As Mickey Mouse strolls to the end of Disneyland’s Main Street, he comes across a famous statue of his creator. Rendered in copper, Walt stands over six feet tall, more Andrew Ryan than animator—one arm outstretched to survey his domain. The other clutches the hand of his most beloved invention. But as Mickey steps forward to get a better look, his smile fades. It’s not himself he sees grinning back at Walt’s side, but Oswald the Lucky Rabbit—a Mickey doppelganger but for two long, black ears in place of the usual iconic pair.
This isn’t Main Street, but Mean Street—a warped and dilapidated knockoff where Disney’s abandoned cartoon characters eke out an existence without purpose or adulation. They ogle Mickey as he passes by, blinded by genuine celebrity as they recount their own brushes with stardom: “Remember me? Horace Horsecollar! I was in The Firefighters! The Barnyard Broadcast!” For every Horace, there’s a Clarabelle Cow or Gilda Goat—all bearing the same curiously skeletal bovine visage. If you squint a bit, they sort of resemble Goofy.
