Silent train
whisked us off into the heartlands. We disembarked two
and a half hours later. There were hardly any signposts as to
where to turn. An arrow grafittied onto pavement- that's all. It felt
like looking for clues to Baba Yaga's house. Finally there it was -
squashed between the sky and the relentless sea we entered Banksy's
Dismaland. Even the prosaic queuing and anxious faces did not dispel
the magic of what was to come. The Mickey Mouse hatted officers had
the look of bored and grumpy bouncers. They were unusually rude and
in your face. I got scared. Where was the customary politeness? I was
told to hold out my arms and was scanned with a cardboard scanner
which almost scratched my nose. I was told to look into a cardboard
camera. It was clear it wasn't real, but the rudeness and the props
were so reminiscent of London life I wasn't so sure. We wanted to buy
the catalogue, the shop windrow shut in our face making sure we knew
they saw us. So far so like the Soviet Union- you don't matter, not
even your cash. The attitude was real.
Inside the park
you were left alone which was a good approach to let everyone explore
and enjoy the sites - the distorted Disney mermaid fountain, broken
police vans, miniature refugee boats trying to moor their overcrowded
cargo, disintegrating children's toys, Cinderella with a broken neck
after a road accident being snapped by the paparazzi. Cakes had
teeth, friendly Mickey was being eaten up by a snake. All over
Dismaland there was danger- it already ended Cinderella's life or
turned rabbits into mutants with human ears growing from their backs,
Or the danger was coming- the rudeness which could rattle your
feathers and make you feel helpless, blood shedding trees, mountains
opening up in despair, revealing bloody gashes, waves about to
swallow up happy families on the beach, blue lava squeezing its way
into every crevice of our lives. Are we to take it seriously? Is the
cereal boxed, happy clappy danger real or pretend? Perhaps not even
the artists displaying their works at Dismaland know for sure.
What's certain is the uncertainty- we are teetering on a brink of
something dark- are we going to enter it oblivious like Mickey into
the mouth of the snake or is Mickey the one who will cut our throats
wearing his placid Disney smile? The bells are ringing- wake up and
open your eyes.
