Beyond the Disney spell, or escape into Pantoland

Folklore, April, 2002 by Justyna Deszcz

The illusory quality of Pantoland can also be observed in the Bakhtinian elements or, in Carter's words, the "inescapable incursion of the real" (Carter 1995, 383). Here pantomime horses excrete on the stage, and Chuckles the dog forgets his role and barks at an inappropriate moment. What is particularly interesting is that it often seems to Chuckles that his position in Pantoland ought to be similar to Toto's in Oz and that he should have landed in a genuinely fantastic realm over the rainbow, not in its poor copy. It is no wonder he feels disappointed; but he is also relieved that he is no longer deceived by the seemingly magical contraptions of Pantoland.

The most scathing and ostentatious parody of Disneyland is achieved through the suspension of "the male outlook" and the exposure of the arbitrariness that permeates the customary conceptions concerning sexuality. Contrary to the clear-cut sex divisions in Disneyland, in Carter's literary theme park they are imprecise. On the one hand, one can come across quintessential womanhood, as represented by Mother Goose, whose total attention is taken up by an egg, and her male counterpart Dick Whittington's cat. But what about Daisy the Cow, "who is so female that it takes two whole men to represent her" (Carter 1995, 386)? Even more perplexing is the Principal Boy, who ignores any fixed categories of sexuality. For Carter, the Principal Boy is a "male/female cross" (Carter 1995, 388); for the narrator, a door that opens both ways. As the narrator explains, all can be arranged through additional gestures, artificial eyelashes, make-up, or emblematic costumes. All the more so because within the mocking atmosphere of Pantoland, prescribed scenarios are not strictly followed--fairytales not only intermingle but also unexpectedly invade reality. As a result, the visitor who encounters Aladdin in the launderette can never be sure whether he is in, or out of, role.

Naturally, as in all carnivals, the sovereignty of Pantoland does not last long and the freedom from the hegemony of stereotypes and Disneyland efficiency and routine must end. The imaginary land cannot replace reality, as "things don't change because a girl puts on trousers or a chap slips on a skirt, you know" (Carter 1995, 389). Yet, what remains is the transgressive power of such texts as Carter's.

Conclusion

In his discussions of contemporary fairy tales, Zipes draws attention to the constructive efforts of subversive fairy tales, which undermine "familiar perceptions cherished by readers, so that they could reflect on the negative aspects of anachronistic forms and perhaps transcend them" (Zipes 1983, 180). Carter is not, of course, the only writer to achieve this effect. There has been a real upsurge of innovative and unruly tales that similarly interrogate the mainstream tradition. Perhaps the most eloquent and earnest of such voices are postmodernists (Robert Coover, Donald Barthelme, or Salman Rushdie) and feminist writers (Anne Sexton, Olga Broumas, Tanith Lee, A. S. Byatt, or Margaret Atwood). Just like Carter's intricate structuralisation of fairytale conventions, their transformations of the genre are edged with radical values of demystification, paradox and disenchantment. Apart from examples in literature, provocative endeavours to deconstruct the established interpretations of the genre can be discerned in adaptations of fairytales for film (Jim Henson, Tom Davenport, Shelley Duvall, Tony Bill or Eric Idle). All these compel viewers "to realize how we can fight terror and cunningly insert ourselves into our daily struggles and turn the course of the world's events in our favor" (Zipes 1999, 29).