You Mean Toads in England Really Don't Drive Cars?

For a large portion of my weird little childhood, my mother would take my sister and me on an annual trip to Florida. The first year we went was 1989, just weeks after hurricane Hugo had swamped the place. I can still picture the Days Inn Hotel with the doors to all their rooms open to be aired out. We went through three rooms or so before they put us in one where the damp carpet wouldn’t likely cause mold to grow in our lungs.

Other than that though, I can barely remember the hotel or the rooms or anything else about these trips to Florida. As with most families taking small children to this southern state of oranges and old people, there is really only one reason to travel. Disneyworld.

I love Disneyworld. Even as an adult, I still love it, like a dirty, ice cream-faced, five-year-old. You can imagine then, how my curiosity was piqued when my former co-worker presented me with a most interesting memoir, titled “Cast Member Confidential.” The author, a sports photographer named Chris Mitchell, was no one I’d ever heard of, and if you know me at all, you know that the word ‘sports’ might as well be synonymous with ‘painful childhood memories.’ “I’ve heard this is good,” my coworker told me. “It’s about people who play the characters at Disneyworld.” Say no more, bookstore employee friend! You’ve made a sale!

Anyone who has been a member of a school or community theater group can imagine the sort of individuals they hire to play the numerous Disney characters prancing about their parks. Even aside from that though, the subculture that exists behind the ‘Cast Members Only’ doors is both bizarre and fascinating. That’s what they call them after all, ‘cast members,’ and not just the ladies dressed up as Cinderella, but every single employee out amongst the guests. The photographers. The greeters. The janitors. That woman ladling jambalaya into your bread bowl outside the Haunted Mansion is not a lunch lady. She is a cast member, and she has to keep smiling at you no matter what.

Young Chris Mitchell was having a bit of a life crisis when he fled Los Angeles to find gainful employment within the artificially beautiful walls of the Walt Disneyworld Resort. Instantly, his skills as a photographer set him apart from the crowd. Unfortunately, so did his rebellious and sarcastic attitude. The memoir follows Mitchell both in his quest to face the issues that sent him to Florida, but also in his desire to fit in amongst the Disney magic and those that worship at its shrine. Mitchell gives you a short rundown to his previous job, photographing seemingly heathenish skateboarders who think nothing of graffiti and using cemeteries as skate parks. While his Disney coworkers were certainly not all saints, they all possess a curious sense of purpose and ability to find joy in everything. Or so it seems at first.

Add on to that, the endless rules that accompany the job of cast member, and you’ll never look at the guy snapping your photo with Winnie the Pooh the same way again. Heck, you’ll never look at Winnie the Pooh the same way again. “Cast Member Confidential” is the sort of trivia laden book that will have you stopping every five minutes to shout at the nearest person, “Did you know they don’t sell gum at Disneyworld?” and various other useless but fascinating bits of knowledge. I got a kick out of how Mitchell fell into the habit of describing everyone he met in terms of what character they could play according to their height. Every character performer has to be a specific height, within the range of two inches. Otherwise, some observant tot might notice if the Mickey who left for a cheese break is slightly taller or shorter than the one who returned. If there is anything you learn from this book, it’s the lengths Disneyworld goes to maintain the magic, for better or worse.

In the end, the book is more about a man struggling with his own sense of self than a Disney tell-all, which is exactly the way it should be in my opinion. Honestly, as much as I like to stick it to the Man, Disney is one Man I’d rather leave alone. Who wants to rip apart their own childhood dreams and fantasies? Not me. And if you don’t believe me, come with me next Christmas to Disneyland, and watch me cry at the fake snow.