Bon Jour Monsieur Alladin

While Euro-Disney is not quite the Tower of Babel, nor is it Paris, where Parisians routinely snarl the moment you open your mouth. Parisians are genetically unable to understand a foreigner speaking French. In a city where it is a political statement even to acknowledge English (unless it's in the gift shop at the Hilton), at Euro-Disney, when you ask sheepishly and apologetically, "Do you speak English?" the response is a hardy, "But, of course!"

But should you run into Mickey, Minnie, Belle, Snow White, or Alice in Wonderland, though, none will actually talk. Way too politically incorrect. What would a German kid think if Princess Jasmine said "Bon Jour"?

To be sure, Euro-Disney executives spend lots of time pondering the great issues that lie at the heart of a multi-billion resort that thrives on kid fantasy and adult money. Does Goofy look too swishy in his silver cape? Is the Little Mermaid showing too much cleavage? Or, as the Unofficial Guide to Euro-Disneyland puts it, "At a time when the whole world is concerned about the drug problem, can we afford to have a dwarf named Dopey?"

For the show to go on without a hitch, Disney must control everything. There are reams of unbreakable Disney rules. Employees — Oops, they're called cast members! — must not smoke, chew gum, or dye their hair "an unusual color." They must use deodorant and wear "proper underwear." They can't have any facial hair. That eliminates beards, mustaches, long sideburns, even if the wearer's "role" is to spend the whole day in a furry Goofy costume. Nor are they allowed to wear sunglasses; Euro-Disney officials say they "inhibit interpersonal contact."

No wonder tout Paris, the home of haute couture, is steamed. Americans, who'll traipse down the Champs-Elysees in Bermuda shorts and T-shirts, telling the French what to wear!