Negative architecture

One day a number of years ago I visited my cousin Ben – who works in movies – while he was filming some scenes at Walt Disney studios in Orlando, Florida. Between takes we hung out on the set, talking about this and that. But when cast and crew resumed shooting, there wasn’t really much for me to do.

So once the cameras started to roll, I wandered around and explored, taking in all of the components of a modern film studio – prop department, dressing rooms, video preview rooms, sound stages of all shapes and sizes. It was endlessly fascinating to see the story behind the story, all the practical brass tacks that go into making the magic we see up on the silver screen.

But then, after turning a corner at the end of a corridor, I could see into one room that wasn’t at all like the others. It seemed to be completely abandoned, run down, with paint chipped off the walls in places. The room was bare except for an old formica table, a metal folding chair, an empty coat rack in the corner with some wire hangers. In short, it was just about the least interesting room you could imagine.

Completely nonplussed by the contrast between this drab space and the well-tended studio behind me, I ventured into the room. Only after I was well inside did I see that there was a door, half open, out of sight of the corridor I had come from. Walking through this second door, I found myself in Walt Disney World.

I knew that I was supposed to think “Wow, cool, I’m in Disney World!” But that’s not what went through my mind. Rather, my first thought was “I was in a real movie studio, and now I’m just in Disney World.” It definitely felt like a step down in coolness factor. Meanwhile, all around me were tourists, a huge swirling throng of them, on their way from one attraction to the next. And not a single one of them seemed to notice the door I had just come out of.

And that’s when it hit me: I was witnessing a masterful example of negative architecture. Of course the people who work at Disney need to be able to get in and out, slipping unnoticed into the Magic Kingdom, and then slipping away again just as quickly and unobtrusively. And they need to do this very fast, often in full costume – as if through a magic portal – without having to bother with locks and such.

What I had discovered was one such portal. Any restless kid visiting for the day with his parents, stumbling through that half-opened door, would see a place that looked far less magical than the glittering theme park outside – probably a storage room, he’d think, or maybe the janitor’s hang-out. It would never occur to him to venture any farther. Rather, he would take one look at this boring little room and turn right back around, returning to a place where he could spend the day with Mickey and his magical friends. And that curious kid would never know, or even suspect, that genuine movie stars were to be seen in the rooms just beyond.

Which is exactly the point. There are doors everywhere leading from the Magic Kingdom to a place where even stronger magic is made. These doors are all wide open and you can walk right through them. No guard will stop you, and nobody will block your way.

But they are protected by the power of an even stronger magic – the magic of negative architecture. And so, my friend, try as you might, you will never find them.