Imagineering Theory: Three Transcendent Rides

I keep saying that having a popular IP tie-in isn’t enough. Even the most expensive, state-of-the-art ride needs to have something to say beyond “Look! It’s that movie/those characters you like! (Now go buy the merch!)” Otherwise, the movie can do a fine job all by itself and there’s no need for anyone, on either end of the transaction, to spend the kind of money that theme parks cost these days.

It’s easy and fun and even satisfying, in a snobbish sort of way, to expound at length about the failures: those attractions whose slavish adherence to recreating some aspect of their source material results in lackluster experiences. I’ve done that enough on this blog. This post, at least, is about…not the successes, but a handful of rides that go above and beyond mere success. These few rides have built on their source material so well that they have transcended said material. You don’t need to know the first thing about the movies that inspired these rides—and indeed, many people don’t—to appreciate them for what they are.

Imagineering Theory: But I WANT To Design a Tie-In Ride!

You may have noticed that I tend to come down pretty hard on IP-based attractions around here, especially the newer ones. And maybe you've found that a little...distressing. The great majority of Armchair Imagineering efforts probably take inspiration from Disney films and TV series. It's hard not to go that way when there's so much material to draw on and we have so many examples already in the parks. I know I can come across pretty strong in my opinions, and maybe I've given you cause to wonder if I might be preemptively dismissing your own ideas as unworthy.

Sorry if I did give that impression. I didn't mean to. It would be pretty hypocritical of me, given that most of the items under my own Armchair Imagineering tag use Disney properties as inspiration. Moreover, it would be pointless to discourage the Armchair Imagineers of the world from sowing their seeds of creativity in such fertile soil.* Everyone expects Disney IPs to be adapted as rides in Disney theme parks. It's a legit tradition. It's not gonna stop.

The point of this post is not to tell you not to design tie-in rides. It's to tell you how you can design tie-in rides that are interesting, unique, and even artistic on their own merits. To that end, I've got some Do's and Don't's to offer you. Actually, make that Don't's and Do's—each Don't followed by one or more Do's as alternatives.

Now, if only I could get WDI to take my advice...

Imagineering Theory: Blending Themes

Last week's post included a link to FoxxFur's amazing article about border areas at Disneyland and how gracefully or ungracefully (usually the latter, though not necessarily to the park's detriment) the Imagineers manage the transitions. If you didn't read it then, I urge you to do so now, as it is a scrupulously well-documented analysis of design details you probably never noticed before, even though the whole point is how much they stick out compared to their equivalents in Magic Kingdom.

But it got me thinking: Could the transitions be made less awkward?* Perhaps the main reason Disneyland has so many abrupt boundaries between themed lands is the lack of space for subtle “fade” effects, but here's the thing: themes are not particulate. They can be tweaked and blended. I doubt if there are any two themes or genres in all imagination that are so dissimilar that they have no points in common and no potential to be hybridized.

So this post is my attempt to do that with all the border areas at Disneyland—all the places where two or more themes collide. It probably wouldn't be possible to retrofit the actual Disneyland with these ideas, so this is more of a what-if exercise.

Before I really get into it, I want to review my base material: what are the themes that need to be blended? This is not an exhaustive analysis of all the themes and sub-themes in Disneyland, just a quick summary. The nuances will be addressed when I start looking for ways to remix them.

Main Street, USA: A small American town around the turn of the 20^th Century. Except for the period setting, about as “generic” as can be.

Adventureland: Tropical wilderness, barely explored by Westerners.

New Orleans Square: New Orleans ca. 1925 or so, plus supernatural elements. Say, is “historical urban fantasy” a thing? I feel like it should be.

Critter Country: Rural/wilderness area inhabited by anthropomorphic animals.

Frontierland: The Old West—settlers, “cowboys and Indians,” all-American wilderness, fairly realistic.

Fantasyland: Fairy tales and magical children's stories, especially if they've been made into animated Disney movies.

Mickey's Toontown: The Golden Age of cartoons.

Tomorrowland: Futurism and science-fiction.

Now, let's see what kinds of stews we can make from these ingredients!

Imagineering Theory: Why It Matters That Disneyland Came First

Here's an experiment to try sometime: Locate a cross-section of Disney theme park fans from various parts of the United States and put them together in a room. Make sure you have at least a couple Southern California and Central Florida locals in the group. Let them talk about whatever. If no one has brought up the parks in the first five minutes, introduce the topic yourself.

Measure the resulting heat and consider whether it might be enough to drive a turbine and constitute a source of clean energy.

There's a weird sort of tribalism that afflicts Disney theme park fans. Hardly anyone is an unbiased aficionado of the entire phenomenon; you're either on Team Anaheim or Team Orlando, insisting that your “home” resort (i.e. the one you're most familiar with—hardly anyone can afford to become familiar with both) is the better of the two. They have more parks, but ours are less of a hassle to get to. Our Castle is cuter and friendlier, while theirs is grander. Our food is better, but their hotels are better. We have the Matterhorn, they have the Hall of Presidents. Our version of “it's a small world” kicks theirs to the curb, but they got a better Fantasyland expansion. We lost the Country Bears, they lost Mr. Toad. And so it goes, ad infinitum.

But sooner or later, a West Coaster will pull out the ultimate trump card: Disneyland came first. Not that the Floridians will concede the argument, but it is at least an irrefutable point with no ready counterpart. Disneyland did come first. So instead the Floridians will claim that it doesn't matter. Big whoop, they'll say, not necessarily in those exact words. There's nothing inherently special about firstness; if anything, that just makes Disneyland the rough draft and Walt Disney World the polished product.

But I think it does matter. For one thing, there is something inherently special about firstness, which is why firsts are commemorated—why the Magna Carta is such a big deal and why Neil Armstrong is just a bit more celebrated than Buzz Aldrin. Beyond that, there are aspects to Disneyland's firstness that I think impact its quality, and our perception of its quality, for the better.

Imagineering Theory: Who is It For?

This question came up in the comments on my Niche Vs. Pastiche post, and I decided it deserved a post of its own. Who, when you get right down to it, is the target audience for Disneyland and other Disney theme parks? Is it the same for all of them? Should it be the same?

And of course, embedded in the is of the question is an implicit ought: Whom should the Imagineers attempt to court with their projects?

Imagineering Theory: Niche Vs. Pastiche

In my ongoing quest to figure out just what makes the themes of theme parks tick, I've started to think that maybe the specificity of a given theme plays a big role in how well it's received. Is it better for a themed area to mimic a defined time and place, with accurate details, or does it work better when it plays things loosey-goosey?

Ultimately the answer is probably highly subjective. Some people need a high degree of verisimilitude to feel immersed in the fictional world of a theme park, while others are fine with a rough interpretation that engages their imagination to fill the gaps. Heck with it...some settings work better with a high degree of verisimilitude, while others work better rough. Let's call the two approaches niche and pastiche—the perfect specific fit vs. the patchwork. Plus they rhyme with each other!

Both approaches are very much in evidence in the Disneyland Resort. The ultimate niche area is surely Cars Land, which mimics its source material basically to perfection. Shall I post the two images again? I'm gonna post the two images again.

Meanwhile, the best example of pastiche is probably Frontierland,* which combines elements as disparate as a Mississippi River paddleboat, a saloon decorated with Texas longhorn racks, a Mexican town square, and a Gold Rush mining operation, yet makes it work because it all fits within the continuum of the “Old West” as understood by guests. Historical accuracy is not the point; Disneyland is not Colonial Williamsburg. The object is to get across a general idea, and Frontierland succeeds very well—none of its attractions feel like they don't belong to the overall area theme, which is more than you can say for some themed lands.

Imagineering Theory: 10 Rules to Live By

Hey there, all you Armchair Imagineers! Tired of following current trends in theme park design? Does the current wisdom seem not-so-wise? Want your theme park ideas to pop?

The solution is here! Just follow these ten simple, obvious, incredibly important so why don't actual theme parks follow them much anymore I ask you rules, and watch the quality of your Armchair Imagineering soar to new heights!

Imagineering Theory: The Art of Placemaking, Part 2

So I have this theory of sorts regarding how themed areas at Disney parks come across independent of whatever attractions they might boast. I think in order to “work” (however you might interpret that word), a themed area needs to a) represent an easily recognizable concept, and b) entice on the basis of said concept, before you even consider rides and such. Last week, I did a rundown of the lands of Disneyland to see how they stack up, and this week, the quest continues with California Adventure.

Imagineering Theory: The Art of Placemaking, Part 1

So a couple weeks ago, I was not entirely critical of the announced plan to remake Paradise Pier into “Pixar Pier.” Even though I assume this will ultimately end up meaning “basically the same thing but with pictures of characters everywhere,” it at least has the potential to wind up marginally more interesting than what we currently have, which is perhaps best described as “I dunno, carnival rides and stuff—hey look! Mickey Mouse!” I know there's supposed to be some sort of “Victorian seaside amusement park” motif going on, but honestly? It doesn't come across that well. It's going to be hard to convince me that it's the 1890s while simultaneously going “Hey look! Mickey Mouse!”

But let's be real for a moment here...unless I have radically misunderstood John Lasseter's intentions, “Pixar Pier” is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a proper area theme. It occurs to me that one of the problems with current design directions in the Disney parks is that a fundamental misunderstanding of what area theming is, has taken root among both designers and fans. People have somehow gotten the idea that area theming is nothing more than some rides that are placed close together and have something in common (and that “something” can be nothing more than a brand).

But it's not, is it? Proper area theming is sometimes referred to with another word: placemaking. I have never seen this word used in any other context and have no idea when or by whom it was coined, but it's such a perfect encapsulation of what good area theming does: it makes a place. And I believe that the success or failure of a themed area as a whole hinges on whether or not guests a) recognize that place, and b) consider it a good place to be, outside of the attractions.

Can we get any additional insight by examining the existing themed areas of the Disneyland Resort and seeing how they hold up? Well, there's only one way to find out, isn't there?

Imagineering Theory: Thinking Beyond “Rides”

This is probably going to be a controversial opinion, but I think theme park fans get too hung up on rides.

No, not attractions. It's not a theme park—or any kind of leisure destination—without attractions. I do mean rides. I think many theme park fans obsess too much over, specifically, the sorts of attractions that physically move you around, to the point where the other sorts are rarely even discussed in the context of worthwhile things to do during a visit. Sometimes it goes further, to a veiled assertion that the more extreme the movement, the objectively “better” the ride is, but for now I'll stick to the simple dichotomy of ride vs. non-ride.

Isn't that nuts? To care only about rides and not about the many other kinds of attractions boasted at Disney theme parks? These places are known for so much more, but when was the last time you saw an Armchair Imagineer (besides me) attempt to design a parade or a show or even just a nice little nook to rest your feet?

Is it just that the potential variety of rides is more obvious? Do people have a hard time thinking up new twists to put on the other categories of attractions? Well, what kind of Dilettante would I be if I didn't have some ideas in that regard?

Imagineering Theory: The Range of Mountains

Disney likes to set thrill rides in mountains. One possible reason is pragmatic—the conical shape of a mountain makes a good base structure for a track, and the protruding peak is a natural “weenie” making it easy for guests to find the exciting ride. Another could very well be thematic—mountains are places of adventure. They are the lairs of monsters, the strongholds of villains, things to climb or cross in the name of exploration. A mountain is a semi-self-contained environment, a perfect canvas for the theming that Disney so excels in.

I've identified three key ingredients that make each of Disneyland's “mountains” unique. Each one has a distinctive Setting, an exotic and memorable environment. Its track has a particular characteristic, a Track Quirk, that harmonizes with the setting and imparts a little something more to the kinetic aspect of the ride than a standard roller coaster. And it offers a Threat, turning a simple fast and/or bumpy ride into a story with the riders at the center.

So this week, I'll summarize how the five mountains of the Disneyland Resort use these ingredients, and then propose a couple of entirely new variations on the recipe.

Imagineering Theory: Princess's Interesting Dark Ride

Last week, I noted that there are actually very few Princess rides in the Disney theme parks (because it's hard to make a good ride out of a love story) and then did a little analysis of the two that do exist in the Disneyland Resort: Snow White's Scary Adventures and The Little Mermaid ~ Ariel's Undersea Adventure. This week, I thought it might be fun to follow up on the first bit. Which Princess movies would make good dark rides? How best to translate the themes and settings of a given movie into a quality ride?

It promises to be an interesting intellectual exercise, at any rate, so let's get going!

Imagineering Theory: The Third Gate Solution

As construction on Star Wars Land continues, shutting down much of Frontierland (and leaving us long-time fans with a nagging sense of dread over whether it will be satisfying when it re-opens), I've been thinking about the commonly proposed “third gate” solution to all this Star Wars and Marvel and Pixar nonsense. Most of us agree that these IPs don't sit well alongside most of the existing themes in Disneyland and California Adventure, but their profitability is too great for Management to resist. A third park, designed from the get-go to include them, seems like the perfect compromise—fans of these franchises get to play with them and the company gets the money, while the rest of us don't have to cringe at the awkward mismatches with the rest of the parks.

Here's the main problem with that idea, though:

What would be the theme of this third theme park?

Imagineering Theory: The Frontierland Problem

BREAKING NEWS: Moana is fantastic. Go see it.

We Disneyland fans often enjoy discussing the Tomorrowland Problem—i.e., how do you go about portraying “the future” in an age when technology progresses as quickly as it does in this day and age? What you don't hear about much is the Frontierland Problem, which I will identify in a moment. To the best of my knowledge, this phrase doesn't even exist as a widely recognized term for a phenomenon that most guests may not think about, or want to.

The Frontierland Problem, in brief, is this: How do you depict a superficially exciting but very ugly phase in American history in a theme park setting, without either whitewashing the nasty parts or bumming out your guests? It's a problem that might not have arisen had Disneyland been built in any decade other than the 1950s, when white American machismo (of a clean-cut variety that seems paradoxical to modern eyes) was perhaps the dominant value in American pop culture. Nowhere was this better exemplified than in the Western genre of film and television, which had its absolute heyday in the Fifties. In any other decade, Walt Disney—or at least his advisors—might have deemed the Frontierland concept not nearly marketable enough for mainstream audiences, and chosen a different theme for this largest of the themed lands, or at least diminished the “American history” presence in favor of nature or modern-day America* or something else related.

Might have. It is by no means certain. But it is well worth looking at all the small ways in which the sights to see in Frontierland have been tweaked over the years, as the guest base has grown more diverse and less forgiving of the whitewashed, white-centric Old West narrative. The Indian attack was removed from the backstory of the Burning Cabin and the Indian War Canoes were retooled into the Davy Crockett Explorer Canoes,** leaving only allied tribes among Frontierland's Native population. The Golden Horseshoe's long-running show, featuring mild burlesque elements, came to an end. Gunplay was progressively downplayed. It's safe to say that mainstream America no longer considers Westward Expansion a period of unalloyed heroism on the part of white settlers and the U.S. Cavalry.

And that leaves both Management and Imagineering in a bit of a fix. What do you do when the entire theme of an important land has gone out of fashion? For the time being, the answer seems to be “Put it off for another day.” Tomorrowland is suffering from a lack of solid direction, but Frontierland is suffering from neglect, to the extent that large chunks of its real estate were deemed expendable in order to make way for Star Wars. The closest thing to a new permanent attraction it has received in over twenty years is the out-of-place Pirates' Lair overlay of Tom Sawyer Island. Granted, adding attractions to a land whose atmosphere relies on a sense of wide openness is automatically tricky business, but it's no wonder Frontierland's overall popularity has been declining when it never has anything new to say, when its former messages have become unpalatable but it has nothing meaningful to replace them with.

So what can they do? Well, in some respects the experiments are already being performed.

Imagineering Theory: The Pixar Problem, Part 2

Last week, I identified the problem: Audiences love Pixar movies and therefore so does Disney's upper management, but the most easily marketable ones don't have a natural place to belong in the Disneyland Resort. There is serious tension between the profit motive and artistic integrity, and in the current business climate of the parks, artistic integrity gets kicked to the curb. Pixar IPs are slung into the Resort willy-nilly, and we're lucky if a flimsy justification is included.

Unfortunately, it can be hard to get the average guest to realize this is a problem. “So what?” they might say. “The kids like it.” An entire generation has come of age in the post-Pressler era, with no memory of what Disneyland was like before the synergitis metastasized. Those who are aware of the mismatch—fans of the art of theme park design—tend to have trouble coming up with a tidy solution.

You see, it's not just that individual Pixar movies don't gel with Disney's traditional theme park areas...the entire studio's storytelling style is a bit askew from its parent company's. This is in no way an indictment of Pixar, whose commitment to quality is so great that we even get excited about their sequels. However, people who think that because their movies are animated and have a castle logo at the beginning, Pixar = Disney...well, let's just say they're obviously not film students.

I am not a film student either, but if today I awoke from a ten-year coma and all I had to watch during my tedious physical therapy was Disney and Pixar's respect animated outputs from that past decade, with the studio bumpers removed, I'm pretty sure I could sort them correctly...not even counting the blatantly obvious ones like Winnie The Pooh and Toy Story 3.* Perhaps because I am not a film student, I have a hard time pinning down the essential Disney-ness and Pixar-ness that make it so easy to tell the two apart, but I know it when I see it, and it might be the key thing keeping Pixar IPs from meshing well with Disney theme parks. Said parks are designed from the ground up to capitalize on and explore Disney-ness, even in the case of non-branded attractions.

Some of the aforementioned theme park fans recognize this—or are at least aware that merely having a Disney label doesn't make something “True Disney”—and try to come up with a solution to the Pixar Problem that involves sequestering the Pixar stuff off in its own little area away from everything else. “What we really need,” they'll say, “is a dedicated land/park for the Pixar stuff,” perhaps followed by some elaboration of the concept.

It's an idea with its heart in the right place, but I'm going to be the jerk here and say that a themed land or a full park just for rides based on Pixar movies—a Pixarland, if you will—would not be...very...good.

Imagineering Theory: The Pixar Problem, Part 1

Remember a while back when I griped about how much Pixar stuff gets crammed into the Disneyland Resort at the expense of Disney's own animated features? I'd like to think I'm more than a complainer. So I decided to take a closer look at the issue, and hopefully devise some hypothetical solutions to what I can only refer to as the Pixar Problem.

I'll start by doing a rundown similar to the recent one examining the Disney Animated Canon, wherein I look at Pixar's cinematic output to date and try to find the “right” place for each franchise within the parks...and then look at how each one has actually been used.

Imagineering Theory: Marvel-ous Developments

So…some pretty infuriating news regarding the Tower of Terror broke at San Diego Comic-Con. So let’s talk about that. We can be rational adults about this, can’t we?

Yeah, I’m pretty pissed about this “Guardians of the Galaxy: Mission SPACE Breakout!” thing. And not just because it represents yet another middle finger to the very concept of area theming in the name of spamming profitable film IP. I’m actually very fond of Guardians of the Galaxy; in fact, it’s the only entry in the MCU that I own on video. But this is…just a really bad idea on multiple levels.

Imagineering Theory: Zootopia and Theme Flexibility

I cannot say enough good things about Disney's latest animated feature, Zootopia, now showing in a theater near you! But this is not a film blog. This is a theme park blog; hence my observations will mostly be limited to discussing the potential and actual impact of this completely excellent movie on the Disneyland Resort.

So far, Zootopia has been brought to the parks in the laziest and most predictable way possible: by situating fuzzies of the two main characters in Hollywood Land for photos and autographs. The motivation? To sell park-hopper tickets. The justification? Well, it's a movie, isn't it?

Please.

Apart from a blink-and-you-miss-it* joke about the pronunciation of “Tujunga,” there is nothing whatsoever tying Zootopia to California. But neither does it fit comfortably into any of the themed lands of Disneyland Park...or does it? This post is going to be a thought experiment on the flexibility of area themes and the need for creative solutions to potential mismatches. “Theme dilution” is a common pet peeve among Disney theme park fans, but the area themes have never been 100% pure, and as Disney's cinematic palette expands, it's only going to be more challenging for the Imagineers to successfully integrate movie-based attractions** with the limited selection of themed areas available.

To be clear, this entire post is completely speculative. I do not expect a permanent attraction based on Zootopia to be built in any park. (Actually, the film's setting would make for a fantastic basis for a theme park all on its own, but that's another topic.) The point of the exercise is that we have a wonderful movie, tearing up box-office records, taking place in a fantastic world that would be a blast to visit...and there's no obvious place to put it in Disney's parks.

So what about the non-obvious places?

Imagineering Theory: You're Just Projecting

I am not a big fan of digital projections and similar technology in theme parks.

It's not that it's not cool stuff in itself. I can definitely appreciate the accomplishments of computing and optics required for it to work, and some of its applications are downright stunning. It's thanks to digital projection that we can actually look into the eyes of Mara:

The Buzz Lightyear animatronic in the queue of his ride is pretty sharp, and his mobile face is achieved via LED screen technology:

So this family of technologies definitely has its place. What I dislike about it is the way it seems to be...taking over. Nearly every new attraction being built these days uses screens and/or digital projections in some way, and they have been added to several attractions that didn't previously use them. This would be fine enough if it were a reliable way of improving an attraction, but in practice the results are quite mixed, ranging all the way from “Wow, awesome!” to “Okay, um, why?” and hitting pretty much every point inbetween.

The thing is, there isn't just one reason why these types of effects can be underwhelming. It's actually a tricky realm to navigate, and I hope Imagineering treads carefully in the future so as to avoid the pitfalls and show off their new toy at its best.

As for what those pitfalls are? Read on...

STAR WARS DAY BONUS! After-Action Report: A Tale of Two Tours

This post is sort of an After-Action Report and a Sentimental Paleontology in one. You can most definitely go to Disneyland and ride Star Tours in the present...but it's on its second incarnation, which is different enough from the original to almost be considered a new attraction. Whether it really is or not is a matter of opinion and perception, but it seems like Disney is counting it that way. Either way, such a major change to a long-standing E-ticket level attraction inevitably invites a Before vs. After comparison. And that's exactly what you're gonna get here.

It might surprise you to learn that I even have a preference vis-a-vis the two versions of Star Tours, after I thoroughly decried the presence of Star Wars material in Disneyland at all, in large part because I'm just not into the franchise. But here's the thing: I don't hate Star Wars. I can appreciate the importance of this film series in terms of its effects on the art of filmmaking and popular culture as a whole. I can understand why people find it so cool. I can even, from time to time, enjoy watching the movies, although no more than a chunk or two at a time.

And I do, for the most part, enjoy Star Tours. It's effective both as an adaptation of its source material and as a fun ride in its own right. Do I ride it every time I go to Disneyland? Heck no. But I ride it often enough to intelligently weigh in.