd been sacked, and he still felt the calling. Can you imagine that? He made me regret some of the times I complained about how hot and heavy that damn costume was.
Green Army Man
From Toy Story. The character performers are categorized by height ranges, usually with a two inch margin. It goes duck height, mouse height, chipmunk height, a small bit of wasteland, Pluto, Eeyore, Tigger, and Goofy (I subtly slouched my way out of Tigger height to get my coveted pessimistic donkey). Green Army Man was an exception. I think you could be 5'6" and up to be one of the no-faced military personnel.
I loved playing GAM. Between the boots and the plastic accessories around them, I had some amazing calf muscles. I also took an impressive dive backstage when I didn't clear a parking cement block and sprawled belly first on the pavement. Good times.
There's a thing called 'statue sets'. You're not supposed to do them. It's where you don't move. Disney trains you not to do that. But one day it was me and two other GAMs and it was a low attendance. Our set area was right where the Muppets 3-D attraction exited, and that was about the only action we'd seen that day. So for one of our later sets we decided to do a statue set and just be props.
So halfway through, Muppets lets out and people pour past us, looking at us curiously but thinking nothing of us. And I hear a group of thirty year old men approaching my area, saying something about trying to find the Hunchback show. And one of them thinks he was going to be funny. He says, "Well, let's ask this guy!" So I point exactly where the Hunchback show is. "Holy shit!" is his response as he stumbles backwards. My work is done.
Country Bears
There's three of these bozos that I was in the height range for, and they were all massive. Big Al was the worst. I sometimes wondered how many TVs I could smuggle in the costume at once. Liverlips was my buddy. He was a shoulder strain, but I loved signing multiple autograph books in the costume. First one done, cram it in his mouth. Second one, draped over his snout. Third on the head. Liverlips ruled.
Shaker was the last one, and I just found him to be boring. He looked boring. You couldn't do anything with the mouth and you couldn't reach the top of his head. All you could do was exist, with that one expression on his face; the kind you have when you rent a Marvel DVD and only discover after the disc is in the player that someone left a copy of The Wedding Planner inside the case.
So one morning I was Shaker at Camp Mickey/Minnie over in Animal Kingdom, because they didn't have anything else for me to do. That meet and greet area (which I think is no longer there because of f**king Avatar world) was designed with a kind of garden hub and short paths leading back to the small pavilions where Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, and other VIP characters set up photo spots. Shaker was not a VIP. They just had me wandering around the hub area, essentially being ignored by everything that moved. Disney: 50+ years of false security around bears.
There was a little boy, whose age was probably closer to one than two. He was under the watchful care of dad, who seemed over his miserable life. I imagine mom was in the gift shop sampling wine behind the clothing racks, while dad slunk down in the hedge shadows muttering something about making 'em all pay. Little tyke was in his own world, which he filled with the repetitive activity of stretching his arms up as high as they would go (from my vantage, a comfortable kicking height) and then dropping down to the pavement like a frog.
Over and over, like a poorly thought out yoga warm-up; stretch it high- touch the ground. Stretch it high- touch the ground. He couldn't get enough of it. So I lumber my brute killing machine self over to where the workout is, kind of scratch under Shaker's chin thoughtfully, and proceed to mimic the kid's choreography. He doesn't acknowledge me. He just keeps doing his thing and I plagiarize him. I can't really say if I'm a bear learning about ritual, or a grown man making fun of an infant. It's just something that's sort of...happening.
Mom finally sobered up and/or got escorted out of the gift shop. She came to retrieve her family as if there was no stain on her soul with an innocent "Xerxes?" (I actually have no recollection what the kid's name was, but that's as good a guess as any). "Xerxes? You want to go see Mickey now?" And with deadpan seriousness, my young gymnastics coach stared his mother in the eyes, shaking his head. He pointed to me. "Bear," he said. For once in my life I felt like a jerk for hating children.
Tweedledee/Tweedledum
The Tweedles were awesome! I probably miss playing the Tweedles the most. The costumes were comfortable, the vision was great, and you had perfect mobility. And they taught me how to write backwards and upside down, a highly specialized marketable skill.
When you had a good partner you could really go nuts, messing with some kid's hat and blaming the other one, or the bystanders, or even the kid. And then if you had a solid Alice or a Mad Hatter the sky was the limit. My only pet peeve was how many people (intentional or not) wouldn't get our names right. We got Tweedledee and Tweedledoo (no partial credit, kid), Tweedledum and Tweedledumber (oh shut up), Tweedledum and Tweedlestupid (you shut up too), Tweedledee and Twuddledum (that one grew on me), "Are you Tweedle or Dee?" (you're real close pal), and my personal favorite "Hey! It's those guys!". That was exactly how I signed the autograph book.
But the Tweedles, and most of the Alice unit, have an innocent silliness to them that I always found liberating. I had this easy gimmick I'd do as a Tweedle where a kid would run up for a greeting and I'd put out one hand for a handshake. And a beat into it I'd cross the other hand over for a double handshake. Then let go of the first one and bring it to the top to repeat the process, going faster each time. And I had a couple avenues to get out of the routine, usually looking around for help or shaking my own hands.
So at one point, this family of five came up; two adults, two kids, and a girl who looked to be about thirteen. Now I'm not a detective when it comes to reading people, but sometimes the signs are pretty clear. The girl had this demeanor about her that resembled wishing she were younger, as if she'd gotten it in her head that Disney was somehow not meant for her anymore. My Tweedle twin and I bothered her siblings and posed for the seven pictures while she stood on the sidelines trying to produce a smile that was weighed down by inevitability. So I bounced over to her and did my handshake bit. She played along with no change in her expression to indicate whether or not it was affecting her, then out of the blue she did this silly gesture of waggling her fingers by her face and going "balalalala".
I gave her a big bear hug for that. I think it may have made a difference.
Eeyore
Closing memory lane out is the big guy himself. I've always felt an attachment to Eeyore. I have him on my watch, courtesy of my wife's intuition about birthday gifts. In the happiest place on earth there are talking birds that burst into song and megalomaniac fairies that burst into flames, and then there's this little pocket of withdrawn undefeatable pessimism named Eeyore.
Most of the Winnie the Pooh unit at least has thumbs, but Eeyore only has manatee flippers. Speaking firsthand, if you're taking too damn long getting your camera to work, he's probably flipping you off under the fur. The other main thing about Eeyore is the expression on his face. He's freaking adorable.
People react to Eeyore. Something about him just makes you want to make things better. I've had kids and adults both beam with glee when they see my grey buddy's face, as well as feel this overwhelming sense of empathy. I've gotten affirmative pep talks in every language from Portuguese to Korean. This one little girl refused to leave me because she was convinced of how sad I was. In her father's words, speaking aloud to himself, "Honey, I think you're a little overly concerned about Eeyore's emotional well being."
People would ask me, "Eeyore? What's wrong?" If I had it as an option, I would just point to Tigger and let them draw their own conclusions. I'd blame orange stripey for anything. Knocking down my house, hitting my nose, breaking up with me, it didn't matter. Whatever scenario the guests offered as the source of the melancholy, I'd nod my head in agreement.
But the empathy also swung both ways. One night at character dining I found a large family at one of the tables, and I did my usual voodoo with the autograph books, when I noticed one little boy underneath the table with tears in his eyes. Not tears of fear, but probably some family conflict that had escalated. I squatted down, tilted my head, and gave the basic flipper gestures for Why You Crying? The kid never said a word, but he did crawl into my lap and let me hold him for about a minute.
So many wonderful memories with Eeyore. Some are quick snippets. Some have too much of a visual component to really relay in blog form. One of my fonder exchange also happened in dining with a group of Australian girls, who I imagine were some kind of middle school athletic team. They LOVED Eeyore. They talked to me. They hugged me. And at the end of the encounter they serenaded me. With a song. In harmony. For Eeyore. That they had WRITTEN.
But the moment that has stayed with me the strongest summarizes what the 'magic' of the characters is. I was in front of the hat at the former Disney-MGM Studios, first thing in the morning. Mom, Dad, and twelve year old girl come visit me. Nobody else is really around so we have kind of personal meet and greet. Dad spends the whole time fidgeting with his camera. Mom and twelve year old (who I'm going to call Alice because she had the look on her face Alice would have had if Wonderland had been devoid of any threat) came to see me. Alice wasn't really up for a conversation or a body slam like some of Eeyore's fan base, she just wanted to spend a few moments with him. She held both of my flippers and glowed as she stared into his painted eyes.
Mom tried to get in on her daughter's reverie, which for a quick PSA, that never works with someone whose age is in the double digits. And she made the same 'I'm only pretending to be into this' lapse of judgement so many posers before and after her have made. It went like this: "Eeyore, we love you! We watch your show all the time." ~pause~ "It must be hot in that costume."
Alice's face transformed right in front of me. She went full Queen Grimhilde, gave her mother a death glare, and silenced her for the rest of the vacation with a single "Shh!". And then as if nothing had happened, the evil queen faded back into the glowing Alice she'd been a moment ago.
I don't know whose feelings she thought she was protecting, and I doubt she did either. If she thought it was mine, that would mean her twelve year old brain had created a scenario where an anonymous adult human in a character suit had convinced himself he literally was a stuffed donkey; and that's a hell of a magic spell. Probably it was her own feelings. Maybe the sanctity of a sacred connection that you can't really get anywhere else. In the long run, I suppose it doesn't matter. What matters is that Alice cared enough to choose to believe. And for that, I will never forget her.
With love from Eeyore.
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