Luna Park and the Clownification of Public Amenities

Sydney is often described as a city bereft of amusement. Lock out laws and our quiet nightlife is the silver bullet residents point to as why our southern neighbours seem to be having way more fun. But there’s something else, one that strikes at the hearts of the populace old and young, or young at heart: the closures of our various amusement parks. Wonderland, the Manly Fun Pier, SEGA World, African Lion Safari, and Old Sydney Town — the amusement parks of yesteryear have all shut down, and Sydneysiders have had to make do, catching a flight up north to the Gold Coast or waiting it out till the Summer months to enjoy a dip at Wet n’ Wild, Jamberoo, or Manly Waterworks.

And yet, like a beacon of hope, a smile shining brightly across the harbour, Luna Park extends its welcoming jaw for all of us to walk through and become gobbled up inside. Luna Park’s history is one of tumult, various openings and closures, deaths, and noise complaints; it's never been able to reach the popularity of its heyday in the 1930s, but its heritage listing ensures it will stick around for many more decades to come.

The last time I remember visiting, I was waiting in line for the Tango Train. The queue wraps around behind the ride, allowing guests to catch a glimpse of what a passersby won’t usually see if they decide to give the Tango Train a miss. Unsurprisingly, it is just a barren area with a painted wall, the ground a harsh concrete that makes it hard to stand on for too long. What caught my eye was a long air ventilation shaft that distended up into the sky along the wall, painted yellow with red polka dots.

This shaft was clearly one of many devices used in the upkeep and maintenance of the park, and yet it had been infected by its surroundings, forced to blend in and hide its purpose from the unsuspecting guests. It had been clownified, made to look like the garb a clown might wear, in order to maintain some sort of artifice.

Once I noticed this, I began seeing all sorts of things essential for the running of a park made goofy, cartoonish, and strange. Rubbish bins were turned into hungry jesters with their mouths agape looking to consume garbage, back doors are painted over with circus tent curtains, smiling moons, or pinstripes. We’re told it's locked — STAFF ONLY — but these cartoonish displays open up to whole new worlds, ones that look so inviting. Cables and wires are obscured as giant wall plugs, guests are pointed in various directions by disembodied gloved hands. It's like you’ve entered another world, transported through the looking glass, except it was a funhouse mirror and you’ve just joined the circus.

Umberto Eco coined the term ‘hyperreal’ to describe this immersion in another world in Travels in Hyperreality (1973), in which “American imagination demands the real thing and, to attain it, must fabricate the absolute fake; where the boundaries between game and illusion are blurred, the art museum is contaminated by the freak show”. Discussing hyperreality in the American context of Disneyland, Eco goes on to suggest that the boundaries of the amusement park, with “[t]he surrounding city context and iron fencing (as well as the admission ticket) warn us we are entering not a real city but a toy city”. The North Shore high rises and swimming pool on the periphery give way to circus tents and miniature castles once we step through the precipice of the Luna Park face.

Regarding Disneyland, Eco goes on to say that “Main Street — like the whole city, for that matter — is presented at once absolutely realistic and absolutely fantastic, and this is the advantage [...] of Disneyland over other toy cities. [...] In this sense Disneyland is more hyperrealistic than the wax museum, precisely because the latter still tries to make us believe that what we are seeing reproduces reality absolutely, whereas Disneyland makes it clear that within its magic enclosure it is fantasy that is absolutely reproduced.”

Main Street is an amalgamation of nostalgic neighbourhoods of Walt Disney’s past. Similarly, the circus tents and vintage layout of various attractions at Luna Park reproduce a fantasy of older amusement parks of the 1940s. At the same time, while there is this verisimilitude, there is an admittance that what we are seeing is not real. We understand that this air shaft is merely painted with polka dots and not actually some remnant of the past coming bursting into the present.

Eco continues to assert that “once the ‘totally fake’ is admitted, in order to be enjoyed it must seem totally real.” Luna Park, must too maintain its illusion. The park must not give up its ruse, and so air vents and rubbish bins are clownified to protect this illusion, despite everyone’s awareness that this is not real.

One must wonder where the boundaries of the park start and end. Are the residents of these apartments harlequins for making noise complaints about the Big Dipper ride despite choosing to take this real estate? Does the clownery extend its way to Parliament from the residency of Kirribilli House only a short distance away? Do the white clothed gloves hang over Sydney and all its failed developments, looney lock out laws, and various other tomfoolery? Has the Harbour Bridge been a coat hanger this whole time?

What these clownified objects do, for certain, is obscure the labour that goes into the park. We don’t have to think of the person who empties and refills the rubbish bins because, well, there are no rubbish bins, only silly clowns waiting to digest our scraps. We don’t have to care for the electrician who takes care of a broken down ride, we can simply unplug the giant socket and put it back in again. We don’t have to care, we’re at the circus.

Beyond the gates, clownification has taken effect in every facet of our society. Politicians plaster smiling liberal faces while cutting taxes for the uber wealthy and benefits for the vulnerable and oppressed. Along the streets, hostile architecture encircles us. A bench may be painted fun colours or have a wacky design, but made with handles sprouting between to prevent unhoused peoples from having a place to rest. In our restaurants, robots and tablets are used for convenience, but distance patrons from staff. New superhero films flood our cinemas, with hours of intense unpaid labour going into making Deadpool make fart jokes across our screens. Life has become a cavalcade of distracting, bright colours, and smiling faces, and we are told to forget about what we can just see peaking out along the borders. Luna Park sent in the clowns, but they’re already here.