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September 2014
When Did Theme Park Characters
Escape from the Park?
 It
used to be that if one had kids and wanted them to meet Mickey
Mouse, Minnie, Woody, Buzz Lightyear or other members of that
cartoon fraternity “in the flesh,” one had to
go to Disneyland, or some such designated area within the
Disney empire.
At Goofy’s Kitchen in the Disneyland
Hotel in Anaheim, while the kids were eating the ears off
a Mickey Mouse-shaped waffle, Goofy himself might come over
to the table to sign a few autographs. Later on Main Street,
you might catch Cinderella, pretty as a picture, taking pictures
with the kids as if a Hollywood celebrity.
I would never be so crude as to insult any
of these characters— or the cherished memory of Walt
himself—by offering a tip for what the Disney folks
call “plussing the experience.”
Similar encounters could be had at Universal
Studio, Knotts Berry Farm, Hershey’s Chocolate World
in Pennsylvania, etc. It was cute…it was wholesome…and
what harm could there be in any of this?
Then somewhere along the line when we weren’t
looking, as the kids grew up (and I started to shrink), the
theme park characters escaped from the park. They are now
roaming the streets of Times Square and Hollywood Boulevard,
and who knows where else in between.
What is the raison d’etre for Mickey
Mouse and his friends to be in Times Square? And in droves?
Perhaps because it has become too “all family,”
which can be greatly attributed to Disney itself, what with
its Broadway musical invasions.
That has been the lament of many who have
longed for the days when it was a grittier more adult place.
And each holiday season these characters are venturing further
beyond, and here they come right down my avenue to prey on
tourists near Radio City.
Beyond the Disney battalion, they have now
been joined by action heroes, video game characters and (gag
me) those ubiquitous “Statues of Liberty” standing
on pedestals, faces painted in oxidized green, torches held
shakily aloft.
Two such Lady Liberty’s (men actually)
got into a turf war not long ago, and one was arrested for
pushing the other to the ground in front of the Marriott on
Broadway. (Give me your tired, your poor/Your huddled
masses yearning to take a “selfie” for a tip/
I lift my lamp at the Times Square door).
Then of course, there was this infamous encounter
trumpeted on page one, in the finest tradition of tabloid
journalism:
And let’s not forget the Cookie Monster
who allegedly became verbally abusive and pushed a 2-year
old after the kids parents refused to pay two bucks for the
photo op.
 This
atop other reported incidents which have included a Super
Mario groping a woman, another Spider Man punching just an
ordinary citizen this time, and the “Anti-Semitic
Times Square Elmo sentenced to one year in prison for $2 million
extortion attempt from Girl Scouts” (New York Daily
News).
Nice folks.
No one is really advocating bringing back
the pimps, prostitutes, and drug dealers of yore. But the
unmasking of these characters, does raise interesting issues
that go beyond this being just a New York thing: trademark
infringements, governmental regulation, civil liberties, and
a question of aesthetics as to just what does constitute legitimate
entertainment or performance… to name a few.
These characters are not associated in any
way with a franchise. Tourists, especially, assume that the
Minnie Mouse they are posing with, works for, or is sanctioned
by, The Walt Disney Company. Not so. Minnie is working the
streets by herself.
One is surprised that the notoriously litigious
Disney enterprise, hasn’t sued for infringing on their
beloved trademarked characters. Yet a Civil Liberties Union
representative has already stated that putting on a costume
and walking around Times Square, appears to be protected under
the First Amendment. (And one would assume if they chose to
carry a gun under that costume, they would be protected by
the Second Amendment as well).
All the same, the city is now considering
ways of regulating this motley crew. After all, you need a
license to sell hot dogs on the corner, so why not one for
selling fantasy on the corner? Police have begun to give stern
warnings to what I will call these “Themies,”
and have distributed fliers to the public (in several languages)
stressing that tipping is completely optional.
“Foul!” cry those in costume,
who say they are merely trying to make a living. On a good
week, an Elmo can bring home $600 in non-reported “tips.”
And Themies consider themselves street performers. As if posing
for pictures is a performance. Yet, I guess in a “Selfie”
world, one could make that case.
As one who loves the streets, and sees street
performers as making a contribution to the city’s vibrancy
(see “Shakespeare in the Parking Lot” piece below),
I now wonder: where does one draw the line between a performer
and a pest? What if there were a cellist on every corner?
Or a quartet playing Mozart, creating a crowd, and in my face
when I stepped out my building each day? Or God forbid, a
menagerie of mimes? Would that be ok?
What makes this all particularly icky, is
that it is exploitive of children and their well intentioned
parents. Given the sight of a lovable costume, we have assumed
the person beneath it to be lovable as well. I used to wonder,
“Isn’t it hot under that costume?” Now I
wonder, “Just who is under that costume?”
We’re now again talking about the so
called Broken Window Theory. (The Squeegee men have been showing
up again too. Another story.). First popularized during the
Giuliani administration, it states in effect, that when urban
disorder of any kind is not put in check, it leads to further
vandalism and more serious crime.
If it ain’t broke…don’t
fix it. But this window is broke, and there are moves to get
it fixed. It has recently been reported, that even the Themies
themselves are organizing and uniting to enhance their image.
Are we talking about crimes of the century? Of course not.
But this is no Mickey Mouse thing either. I couldn’t
resist.
***
Spec(k)
Oh to be a fly on the wall
though,
in a lifetime counted
in days
not a moment could be spared
to listen
to all that they don’t want you
to know;
the narrative they deem fit
to rewrite
the truth they rearrange
like maggots
on your refrigerator
door.
—Ron
Vazzano
***
Ten Totems of Obsolescence
in Passing
In the business of going about
life, one sometimes comes across items that have become virtually
extinct, or are in the throes of obsolescence. And in their
passing, they speak volumes of changing times and ways of
doing things. Or sometimes, simply whisper in the irony, of
how silly and laborious the tasks of daily life could be.
A life of mechanisms with real buttons to push, and not some
digital device that simulates, say, the shutter click of a
camera.
Some that I have encountered
in recent months, struck me in their “verticalness,”
as resembling totem poles of a sort. And a totem pole in essence,
is an homage to kinship, legend, and notable events.
In no particular order, I offer ten such “totems,”
along with a few free associations, while taking a Proustian
stab at remembrance of things past.
The Juke Box…
offered songs away from home…ten cents each…three
for a quarter…every joint had one …needles on
vinyls… push A12 and watch the inner workings silently
slide over to Sinatra …never got it wrong…carnival
lights as if to trumpet this very big thrill of having music
at your command… we walk around now with music in our
ears…every song ever recorded…When I was seventeen/it
was a very good year…
Cigar Store Indian…
why an Indian?...politically incorrect?...where do Native
Americans “stand” on this?... smoking was cool…cigars
had class… good times… celebrations…“It’s
a Boy!”…the bands about them— intricate
colorful works of art…grandpa…we all lived close
by…
100 Watt Bulb…
buy four at a time…they burn out…put another one
in; throw the old one away with the un-recycled garbage…
“At G.E., progress is our most important product.”…a
personification of a good idea in bubbles above cartoon heads…as
new as the day Edison invented it… till now…who
worried about wasting energy?...cared about giving off more
heat than light? …these new squiggly things will outlive
me…and in a disposable world no less…
Roll of Film…
make sure you align the sprockets with the sprocket holes…
you could overexpose a whole roll, you idiot…snapshots…developed
at Richie’s Drug Store…wait an eternity till they’re
ready next Tuesday…red eyes… blurring…someone
blinked…a few didn’t come out at all… gotta’
remember to pick up some flash bulbs…Kodak moments…
Grand Central Station backlit giant billboard…wow, how
clear...we never knew to say “high resolution”…
Wooden Clothes Pin…
clothes lines in between tenement buildings…a clothes
line in the backyard of the house out in Jersey…same
pins…same sun…same grandma…big appliances…post
war… modern homes…”A woman’s place
is in the home”…grandma long gone …we all
lived close by…
Full Length Barber Pole…
Edward Hopper…Early Sunday Morning…took
up space on the sidewalk…city ordinance now against
them?... when?… barbers became hairstylists…not
the same smells…not the same price…Sam the barber
played the horses and owed shylocks money…my current
barber, a woman from one of those Ubetchastans…short
pole attached to the side of the place…around since
1928…hot towel on my face… celebrity photos…
I’ve never seen Woody Allen there…
Hat Rack…
Rat Pack…who wears a hat? ...where do they hang them?...fedoras…Bogie…George
Raft …a star who allegedly hung out with racketeers…my
father’s was always grey…
“I go for men who wear an Adam hat.” …every
ad had a jingle…you had to work the crease…no
hat rack at grandma’s… someone accidently sat
on his hat…a violation of his manliness… he made
a big stink about it…
Lighthouse…
someone had to tend to the light…live with the light…in
your face… how did you get that job?… why?...
the only way ships could get their bearings…otherwise
wind up on the rocks…marriage… never saw one functioning
close up in the night…in the day, yes, non-working…Martha’s
Vineyard…the Obamas and Clintons vacation there…Edward
Hopper…New England…who can afford to live by the
sea?...the Kennedys…Camelot…
Fire Alarm Box…
sirens screaming… all in vain…someone pulled a
false alarm…good to know they’re there though…I
once set off a small fire with an errant cigarette flip down
a grating…someone pulled the one on the corner…the
fire engines quickly came… call 911!...take cell phone
photos till the firemen arrive…fire-persons
arrive?…show them the speed at which it is spreading…Smokey
the Bore says: “Only you can prevent forest fires.”
…I never go in the forest…
Enclosed Phone Booth…
…a call was a very big deal…privacy…stack
of nickels…we smoked while in there…operator interruptions…a
live voice!...did she ever listen in?...friend’s grandfather
worked on the development of those accordion doors…“Once
There Were Phone Booths… with accordion doors”…a
poem…a young man at work… When
I seventeen/ it was a very good year?…
desperately seeking a Saturday night date (JUNE,
2012 Muse-letter)…
So it goes. With apologies to Kurt Vonnegut.
A lifelong smoker of unfiltered Pall Malls, who died from
a fall in his home at age 84.
***
Quote of the
Month
… it's a long, long while from May to December
But the days grow
short when you reach September
When the autumn
weather turns the leaves to flame
One hasn't got
time for the waiting game
— Maxwell Anderson
“September
Song”
***
Shakespeare in the Parking Lot
They gotta’ be kidding. No they’re
not. And they have been at this now for the last 20 years:
mounting two Shakespearean plays each summer, at a municipal
parking lot on the Lower East Side—corner of Ludlow
and Broome to be specific.
Why a parking lot? The artistic director of
a theatrical group called The Drilling Company—
who has taken over production of these plays since 2006—
summoned it up:
"It is a tremendously accessible gathering
place in the heart of the city. Like most companies that
do Shakespeare we are following the spirit of Joseph Papp
(i.e. “Shakespeare in the Park” at the Delacorte
Theater in Central Park). But putting our own spin on it
by placing it in a parking lot, making an urban wrinkle.
It has now become a versatile theater where
it presents its work, not unlike the Globe was to Shakespeare.”
The plays are presented while the lot is actually
in use, although done in the evening when many more parking
spaces are available. Still on the night when I was there
to see Othello, a car was parked within where the
stage area is set up. No problem. The actors, never pretending
that it wasn’t there, incorporated it into the blocking
of their scenes, even leaning on it at times in improvised
moments.
I’m told that
plays have actually been stopped while a parked car drives
away during a performance, and the audience (usually about
250 people, not counting the stream of passersby who stop
to watch for a while, then move on) simply moves its chairs
to let it pass through.
Through it all, the superb cast of professional
actors, including a friend Robert Arcaro who gave a fine performance
as Brabanzio—Desdemona’s disapproving father—soldiers
on.
As a New York Times review put it:
“There are so many things working
against “Othello” at Shakespeare in the Parking
Lot that it’s a minor miracle that the show comes
together so well. Traffic noise, funky smells…Even
so, by the end, there was more than a little magic in the
air.”
The audience as well is put to the test, given
a two hour and twenty minute production with no intermission,
and with various distractions going on in the periphery of
the “stage;” some of which unintentionally funny.
We had all been instructed, that if nature
called, to use the bathroom of a friendly bar across the street.
And that is exactly what one notices Desdemona doing at one
point in between her scenes.
Then there was the cop car that pulled up
in the lot, to conduct some business having to do with checking
out a suspicious car. At another point, two attractive women
in sexy cocktail dresses, stepped out of a car and dropped
by to see what was up, while having a grand old time in their
apparent inebriation.
In the final dramatic scene, as Othello was
approaching Desdemona’s bed with the intent to kill
her, a police van this time, crawled through the premises
as if being tipped off that a crime was about to take place.
And throughout the night, the hammering and drilling from
construction going on across the street, though after hours,
never really let up.
But ultimately, none of this detracted from
this compelling production. In its totality, there was something
so exceedingly proletariat about it all—free Shakespeare
for the masses and on their own turf. A cutting of Shakespeare
down to size, as it can often be so intimidating to so many,
given its lofty language (yet common speech in the bard’s
day), on lofty stages at lofty prices.
And now, alas Horatio, I knew this parking
lot well. Sadly, it is scheduled to be demolished and replaced
by an “urban renewal” project next year. Were
there such projects in Shakespeare’s day? If so, he
would have found another venue, as surely The Drilling
Company will. For is not all the world a stage?
***
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