The Unknown

Everyone likes to be scared, right? Well…sort of? I must admit that I’m not a thrill junkie, at least not when it comes to horror films and in-your-face gore and evil. Madness, mayhem, and revving chainsaws are not at the top of my “too much fun to miss” list. And yet…and yet…Halloween remains one of my favorite holidays (right between Christmas and Easter), and most of the people I know are impressed by my wide ranging familiarity with superstition, stories of the supernatural and urban legends.


So what’s a nice girl like me doing with information about 25 ways to kill a vampire and an ingrained hesitation to look between the ears of a dog or horse when it’s acting strangely? Simple. It’s the unknown that scares me. That strange cold spot in the corner of the kitchen. The place next to the close where your dog just stares. Yeah. The half seen, the suspected, the things that gnaw at the corner of your imagination. To me, that’s a lot scarier than a burly man with a chainsaw. To paraphrase the immortal words of Predator – if it bleeds I can handle it. It’s the other stuff that bothers me.

And that, perhaps, is a large part of the reason that Walt Disney World’s Haunted Mansion remains high on my list of beloved attractions. And, as silly as it is, high on the list of attractions that creep me out.

Okay, let me clear the air. I know that thousands of small children go through the dim doors of the mansion each year and come out cheerful and psychologically unscathed. This is, after all, Walt Disney World. The 999 happy haunts are certainly far less traumatic than many of the proposed original ideas for the attraction. And it is, unquestionably, possible to breeze through the haunted halls of the mansion without a single “scare.”

But for me, the devil (if you will) is in the details. It’s in the small things that casual guests might not notice, but repeat visitors will – or at least repeat visitors with overactive imaginations. It’s the voices waiting for you if you stay behind in the stretching room; it’s the details on the hanging corpse over your head; it’s the wildly grotesque portraits along the walls of the hallway of doors.

And, for me…it’s in the unknown represented by that damned chair.

It took me forever to even notice the chair. In all of the glorious detailing of a classic Disney attraction filled with enough elements to sustain repeat visits, a chair is not something that immediately draws attention in the attraction. It wasn’t until my husband bought me Jason Surrell’s excellent book on the haunted mansion that I discovered it. Tucked away in the description of the Endless Hallway was a sketch of a wingback chair and a note in the text stating “If you look closely, you will also be able to mke out a face in the decorative pattern on the chair….This was part of the Imagineers’ effort to make guests feel as though they are constantly being watched, as well as create the sense that the house is alive.”

“Ah,” I thought. “I’ll have to look for that the next time I ride the attraction.”

Mistake.

What I discovered as I rode through the mansion was that the same chair, embroidered “face” and comfortable rocking by invisible inhabitant, did not just appear in the endless hallway scene. It appeared over and over again throughout the attraction. For me, that repetition of an object, the strange sense that an inanimate object was somehow following and watching guests throughout the ride was…disturbing.

I’ve read about the role of the raven and the original intent that he represent the “ghost host,” leading guests through the attraction. But for me, the “ghost host” is the unseen, the occupant of that strange chair, watching me with his broken neck and outdated funeral suit and following me as my trusty little doombuggy works its way through the attraction. And, like all of the creepiest things in my universe, he is completely unseen, represented by his location, a chair that should not be able to move from one location to another.

As silly as it is, that chair still gives me a little chill when I ride the Haunted Mansion. I try not to let it dominate my ride experience. It’s just a minor detail, and there’s so much more to look at. Besides, it’s just a chair.

And if it follows me home, I’m going to cry.

Haunting the Mansion: Burton & Del Toro

In the course of my internet travels recently, I ran into an article discussing the announced Disney Haunted Mansion project.  In the discussion, the author made it clear that most fans felt Tim Burton would have been the preferred director for the film; del Toro was an acceptable second. I passionately disagree.

I guess the essential difference lies in what one expects out of a film and what one expects from the Haunted Mansion. The mansion and I have a long history – having the ride car get stopped in front of the giant spiders on my first childhood ride made what could be called an impression. As an adult, it's one of the "must do" attractions that never loses its chill and its wonder. For me, the mansion is a place of juxtapositions.  It blurs the lines between the natural and supernatural; it traipses without hesitation from disturbing to whimsical, and it blends the truly disturbing with the charming at every turn.  It is a surreal ride, a disturbing experience, and a fun attraction, all while maintaining a personal connection to the viewer and keeping the promise of chilling atmosphere and occasional moments of wonder.

Translating that to the movie screen is no small task.  Of course, a slavish adaptation of any of the various haunted mansions in parks around the world would be an utter failure.  The Mansion (whichever one may be under discussion) is an attraction, not a movie.  Furthermore, the “stories” of the attractions in California and Florida are more than a little up for speculation.  I think the key to creating a financially successful Haunted Mansion franchise is the same as the uncovered secret that makes the Pirates of the Caribbean films a success – capture the spirit, not the letter of the attraction.

To me, del Toro is a far better choice for doing just that.  In my opinion, Burton’s films tend to careen between charming and garish with little in between. When he finds the heart of a film – Edward Scissorhands or Nightmare Before Christmas – he can create a charming, almost childlike cinematic gem.  When he focuses on his signature bizarre elements – Sleepy Hollow or Alice in Wonderland – he creates a visually stunning film that fails to connect to the audience on a level deeper than its “coolness” factor.  To me, Burton’s imagery is rooted deeply in the visual tradition of the German expressionists. And while The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari and Bride of Frankenstein remain classics, Burton’s interpretations of expressionism serve to emphasize the almost cartoonish un-reality of his worlds.  He draws a clear line between "here" and "there," and although his fantastic worlds certainly commentate on reality, they are unquestionably not as real and nuanced as our own.

Guillermo del Toro is, without question, a less established director.  His vision is less familiar to most audiences, and, certainly, he too has made films that fail to find an emotional center or connection with his audience.  Yet his films, perhaps because of his cultural heritage, display a mastery of juxtaposition – a refusal to see the world of the inexplicable and fantastic as discrete from mundane reality or to acknowledge one as more “real” than the other – that seems perfect for interpreting the spirit of the mansion.  Just as Burton seems to echo the German expressionists of the early cinematic world, del Toro’s style seems much of the same piece as the literary magical realism of Central America.  Like Borges or Marquez, del Toro has a sense that the fantastical has a reality of its own, and its hyper-real beauty and horror is embedded in our world.  Take, for example, Pan’s Labyrinth; its two worlds are equally viable and nuanced as well as deeply interconnected. Rather than merely bizarre, cartoonish, or childishly innocent, del Toro's fantasy world embraces those elements and reaches beyond them to create a world as complex as "reality," filled with laughter and fear genuine enough to win his audience's credibility and emotional investment. 

I guess for me, the Haunted Mansion is a place of atmosphere and heightened reality.  It is a crossroads where different worlds – beautiful, terrifying, dead, living, whimsical, and horrific all intersect.  To put the spirit of that place on screen, with its genuinely chilling moments and its charming whimsy, and to let us, as the audience, walk out the door with both a smile and a suppressed chill at the thought that a ghost might follow us home…I think we need someone who can weave a world that is more than visually stunning.  We need someone who can make the magic a new reality, not an expression of an opinion or moral.  Here’s hoping del Toro can live up to that.