Flipping the Script: The Matterhorn

 THIS NEVER POSTED? WTF, BLOGSPOT?

It occurred to me the other day that I've probably attracted some new readers with my Tumblr cross-blogging...so assuming you're out there, welcome aboard! You'll get the hang of things around here pretty quickly, but to assist the process, here's a “cheat sheet” for the major kinds of posts I am in the habit of making.

When you see the After-Action Report tag, I'm reviewing and/or commenting on a current attraction—you could theoretically drop in on the Anaheim resort the next day to fact-check me. Sentimental Paleontology, by contrast, is for my thoughts on extinct attractions. (Get it? Extinct...paleontology? Get it? Dangit, I explained the joke. Never explain the joke.)

Armchair Imagineering is where I stash my detailed ideas for things that could be added to the park, in a parallel timeline if not this one. It is distinct from Imagineering Theory, which is more about the principles of attraction design.

With Unauthorized Fun, I offer potential ways to enjoy Disneyland that you won't find in any brochure. And then there's Kidnap the Magic, wherein I offer potential ways to take Disneyland home with you...that you won't find in any brochure. (This is how I label the posts regarding my themed parties, of which there are embarrassingly many, and my craft projects, of which there are embarrassingly few.)

In Source Materials posts, I examine how things and concepts from the real world are used to great effect inside the parks. On the other hand, there are also Beyond Blue Sky posts, where I pull out all the stops on my wildest fantasies, and the topic is often how things and concepts from the parks could be used elsewhere.

Huh, I never realized before how many matched pairs of topic categories I was setting up.

The last few post categories don't line up so neatly, however. The Second Sense is a tag I put on any post dealing primarily with in-park music (especially area music) and other audio. It Came From the Fandom is something I pull out when I run short of time and ideas—I bang out a quick post promoting a Disneyland-related thing from elsewhere on the internet. (We just had a nice example last week.)

And finally, the newest post category, introduced right near the end of 2017: Flipping the Script, wherein I propose a rough outline—more than an elevator pitch, but less than a full treatment—for a film based on an attraction that doesn't have one yet.

And that's what this week's post is! What luck!

Beyond Blue Sky: Disney Parks and Kingdom Hearts

You know what I haven't talked about in a good while? Video games.

I like video games. I want to say I love them, but in all honesty? If I truly loved them I'd probably play more of them. Keeping on top of the medium takes a serious investment of time and money that I'm just not willing to put in. It would too greatly hamper my ability to pursue everything else I do...including this blog. I'm usually vaguely aware of the latest developments in the industry, but the most advanced console in my personal possession is...a PlayStation 2.

But that's okay. You know what I can play on a PS2? Kingdom Hearts.

I've mentioned before that there are many similarities between playing a video game, especially one with a “sandbox” structure, and visiting a theme park. The games in the Kingdom Hearts series are not very sandbox-y, but they are especially comparable to a Disneyland visit, and not just because of the whole Disney mega-crossover thing. Game progression in this series revolves around traveling to a succession of “worlds,” like miniature planets, each a unique setting with its own theme and quirks. In the first game alone (the one I own and the only one I am especially familiar with—see above), the playable worlds include a tropical island, a gorilla-inhabited jungle, an underwater realm, a spooooooky haunted realm, a pseudo-futuristic/steampunk/magepunk palace, Wonderland, Neverland, and the 100-Acre Wood. Kingdom Hearts II adds a fairy tale castle, a pirate cove, a world of classic cartoons, and a virtual reality computer world, among others. I can't keep track of all the prequels and interquels and whatnot cluttering up the franchise, but the third proper installment is due to be released next year, and...guys?

There's theme park in it.

One of the game's special features will have the hero summon ride vehicles—actual ride vehicles, ranging in type from a Big Thunder Mountain train to a pair of spinning Teacups—and ride in them to gain advantages during battle sequences. As a charming bonus, the vehicles show up outlined in little colored lights, à la Electrical Parade floats:

Disney's most ambitious and unique concept has finally been included in what is probably its most successful video game franchise. I'm surprised the park fans aren't talking about it more.* But it's not really fully integrated, is it? The “summons” in these games are fun, but they're basically cameos. They're not part of the story. The stuff that matters in these games is bound up in the various worlds you travel to and the native characters you meet there.

You can probably tell where I'm going with this. Just for fun, here's some completely speculative fanwank on my part about how certain Disneyland attractions might fit into the Kingdom Hearts series as actual worlds. Naturally, there's more to consider than just “Is this cool?” Ideally, a world for this game franchise should combine:

• A striking setting
• Potential unique gameplay elements
• Potential thematic enemy types/bosses
• Characters who can be your allies

Even of the existing worlds, not all of them hit all four points, but most of them hit at least three, and the exceptions are typically uniquely positioned within the plot—for instance, in the first game, “End of the World” contains no allies, but that's because it's the last dang stage in the game, described as a conglomeration of destroyed worlds—what friendly character could reasonably be expected to show up there?

So here's what I've come up with.

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.

Sentimental Paleontology: Buckets Aloft

For over twenty years, this chalet structure has loomed, off-limits to guests and virtually unused, over the western end of Fantasyland:

However, it seems it won't for much longer. The news recently broke that the park had obtained a permit to demolish it. (Confusingly, the outer wall has been repainted even more recently...but there are several possible reasons for that.) Its removal will finally close the curtain on the long career of the Skyway.

It's a good time to reminisce.

But here we hit a snag. The Skyway was an odd sort of attraction by Disneyland standards—no characters or story, only incidental theming. There wasn't even any recorded narration the way there usually was and is with sightseeing/transportation rides such as the Disneyland Railroad, Viewliner, or Monorail. The whole concept of the Skyway was so straightforward—take a one-way trip from Fantasyland to Tomorrowland or vice-versa, and get a bird's-eye view of both in the process—that there may not be much anyone can add.

I'll do my best anyway.

After-Action Report: Matterhorn Bobsleds

The Matterhorn has come up several times since I started this blog. I've examined its role in the sub-themes of Fantasyland, pegged its 1978 upgrades as an important Disneyland milestone, unraveled (some of) the secrets of the heraldic shields in its queue area, and even suggested a tongue-in-cheek idea for a holiday overlay. The one thing I haven't done yet is devote an entire post to the ride itself. With large swaths of the country currently resembling the Matterhorn's upper slopes, now seems like a good time!

First things first: I love the Matterhorn Bobsleds. It was the first roller coaster I, as a small child, ever mustered the courage to ride, and it might be my favorite coaster in Disneyland to this day, thanks to its fanciful theming. For some reason—probably the rarity of my encounters with the real thing—I have always found snowscapes and ice crystals absolutely enthralling.

But my quirks aside, there's definitely a lot that's special about the majestic Matterhorn.

Armchair Imagineering: Krampus Bobsleds

Before we begin, I just want to note that I’m basically kidding with this one.

Basically.

Mostly.

Sort of.

But it would still be pretty awesome, in an offbeat sort of way, if they did something like this.

Source Materials: Heraldry in Fantasyland (Part 2)

Welcome back! Last week, I corrected a trifecta of misconceptions about the heraldic design located just above the arch of Sleeping Beauty Castle, and went on to explore some of the other instances of medieval heraldry used for thematic and decorative purposes in Fantasyland. This week...the latter continues!

60 Disneyland Diamonds: 1976-1985

60 Disneyland Diamonds for the Diamond Anniversary continues! If you need a refresher course, the previous entries are here, here, and here. And now, on with the show!

Armchair Imagineering: International Land

At Disneyland Park in Anaheim, the borders of Tomorrowland and Fantasyland are occupied by a series of attractions that don’t quite fit. Finding Nemo Submarine Voyage, the Matterhorn, “it’s a small world”…these iconic rides were installed in their locations to take advantage of available space, or because they belonged there once, but by now the surrounding area or the ride itself has evolved in such a way as to take it out of theme. What do cartoon fish have to do with the future or even science-fiction? The growling Yeti notwithstanding, the Matterhorn Bobsleds are more contemporary than fantastic. The whimsy of “it’s a small world” seems perfectly suited to the childlike wonder of Fantasyland, but the theme of international peace and multiculturalism belongs, one would hope, firmly in the real world.

In addition, there is a large swatch of land between Fantasyland and Tomorrowland that suffers from underutilization—formerly the site of the Fantasyland Autopia and Motor Boat Cruise (neither of which was very appropriate to Fantasyland either), it currently provides extended track for the remaining Autopia in Tomorrowland…yet another ride that doesn’t do justice to the imagery of its land. It’s almost like this part of the park is rebelling against the adjacent areas and crying out for a theme of its own. Hence the proposal contained herein: International Land, where the world itself comes to Disneyland.

Imagineering Theory: The Sightlines of Fantasyland

This is an elaboration of this Micechat forum post.

In a previous post, I lamented the thematic mess that is present-day Tomorrowland (there's an ironic turn of phrase). Whatever your opinion of the individual attractions therein, there's no denying that it's a complete hodgepodge of concepts and design elements.

But the funny thing is, it's not the only area at Disneyland that has this issue. Take a look:

It's Fantasyland! What a charming little fairy tale village! But then...

Okay, getting weirder...

Wait, what?

How can all these vastly different design motifs be part of the same land? Were the planners drunk or what?

And how come we never notice how badly things clash when we're actually there?

To answer these questions: 1. Because that's how it worked out, 2. Probably not, 3. I'm getting to that.