Contemporizing Kensington: Popular Culture and the “Enchanted Palace” Exhibit

Abstract

How can a heritage organization responsible for managing and delivering historic sites draw upon elements of popular culture to create compelling, contemporary experiences for tourists from around the world? In this chapter, we offer a case study of the “Enchanted Palace” exhibit. Designed to enable London’s Kensington Palace to remain open during a multi-million dollar renovation, it eschewed the typical touristic headphone-laden, walk-through experience in favor of one focusing on interactivity and delivering emotional resonance. We leverage primary archival materials, an interview with HRP Chief Executive Michael Day, reviews of the exhibit, and field notes from a visit to the exhibit itself in April, 2011. We demonstrate that while integrating popular culture as a way to inform tourists about history may prove problematic for some visitors, it may also help organizations attract new audiences and achieve long-term goals. We offer a brief history of Kensington Palace and then discuss the conceptualizations, strategies, and tactics that infused “Enchanted.”

Appendix

Cele Otnes Field Notes, Enchanted Palace Exhibit Visit, March 29, 2011

Pauline [Maclaran] and I…got to Kensington about 11:45…We had to ask directions…because the first entrance was closed; sign said “due to construction.” I knew something was up at the palace, but wasn’t aware of the extent of the renovation/rebranding—turned out to be quite something, as the following attests! Things got interesting as we approached. Lots of signs assured visitors the palace was “still open.” As these abated, signs and promotions for the “magical palace” took over; as well as one for a dog show at the Palace (which seemed bizarre!).

As we were almost to the entry, there was a hole in the fence where we could see workers digging gardens, and some fantasy-like images on posters promoting the exhibit, apparently named “Enchanted Palace,” hinting that royal secrets would be revealed. We talked about the metaphors this evoked: Mardi Gras, Tim Burton, Alice in Wonderland…and also its feminist images. After leaving the foyer and ticket counter areas, photos were prohibited.

When we approached the entry hall to the exhibit, we learned we couldn’t proceed until we listened to an explanation of what we were about to see. We were told the exhibit is about discovering the seven princesses who had lived in the palace over the last 300 years, and is meant to symbolize their stories. The “hostess” providing the orientation offered lots of information about the narratives in the palace. She took us through the map inside our guidebooks that was drawn almost childishly, like a treasure map. This graphic immediately made me realize this would not be like a traditional palace tour [i.e.; stodgy]…The “hostess” emphasized there would be people in livery (e.g., the uniforms of different palace servants) who could explain the rooms for us. Either she or the brochure (or both) used the term “Explainers” for these folks. There were others in period costumes, which we learned about later. The hostess described the palace during the Georgian and Tudor eras (1669–1760), the setting for many key stories and residents. She said the rooms on our maps with the red crowns housed the more personal stories of the seven princesses, and that these stories were the common thread of the exhibition.

We walked up an empty stairwell painted peacock blue and arrived in a low-lit room. We commented on its haunted-house feel. It was called the “Room of Royal Sorrows.” Off the bat, it was very bizarre, and not what one would expect in a palace exhibit. For example, blue light bulbs in the chandeliers produced little illumination; it was very shadowy and almost depressing. Also, the typical guard rope that restricts people from prohibited areas was laced with small tags (like price tags) where people had written their names and comments.

This room (as did many, we learned later) contained a bound notebook with a calligraphy-type poem that was eerie/mysterious/cryptic about the princess who had lived in the room. This one began: “There is a Maid of the Royal Tears/There is a Woman of the Royal Sorrows….” It went on for a few pages in similar form, but it was difficult to discern what it was really talking about. Later, we learn it was about Princess Mary losing a baby, but I think we had to get that from the guidebook and not from the poem.

Each “princess room” also contains a disembodied dress by a famous designer, each posed in a way a human form would be. In this room, the “princess” (dress) looks longingly in a mirror. The gown’s placard identified the designer (I think this one was by Bruce Oldfield). Other key aspects of this room convey sorrow. We learn the glass bottles are “tear-catchers” to save people’s tears when they are in mourning. Mary apparently had several miscarriages. The fabric on the bedposts looks decorative, but on closer inspection, actually features abstract fetuses.

Next, we walk into a wide gallery-type room with large busts of Sir Isaac Newton, Sir Francis Boyle (of Boyle’s law), and another scientist (couldn’t tell who). The ambience is still dark and mysterious. An Explainer is stationed behind an old wood writing desk with a hinged top. I don’t know if we asked her a question, or if she just launched into her spiel with the statement “All scientists belonged to our queens.” She talked about how Princess/Queen Caroline loved science and Isaac Newton, but that she (the Explainer) personally loved Boyle because he did thus and so. She was very friendly and obviously extremely well-trained. She said the dress in this room represents something “different from the scientists.” I didn’t quite understand that, and it didn’t seem as effective as the dress portraying Mary in the previous room. She mentioned that the train on the dress was added to indicate that even after a queen’s reign, “something always remains.”

She opened the desk and whipped out laminated pictures of pieces of the British Royal Family Tree and explained how some were related to Queen Charlotte. At one point I wondered if we would be “trapped” by Explainers in every room, or if we could escape if we wanted, which happily turned out to be the case. In the end, the exhibit didn’t feature that many rooms; clearly the organizers were aiming for quality of experience over quantity.

Pauline and I discussed how well trained the Explainers were with respect to the narratives they shared. She noted they seemed trained to inject personal angles into the stories (e.g., our Explainer had noted, “Queen Caroline—I loved her and I hated her…because she was a strong woman, but also thought a man should reign and not a woman”).

In the next room, a really long title of a poem was suspended from the ceiling—something written in the 1600s called “Epithalamium to a Princess.” We learned it was to commemorate Princess Charlotte’s wedding. Again, we still perceived the haunted house feel. We turned and saw a Vivienne Westwood dress poised atop a long staircase; it represented the miserable Princess Charlotte running through the palace and trying to escape.

We moved next into the “Gallery of War and Play.” It was my favorite for a few reasons. First, I knew Mark [husband] would have loved it. Also, we engaged in some good role-play interaction with a “Detector,” explained below. The room was a huge picture gallery with toy soldiers set up on fake hills and dales; there were seemingly tons on the floor, swarming like ants. In the middle was a full-size British officer’s red uniform and regalia. Military cadences and music played in the background. We commented how it was like a piece of installation art.

Then a man came up to me in kind of a workman’s outfit and said (which I LOVED), “Pardon me ma’am, if you’re planning a naval campaign against the French over the weekend, I would not advise it.” He pointed to a piece of weather equipment on the wall (he identified it; I forgot the name) and said it wasn’t working, and wouldn’t be a reliable indicator of the weather across the Channel. Pauling and I laughed at this, and I made a smart remark like, “Oh well, there go my plans to invade France.” We wander away, and Pauline asks me what he was supposed to be. I say “no idea,” and suggest we go back and ask him, which we do. He says he is a servant and a “Detector,” and he’s been here since the palace was built 330 odd years ago. He added, “When you’re over 300 years old, it’s not possible to remember everything”. He said his job is to take measure of activities in the palace since the time of William of Orange, and to make sure the ambience is what it should be in order to please the court.

He and an Explainer hover around a table featuring games from the time of William III. These are military-strategy games; one features pieces that look like origami cranes. We don’t ask about the rules (not really interested), but we are interested that they are there. Our Detector tells us the soldier installation on the floor is supposed to simulate William of Gloucester playing with his Uncle, William of Orange. He says he tells visitors from France to pretend they’re from Switzerland because King William always seems to want to invade France (or vice versa; couldn’t quite tell).

The next room features guard rails decorated with flowers, and poems piped through a speaker. It contains a cradle and seems to be a child’s nursery; there didn’t seem to be much going on in there. In fact, we thought we were in the “Room of the Quarrel,” but that actually ended up being later. We had our “treasure map” mixed up (it was kind of hard to follow).

Pauline comments on the intertextuality of the whole experience, and I agree. We enter Victoria’s bedroom, with five life-size figures that look like huge marionettes. We meet James the Explainer (quite friendly). He begins quite a long treatise about how Victoria couldn’t have any friends while growing up, because royal children could only play with royal children and there weren’t any around. So she made dolls and they were her friends. These are represented as life-size to capture their importance to her. This was also the room where she was awakened to learn she had become Queen at 18. Once again, we commented on how the Explainer was excellent, beautifully trained, and courteous.

James tells us the exhibit will be over at the end of 2011. He noted the staff makes a big effort first thing in the morning to discuss whether visitors seem to understand what they are about to see. We talk about the edgy nature of the exhibit and he says, “It’s a risk,” but that it definitely is appealing more to younger adults and teenagers. He said the purpose is to awaken curiosity and spur visitors to go learn more about the monarchs. The Explainers are trained to know “the more obscure stories,” but these tend to be very interesting.

We comment on the feminist aspect of the exhibit, because there is a lot about empowerment. James observes that at the same time, many of these women had to marry princes much older than they were, so it captures the tragedy and joys of womanhood. As a result, it’s empowering and sobering at the same time—hard to pull off, and thus, intriguing.

We enter something that looks like a banquet hall, containing artifacts representing global connections and women. There is a tapestry made by a “children’s centre” with threads running across it. James comes in; he also explains in this room. He tells us the cabinet containing the tapestry and dress “denotes the emotional and geographical journeys of women.” He says the staff contributed some items; e.g., dresses and photos from their childhood. A “Stitches in Time” tapestry contains different countries quilted on and connected by pink ribbons.

Next is the “Room of New Beginnings.” It contains two dresses in different glass cases—one (or both; unsure) represents Princess Margaret. There is a beautiful ball gown, but with red shoes (a bit unexpected). Pauline observes there is a very moralist series of books featuring red shoes that her grandmother used to read her. She thinks the shoes are in fact kind of sinister (note the intertextuality). In the case, the gown, red shoes and long white evening gloves are suspended with no body. The other case features a gown like the one Nicole Kidman wore to the Academy awards (more intertextuality), and also floating feathers.

The next room is a ballroom. It features the image of a woman dancing in shadow and projected on the ceiling. I assumed this is supposed to represent Princess Diana. I thought this was the only reference to Diana in the whole exhibit, which is very different from 2005, when her gowns were on display and there were lots of Diana postcards in the gift shop. We exit and head to the shop. Afterward, we then go to the Orangery for tea (four pages of same on the menu)! It was built in 1704 during Anne’s reign, and is definitely part of the palace consumption experience. We wondered how Diana fans would view the exhibit. Pauline noted she thought it was a great way of “diluting Diana” by contextualizing her with the other six princesses, and marginalizing her in a subtle way.