Tag Archives: peter pan

MAYHEM OF THE MOUSE Day 3: CAPTAIN HOOK #mayhemofthemouse

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Number three in our line up of Disney’s usual suspects is the big-hatted, blouse-y shirted, fisherman-friendly prosthetic-wearing original Disney pirate: Captain Hook.

I usually go into movies either strongly in the hero’s column (like Rocky or Spidey or Iron Man) or at least hero-neutral: rarely do I have strong negative feelings about a hero. Except for Peter Fucking Pan. I hate the fairy, I really do, and I’m not entirely certain why. He’s just kinda creepy to me and when a yellow sweater vest-wearing, ET-loving, Macaulay Culkin-hugging Michael Jackson said ol Petey was his favorite, that was the nail in the coffin. And I love Michael Jackson but…I just didn’t feel right.

So knowing that I HATE Peter Pan, you can imagine I was pretty excited about Captain Hook. Oh, you hate his lil ass too? Great! I’ve only seen this movie once and it was a long time ago and I hope I never see it again. Yes, it was that fantastic. Captain Hook spends the movie chasing Peter Pan and his band of Bebe kids because Peter cut off his hand. Now, Hook has his own issues: aside from his infatuation with a group of perpetually 8-year-old boys, Hook lives in terror of a crocodile that thinks he’s a two-piece dinner and stalks him because he tastes good.

Now, I’m a little concerned about the man’s obsession with a Justin Beiber lookalike in green tights. I get the kid cut off his hand and everything but does it not strike anyone as a lil disconcerting Hook’s perpetual focus on a group of small boys? This obsession leads him to attempted murder, kidnapping, imprisonment—and none of his focus on adults. Captain Hook is a poor pirate; he’s an angry schoolbus driver in frilly clothes. And, the truth is, the foulest villain in the whole movie was Tinkerbell. That chick got so jealous of Wendy, she tried to get Hook to kill her.

The whole movie is a hot mess and the catalyst for everything is that Wendy has gotten too old to be sleeping in the same room with her brothers. I’m a parent: the end of this story is Wendy gets her own freaking room and everybody grows the fuck up. The End, right? But no, we get Peter teaching people how to fly, evading Captain Hook, leading an expedition against the “Indians” that live on the island (one of which Captain Hook kidnapped). Peter Pan refuses to grow up, Captain Hook is both jealous of Peter and eager to see him dead, Tinkerbell is in love enough with Peter that she’s willing to kill. And the crux of the movie is the kids really want parents and structure and Peter Pan wants to deny them what they need.

In the end, Captain Hook has one redeeming quality: he is so vehemently opposed to not growing up. Peter Pan is his enemy because Peter Pan represents a level of immaturity that the movie seems to reject—ever Peter’s own people reject it. The entire movie is about time and maturity and growing up: Peter’s immaturity hampers Hook by cutting off his hand and the inevitability of Hooks eventual death is chronicled by the ticking clock in the crocodile. Geez, I got deeper than I wanted. I’m still not a fan but Hook’s a winner because he hates Peter Pan more than I do. And I HATE Peter Pan.

And that’s the deal! I will catch you guys tomorrow! And, don’t forget, join the giveaway! Swing by amandabellestarr.com and submit your entry!

How We Broke Disneyworld Part I

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Hey, remember when I said we were gonna see if Peter Pan could really fly? Well…four broken bones, a hyper-extended knee, a fused spine and a fractured pelvis later, it turns out he can’t. He also can’t walk anymore. Ever. Did you know the characters in Disneyworld aren’t actually the REAL characters? They’re people DRESSED like the characters. That’s not what they advertise. I bought magic, dammit, but it’s all strings and pulleys and hot air balloons and secret doors. Yeah, I was surprised too! Well, we found out Disney doesn’t actually appreciate when you try to kill one of their characters. Even the lame ones.

Oops.

So after the Peter Pan debacle, we ran. Or tried to. Disneyworld does have its own security force called the Mickeys—they’re real people with Mickey ears for hats but they are bound by the company to only talk like Mickey, Donald or Goofy. So the four of us are being chased by 6 big, burly guys and we’re hearing Goofy yell, “Gawrsh, you gotta stop right there!” and Mickey shout, “Hey, you little bastards, we’re gonna get you!” We never did understand what the Donald Duck guys were saying.

We break out of Cinderella’s castle but the whole episode happened during the Wishes firework show (yes, we damn near killed Peter Pan in front of thousands of people. Go big or go home, right?). Our exit is blocked! Break left into Tomorrowland. We have two options: Stitch’s Great Escape or Space Mountain. Escape sounds like the plan so we jump on the ride. Booooo! Stitch just laughs and spits on you for the whole ride. But here’s the thing: the Mickeys have to follow the rules of the park while they’re in the park. If we run on a ride, they do too. And they have to stay on it, strapped in and everything. They even get carded for Fastpasses! We don’t get anywhere but, Stitch being Stitch, he does help us out: he spits enough water on the ground that our pursuers slip, fall and collapse in a heap.

On to Space Mountain.

There is a 45-minute wait for the ride and we have 6 Mickeys on our tails. Screw the standby line. We ambush a bunch of teenagers with Bieber hair, snatch their Fastpasses and tear up the line. I’m not proud of what we did but, hey, they had Bieber hair—they deserved it on GP. The Mickeys come up right behind us but they get broken up riding as Single Riders. I should point out here that the title of the Space Mountain ride is a misnomer: it takes you neither to space nor the mountains. We’re right back where we started.

Dammit.

We need a diversion.

The Honey Badger provides.

In Tomorrowland, there is occasionally a walking, talking trashcan named Push. Wrong day for Push. Because that’s what he got: pushed into the yelling, screaming Mickeys. They’re down for the count. We wade into the rush of attendees and strollers, Hoverounds and crying kids, bolt up Main Street and make a break for the Main Gate. It’s almost too easy.

But leave it to Disney to make things harder than they actually have to be. Rather than escape the park into, I don’t know, the PARKING LOT, we are funneled into the ninth circle of Hell—better known as the Transportation Center. This lovely invention is a conundrum of poor signage and bad lighting and arrows that lead no-fucking-where, all trying to direct you to three actual exits: the Tram to the parking lot; the Ferry to God-knows-where, and the monorail.

Everybody and their mama is on the Ferry boat. And they are slow! Not “old-lady-writing-a-check-in-the-grocery-store-line-how-much-are-those-apples-do-you-have-a-pen?” slow. Not even “new-parents-who-can’t-figure-out-how-to-close-the-fucking-stroller-they’ve-had-for-the-last-10-months-so-it-can-fit-through-the-X-Ray-machine-at-TSA-and-maybe-allow-the-1500-people-behind-them-to-make-their-flight” slow. This is something different. Something worse. These people are “I-have-never-been-anywhere-but-my-80-person-town-where-teeth-are-optional-and-what-is-a-dental-plan?-Janey-come-on-Tanner-get-down-what-does-that-sign-say-where-is-the-car?” slow. Fuck the ferry.

We turn to the Monorail. The Boy starts having anxiety attacks over the monorail because he SAW IT SIT ON THE FUCKING TRACKS AND THE RIDE WAS BUMPY ONCE. Once. This was actually a real conversation. Who the hell is scared of the Monorail at Disneyworld? Oh, I know who! My kid. Monorail’s out.

Tram it is. We break for the tram, wade through the crowd, trying to find the one for the Heroes lot (or was it Villains? Shit where is the car?) I hear the operator in the back begin his speech, “This is the tram to—agghhh!” Wife took him out. All I see is his orange and white vest floating in the Florida breeze. Guess the driver is mine. I rush his little cabin, tell him in my best Amityville Horror voice, “Get out!” He does. The tram is ours.

We speed off into the night, no idea where the car is, on a parking tram loaded with 80 tired, angry, confused Disney patrons of all ages, canes and strollers and walkers dribbling off the sides. And as we pull away, I hear over the loudspeakers, still in the Mickey voice:

“…they’ve got a tram into the Villains lot. This is a Code 626.”

Code 626. Fugitives.

But wait! There’s more!