Lifestyle
New film on Disney+ reveals the frenzied race against time to build Disneyland
Today Disneyland is so fully formed that it‘s taken for granted. We debate ticket prices and crowd calendars, strategizing the optimal time to visit.
The new documentary “Disneyland Handcrafted” hits pause on all of that.
Culled from about 200 hours of mostly unseen footage, director Leslie Iwerks’ film takes viewers back to the near beginning, tracing the largely impossible creation of the park from a year before its opening.
“Can you imagine L.A. without Disneyland?” Iwerks asks me during an interview.
To begin to answer that question cuts to the importance of “Disneyland Handcrafted,” which premieres Thursday on Disney+. For while Disneyland is corporately owned and managed, the park has become a cultural institution, a reflection of the stories and myths that have shaped America. Disneyland shifts with the times, but Iwerks’ film shows us the Walt Disney template, one that by the time the park opened on July 17, 1955, was so set in place that it would soon become a place of pilgrimage, a former Anaheim orange grove in which generations of people would visit as a rite of passage.
Walt Disney surveying the Anaheim land that would become Disneyland, as seen in Leslie Iwerks’ film “Disneyland Handcrafted.”
(Disney+)
Iwerks comes from a family of Disney royalty. Her grandfather, Ub, was a legendary animator instrumental in the development of Mickey Mouse. Her father, Don, was a cinematic and special effects wizard who worked on numerous Disney attractions, including the Michael Jackson-starring film “Captain EO.” As a documentarian, Iwerks has explored Disney before as the director of “The Imagineering Story” and has a long career of films that touch on not just Hollywood but also politics and environmental issues.
Here, Iwerks reveals just how fragile the creation of Disneyland was.
1
2
3
1. A worker applies gold detailing to the ornate spires of Sleeping Beauty Castle, showcasing the elegance and precision that defined the centerpiece of Disneyland Park. 2. A craftsperson applies paint to the stone facade of Sleeping Beauty Castle. 3. A glimpse of Sleeping Beauty Castle under construction. (Disney+)
Having watched the film now numerous times, there are many small moments that stick with me. A worker, for instance, carefully sculpting the concrete on Sleeping Beauty Castle just months before opening while a narrator speaks of the park’s rising cost. A construction vehicle toppling, with its driver escaping a life-changing accident by jumping out just in the nick of time as Disney himself talks up how there have been very few accidents. And the mistakes, such as frantically learning — and failing — at how to build a river.
That Disneyland is as popular today as it was in 1955 — the film reveals that more than 900 million people have visited the park — is no accident. We live in stressful, divisive times, and Disneyland was not only born of such a moment but built for them, arriving in 1955 in a post-World War II America that was adjusting to more internalized, less-overtly-visible fears. The specter of nuclear annihilation was now forever a reality, and the Cold War heightened the sense of uncertainty.
A fake world inspired by a real one that never existed, don’t mistake Disneyland for nostalgia. Disneyland seeks to reorient, to show a better, more optimistic world that only exists if we continue to dream — to imagine a walkable street, for instance, in which a fairy tale castle sits at its end. Disneyland isn’t so much an escape from our world as it is a place where we go to make sense of it, a work of live theater where we, the guests, are on a stage and can play at idealized versions of ourselves.
“Why do we care? Why does it matter?” asks Iwerks. “I think what matters, for Disneyland, is that Walt set out to create the happiest place on Earth. Right there, putting that stake in the ground. That’s so impressive. That’s so risky. And yet he did it by sheer belief that he wanted families to come together and experience a place they could come back to time and again, a place that would continue to grow and always be evolving through cultures, through time, through generations.”
The front gates of Disneyland under construction.
(Disney+)
What makes the film so poignant is that Iwerks essentially gets out of the way. The footage was initially commissioned by Disney and shot for use in the company’s then weekly ABC series, which was funding the park. Some of the clips have appeared in episodes of “Walt Disney’s Disneyland,” but very few. For that show, Disney was selling the public on the park. With the public having long been sold, Iwerks can show us the park in shambles, a dirt path entering a wood-strewn Frontierland while Harper Goff, then Disneyland’s art director, speaks of a frustrated Disney lamenting that half the park’s money is gone and it remains nothing but a pile of muck.
“This is what worry is,” Goff says in the narration.
“What rose to the surface was how much pressure there was during this one year,” Iwerks says. “It was impossible. It was building what ultimately was a mini city in less than a year, pulling together all those construction workers, all those people who handcrafted this whole park in record time using their own skills, artistry and storytelling.”
Adds Iwerks, “You can’t remodel your kitchen right now in a year.”
Since the film is a light cinéma vérité style, Iwerks doesn’t editorialize as to how it all did get done. But we see workers, for instance, straddling beams in Tomorrowland with no support, making it clear this was an era with fewer regulations. Iwerks herself points to the ABC funding, acknowledging that the arrangement simply necessitated the park being completed in a year. But when it opened, it was far from finished. Disneyland’s struggles on opening day have long been mythologized, be it stories of weak asphalt or plumbing disasters.
A craftsperson works on the yellow decorative trim of King Arthur Carousel in Fantasyland.
(Disney+)
Iwerks is more interested in showing us the race against time, especially for a park that deviated from the light theming and simple rides of amusement parks of the era. Throughout the film’s hour and a half running time, Iwerks is making the argument that Disneyland simply wasn’t practical. Two months before opening we see a concrete-less Main Street while we’re told of a debate as to whether Disneyland should delay its planned July date. The decision was made not to, as the park was running out of money and there was a fear any push would ultimately kill it.
And in some ways it’s a surprise we’re seeing any of this. Iwerks notes the film was completed years ago, but sat on the shelf. She credits Disney executive Jason Recher with pushing it through. “I showed him a link, and he said, ‘This has to be seen.’ It takes someone with a vision to see that this could get out there and be appreciated by audiences,” Iwerks says. “I was thinking this would never see the light of day.”
The end result is a film that will likely be cherished by Disney fans but also admired by anyone interested in the making of an American classic. One of the most striking moments in the film is that of the cars of the Disneyland Railroad being ferried on trucks past downtown’s City Hall, a reminder that Disneyland, no matter its influences, its stewards or its changes, is a Southern California original.
Illustrations copyright © Ross Collins 2026/Courtesy of Faber & Faber
Author Julian Gough was giving a talk to children one day when they gave him the best gift an author can get: an idea.
“I was telling them how you make up stories and how you invent stories,” Gough remembers. “What makes a story a story? You have to have stuff happen and then the stuff that happens has to have consequences.”
The kids came up with a story about someone who kicked someone. And then that character kicked someone else. And then, Julian Gough says, “one kid just sort of jumped up in his seat in the class and shouted, ‘The kick could go ’round the world!’ and I thought, ‘Oh my God, that’s a book!’”
When Tad Kicked Vlad begins on Tad’s birthday. Before he’s gotten to eat any of his own birthday cake, Tad’s best friend, Vlad, eats the very last slice. Tad is mad. So Tad kicks Vlad.
Vlad kicks Bill. Bill kicks his twin sister, Jill. And before you know it, Tad’s kick has kicked off a chain of kicks that travels all the way around the world, and back to Tad on his next birthday. At which point, Tad farts in Vlad’s face. And on it goes.
Ross Collins illustrated When Tad Kicked Vlad and Gough admits he didn’t give him an easy job. When Gough sends the kick off to the big city, he writes:
“It kicked everyone in the playground! Then it kicked everyone in the park! And then it kicked everyone in the stadium! Fifty-five thousand, five hundred and fifty-five people kicked each other, and the referee had to give so many red cards his arm got tired. After the game, the kick went for a hot dog.”
Illustrations copyright © Ross Collins 2026/Courtesy of Faber & Faber
Collins says as an illustrator, “you’re reading that going, ‘This could be like the best thing I’ve ever had to illustrate or the worst and it’s really hard to know what.’” His way out of drawing something complicated was to draw something even more complicated: an entire city as viewed from the sky. “I drew the path of the kick working its way around the city,” he explains, “so that a child could work their way around the city and see all those points where the kick had gone up and down and ’round buildings and into the stadium.”
When Tad Kicked Vlad is about twice as long as other picture books. Collins says this gave him a lot of space to play around. “I could also break up the tempo of the book with a lot of illustrations where it’s just complete chaos on a larger scale,” he explains. One illustration features the kick going up and down the aisle of an airplane 23 times. And also there’s a chicken.
Illustrations copyright © Ross Collins 2026/Courtesy of Faber & Faber
“The one thing that, you know, if you put it into an illustration, that means that all chaos has just broken loose is if you put a chicken in there,” says Collins. “There shouldn’t be a chicken in a plane.”
Collins first drew everything in pencil before using watercolor. And then he tackled the line work. “Normally I would use a charcoal line, but this book is too detailed for a charcoal line,” Collins says. So, he used colored pens instead. “I tried to make it as clean as I possibly could so that you could actually read the action that was going on.”
Gough says the illustrations remind him of The Adventures of Tintin, by Belgian cartoonist Hergé: clean, well-defined, but grounded in reality and funny. “I was being pretty cheeky with some of the things I was asking for,” Gough admits, laughing. “You really pulled it off.”
Illustrations copyright © Ross Collins 2026/Courtesy of Faber & Faber
Where are the best bakeries to buy celebration cakes? I want to get a cake for one of my college friends — we’ve been friends for 40 years — who is retiring from teaching kindergarten. I’m having a small brunch party for her at a restaurant in Long Beach. It’d be great if the bakery is in Pasadena or on the East Side, but I will travel for awesome cake! She loves chocolate and espresso martinis. — Roberta Tragarz
Looking for things to do in L.A.? Ask us your questions and our expert guides will share highly specific recommendations.
Here’s what we suggest:
Roberta, I think it’s so sweet that you are throwing a retirement party for your longtime friend. In my opinion, no celebration is complete without a good cake and I, too, will drive just about anywhere for one that I think the recipient would love. Here are some bakeshops that might just have “the one.”
With Pasadena being convenient for you, you’re in luck. Times restaurant critic Jenn Harris calls the city a “pastry and dessert destination.” She writes about six stellar new bakeries that have opened within a one-mile radius, including Salted Butter Company, which offers a gorgeous round cake topped with seasonal florals, and Sweet Red Peach, which can create just about any custom cake you can dream up.
Given that your friend loves chocolate, consider buying a cake from Proof Bakery in Atwater Village. The worker-owned cooperative shop used to sell a chocolate espresso cake, which would’ve been perfect because your friend loves espresso martinis. However, they swapped it out for a chocolate blueberry cake with chocolate mascarpone mousse and blueberry compote. Thankfully, it looks just as delicious. And you can still make Proof’s chocolate espresso cake at home.
No L.A. bakeshop has been recommended to me more than SusieCakes. With multiple locations spread across the county including one in Pasadena, the classic bakery makes an array of delightful desserts: old-fashioned chocolate cakes, flourless chocolate cakes, rainbow sprinkle cakes and even a cake flight so you can try all of their signature slices. Former Times food editor Amy Scattergood wrote about SusieCakes, “You can pick the flavor of cake and color of buttercream frosting, get stuff written on top, even order a pretty impressive Barbie cake (they provide the doll; the cake is the dome of her massive skirt).” A “Teacher Barbie” that looks like your friend would be adorable.
Now, this isn’t a traditional cake but hear me out. My good friend Tori Johnson had a cinnamon roll cake at her recent birthday party and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. It was gooey, soft and slathered in a classic tangy cream cheese frosting. Her boyfriend got it from BadAsh Bakes, the viral bakery based in Pasadena best known for its cinnamon rolls, cookies, brownies and layer cakes. You can preorder the cinnamon roll cake, which comes in a classic, red velvet or matcha flavor.
For an eye-catching, avant-garde cake that you won’t find at a traditional bakery or grocery store, consider ordering a custom dessert from Celeste Perkins, the L.A.-born baker who makes “cakes with big personalities, for big personalities,” as Times contributor Tasbeeh Herwees writes in Image. Perkins, who works out of her home kitchen, got her start baking cakes for friends and has since made them for an array of celebrity clients including Tunde Adebimpe (frontman for the band TV on the Radio), Japanese American singer Mitski and British singer Suki Waterhouse. Not only are the cakes yummy, they are photo-worthy.
Now for some rapid-fire picks across L.A.: My colleague Jason Lew recommends Phoenix Bakery in Chinatown, specifically the strawberry cake with sliced almonds. Times Features reporter Lisa Boone also suggests Valerie Confections in Glendale. “I’ve ordered cake from Valerie several times for different occasions and they’re always really special, pretty and so good,” she says. Her favorite is the fallen fruit cake, but the bakery also sells a flourless chocolate almond cake and German chocolate cake. There’s also République, the French-inspired bakery and cafe known for its salted caramel chocolate cake. Finally, you can never go wrong with Porto’s, which sells an array of cakes including chocolate raspberry, Parisian chocolate, mango mousse, strawberry cheesecake and more.
Retiring is such a big deal, so I love to hear that you are celebrating it as such. I hope that these recommendations help you find the perfect cake for your friend. Be sure to send us a photo of the one that you choose. Have a wonderful time!
This photo, from a series of pictures by two anonymous cousins, is entitled “The Music of Poverty and Violence.” The subject is playing an automatic weapon as if it were a string instrument.
Mahnaz Ebrahimi|January 2026
hide caption
toggle caption
Mahnaz Ebrahimi|January 2026
Do these photos depict fiction or reality … or both?
A bicyclist whose dark, flowing burka enfolds her body from head to ankles sits with hands perched on the handlebar, seemingly undaunted by the meshed veil that covers her eyes and restricts her sight. Her determination is suggested by the photo’s title, “It will not stand in my way.”
This photo of a woman wearing a burka while riding a bicycle is titled “It will not stand in my way.”
Somayeh Ebrahimi/February 2025
hide caption
toggle caption
Somayeh Ebrahimi/February 2025
A similarly clad figure swirls so swiftly that the billowing fabric appears to lift her into the air like a bird in flight; scribbled in Farsi across the brick wall in front of her is the phrase, “I dreamed that my homeland was prosperous.”
“Courage means being afraid and trembling in the face of adversity, but with the courage, dance!” says photographer Somayeh Ebrahimi.
Somayeh Ebrahimi | February 2025
hide caption
toggle caption
Somayeh Ebrahimi | February 2025
A third burka-draped figure places an automatic rifle on her shoulder as she would a violin, “bowing” it with a long wooden stick as if to make music. The photo’s title is “The Music of Poverty and Violence.”
Two Afghan cousins who created these starkly evocative black-and-white photographs. They do not want their real names revealed because they fear Taliban retribution for their work. So they use the pseudonyms Mahnaz Ebrahimi (born in 2000) and Somayeh Ebrahimi (born in 2001). They live in a remote Afghan mountain farming village. They and their families, all members of the Hazara ethnic group and Shia Muslims, had previously worked as carpet weavers in Kabul. When the Taliban regained power in 2021, they left, seeking refuge from the repression and persecution permitted under the laws of the country’s ultra-conservative Sunni rulers.
Neither cousin had any training in photography when they started taking photos on their cellphones in 2022 or so, says Madrid-based curator and gallery director Edith Arance. She came across their work on Instagram and was struck by the skillful melding of their bleak surroundings with messages ranging from the poetic to the political.
“I know a little Farsi [the Persian language] so I could approach them,” she says. The cousins and Arance worked together via Instagram. In November 2024, Arance presented their work in Madrid, at her Galería Sura, which specializes in emerging photographers from Southwest Asia and Africa.
The photos, which document the sparse reality of the cousins’ lives today and their hopes for a less gloomy future, are on display through May 30 at the Photoville Festival in Brooklyn, New York. Arance uses the literary term auto-fiction to describe their work because, as in that genre, these photos also combine autobiography and fiction. While the images are set against the autobiographical backdrop of where they live, the poses struck by those photographed and their interactions with their physical and natural surroundings suggest interior dreams and fantasies, played out before the camera.
For Arance, the use of light and shadow, and the use of trees, leaves, plants and butterflies as symbols, are also akin to the literary style known as magic realism. The captions and poems accompanying were written by the cousins and translated by Arance.
In “Life Is Today” a young girl dances on a barren ridge overlooking snow-capped mountains. Arance comments: “There’s a sense of play, which should not be unusual. But this is Afghanistan, and this girl is not wearing a veil or a burka, she is just being free. Her shadow looks like an airplane flying away.”
This photo is titled “Life is today.” The photographers say the image is a call to live in the present as the future is uncertain.
Somayeh Ebrahimi/March 2024
hide caption
toggle caption
Somayeh Ebrahimi/March 2024
Other photos similarly question the highly constricted lives of women under Taliban rule.
“Liberation” shows a woman, her back turned to the camera showing the decorations in her hair (which are prohibited by the Taliban), as she throws her burka up and away into the sky. In its accompanying poem, Mahnaz Ebrahimi writes, “In the name of being a woman,/today I will free myself from oppression/and darkness to the breeze/to the height of the sky.”
“Girl by the Door” emphasizes contrasts in light and shadow, as a girl holding a tattered schoolbook stands with half her face hidden by a pale wooden door with multiple chains, the other half dimly lit against the dark background behind her.
The commentary by Mahnaz reads: “The image here is imbued with symbolism. For a time, after learning about the new law [prohibiting education for females after sixth grade], girls risked their lives by going to school. Attacks followed, intended to discourage families from allowing their daughters to attend classes throughout 2022. Light, knowledge, life resides outside. Darkness is the interior of the domestic space to which girls and women are relegated.”
The dichotomy between constriction and freedom is dramatized in the photo of a young girl wearing sunglasses and laughing with uproarious delight titled, “When Will We Laugh From the Bottom of Our Hearts Again”? But there is still the possibility of youthful delight, as shown in “Autumn Games,” in which three young girls throw leaves up into the sky.
Their photos pose questions about other restrictions imposed on girls and women. “Vestiges of the Present” captures a female figure in colorful garb, shown only from the shoulders down, holding a boombox that her still stance tells us is silent; “music, dancing and singing are prohibited for women [in public] in Afghanistan,” the caption reminds us.
This photo addresses the Taliban prohibition forbidding women to make music in public.
hide caption
toggle caption
In an outdoor scene, a young girl cowers as an unseen gunman points a rifle at her, but she holds on to a school notebook with a message in Farsi that reads, “There is no justice,” referring to the limits on girls attending school.
Taken as a whole, Arance says, the photos declare that “The Taliban may say that this is the destiny of women in Afghanistan, but I’m saying this is not my destiny.” As for that hoped-for future, aspirational glints appear in photos such as “From the Depths of Darkness,” which shows, against a black backdrop, a woman holding in her hand a mound of dirt and twigs from which a butterfly is emerging.
Similarly, “And the Glory of Growing Happens Within Us” captures, in profile, a burka-covered woman cradling in her hands a growing, blossoming plant, and perhaps finding inspiration in the ongoing life of its sprouts and buds.
Diane Cole writes for many publications, including The Wall Street Journal and The Washington Post. She is the author of the memoir After Great Pain: A New Life Emerges. Her website is DianeJoyceCole.com
-
West Virginia2 minutes agoMom of three allegedly murdered by man who lured her to West Virginia with job offer
-
Wyoming8 minutes agoEvanston Is Utah’s ‘Sin City,’ Where They Can Get Booze, Gamble, And Buy Fireworks
-
Crypto14 minutes agoIHC Executes $30M DDSC Stablecoin Trade as UAE Digital Payments Enter New Phase
-
Finance20 minutes agoTransition finance needs ‘realism’, not reliance on private capital alone, says Prudential chair
-
Fitness26 minutes ago’90s Workout Catchphrases That Sound Even More Ridiculous Today – Health Digest
-
Movie Reviews38 minutes ago‘Red Rocks’ Review: Weirdo, Cliff-Jumping Kiddies Are the Focus of Bruno Dumont’s Latest Experiment
-
World50 minutes agoCubans Cook With Charcoal and Wood Fires to Survive During Energy Crisis
-
News56 minutes agoAmid Iran War, Remembering the Losses From Another Middle East Conflict
