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A “LIT” LOOK AT DISNEY’S HAUNTED MANSION: THE CHANGING PORTRAIT HALLWAY’S GHOST SHIP

The three stages of transformation of the ghost ship in The Changing Portrait Hallway in Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion, taken in May and June, 2008. Photos by Dave DeCaro and used with permission; if you’re a Disney Park fan, you won’t want to miss his site! http://www.davelandweb.com/

If you love classic ghost stories, Disney’s Haunted Mansion offers more than thrills and chills. This four-part series takes a look at classic ghost story images the attraction brings to life.

You exit the elevator and walk down a corridor adorned with eerie mutating portraits, among them a ship…which transforms into a ghostly galleon on stormy seas.

Of all the portraits, the ship was always my favorite, for I have long been a fan of sea-faring tales—especially those that involve ghosts. While I could say that this portrait could have been inspired by countless stories, among them Poe’s “Descent in the Maelstrom,” the first work that always popped into my mind when I saw the portrait wasn’t a short story at all—it was Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s famous poem, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” which is really a pretty terrifying ghostly tale.

Consider the first portrait, and the following lines from “Rime”:

The first stage of the portrait, which depicts a ship sailing on a clear day in decent weather.

The Mariner tells how the ship sailed southward with a good wind and fair weather, till it reached the Line.[1]

“The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,/Merrily did we drop”[2]

The opening of the Mariner’s tale describes his voyage’s rather uneventful beginnings. The above image seems to depict the Mariner’s ship under fair skies and calm seas.

Now consider the second portrait—the actual transformation, and these next lines from “Rime”:

The transitional stage of the portrait, which shows a violent storm and is colored in copper—showing the next two phases of the Mariner’s terrible adventure.

The ship driven by a storm toward the south pole.

“And now the Storm-blast came, and he/Was tyrannous and strong;/He struck with his o’ertaking wings,/And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,/As who pursued with yell and blow/Still treads the shadow of his foe,[3]

“All in a hot and copper sky,/The bloody Sun, at noon…

Water, water, every where,/And all the boards did shrink;/Water, water, every where,/Nor any drop to drink.”[4]

The ship hits a terrible storm, and ends up in the South Pole amongst the ice. An albatross appears, however, the ice splits and loosens the ship, accompanied by a breeze. The ship is propelled into foggy waters. It’s at this point in the story the Mariner commits his crime—he shoots the Albatross, considered a sacred bird of good fortune. Thereafter, as retribution for the Mariner’s crime, the breeze stops and the ship and its crew are stranded in a terribly hot, still environment, thirsting to death.

The transformational stage of the portrait—especially with the copper coloring toward the end—almost seems to illustrate this section of the tale.

The third and final stage of the changing portrait seems to signal the approach of the ship of death in “Rime.”

And horror follows…It seemeth him but the skeleton of a ship…And its ribs are seen as bars on the face of the setting Sun.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)/How fast she nears and nears!/Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,/Like restless gossameres?[5]

After the dehydrating sailors have been adrift for many days and have mouths so dry they can’t speak, they spy something on the horizon—sails of a ship. They believe, at first, that they’re saved…until it draws closer, and its skeletal appearance and tattered sails reveal that it is a spectral vessel which harbors Death itself. Although, in the poem, the ship appears to them at the height of another scorching afternoon in the broad daylight and theHauntedMansion’s ship is set against the stormy darkness, the ship’s condition seems to match what’s described in “Rime” (especially the gossamer sails).

There is, of course, the rest of the Mariner’s tale, which is quite lengthy. But what I find interesting is that if, indeed, “Rime” served as an inspiration for this portrait, the portion of the tale at which it stops is just before the portion in which it becomes a true ghost story. The fact that it stops there—and it’s before you even board your Doombuggy to ride through the ghost story that is the Haunted Mansion—suggests that this portrait was hung with foreshadowing in mind.

If you’d like to read “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” you can for free here: http://etext.virginia.edu/toc/modeng/public/Col2Mar.html. If you’d like to own a copy in print, you can get it here: http://amzn.com/0895986728. If you’d like it for your Kindle, it’s available here: http://amzn.com/B003F77DNM.


[1] Samuel Taylor Coleridge, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Other Poems (New York: Penguin Books, 1995), 5.

(Special Note: This is one of the Penguin 60s series—small, slim volumes usually containing a short story or poem or two by one author or a couple—which were published on the occasion of Penguin’s 60th anniversary).

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid., 5-6.

[4] Ibid., 9.

[5] Ibid., 12.

A “LIT” LOOK AT DISNEY’S HAUNTED MANSION: THE SKELETON IN THE COFFIN

A shot of the coffin scene in Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion. Photo by Dave DeCaro and used with permission; if you’re a Disney Park fan, you won’t want to miss his site! http://www.davelandweb.com/

If you love classic ghost stories, Disney’s Haunted Mansion offers more than thrills and chills. This four-part series takes a look at classic ghost story images the attraction brings to life.

You’ve just boarded your Doombuggy at Disneyland’sHauntedMansion, and it isn’t long before you come upon a room full of decaying funeral flowers. In the center, on a pedestal, is a rattling, thumping coffin. A pair of skeletal hands are desperately trying to loose the coffin’s lid, and if you listen closely, you hear: “Let me outta here! Please! Le-let me outta here!”

While the dead rising from graves is pretty common in the horror story canon, the specific image of a skeleton rattling his coffin lid is an allusion to Edgar Allan Poe’s story “The Premature Burial.”

For those who haven’t read the short story but have seen any of its film or television adaptations, the tale’s storyline is different. The story opens with several accounts of premature burials—most likely inspired by newspaper articles of the day. Consider these notes by Stephen Peithman in The Annotated Tales of Edgar Allan Poe:

“While rather farfetched today, premature burial did occur occasionally in Poe’s day, although not to the extent one would think after reading his tales on the subject. Some instances are recorded in George Alfred Walker’s Gatherings from Grave Yards (1839)…apparently due to a lack of sophisticated medical equipment. In order to avoid this problem, a “life-preserving coffin” was invented in 1843, mentioned by N.P. Willis in the New Mirror of November 18, so constructed as to give the victim air and a means to signal to those above ground that he was alive.[1]

Commentary on Poe’s description of a Baltimore incident:

“A similar story appears in the Lancaster(Pennsylvania) Democrat December 5, 1845.”[2]

Commentary on Poe’s description of the unfortunate story of a wealthy young girl:

“Poe’s source here may be a story in the Philadelphia Casket, September 1827, entitled “The Lady Buried Alive,” which in turn admits to borrowing from two older stories…As for the names, they are all Poe’s invention, as is the date.”[3]

Whether Poe’s piece was based on real incidents or not, it’s reasonable to think that the terrified skeleton clawing to escape his coffin may have been inspired by a few passages in his “The Premature Burial.” One of the reports Poe presents contains direct reference to a skeleton:

“…how fearful a shock awaited the husband, who, personally, threw open the door. As its portals swung outwardly back, some white-apparelled object fell rattling within his arms. It was the skeleton of his wife in her yet unmoulded shroud.”[4]

And here are references to struggles within coffins:

“…that her struggles within the coffin had caused it to fall from a ledge, or shelf, to the floor, where it was so broken as to permit her escape.”[5]

“On the Sunday following, the grounds of the cemetery were, as usual, much thronged with visiters[6]; and, about noon, an intense excitement was created by the declaration of a peasant, that, while sitting upon the grave of the officer, he had distinctly felt a commotion of the earth, as if occasioned by some one struggling beneath…Spades were hurriedly procured, and the grave, which was shamefully shallow, was, in a few minutes, so far thrown open that the head of its occupant appeared. He was then, seemingly, dead; but he sat nearly erect within his coffin, the lid of which, in his furious struggles, he had partially uplifted.”[7]

If you’d like to read “The Premature Burial,” you can for free here: http://www.eapoe.org/works/tales/preburc.htm. If you’d like to own a copy in print, you can get it as part of his complete works here: http://amzn.com/0385074077. If you’d like it for your Kindle, it’s available here: http://amzn.com/B002LIT0F0.


[1] Edgar Allan Poe, “The Premature Burial,” in The Annotated Tales of Edgar Allan Poe, ed. Stephen Peithman (New York: Avenel Books, 1986), 149.

[2] Ibid., 151. It is, however, interesting to note here that the very first published appearance of “The Premature Burial” that included the passage was in 1844, so obviously, Poe wrote the story long before this newspaper article appeared.

[3] Ibid., 151

[4] Ibid., 151

[5] Ibid., 151

[6] This is how it is spelled in the original text.

[7] Ibid., 153

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