The House on the Rock - Is this purgatory? No, it's Wisconsin.
Written: Sep 05 '05 (Updated Sep 05 '05)
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Product Rating:
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Pros: The dollhouses, excellent fodder for the sarcastic guffaws
Cons: Ugly, tacky, dark, creepy, expensive
The Bottom Line: Are you a damsel that longs for distress? This is the place for you.
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| millinocket's Full Review: The House on the Rock |
Imagine a trip to an Attraction, a miraculous house constructed high atop a rock overlooking rolling terrain. As you walk through the house and its 16 connected buildings, you behold a variety of sights and sounds, the likes of which you’ve never seen before.*
Warning! What follows is a cautionary tale. Let all who enter beware………
Once upon a time in a land quite close by, there were two damsels, the Desert Damsel and the Dairy Damsel. They were very curious damsels looking for adventure. They yearned for new, exciting adventure, far away from the shops that had so stressed their weary wallets. And it was in such a frame of mind that they set out that fine summer day. Never could they have imagined what would await them at their ultimate destination…..
The damsels decided that they would take their horseless carriage into the countryside outside of their capitol town, on the number 12 horseless carriage trail. They traveled for well on towards an hour, looking at the rolling green hills and abundant barns and silos that so delighted the Desert Damsel, until they reached the hamlet of Spring Green. They didn’t actually see the charming hamlet, for their destination lay outside its walls, in the countryside. Isolated. Far from the prying eyes of the world as they knew it. As they turned into the small road signaling the entrance to The House on the Rock, they felt excitement, but had not yet any reason for fear.
Oh, there were signs. Signs that not all was right in this place. On that small road, the giant teapot-like planters should have given the damsels pause, yet they seemed quaint and comical in this beautiful wooded setting. The parking area was large and not very full – for it was mid-week and other curious folk were toiling. They were so happy to easily park their carriage that they even happily posed in front of yet another giant, flowering teapot, still with nary a care in the world.
As they approached the unimposing front entrance, the damsels were giddy with anticipation. They had heard much about this House on the Rock and the wonders that lay within. So much had they heard that they eagerly (well, at least not quite grudgingly) handed the nice young maiden at the door their twenty dollars apiece to be allowed entrance to this enchanted place. They were slightly taken aback by the life sized statue that bore a remarkable resemblance to Dumbledore the Wizard that they passed, but were far too eager to get inside to make due notice of this oddity. It was upon entering the bathrooms that the damsels began to sense that they may have been led astray. For, you see, in that bathroom right near the front entrance was a large, glass fronted display of vacant eyed dolls. A damsel doesn’t see such a thing in a bathroom every day, and they were leery, yet fascinated. If this was in the bathroom, what lay in the rooms beyond?
They consulted the map they had been given by the young door maiden and realized that they would need all due vigilance if they were to navigate this vast, wandering collections of rooms and buildings. Determined to see the very best sights, they chose to first visit the Infinity Room. They warily approached this long, narrow room. It was really a hallway, one that led nowhere but straight out over the woods below. At the end was an odd optical illusion that made it look, from a distance, as though the hallway was quite a bit longer than, in fact, it was. There was also a window in the floor so the damsels could enjoy their daily dose of height induced nausea. They noticed things like fraying carpet and unconvincing optical illusions – but not until they were returning to the main building did they realize that it felt almost as if the entire odd hallway were swaying just a bit in the breeze. They didn’t know if that was an illusion too, and had no desire to venture out again to find out.
“Onward”, they declared, and headed off into the bowels of the beast that is the House on the Rock itself. They began their journey with a trip through an Asian inspired, rock furniture filled sort of dwelling. It was filled with many Asian themed novelty items and had interestingly carpeted walls, accompanied by equally carpeted horizontal surfaces that the damsels thought might be furniture. Later, the damsels would speculate that perhaps someone had actually lived in this place at one time, but the dark, dank nature of the winding tunnels made this seem unbearable, so they dismissed it from their troubled minds.
On they went, further still. They began to encounter large displays of instruments. Not just any instruments, but instruments that played themselves. Music Machines, they were, and for only a few tokens (available throughout the House at conveniently placed vending machines) the damsels were able to make the machines play their haunted music. Each one was louder than the next, with grand clanging chords echoing through the empty chamber in which they played. Each machine was vast, decorated with odd, ornate and always excessive thrones and pillars and all manner of assorted large, well, things. The damsels thought that each machine seemed to have some sort of unifying theme – be it thrones or gold or some other oddity – but those thoughts were quickly drowned by the deafening music they had brought down upon themselves with the accursed tokens. They fled from the machines, frantic for some peace, and found themselves quite lost. Their map seemed not to match what they saw; they were increasingly disoriented and knew not how to find what they wanted to see. Fortunately (?) there were many signs, all leading the damsels through “the tour”. A tour of what they did not know, but they dared not stray from the marked path lest they be lost forever.
Soon the damsels came upon what was to be the most frightening part of their day. It was a carousel. Not just any carousel, for carousels themselves are quaint and lovely. No, this was the World’s Largest Carousel. They had heard rumor that it existed in this place, and had even read a detailed description. Yet nothing prepared them for this room, filled everywhere with things. The carousel itself was a giant, spinning nightmare of plaster animals, whirling in a perpetual purgatory while a legion of mannequins draped in fabric and posing as angels hung overhead. Covering the walls were hundreds of disencarouseled horses, waiting their turn for a ride there in Satan’s Themepark. All was lit with eerie twinkling lights, somehow managing to bathe the vast space in a red glow. The damsels fled.
Yet they could not flee! For they were still lost within the maze, a maze that continued to offer them sights – designed to be wondrous, but in actuality frightening and so very, very strange. They came upon another room; the biggest yet, filled with an organ the size of New Mexico. Fearing that it would begin to play if some hapless visitor placed token near it, the damsels fled again – only to be faced with yet more terror! This time it was a ghostly carousel filled with more of those vacant eyed dolls like those in that long ago bathroom at the entrance. The dolls were spinning! spinning! for all eternity on their carousel of the damned, bathed again in the eerie red glow that seemed to invade every room. Would no one rescue the dolls from this horrible fate? Were they doomed to forever turn, turn, turn before the wide, bulging eyes of tourists until they had paid for whatever horrible thing they had done to deserve such a destiny? The damsels didn’t know, and didn’t want to risk staying to find out – they once again fled. And……..at last, found the peace they had so long sought.
They were still lost, the halls were still like tunnels, dark and musty, yet there were soothing things to be seen. Everywhere, there were Dollhouses. Beautiful dollhouses. Lit from within, each was more fabulous than the one before. The miniature furnishings perfect, the houses themselves lovingly created and displayed. The damsels were enchanted; they even forgot that they were deep within a place from which they had no means of escape. They loved those houses and spent many delighted minutes peering at their tiny perfection. It seemed that the worst was behind them.
And so it was. Some more displays including fake jewels, armor and some interesting Asian carvings calmed the damsels. They peered through the gloom, looking for en exit, hoping to find a way back to their carriage. Finally, after wandering through a minimally intriguing Olde Tyme village recreation, they slipped past an elderly employee (one determined to keep them there – to the point of making sure they had seen everything before letting them go) and found themselves face to face with Dumbledore the Wizard. They were back where they started! The terror was past! The Desert Damsel and the Dairy Damsel quickly made their way back to the parking lot, located their carriage and fled for a final time, never to look back. Later, they would tell tales of their narrow escape to astonished and fearful kin. Never would they forget the day they had nearly lost their souls at The House on the Rock……..
The End……….sort of
Back to Reality
The House on the Rock also has a gift shop and other assorted shopping, as well as a couple of truly awful “restaurants”. The entire building is as ugly and frightening as it was to our damsels (and the entrance fee of twenty bucks is appalling). It’s a bloated boil on the lovely countryside of rural southern Wisconsin, inexplicably drawing crowds from hundreds of miles away. Its myriad rooms and collections are little more then a trip through its creator’s scary mind. The items in the collections themselves vary from mildly interesting and clearly expensive to just tacky and ridiculous. Those detailed above are but a sampling of the weird things contained within this sprawling, motley hodgepodge of a building. The only remotely wonderful exhibit is the dollhouses. To be honest, though, the lovely Disinclined (the Desert Damsel) and I had quite a wonderful time marveling at the tacky tawdriness of it all. If you do decide to go, do so with the firm mindset that this is a place to be mocked and scorned, and do so with exuberant glee – this is the best, and I believe only, way to enjoy your visit. If only the gift shop offered miniature carousels or tiny little dolls of the damned, the trip would have been even better. Unfortunately, those who run this place seem not to have any sense of its ridiculousness and offer no such fun souvenirs – only staid and somber tee shirts and coffee mugs. If only the gift shop were as tacky as the attraction itself, it would have been the perfect end to our day.
The House on the Rock
5754 State Road 23
Spring Green, Wisconsin, 53588
Phone: (608) 935-3639
www.thehouseontherock.com
This review was written specifically for the wonderful Ed Grover. Ed shares my love of the beauty to be found in abundance in our state, as well as my disdain of the more horrid of the “tourist destinations”. Of all the places I’ve been in this state, The House on the Rock is by far the strangest and most appalling. And that’s saying something. This skewer’s for you, Ed.
* Taken directly from the House on the Rock brochure
Recommended:
No
Best Time to Travel Here: Never
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millinocket
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Someone stole our Rock Band. Really. I weep for my sexy avatar.
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