Allan Mayer’s Weblog

Posts Tagged ‘Disney

 

A few blogs ago I had a bit of a rant about what I considered to be duff advice about how to create characters in novels, and wrote a skit called ‘The DaDisney Code,’ in an attempt to spread an internet ruimour that Dan Brown based his characters on the seven dwarves. Maybe it was a little silly, a little surreal. But it was just a bit of fun.
I have since found that I did not invent the connection, and would have known that if I had been a little more attentive in my reading of the Da Vinci Code.
Apparently there is a long passage which claims that Walt Disney subscribed to the ideas expressed in Da Vinci (i.e.that the church suppressed information about Mary Magdalene having a child by Jesus- sorry one person who hasn’t seen/read it) and sprinkled his films with references to this belief.
Unlikely? Then why does this picture, the ‘Penitent Magdalene’ by seventeenth-century artist Georges de la Tour…

…appear in this one, from Disney’s ‘The Little Mermaid?’

Hmmm… makes you think doesn’t it? But before we get carried away, it’s good to remember what my old theology lecturer taught me about signs and symbols: signs have one-to-one correspondence to the thing they represent. Symbols mean different things to different people. It’s a good job that road signs only have one interpretation- although I do sometimes wonder.

That particular lecturer could find ‘Tree of Life’ symbolism in almost any icon he was presented with, but never once referred to any phallic significance- perhaps that was because he was also a Methodist Minister.

Returning to ‘The Little Mermaid,’ there is a rumour that a symbol has been added by the artist to the picture below. Look closely at the tower…

Closer…

Closer still…
 
 
 

 


Yes, it is for real. Rumour has it that it was added by an artist who found that he was about to lose his job with Disney. But Stopes, that debunker of Urban and internet myth, has tracked the guy down, and he says it was nothing of the sort and that no resemblance was intended.
Thanks, Stopes, for spoiling a great story. I really wanted to believe that. I bet they’re hot on the trail of the guy who painted the Turin Shroud. 
 
BUT… doesn’t this open up an even greater mystery? I mean, when the artist sketched out the tower, when he added colour, carefully highlighting the glistening erection… did it totally escape his notice that he had just painted a giant golden ****?

Or is it just another example of the tree of life?

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For some time now there has been a school of thought on the internet which has pointed out a spooky synchronicity between Pink Floyd’s ‘the Dark Side of the Moon’ and the film, ‘The Wizard of Oz.’ (Go on- check it out!)
The latest rumour of this type is that an unidentified bestselling author based the characters in his novel upon those of the Seven Dwarves. Judge for yourself from the exerpts below, which are taken from an early draft of the work acquired only this week…

Chapter 94

‘The curator even died with a smile on his face,’ said the albino assassin. ‘He was always happy, even in death. What bloody right had he got to be happy all of the time? He should have tried living my life.’

The Doc tried not to pay too much attention to the rubik’s cube which he was holding, because he now knew beyond doubt that it held the answer: at its centre was a parchment, wrapped around a vial of vinegar, which, if broken, would cause the material upon which the clue was written to disintegrate.

The Doc had had no trouble securing the cathedral for his private use. After all, the Archbishop owed him one, and all he’d had to do was say ‘nice frock, Bish,’ to reduce him to a blushing, beard twiddling, malleable heap.

So now it was a case of waiting with Miss White, whose skills as a cryptographer were second only to her indescribable beauty, to see who turned up.

And so far, it had been the albino.

It occurred to the Doc that even in the unusually tourist-free cathedral, the monotone voice of the albino failed to produce an echo, as if the immense walls were themselves finding him too tedious to engage with.

Just listen to him, whingeing again about his cilice. And it’s not even about it cutting into his flesh… oh no, it’s the style and colour this time… not what he would have chosen… so who did choose it? Who is the mastermind behind all of this?
The Doc’s train of thought was interrupted by the rustling of paper.

‘Gee what a nice little museum. Have they got dinosaurs?’

It was John Doe, P.I.

‘Surely,’ said the Doc, ‘you can’t be the evil genius who …’

‘No, I just got these from an English chipshop and stepped in out of the rain- want one?’

The Doc suddenly realised that in the last twenty-four hours he had traveled the length of two continents and as well as having no sleep the only thing he’d touched which resembled food had been a poisoned apple.

He reached out to take a French fry, but his hand froze as he heard an all too familiar sound from a dark corner of the cathedral:

‘Aaaaaa-choooo.’

‘Professor Teabing… I should have known… or ‘Sneezing Teabing,’ as we called you at the seminary.’

The Doc slipped the Rubik’s cube under Doe’s ‘chip paper’ and into his oily palm, whispering: get this to lecouchez at Interpol.

He knew that this could be a gamble. Lecouchez’s narcolepsy tended to kick in at inconvenient points during investigations… but who else could he trust?’

Spinning round, he saw Teabing hobbling toward him, and wondered why he had never noticed his strong resemblance to Magneto.

‘Give me the… A-a-a-a… give me the… A-a-a-a-CUBE!’

‘Haven’t got it,’ said the Doc, holding up both hands.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Doc, I know that.. Aaaaaaarrrrrrgggghhh…’

‘Was that meant to be a sneeze?’

‘No, it was meant to be an aaaarrrrggghhhh… you fool! What have you done?’

Teabing was staring over Doc’s shoulder. He turned to see Doe, who was holding one half of the cube over his dinner.’

‘Gee,’ he said, waving the broken puzzle , ‘who’d have thought: a Rubik’s vinegar shaker.’

Jack felt his pulse quicken, but the cube was no longer the focus of his attention. Something else, something he had never expected to see, was rising from the midst of the grease-soaked potato snack.

Chapter 95

Grabbing Miss White with one hand, and the bag of chips in the other, Doc ran for the door, leaving behind him the crumpled, sneezing theologian, the hapless Investigator, and the grumbling albino.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Snow.

‘Haven’t you worked it out? What we are looking for is not a grail, but a woman with royal blood from the line of king David.’

‘But who could it be?’

‘I don’t know Princess,’ he said, pulling a long turd-shaped object from the bag, ‘but I’ve got the next clue.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Deep fried Mars bar… we’re off to Scotland…’

I would be interested if anyone has any information of a similar kind. A.M.


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