Category: Writing (Page 1 of 11)

HarshLight, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

It wasn’t as cold as I thought it would be.

That’s the first note from my experience at Disney on Ice. My wife Sara and I took our daughter Sasha to the show last month, and Sara’s sister Michaela joined us.

We drove to the MVP Arena, formerly the Times Union Center, formerly the Pepsi Center, formerly the Knick, formerly probably something else, like the General Electric General Sports Dome or something. It’s an indoor arena right off I-90, which is just how we Albanians like it.

Speaking of Albanians, there were lots of us there. By Albanians, I mean citizens of Albany, New York, not citizens of Albania. (I mean, some folks might’ve been from Albania—I didn’t ask.) I’ve been to a Roger Waters show at this venue, plus several arena football games (go Empire), along with a handful of college basketball and minor league hockey games.

The crowd for Disney on Ice was more excited than them all.

I’m not sure why this surprised me, but it did. I expected the audience for an off-Broadway play, not a playoff game.

Into the parking garage we drove, trailing behind several minivans, SUVS, and other family-friendly vehicles. We chugged up a couple levels, avoided the odd sprinting child as we drove, and soon found ourselves a parking space. After gathering Sasha’s supplies (because sometimes being a parent feels more like being a roadie for the Grateful Dead), we headed inside.

The copious offerings of fried dough and souvenirs lent the place a carnival atmosphere. Unfortunately, the latter were a disappointment to both Sara and Michaela, since it all seemed to be seizure-inducing lights attached to plastic rods (more on this later).

The only thing that caught Sara’s eye was popcorn. As we searched for our seats, she asked me, Michaela, and Sasha if we wanted any (reminder: Sasha’s still learning English). All three of us declined, to which Sara replied, “Maybe we should get popcorn.” When we declined a second time, Sara called it an “outrage” and threatened to get some, anyway. Fortunately, she decided against it when she saw the line. We proceeded to our seats.

Sasha began the show in my lap. She was pretty much motionless for the next 45 minutes, which is commendable for a then-13-month-old kid. I’m guessing she was stupefied by all the strobing lights, which glimmered both on and off the ice; in addition to the overhead lighting, most kids wielded those blinking plastic sticks, with which they prodded one another.

Before the prodding could progress to smacking, the show began. In glided Mickey, Minnie, Donald, and Goofy, enjoying the type of ravenous applause reserved for mid-60s Beatles concerts. Through voiceovers pumped from the stadium speakers, we learned the framing story: The fab four wanted to make a movie, only they couldn’t settle on a subject.

A few notes so far:

• The sexual tension between Mickey and Minnie was undeniable.
• I’m pretty sure Tim Blake Nelson does the voice of Goofy. I know there’s no evidence of this, but it really, really sounds like him.
• Donald Duck’s dialogue is inscrutable. Imagine a person whose tongue has been stung by a bee, then had a fishbowl shoved over their head.

After some friendly banter, the crew settled on not one story, but many, beginning with Finding Dory.

Er, at least, I think they did. The sequence of segments has blurred in my mind, becoming a jumble of twirls, axels, and flying camels (Sara assures me that’s a real skating move).

But here’s one thing I do remember: The Dory costumes were creepy. Creative, yes, but super creepy. The skaters’ heads exploded from the fishes’ backs—or maybe the fishes’ heads exploded from the skaters’ chests. Either way, I couldn’t help but wonder whether the kids were amazed or horrified.

Turns out it was the former. If you think European soccer fans are passionate, you should see children at a Disney show. Most were on their feet the entire time, and if they weren’t, it was only because they couldn’t yet stand. They clapped. They shrieked. They twirled their blinking plastic sticks in heedless, blurring arcs, making me wonder how nobody got concussed by an errant swing. Sara herself sat beside a little girl whose stick was apparently quite blinding. I didn’t notice; I was too busy trying to recall the names of the boyfriends of the Disney princesses.

This was the next bit of the show. Dory, Marlon, and Nemo departed, ceding center ice to Belle and the Beast. That one I remembered. But then came Ariel and her dude, Snow White and a dude, Aurora plus dude, and pretty soon I gave up. I challenge the average Disney fan to name these scrubs. They’re almost as interchangeable as contestants on The Bachelor.

Afterward, Sara, Michaela, and I speculated on the strategy behind the rapid-fire princesses. After much deliberation, we decided it was a diversion tactic, something along the lines of, Let’s rush in princess after princess so there’s no time to reflect on the racism/sexism of the old movies.

It didn’t really work, but it did make for some cool skating, especially when all 77 or so couples united for a group number. After a wave of raucous applause, this brought us to halftime—I mean, intermission.

As kids and parents alike raced for the bathrooms, Sasha’s trance broke. She began to squirm and was only placated by a pre-packed bottle of milk. Crisis averted.

While we waited for the show to resume, I spotted a lot of Molsons. All slim cans with open tops, all clutched by people I assumed were parents. It seemed an odd place to enjoy a brew, yet I realized most were likely enjoying their brews because of the place.

Sasha was chugging her beverage, too, though hers was Vitamin D whole milk, not light beer. No sooner had she finished than the show resumed.

Mickey, Minnie, Donald, and Goofy returned to discuss their work-in-progress, which Donald described as—and I’m quoting him here—”Plazz-bwoo.” The others pretended to understand him, then introduced The Lion King.

I cringed during this sequence, and not because the costumes reminded me of the film Cats. Rather, it was due to their song choice: “Can You Feel the Love Tonight?”

See, I love this song, and so does Sara. In fact, I performed and recorded it one year for her for Valentine’s Day. This might sound impressive…until you hear my performance. Imagine someone slowly squeezing the life out of a squirrel by sitting on it. That’s basically my voice, especially on Nala’s parts, which I had no business singing. If they’d played my version of the song instead of the original, I suspect even more Molsons would’ve been chugged.

I forgot my shame when Frozen began. Unsurprisingly, this claimed a major portion of the show. It was great: the songs, the routines, even the costumes (Olaf’s was my favorite). During “Let It Go,” I even got a little choked up. You’re so brave, Elsa, I thought to myself, squeezing Sasha like she squeezes her Carebears. You finally let it go.

After that came Taylor Swift.

…Just kidding, it was the cast of Toy Story. But if you closed your eyes and listened, you’d think someone was about to launch into the 10-minute version of “All Too Well.” Even a guy named “Forky” got a rave reception, though I’d never heard of him. (Probably because I refuse to acknowledge Toy Story 4, because Toy Story 3 came out the year I graduated high school, and since Andy was doing the same in the movie, I view 3 as the definitive conclusion to the franchise.)

Side note: Is Forky okay? His schtick is constantly trying to leap into piles of trash, which seems like abnormal behavior to me (unless you’re a raccoon). Maybe Woody and Buzz should stage an intervention.

However, since an intervention would likely be too difficult to choreograph, the cast instead proceeded to Mulan. This almost brought Michaela to tears. Maybe it was the staging, or maybe it resulted from PTSD.

See, sometime in their adolescence, Sara demanded Michaela stay up well past midnight memorizing every word of every song from the movie. If even one lyric was incorrect, they had to restart the whole thing (Sara asked me to include this fact in this essay, and she sounded proud about it).

Though I wasn’t recalling an instance of sleep deprivation torture, I found Mulan moving as well. At one point, she shoots a live firework at the Hun army, triggering an avalanche simulated by a gigantic white sheet sweeping over the skaters. Very cool.

There was some stuff from Aladdin, too, like 20 blue genies forming a kickline across the ice, plus Aladdin wrestling a ragdoll version of his monkey. Afterward came the finale, where the entire cast circled the ice to wave goodbye.

Sasha saw none of this. Sometime around the genies’ arrival, she sprawled across Sara and me and promptly began to snore. (Her ability to sleep anywhere makes me a little jealous.)

When the show ended, I lifted her and cradled her in my arms. She slept on, even as we navigated our way through the fans, many of whom were screeching, crying, and flopping on the ground. Kids are experts at flopping on the ground, like fish unhooked from the line. They’re best at it when they want something, or really don’t want something, and they feel no remorse for their poor parents who make accidental eye contact with other nearby adults, who then think to themselves, I may pity you, but I can’t help you.

I’m sure such behavior is in our future, but just then, Sasha kept on sleeping. I carried her all the way to the car, where I set her down in her seat and buckled her in. She stirred for a moment, then sighed and slept on.

If Sasha had written this review instead of me, she might’ve started it like this: “This show put me to sleep.”

I’ll admit, that doesn’t sound great. And since she’s so little, I doubt she’ll remember much, if any, of Disney on Ice. But for whatever time she was awake, she was enchanted. And that, I’d say, was worth the price of admission.

Which is good, because tickets were surprisingly affordable, and there are apparently several other variations of the show. Parts II, III, IV, and V coming soon…

Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.