Coming Attractions
two visions of progress
I went to Disney World and read Miranda July’s All Fours in the same weekend.
Would one expect to ride “It’s A Small World” and read "one of the most entertaining, deranged, and moving depictions of lust and romantic mania” (according to The Cut) in the same afternoon? Perhaps not. Nevertheless, I highly recommend this (seemingly incongruous) food-and-wine pairing— if only to consider notions of progress.
As an appropriately mortified Disney adult, I’ve ridden “Pirates of the Caribbean” and “Space Mountain” more times than I’d care to admit— and certainly more times than other families would care to welcome, as I stomp through the “Peter Pan” line brandishing my third ice cream cone. But this trip was my first visit to Walt Disney’s Carousel of Progress; one of the few attractions that Walt personally helped design, debuting at New York’s 1964-5 World’s Fair before moving to Disneyland and then Walt Disney World.
Walt Disney’s Carousel of Progress is an audio-animatronic show inside a revolving theater that follows an American family over “four generations of progress” as technology transforms their lives. Spectators watch this family move from 1900s gas lamps and early phonographs, to 1920s radio and indoor plumbing, to 1940s references to World War II and television, and finally “The Future,” which seem to vaguely suggest a contemporary home of smart gadgets, voice-activated appliances, and VR gaming. The attraction is infused with Walt Disney’s admirable love of technology.
Our animatronic guide throughout The Carousel of Progress is John: a tedious middle-aged man who— in true narrator fashion— loves the sound of his own voice. Everything about John, including his name, suggests that he is a narc. (See above photo for quintessential narc vibes.) If you’ve ever wondered about the origins of the Dad Joke, simply waltz down to Disney World to meet John: its chief architect. John, ever the proud patriarch, chats to spectators conspiratorially from center stage, while his various family members make guest appearances from behind scrims. This is John’s world, baby, and we’re all just living in it! Everyone in John’s family has Benjamin Button syndrome, or perhaps they’re hiding a series of grotesque Dorian Gray portraits in some Disney backlot. Whatever the case, John’s family doesn’t age— so yes, you will be stuck with John as your immortal tour guide, despite the passing of an entire century.
As the Carousel advances, decades pass, but we’re still treated to the same family punchlines. John’s wife Sarah laments her endless domestic labor, which I believe we’re meant to find hilarious. John certainly does! Homegirl is basically an indentured servant for all eternity, but at least she gets upgraded from kerosene lamps to electric lights. Count your blessings, Sarah— no one likes a complainer. Meanwhile, paging Doctor Freud: we need a century’s worth of psychoanalysis to unpack the perturbing dynamics between John and his teenage daughter, Patricia. Patricia’s two personality traits are as follows: Loves Boys and Loves Clothes. These traits endure throughout the decades (Con), but the clothes get cuter (Pro). The most redeeming family member is Rover, John’s faithful dog, who is sentenced to an eternity of listening to the same theme song over and over again— which, tragically, is the fate of all Walt Disney World’s animatronic pets. If this description leaves you longing for more tepid banter, fear not: you can watch the Carousel of Progress in full here.
I must mention the ride’s central illusion: as spectators, we feel as if these stage attractions— featuring John’s homegrown family band— are rotating. However, in reality, the carousel is true to its name: it is the audience that revolves around a static set of scenes. It feels important to share this piece of information, because as a modern spectator on a 1960s attraction, I could feel this metaphorical dynamic at play: the Carousel of Progress is a fixed relic from an earlier era, and we experience it from an ever-evolving contemporary perspective.
Thanks to that contemporary perspective, I’d like to offer the following conclusion, which I’m sure you never saw coming… The Carousel of Progress offers a relatively narrow definition of progress.
True, John whisks us merrily through the ages from the hand-cranked washing machine to the electric iron (two devices that I’m fairly certain he’s never handled in his immortal life, according to the long-suffering Sarah). However, John’s parade of progress rests squarely in the realm of domestic consumerism and technological innovation. He mentions World War II, but not women’s suffrage, the Civil Rights movement, or any advancements in medicine. I understand that the Carousel of Progress focuses on the technology of the home, but it is somethin’ mighty strange to see a nuclear family remain so politically and culturally immutable even as they swap out toys and tools. After watching the Carousel of Progress in our trying era of Elon Musk hero-worship, I found myself hungry for definitions of progress that move beyond the technological sphere.
Enter: All Fours by Miranda July. This novel has ignited a domestic revolution. The book is far from perfect; in her own way, its protagonist often rivals ol’ John in her self-importance and self-absorption. But a multitude of women declared this book “life-changing,” and when the coven calls, I answer.
My reflections, in brief: what is this book?! How do I even begin to categorize my feelings about it?! This utter bewilderment, this emotion without a name, feels like progress. Perhaps this is how John felt when his ice box was summarily replaced with a refrigerator! But this literary and spiritual bewilderment asked me to be wilder; to think outside the (ice)box.
For those who haven’t read All Fours, here’s a brief synopsis. A woman decides to temporarily abandon the domestic sphere she has known— the one Walt Disney sketched out so gleefully in the Carousel of Progress— as she embarks on what appears to be a complete reconfiguration of her life. Her ensuing journey questions the nature of art, gender, sexuality, monogamy, marriage, eroticism, femininity, motherhood, aging, and friendship. The protagonist attempts to return to her old life, but finds— after understanding that she was the one moving on the carousel as her domestic scene stayed still— she must reimagine it altogether.
Hailed by The New York Times as “the first great perimenopausal novel,” All Fours contains several scenes that— I won’t spoil the read or your lunch by describing them here— expanded my narrow preconceptions about what we consider erotic. Author Miranda July describes a sexual encounter that might appear “gross” to our patriarchal, media-sculpted sensibilities. Yet here it felt tender, expansive, and (dare I say it) novel. After experiencing this erotic exchange, July’s protagonist reflects: “I felt close to tears, some combination of shame, excitement, and an unexpected kind of sadness, as if this were coming after a lifetime of neglect.” A revelation after a lifetime of sexual neglect? Now that’s what I call progress! As I closed the cover on All Fours, I didn’t feel the overwhelming urge to upend my life, as many women have in the wake of reading it. But I felt changed. In its very strangeness, this book tasted like wilderness, like progress, like freedom.
In All Fours, progress is an ever-shifting perspective. The novel’s protagonist is a practising artist who appreciates the aesthetics, as well as the philosophy, of progress and evolution (“You should always be emerging from a shell if possible”). As a perimenopausal woman, she considers what it means to progress throughout a lifetime:
“Although maybe midlife crises were just poorly marketed, maybe each one was profound and unique and it was only a few silly men in red convertibles who gave them a bad name. I imagined greeting such a man solemnly: I see you have reached a time of great questioning. God be with you, seeker.”
Furthermore, July’s protagonist identifies the ways in which women are in their very nature always protean, always Becoming:
“If you had hormonal constancy, as men did, you might not be taking your cues from your body about when to rest. You would have to build that in: Sunday is the day we don’t work, God’s day. But if what defined the days was you, your biological clock and calendar, then every day might as well be Tuesday. Perhaps you wanted to work for two weeks solid, recording a hit #1 album, and then rest for one whole week, while you were bleeding.”
I love reimaging fundamental elements of society— like the calendar or the modern workweek— through the wisdom of a woman’s body. This expansive lens might allow for different conceptions of progress than the ones we’ve known. Inside the Carousel of Progress, we are presumably progressing even as the attraction remains cyclical: narrated by the same voice and filtered through the same perspective. What if we implemented new design principles that reimagined the lens of progress all together: shifting from carousel (with its etymological roots in male tilting matches and jousting, from the French “carrousel” and Italian “carusiello”) to July’s governing imagery of womb, cave, and coverlet? How does Life progress through the world’s most powerful portal— the womb— and how can we emulate that seminal ride on the outside?
I don’t share any of these sentiments to denigrate Disney and its ambitious, imaginative, pioneering playscape. I’ve written before about Disney’s creative potential for spreading messages of sustainability, as well as the radical feminist potential of its latest animated films. I have an enduring obsession with Disney that, I can assure you, shall be speedily explored with my therapist. Indeed, I am excited by the philosophy propounded by Walt Disney at Disneyland’s opening ceremony: “Disneyland will never be completed. It will continue to grow as long as there is imagination left in the world.”
Let’s discover just how unruly our imaginations can be. Let’s embrace progress like Miranda July does in All Fours: as a coming attraction; a wacky, weird, and wonderful journey into the self and world.
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Read my other pieces about Disney here, here, here, and here. Read my other pieces on feminist expression here, here, and here.
Thank you for this unexpected exploration of two attitudes toward progress. I confess that I’m surprised - and delighted - at your appreciation of Disney’s time capsule: it brings out your rather more expected sense of humor and wry turn of phrase.
I see a paradigm shift regarding the definition of progress in “All Fours.” I have a feeling that the interest is also in the details here, which has me puzzled. Maybe that’s a good thing.