Disney and the Wonder Within
The Watchmaker's Gift [Book Two]
Charles E. Zitta
THEME PARK PRESS
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© 2020 Charles E. Zitta
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Chapter One
It was 1959. Sleeping Beauty was showing in theaters across the country. In one such theatre; near Anaheim, California, sat an artist, slouched low in his seat near the very back, as not to be seen—a shadow amongst others. Maddened. Furious. Enraged. The jealous artist sat, staring at the big screen before him with fists clenched, teeth grinding and legs twisted up like a pretzel—critiquing each and every creative element, in each and every scene. The more the audience applauded the movie, the more furious he became. I was the chosen one. Full-length animated movies were my idea. I was the one who should have succeeded. This should have been me, not him. No, no, no. Not him, he thought to himself.
This was not just any artist, not by any means. This was a man who had once worked side by side with a young artist named Walt Disney. This was an artist who had worked just as hard and just as long as Walt. A young, confident man who had grown as a budding artist alongside Walt. Had had meaningful and creative conversations with Walt. He’d brainstormed with Walt about the future of art, animation, it’s impact on society and the power of imagination. He had worked with Walt at the Disney Animation Studios as a lead character animator. And at one point, had even been considered for the position of creative director over all Disney films. But the position was eliminated. Walt thought it best to spread the creative responsibility amongst many; as in the nine old men, in order to develop the best product possible. But this decision did not sit well with the talented artist who’s name never made it onto a Disney movie credits list. He felt slighted. Passed over. Humiliated. And now, here he sat, alone, a failure, a nobody—his mind filled with hateful, vengeful and evil thoughts as he watched a movie that could very easily have been his creation.
Then, she appeared; green skinned, piercing eyes, cloaked in black with staff in hand and armed with a personality which commanded attention. The dark fairy. Maleficent. She fit his mood—strong, dark, intimidating. She was a true leader of undesirables. She made sense. This was to be his motivation. All the years of anger, all the years of jealousy—the built up hatred inside him finally had a purpose, a goal—a dark and devious goal. Take Disney’s very own villainous creation, or better yet, creations, and use them to bring Walt’s creative empire to its knees.
Marching down the rainy sidewalks of Burbank—head down and continuously mumbling mad gibberish to himself, the shell of a man made his way back to an old dilapidated hotel complex with a red neon no vacancy sign that read: NO V AN. He barged through the front door, striding into the lobby in wet shoes that squished with every step. He turned right, then made his way to the elevator doors, completely ignoring the front desk staff in the process, as he left a trail of water behind.
“Quite the odd fella, don’t you think Elsie?” one of the desk clerks said to the other.
“Oh yes. That man hasn’t spoken a word to me since I started working here. And that was over a month ago,” she replied.
“Yeah, well I’ve been here almost two years and the only time I ever recall him speaking to anyone, including me, was the day he checked in. And even then, he didn’t make eye contact with me. He’s a real piece of work, that’s for sure. I mean, what kind of person wants to make an old rundown hotel like this their permanent residence anyway?”
“I agree, Ed. I agree,” the woman said, while staring over the rim of the reading glasses resting upon her nose, continuing to study the eccentric artist in drenched clothes who stood by the elevator doors.
Feeling unwanted eyes upon his back, he eagerly tapped the up button with his boney right hand index finger. Slowly, the arrow above the door started to move counter clockwise towards the first floor. The rickety old elevator clanked and thunked its way down to its caller, louder and louder, until it came to rest with a sudden THUNK. The doors opened and he stepped inside. With fifteen buttons to choose from, the brooding artist hit number nine, then nine again, and one more time. If this were a properly functioning elevator, the button would illuminate, but not in this case. Money for repairs did not exist in hotels such as this. Soap, shampoo and even towels were considered luxury items. The doors awkwardly closed and the elevator ascended, floor two, three, four...and finally, nine. The doors clanked open, exposing a dimly lit hallway. Only two lights out of eight were working, one of which, flickered on and off. The floor was covered with a thin coat of what used to be blue carpeting; it was flanked by water-stained walls—covered with sixty year old floral-patterned wallpaper that once may have been white, but now was dirty yellow with streaks of brown and peeling everywhere. The first door to the left, facing the elevator, was his destination. Apartment nine thirteen. With a shaky wet hand he reached deep into the front right pocket of his rain drenched trousers, the water from his long dark bangs dripped down his forehead, over his crooked nose, across his lips, and off the end of his chin, before finally hitting the junky old carpeting which sat between his oversaturated shoes and the door to his room. Pulling out a single key, his shaky hand repeatedly aimed for the key hole—once, twice, a third time—a difficult thing to do for anyone in such dark accommodations. Finally, the key and lock became one, his hand turned, the lock clicked and he bumped open the old battered door with his right forearm. Anxiously rushing inside, he slammed and locked the door behind him, taking off his coat and casting it to the floor. He immediately headed for the drawing table in the back corner of the room near the window and turned on the dusty old table lamp. Instantly flooded with a fluorescent yellow-cast light, the table revealed layers of sketches, notes and diagrams—and more sketches notes and diagrams, piled high in an unorganized fashion. Alongside the table was a trash receptacle, overflowing onto the floor with countless crumbled balls of paper containing hopes, dreams and ideas—all of which, had been crushed by the realities of the harsh world. But that was all in the past now. No more, he thought to himself, no more. The drenched artist mounted his stool, and in one full swoop, pushed all the spent piles of paper covering the table to the floor. Grabbing a pencil and a clean sheet of paper, he began to plot his scheme.
“Name, hmmm,” he mumbled to himself while scratching his head. Evil. Evil is to be key, he thought. Villains against Walt? No. United Villains of Evil? No. The Evil Doers? Nope, not scary enough. For nearly two hours, the crazed artist obsessed over the perfect name for his diabolical organization—writing and scratching out names, again and again. It had to carry purpose. It had to be dark. It had to strike fear in the hearts of ALL Disney lovers who hear
d it. Something memorable, something simple…something, undoubtedly sinister.
He stared out the window at the rain; messaging his temples, thinking…thinking. The soft glow of the lonely street light on the corner whispered for his attention. And then, it went dark. Wait, that’s it. He had it. Yes! It’s perfect. Frightfully perfect. It shall be called, The Dark Order.
Deep into the night, the dejected artist scribbled down his thoughts, filling sheet upon sheet of paper, until all the thoughts in his head had been emptied out. His plan of attack; to build a secret army, a dark collective group that will possess the ability to destroy, crush, and abolish all the joy, all the happiness, all the goodwill Walt and his company had worked so hard to build and spread throughout the world. Indeed, this was to be the beginning of the end for all things Disney!
Chapter Two
As the years slowly passed, The Dark Order continued to increase in size, silently growing more powerful with each passing day. Days turned to weeks; which turned to months, years, and decades. The unknown artist who had founded the Dark Order continued to secretly and tirelessly build his army. He visited the most horrid places around the country; and even the world. From the deepest, darkest holes imaginable; like run down pubs and trash covered alleys, to condemned old buildings and rat infested sewer lines, there was no place too dark, too dirty or too dangerous to find new prospects for his army of undesirables.
But the evil artist knew that recruiting more and more members, that numbers, were not enough. These soldiers, his dark soldiers; needed to be taught the ways of the villain. They needed to be taught the art of deception—trained to lie, cheat, steal, con, and sabotage. To do anything in their power that would bring Disney’s reputation and the quality of their creative community to its knees, and inevitable demise.
However, to the dismay of the dark artist, Disney had already put into place something rather brilliant to prevent such evil threats from penetrating their positively charged, creative world. When Disney animation was making a name for itself, and Disneyland was on the verge of opening, a select group of imagineers secretly developed a magical world, a world created by their dreams and ideas. They called it, the World of Natural Dream Enhanced Realities, or WONDER, where both reality and dream-like fantasy coexist. Its purpose, to preserve everything positive Disney instills upon the world.
It was only then, after the imagineers had created WONDER, that the evil intentions of the maniacally twisted artist and his Dark Order were exposed. In response, the select group of imagineers wasted no time in calling together all their Disney brethren to dream up, design and build in safeguards to protect WONDER from any unfriendly threats. Five of those safeguards included the Kingdom Crystals.
This clever move by the imagineers generated an insurmountable barrier for the Dark Order, pushing the crazed artist and his evil organization back into the shadows of society. It was there they laid dormant for many years; scheming, planning, waiting for the day when the Dark Order would once again reach full strength, and destroy all that Walt and his team of loyal imagineers and animators had worked so hard to build.
But the seamless years of waiting proved to be too much for the artist to bear. His mind had grown overly impatient, his body, older, weaker, and more frail. Those who knew him well insisted he step down as leader of the Dark Order. But to their dismay, he refused—still driven by the personal hatred for Disney that lay deep within his heart, until eventually, it cost him his life. The artist who had once shown so much promise, talent and creativity was left with nothing more than lost hope, anger in his heart, and a concept sketch he had once drawn for Walt’s first full length animated Film, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. He was laid to rest shortly after on a cold and rainy Halloween afternoon—the sketch, nestled between his arms. Some say he was buried in a secret tomb his followers carved out in an underground cave on the west coast. Others say his ashes lay near, or under, the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland. To this day, nobody really knows. Two months later, after his passing; the Dark Order disbanded.
Nearly thirty years had passed. It was the end of the Disney Decade; an incredible era in the history of Disney animation and the parks. The masters of family entertainment and theme park magic were sitting on top of the world. Everyone and their families were talking about the latest Disney movies, The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, The Lion King, Aladdin and so on. If it wasn’t a Disney movie they were talking about, moms, dads and grandparents were planning their next big vacation to one of the Disney theme parks—to give their families the experience of a lifetime. Whether you were a child, or child at heart, the nineties were indeed the perfect time to be alive. And with the millennium just around the corner, the anticipation of what Disney might do next was overwhelming—but in a good way, as far as fans were concerned.
However, to one very young lady, the Disney Decade had been nothing more than an unpleasant reminder of all the suffering, all the disappointment, and all the frustration her great-uncle had gone through in his creative, yet unfulfilled life. Which, according to her mother, was largely due because of one man—who most considered to be a great individual, a creative genius and a true family man. But who, in her mother’s tainted opinion, was nothing more than a ruthless thief who stole ideas from helpless creative talent, such as her great-uncle. A man named Walt Disney.
She was just an innocent little girl living in Florida with her mother when the Disney Decade had begun. While most girls her age were dreaming about being a Disney princess, Lila could only remember the agonizing stories about her once great-uncle from California. Stories her mother had shared with her throughout her childhood, over and over again—pushing out any thoughts of princes, princesses and happily ever afters that may have existed in a mind so young, so fragile, and so impressionable.
The twisted stories weighed heavy on the young girl’s thoughts. As she entered her teen years, she was pulled even deeper into a world most chose to avoid. School became an awkward daily nuisance, and by the time Lila was a junior in high school she had disowned her friends, sat in the back of the classrooms, and hardly said a word to anyone—except to criticize or complain about someone or something. She began to avoid color in her clothing choices; blacks and grays were the norm. Only on a very good day, which was a rarity, would she throw a subtle hint of purple into her outfit. Her skin, though not pale, was lighter than most girls her age, who enjoyed going to the Florida beaches and pool parties to look at boys. Nobody cared, or even tried, to befriend the strange girl who had a dislike for others.
By the end of her junior year of high school, she had truly become the school’s most popular outcast—a title nobody really wanted to claim. This made her an easy target for cruel jokes, rumors, lies and even a nickname—given to her of course, by the most popular girl-click of the class. She was known amongst her peers as, “Looney Lila”. But the name never really did concern her. To a girl who had much more significant things to think about, a silly little nickname was nothing but a foolish distraction—mere child’s play for someone who’s thoughts ran much broader, much deeper, and much darker than pretty much anyone else in the entire school.
During the summer, between her junior and senior year, it was rumored Looney Lila had traveled abroad. Where she went, nobody ever really knew. The only whiff of rumor to be had, was that her mother had sent Lila away to learn the ways of the Dark Order. Hoping one day, Lila could finish what her twisted mess of an uncle had started, many years before her daughter was even born.
It was 1999, Lila’s senior year had finally arrived. The northern fall air blew across the school yard, rustling the trees, which swayed to and fro—marking the end of summer and the beginning of a new school year. All the popular kids and their friends were gathered in the front window-lined hall of the school—the traditional meeting place for the popular students before the bell rang to begin the day. There were conversations about summer break, who went where, which blockbuster movies people saw, or who
kissed who. There was even talk about class schedules, who was in who’s class, or what lunch period people were in. Overall, everyone was happy to be back—to be amongst friends they hadn’t seen in months. Even Principal Allen was perusing the halls, asking kids how their summers had went, and if they had had a good time.
One of the main entryway doors clicked open, and a sudden wave of silence swept through the hallway as Lila entered the building. Even Principal Allen was slack jawed. Like a graceful swan parting the calm pond waters, she made her way through the crowded hallway of kids, who were gathered in clusters like lily pads. All, unable to get a single word out—or for that matter, even a blink. The girl who had once hidden behind a loner personality, drab clothing, and a lack luster hair style, with crooked bangs and sunglasses, was now commanding full attention of those around her without saying a single word. A dazzling purple outfit, with black belt and boots, complimented her long black hair, ruby red lips and green, catlike eyes—which pierced the heart of every teenage boy, as she passed them by like afterthoughts.
The girls stared jealously at their supposed boyfriends, who’s heads turned and followed the unexpected surprise dressed in purple. It was as if they had never seen her before. And to be fare, they really hadn’t—at least not like this, and all the females new it. They also new—as the ring leader of the popular girls whispered, “This changes everything,” to the others, that Lila had undergone a life changing experience over summer break. She could no longer be addressed as “Looney Lila”. From now on, she would just be called, Lila.
While the circle of popular girls all respectfully nodded to confirm their approval of Lila’s miraculous transformation, she thought to herself, if they only knew the true story behind what they see.
On the surface, Lila had indeed undergone incredible changes. Changes that could fool even the sharpest of minds. But hidden deep within her jaded heart, she was still the same dark-minded teenage girl who despised everyone.
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