Michael Jackson Show Detours to Weirdoland : His Off-Stage Persona Proves Intrusive : Along the way to becoming one of pop music’s bona fide legends, Michael Jackson has also turned into one of the world’s truly great eccentrics.

Well, Michael Jackson’s three days in Orange County have come and gone. And because this is the home of Disneyland, of which the Gloved One is so enamored, it was tempting to look at his shows at the Irvine Meadows Amphitheatre as trips through a musical Magic Kingdom.

Jackson worships the memory of Walt Disney, and his eye-popping shows Monday through Wednesday nights were to the average concert what the theme park in Anaheim is to the neighborhood carnival. Even before the spectacular concerts began--and those half-dozen truck trailers in the Irvine Meadows parking lot stood as testimony that it was to be a really big shoo--the amphitheater took on the atmosphere of the Happiest Place on Earth.

You could even match up various Jackson songs with their Disneyland ride counterparts: the opener, “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’, “ was like the Monorail--a sleek, speedy, high-tech overview of everything to come. The ballad “I Just Can’t Stop Loving You” was like a romantic sail through the “Peter Pan” ride with the one you love. (Of course, if the one you love is Michael, better plan it as a journey to Never-Never Land.)

Heck (sniff), when the woman singer in the band left Michael’s side after their duet (whimper), and he dropped to his knees cuz he couldn’t live without her (sob)--it felt like we were losing Tinker Bell all over again. I believe, Michael. I believe.

His rendition of “Thriller,” a production number that re-created the landmark mini-horror movie video, was like a goofy-spooky jaunt through the Haunted Mansion. And the drop-dead adrenalin-rush sequencing of “Beat It,” “Billie Jean” and “Bad” felt like a back-to-back run through the Matterhorn, Big Thunder Railroad and Space Mountain.

In a larger sense, just as Walt Disney’s beloved creation appeals to the youthful fantasies of park patrons, Michael’s show held out the hope that anything is possible for his fans.

Two teen-age girls next to me Monday night whispered in conspiratorial tones that they just knew Bruce was in the audience, all the while craning their necks to spot him. Sure enough, I’m relatively certain I spotted The Boss. He was masquerading as a 4-foot-8 blond 10-year-old kid from Irvine wearing acid-washed parachute pants from Jimmy’Z and fuchsia Reeboks. In my book, that far outdid the routine wheelchair-bound-old-man-in-a-mask costume that Michael wears to Disneyland so he won’t be bothered by the public.

(Pity all the real old men who can no longer go to the park for fear of being attacked by screaming teen-age girls hoping to penetrate His Royal Shyness’ disguise.)

That brings up the big difference between the “Bad” tour and Disneyland: For all its analogies to Frontierland, Adventureland, Fantasyland and Tomorrowland, Michael’s world has one key mythical area the Magic Kingdom lacks:

Weirdoland.

See, along the way to becoming one of pop music’s bona fide legends, Michael has also turned into one of the world’s truly great eccentrics. It’s not your average Encino Boy, after all, who whiles away his leisure time in an oxygen tank as his accountants buy up everything from the Beatles song catalogue to the Elephant Man’s bones.

(Then again, Walt had to contend with a degree of wackiness, if only posthumously. Remember those rumors that kept cropping up that he didn’t really die; that Disney audio-animatronics geniuses had him tucked away safely in suspended animation somewhere?)

Anyway, it was easy to find yourself pondering questions that would never crop up at, say, a Tiffany concert. Could the rumors be true that Michael is really Diana Ross, Janet and/or LaToya Jackson?

Or:

If you could afford to buy any dead celebrity’s remains, who would it be? (For sheer collector value, I’d go for my favorite Marx brother--Gummo.)

Or:

Did Michael choose to play Irvine Meadows instead of the Pacific Amphitheatre because his pet chimp Bubbles wanted to pay respects to the remains of Lion Country Safari next door, the old home of his namesake, Bubbles the Hippo, the location of whose remains is unknown?

For that matter, did Michael ever sneak Bubbles (the chimp, that is) into Disneyland by explaining (through his surgical mask) that the kid is just hairy for his age?

In other words, despite the technical brilliance of the on-stage performance, Michael’s off-stage persona kept intruding.

At one point in the show, the Boy in the Buckles retired from the stage to a small white tent, like the nomads used in all those 1940s desert-adventure movies. With the light from inside, you could see something going on. At first, I thought maybe he was just ducking in for a quick Pepsi or a little oxygen, but soon decided he must be dressing up as either the “Thriller” werewolf or the Elephant Man (there’s an impersonation you don’t see every day). I don’t want to spoil any surprises for those who might be planning to catch Michael’s L.A. Sports Arena dates this week; let’s just say that Elephant Man fans shouldn’t get their hopes up.

At the end of the show, Michael trotted out a bunch of kids--presumably children of the band and crew members--for a hand-holding, sing-along finale in the tradition of “It’s a Small World.” (Cute, yet smarmy. I’d give it a 7.)

I trust all this doesn’t have Walt turning in his grave. But even if it does, I hope Michael has the good sense to leave Walt’s remains where they are.

TIME IS ON HIS SIDE: The “Bad” tour resembled Disneyland in one other way: its timetable--and that wasn’t entirely good.

Officials at Irvine Meadows and at Avalon Attractions, the promoter, urged concert-goers to arrive on time because, they insisted, “shows will start promptly at 7:30.” Fans who followed those instructions and were in their seats at the appointed hour were rewarded--with a 70-minute wait.

(If it had taken Michael any longer to get on stage he would have been staring at his audience’s remains.)l

OK, maybe traffic was especially bad Monday night. Of course, Curlilocks didn’t exactly salve the sting when he hit the stage at last, only to pose the musical question “Do ya wanna be startin’ somethin’?” (Where’s Sam Kinison when he would be truly useful?)

But when Tuesday night’s show started not-so-promptly, precisely at 8:40 again , it begged the question: Why the delay?

Matt Curto, Irvine Meadows’ director of operations, said that “Unofficially, I was told Michael didn’t want to start the show with (a lot of) empty seats out there. I haven’t heard an official explanation.”

Or:

Perhaps it just gave the Master of Merchandising’s legion of helpers more time to sell popcorn, hot dogs, Pepsi (the official soft drink of Michael Jackson), Michael Jackson sweat shirts, Michael Jackson programs, Michael Jackson buttons, Michael Jackson headbands, Michael Jackson posters, etc., etc., etc.

Was it just coincidence that there was one hit he didn’t sing: “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough”?