OUR Dismaland weekend began in a lumpy Travelodge bed, kept awake by the persistently loud droning of a fan outside; followed the next morning by motorway queues, toll roads and getting stuck behind a ‘plodder’ just as we were starting to panic we’d miss our slot.
Then it started pouring it down.
Dismaland’s own Princess dangles lifelessly from her pumpkin carriage window as a mob of bloodthirsty paparazzi snap the dead damsel gleefully
Having finally arrived at our seafront destination in Weston-super-Mare, we were directed through a ridiculous obstacle course of metal railings... ultimately to be told we could have slipped through a gap in the gate to get exactly where we were now. Yes, despite having amazingly succeeded in the miserable process of trying to get tickets, us online voucher holders weren’t exempt from all the farcical trappings. Whilst not having to queue for over five hours (like those poor pitiful people without) admittedly made me feel a bit like Charlie with his golden chocolate factory ticket, by now we were muddy, sodden and fed up. As we huddled under our brollies trying to keep off the drizzle, we started to wonder whether Banksy’s iconic new Dismaland installation was a little too true to its name...
A not so merry-go-roundOpen for five weeks only, the Disneyland skit has arguably been the graffiti legend’s most successful work yet, attracting over six million hits and causing the official website to crash several times (or was that a purposeful part of the experience? Nobody knows). Subversive, sinister and satirical, it’s ‘a family theme park unsuitable for children’, more akin to the original nightmarish fairytales that Walt’s corporation ‘disneyfied’ into twee tales of happy ever afters. And, as we all know, the world isn’t like that; Dismaland’s own Princess dangles lifelessly from her pumpkin carriage window as a mob of bloodthirsty paparazzi snap the dead damsel gleefully.
Blending serious issues like migration and poverty with tongue-in-cheek jibes that undermine the consumerist culture he so shuns, Dismaland is suitably situated at a depressing disused lido ironically called Tropicana, in Weston-super-Mare; the South’s answer to Blackpool and a nostalgic childhood holiday spot for Bristol-born Banksy (whose identity has been suggested multiple times, but still never confirmed). Unsurprisingly, the project was kept a secret until the last possible moment, with locals led to believe Hollywood’s ‘Atlas Entertainment’ were filming a crime thriller at the sorry site.
Talking of which, did you know it’s a criminal offence to be a Disney lawyer in Dismaland? Having at last been shuffled across the road to the entrance at 11am on the dot, we were reminded of this by a scowling Dismal denizen before being instructed to look at the (cardboard) security camera, ushered through the fake security unit and given (well, thrown) a scrunched-up leaflet by an equally sullen rep in bunny ears.
Finally, we were in Dismaland.
DismalandThe vista truly was melancholy; a faded pink ice cream van (advising that customer service was closed) fronted a decaying gothic version of Disney’s iconic castle (itself based on reclusive King Ludwig II’s Schloss Neuschwanstein in Bavaria). A ‘moat’ of dubious-looking water was occupied by a distorted Ariel alongside an armour-plated riot vehicle equipped with... a children’s slide. Surrounding the gloomy expanse were rusting fairground toys, tents of guerrilla propaganda and installations featuring everything from ‘twerking’ furniture to a portraitist depicting the backs of people’s heads (she’d ‘gone fishing’ when we passed).
Elsewhere, Darren Cullen’s ‘pocket money loans’ shop offered kids rates of just 5000% APR, Jeffrey Archer novels kindled a warming fire and a grim reaper whizzed around on a dodgem to the Bee Gees’ Stayin’ Alive (a comical contrast to the dirge played in the outside area). Entertainment included Paul insect puppetry, a satirical Punch and Julie and a truck-mounted cinema screen playing bizarre short films (cushions not provided). Punters could also play ‘mini gulf’ on a recycled oil caliphate-themed golf course or (not) have a ride on a motionless Ferris wheel rather like Manchester’s own (which squatted motionlessly for two unauthorised months, leaving its owner with a £95,000 debt; but that’s another story... whose ending might just be more Dismal than Disney).
Of course, whilst social and political commentary is key to Banksy’s work, so is fantastic art; the enigmatic graffitist personally selected 58 featured peers for what he dubbed the ‘finest collection of art ever assembled in a North Somerset seaside town’. Lesser-known talent stars alongside big names like Damien Hurst and Jimmy Cauty (who may have burned £1m in just over sixty minutes in 1994 but whose dystopian model village took over 23,000 hours to construct).
You exit, of course, through the gift shop; where t-shirted mannequins give you (and no doubt the world in general) the finger.
It’s iconic, ironic and sometimes shockingly controversial. Above all, however, it’s Banksy at his brilliant best.
