Joshua Bailey’s “Stolen Kingdom” presents as a breezy examination of an underground society of Walt Disney World urban adventurers and black market thieves; yet, behind the naked animatronics and pilfered princess costumes, there lies a sense of nostalgia feasting upon its own tail, a harbinger that portends doom for those cursed to be forever fascinated with the machinations of these hermetically sealed realities of wonderment. Providing a timeline of the various ways that people have been sneaking onto, and being banned from, the Disney property over the last forty years, the film’s main attraction, its “weenie” to use an industry term, is its collection of several dozen videos of thrill seekers brazenly venturing where no civilian has gone before. Their actions, which grow increasingly daring and dangerous as new explorers try to one-up one another, are idiotic, and yet impossible to look away from. For some of us, a perverse itch gets scratched by watching human beings be in places not meant for them, places either long left to rot or simply forbidden, where people once laughed or cried, where families formed iron-clad memories and children faced fears. That sense of exploration, of touching that which has been forgotten, is a universal one. When all the blank spaces of the globe have been colored in, where else are we meant to go than into the places we are not welcomed; much like our ancestors once did. Because while the cheeky need to peek beyond the Wizard’s curtain is palpable, man’s interest in discovery for its own sake is historically short-lived, leading to the eager desecration of the very object that was once revered. While the intentions of a few eager theme park enthusiasts hoping to document the inner workings of a soon-to-be-demolished attraction can be understood, even commended, the offspring of their example are more insidious, as are the patrons who pay top dollar for an item that once lived inside the parks. It is this ecosystem that led to the most notorious theft in the history of theme parks, which makes for the film’s spine and main narrative thrust, a crime whose perpetrators have never faced justice. I am speaking, of course, about “Cranium Command” and the kidnapping of Buzzy.
“Cranium Command” was an animatronic show that opened with Epcot’s “Wonders of Life” pavilion in 1989. A cavernous convention space filled with educational programs and activity spaces to teach about the inner workings of human anatomy, “The Wonders of Life” featured several unique attractions: a simulator ride through the blood vessels of a living person (Body Wars), an animated movie hosted by Martin Short about human reproduction (“The Making of Me”), and Cranium Command, a theater show about how a pipsqueak pseudo-military pilot actually runs the cogs and gears of our minds. Essentially a proto “Inside Out”, “Cranium Command” existed in a purpose-built stage that resembled the inner workings of a ten-year-old boy’s brain. Our hero, Buzzy, a diminutive recruit who means well but is in over his head, floats above the audience’s heads in audio-animatronic form, trying his best to wrangle his appointed human subject through a chaotic day at school that culminates with a fight with bullies and a kiss from a girl. The show was fun and informative, with comedians like Charles Grodin, John Lovitz, and George Wendt giving personality to the body’s various organs, and Buzzy was a fan favorite, remembered for his plucky good nature and general cuteness. Sadly, when the “Wonders of Life” closed its doors in 2007, Buzzy was left alone in the dark; decommissioned but not removed. It was here that YouTubers, exploiting the shockingly lax security in the back areas of the park, found him, not so much decaying as floating in a windowless stasis, not unlike some anachronistic aquatic life long lost in the shadow zone. Soon after the discovery of Buzzy, his clothes were stolen. Not long after that, Buzzy himself was snatched from the attraction and sequestered to parts unknown. Thus began one of the more unique manhunts in American history, where the search for a beloved animatronic morphed into an indictment of an entire ecosystem existing right under the noses of an increasingly Disney-obsessed populace.
The idea that theme parks could become one’s sole preoccupation is a fairly new phenomenon, largely boosted by the onslaught of influencers who make going to the Disney parks their entire identity, a subculture from which this first batch of Disney-based urban explorers was born. Even for the less criminally inclined, these “Disney Adults” seem addicted to the balm of unreality that stepping through the gates of The Magic Kingdom in Orlando provides; a sense that this place is, was, and always will be, that the real world is a faintly remembered dream and tomorrow is great, big, and beautiful. Easy to mock and even easier to anger on the internet, their numbers are legion after all, it’s difficult for me to fully dismiss their obsession because, in many ways, I am one of them. As a child in the 90s, Walt Disney World, in particular, was a haven; the only place on Earth where I felt like myself. There were fewer resources back then about how that place was designed, imagined, and constructed, so I devoured every book written on the subject of Imagineering and spent inordinate hours scrolling fan blogs and message boards for the latest news of ride closures or refurbishments. I spent my high school years writing and rewriting a two-hundred-page book featuring everything I had ever learned about the Magic Kingdom, and even today, the sign-off for every review I write references an obscure piece of dialogue from an Epcot attraction. All this to say that while watching “Stolen Kingdom”, seeing these men whose hyper-fixation with Walt Disney World drove them to covet a piece of it for themselves, I felt a profound and uneasy kinship. When these videos, including a particularly harrowing one where a masked man clambers up to touch the perpetually frozen Yeti animatronic of “Expedition Everest,” found their way online about a decade ago, I was among those eagerly watching. When books were written about the untoward histories and dirty little secrets of the Parks, they found their way onto my shelf. I wanted to know everything, even what I wasn’t supposed to know. But now I’m wondering how far I would take this instinct? Do I think I would have snuck into the backstage areas of the long-defunct dark ride “Horizons” with a video camera? Maybe not, but I can’t say I’m not dazzled by the exercise. I remember once testing the waters at sneaking into the derelict Jazz Land property, only to be forced into a hasty retreat by a passing security patrol. Where is the line drawn between exploitation and good taste, between harmless, nose snubbing fun and abject recklessness? I suppose it is in the difference between those who steal and those who simply observe and appreciate, a thin, tight rope of legality to balance upon, but a worthy distinction nonetheless. While I have shed most of my deification of Walt Disney as I’ve aged, preferring the moniker “theme park weirdo” to the more incendiary Disney-centric one, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to shake the sense that there is magic in those parks, despite their current insistence on commodifying every scrap of it. As a piece of commercial art, its value is that it can be experienced by anyone, a living creation that speaks to something deeper than profit margins and layoffs; an unspoken feeling that maybe can only be experienced to be understood. The magic is in the sharing, and for that reason, if none other, I hope Buzzy comes back home someday and finally finds his way back to the light where he belongs.
“Stolen Kingdom” is an indictment for some but also a thrilling romp, allowing us normies to witness those braver and more moronic than us fulfilling the intrusive thoughts we try to keep ourselves from acting upon. I wouldn’t recommend following in their footsteps, but still, I can’t lie and say I’m not a bit jealous. What I wouldn’t give to sneak around the back alleys of “Horizons” uninhibited, standing inches from moving animatronics and peering into the inner guts of what makes a dark ride tick. I suppose I am still among the afflicted after all. Oh, what a wonder life is.
Leave no trace.
You’ll be glad you did.
“Stolen Kingdom” is playing at Prytania Theatres at Canal Place beginning July 12.
