welcome to themerica™ :: an MFA design thesis by dave gottwald :: academy of art university

the second venue i found interesting inside mandalay bay, las vegas was their house of blues location. house of blues (HOB) is a nationwide chain, launched in 1992 by isaac tigrett (founder of the hard rock cafe) and actor dan aykroyd. the theming of HOB is very dynamic—not only is it geographic (the southern bayous of louisiana and mississippi) and musical (jazz and blues, specifically new orleans and chicago), it is also cultural (voodoo, gospel baptism as well as spanish catholicism, and southern folk art).

i’ve been to a few of their locations before (they tend to sprout up in heavily thematic districts like hollywood, anaheim and orlando), and the design usually follow a similar pattern; both the exterior and the interior are themed as a large, southern, single family dwelling.

the house of blues at mandalay bay is unique among the other ones i have seen because it is completely indoors, inside the main casino floor. this means that special design considerations had to be made to replicate the exterior/interior template of the other HOB locations. the designers decided to leverage the indoor setting to their advantage, and use a trick developed by disney back in the 1960s for their blue bayou restaurant inside the pirates of the caribbean attraction at disneyland—a nighttime sky.

this innovative technique (disney was the first to implement it in a restaurant environment) was derived from theater scenic design, when it was necessary to stage part of a play outside at night, such as the famous window exchange between romeo and juliet. the lights are all dimmed down, the ceiling is painted black (with perhaps a star field effect), and the architecture, including the appropriate foliage, suggests that the audience is outside at night.

the house of blues at mandalay is comprised of three distinct themed structures (rather than the single, large dwelling found at most other HOB locations) joined by a courtyard under this false night sky—the house, a church, and two dilapidated sheds.

the house is the restaurant, the church (in a touch of delicious irony) is the bar, and the sheds are the concert venue, marquee, and box office.

in the central courtyard is restaurant seating (presumably cleared when there is a concert) and a large tree. even upon close inspection i couldn’t determine if it was real or not—i suppose it doesn’t matter. the overall feeling of the nighttime sky technique was quite effective, and reminded me very much of the prototypical example at disneyland.

even here in las vegas, inside a national restaurant chain, itself inside a casino—disney’s design influence is inescapable. they have not only codified the language of theming and provided us with the best examples of it around the world; disney has created techniques so successful that they are copied endlessly.

while wandering through the mandalay bay resort complex, i came across some very interesting bars and clubs.

mandalay itself projects a theme of vague exoticism and colonialism; the buddha statues and temple ruins i saw suggested somewhere in southeast asia, but it’s impossible to know for sure.

the entire place has the upscale aura of kakis—my girlfriend called it “banana republican”—dark wood shutters, rattan chairs, palm leaves and marble. within mandalay, however, there are several bars, eateries and nightclubs that carry their own distinct themes.

the first such place i found inside mandalay was red square. admittedly i was instantly drawn into the place by the massive, headless statue of lenin outside—complete with bird dropping stains and other signs of weathering.

here, the theme is regime—the entire club (including the “ice bar” where you can enjoy your chilled vodka basically inside a room-sized refrigerator) is styled to celebrate the 1989–1991 fall of communism in eastern europe and the dissolution of soviet russia. this is somewhat tongue-in-cheek, with logoware t-shirts being sold proclaiming “join the party!” even the name itself is a pun; literally, it references the famous area in the state capital of moscow, and as an identity mark it’s literally a red square—a snappy nod to both constructivist and minimalist design.

ever since the end of soviet empire, western culture has been fascinated by the art, graphics and style of the fallen regime, and its once-revolutionary imagery. the typography—most popularly the backwards “R”—has been widely appropriated (so much so that it’s been given a name, faux cyrilic). the vodkas of smirnoff and stolichnaya have packaged themselves in constructivism. mikhail gorbachev even did a television spot for pizza hut, remember that?

the overall interior design and architecture of red square (including the graphics on their menus and souvenirs) is very, very good. the weathering and distressing on the numerous wall-sized, soviet-era propaganda posters is well-thought and adds subtle dimensions to the space.

i was particularly fond of the chandelier shaped in the onion-dome style of st. basil’s cathedral in moscow—probably the city’s most recognizable landmark.

yet in one instance, the thematic designers got it completely wrong. to each side of the main bar there is a large piece of art; both are wheat pasted onto the wall and heavily distressed.

on the left is a communist propaganda poster which looks to be about 1930s–1940s in origin. completely appropriate.

on the right side or the main bar is an example of russian orthodox icon art, the mother mary with the child jesus. this is a clear incongruity; all religious iconography was banned under communism. if the look and the feel is supposed to be classic soviet (and based on all the other art and design cues, it is), this piece is decidedly apocryphal. i suppose that even in themerica, no one can get it right every time, all the time.

overall a place like red square represents a very interesting (and somewhat unique) overlap between the “hard” and “soft” narratives that exists in all thematic environments. in this example, the setting (”soft” narrative) is soviet russia; yet here there is a bit of ambiguity. the statue of lenin outside is headless—meaning that this is after the fall of communism. art pieces inside, however, represent both russian before and during communism.

the “hard” narrative is the literary, plot-driven narrative of the space. so this begs the question—from who’s perspective is the story being told? normally i don’t think this is a terrribly important issue, but with red square, the story is, by nature, ideological. are we glad that communism is over (the soviets were the antagonists) or are we lamenting its loss (the soviets were the protagonists)? the narrative here at red square is ambiguous at best.

what has interested me most in las vegas so far are the transitional spaces—or zones—between these numerous different themes. granted, few exist, and that’s what makes vegas—apart from sheer scale and spectacle—so overwhelming, especially to the first time visitor.

it’s rather jarring to be in ancient rome and then walk a mere few feet and be on the streets of paris. humans are not equipped to process such mad leaps in physical and mental setting—not normally, that is.

transition zones ease this jump from environs to environs. disney is master of the technique, and their park designs are famous for providing subtle cues to nudge their guests into the next realm—using lighting, architecture, and landscaping to make the change as gradual and pleasant as possible. one of the reasons that macau fisherman’s wharf was such a disappointing failure was the lack of these zones.

in las vegas, they’re trying. for example, to keep patrons moving between the different casinos (many of which are owned by the same conglomerates), large pedestrian walkways were built in the mid-nineties across las vegas boulevard (“the strip”) and its major intersections.

these walkways are fairly generic towards the middle of the span; on the south end of the strip they have metal fence guards. on the north end they are stylishly white with clear plexiglass guards. but in nearly all cases the span closest to each attraction is themed to match the destination.

for example, at the excalibur (medieval fantasy) entrance to the walkway across tropicana avenue, there are the appropriate red and blue turrets and stone walls mimicking the castle design of that casino hotel.

on the new york, new york (urban) side of the same crossing, there is a rotunda, signage and walls that mesh with the collage of manhattan’s architectural icons that comprise that resort. the middle span—being generic—is a small pause, a rest for the eyes, before proceeding to the next thematic design.

these pedestrian crossings create interesting visual contradictions when viewed at a distance, such as here where medieval meets manhattan in the same vantage.

another example is the transition from excalibur (medieval fantasy) to the luxor (ancient egypt). many next-door neighbor casinos join each other by connecting their retail and dining districts. it is thus possible to walk great lengths of the strip without ever setting foot outside, which is especially nice in the extreme desert heat.

hotels employ moving treadways (like the kind you see in airports) that travel up or down a grade into and out of the casinos. this is how a guest usually enters the indoor world.

once inside and through the casino floors, these walkways are used to connect each hotel to the next. from excalibur to the luxor, you “descend” into ancient ruins and a tomb from the medieval fantasy you just left. this works in two ways; first, the moving walkway travels down a grade, so you actually perceive going underground.

secondly, there is a clear marker from one theme to the next—a large mass of ancient stone. it is as if you had “broken through” under medieval europe to discover the ancient world (although the delineation is clean and not quite “broken” owing to the more straightforward intentions of the designers).

unlike disney theming, which employs an effective sensory gradient to ease guests from one area to the other, vegas tends to end one theme and begin another, with either a generic and un-themed break between, or a very obvious marker between the two, with no such break. the town would do well to take a look at how disney does things, but it’s doubtful they will—the subconscious agitation caused by this transition-less thematic overload probably contributes to the public’s desire to gamble more.

after returning from asia, i had a couple of weeks rest before setting off for las vegas, arguably the thematic capitol of america, if not the world. nothing could be more stimulating…

don’t care for italy (the venetian)?

try france (paris).

tired of ancient egypt (the luxor)?

stroll down to ancient rome (caesars palace).

lake como bore you (bellagio)?

the french rivera is mere steps away (monte carlo).

the hustle and bustle of manhattan (new york, new york) not to your liking?

then the legends of arthurian england (excalibur) is just across the street. if it sounds tiring, it is. after a few days—no, hours—in this fantastical unreality, everything blurs together. it’s dizzying.

i stayed my week in las vegas at the tropicana, which is one of the oldest remaining casino hotels on the strip (1957) and as such is probably in the greatest danger of being the city’s next big implosion (though they are the first to deny it). granted, i picked the place not for its style but because it was the cheapest room in town.

the most remarkable feature of the desert, from a development standpoint, is not the lack of water, nor the scorching heat, nor the difficulty in raising crops and animals. it’s the emptiness. deserts are the stuff of dreams (or more often, mirages) because they represent a blank slate. for those that wish to build proverbial castles in the sand (and excalibur is a perfect example), there is an awful lot to work with.

owing to their diversity and their proximity, the thematic offerings of las vegas are not unlike the city’s famous buffets. where one might end up with some pieces of chicken, a bunch of lettuce, a sampling of random pasta bits and a small pile of sunflower seeds (buffets always seem to be so random a practice)—here in las vegas your thematic plate might consist of an evening spent on a lake in the italian alps, the streets of grenwich village, a pirate’s cove in the tropics, king tut’s tomb, and the canals of venice. and that’s just one night.

the contemporary strip of las vegas is an interesting amalgam of the oldest and the newest, although the old is quickly fading away.

of all the major casino hotels, only six actual major structures predate the 1990s building boom—the flamingo (1946), the sahara (1952), the tropicana (1957), caesars palace (1966), harrah’s (1973, as the holiday casino) and bally’s (1973, as the first mgm grand). of those, only three retain their original themes and names.

the strip thrives on re-inventing itself, and rather than spread out and develop more land (which would disrupt pedestrian cross-traffic between casinos), the mantra is to tear down and rebuild, or graft more layers onto existing structures.

thus far, most of the thematic design that i’ve come across in my travels—be it the disney parks in california, orlando, paris, tokyo or hong kong; or the desert daydreams of burgeoning dubai—has been fairly top-knotch, in both strength of vision and quality of execution.

and then i came to macau fisherman’s wharf. at the recommendation of a local bartender at the hollywood hotel (where i was staying at the hong kong disneyland resort) and my lonely planet guide—which called it “kitschy”—i decided to conclude my day in macau here, near the sands casino at the water’s edge next to the ferry terminal where i would be departing. this “wharf” is a multi-use (entertainment venues, amusement rides, shopping and dining) thematic environment with no general admission charge (and no connection to the fisherman’s wharf of san francisco, either).

after five years of construction (five years!), the space soft-opened in december of 2005 (well-timed to the september opening of hong kong disneyland that year) with an official opening a year later on december 31, 2006. the complex includes over 150 stores and restaurants, a hotel, and a casino. and it’s a total mess. granted, las vegas has double the variety of macau fisherman’s wharf; yet here there is such a disconnect between the buildings and their functions, not to mention the jarring contrast between all the disparate themes, that the place is just shockingly bad.

the theming makes so little obvious sense to visitors, in fact, that each design has to be specifically listed on the master guide map display. all 26 of them. the official website declares:
“the importance of macau fisherman’s wharf in the entertaining life is anchored by the fascinating events and promotional activities which make macau fisherman’s wharf a hive of pursuit every day.”

i’m not sure what that means. but the main entry to the wharf off the street leads directly into a classical civilization theme.

this is the other side of this ROMAN AMPHITHEATER area. unfortunately, it looks ridiculous—and looses all sense of power—when flanked in the background by the golden glass towers of the sands casino.

if you isolate any one of the numerous elements, however, they tend to stand alone rather well. the details of these roman ruins are realistic and have the proper sense of scale.

turning to the left, i found ALADDIN’S FORT. apparently, disney does not have a monopoly on classic literature of old, no matter how well-recognized their re-tellings have been.

overall, the place had a deserted, creepy feeling—almost where tom hanks was granted his wish to become big. see the strange angry mouth in the gate? yeah, creepy.

again, on a micro-level, the individual details are pretty good—not disney, for sure; and not dubai—but perhaps on the same stage as a mid-budget las vegas casino resort. it might very well be one of the best designed, yet worst, thematic environments in the world.

the typography and wayfinding is positively awful—check out this shiny brass signage laid out in lithos bold.

the weirdest area of the wharf is part of aladdin’s fort, where in an attraction appropriately called war game, you can chose to play either terrorists or special forces and fight it out in an arabian-style village marketplace. gee kids, do you want to play a marine commander or an al qaeda cell leader? scary. if you’re morbidly interested, here is a clip on youtube.

the central courtyard around this war game area contains some children’s amusements (think county fair quality rather than disney’s fantasyland). why they would choose to put the kiddie rides right next to the death-match, i’ll never know.

the volcano area in the background is called VULCANIA and contains some sort of arcade which was closed that day. again, disney doesn’t have a monopoly on the jules verne source—this mountain and theming are an obvious rip-off of mysterious island area i posted about earlier at tokyo disneysea. done on the cheap.

turning back to the right and walking south, i came to a long avenue of every type of thematic architecture all in a row, crammed together. imagine all the lands of disney laid out on a single boulevard, with no transition zones between and no continuity (or even any design plan) to link the themes to one another.

one moment, you’re in england…

…and across the street, the caribbean.

a bit further down is the netherlands…

…and then, without reason, portugal. (well, not completely without reason, macau was a portuguese colony for nearly 400 years—at least something here makes sense).

around the corner is the southern united states; specifically, louisiana. yet again, the detailing—taken out of context—is pretty good. this ironwork is worthy of new orleans square in disneyland.

adjacent is “mississippi.” not sure why this isn’t part of the new orleans theme next door, but that’s what the guide map says.

back to the tropics of the caribbean now; the design is vivid, colorful, and well executed. too bad i have no idea why i am here and what the story is supposed to be.

then, without warning, i am magically whisked away to the middle of africa.

sorry—i meant the afrikana. this is an outdoor “luau-style” restaurant experience.

at the far south end is a casino, done in some vague art deco style. pretty to look at, but without purpose. this might be the most foreign of all the designed areas, and yet it lacks the most sense of place.

back all the way towards the north end, beyond the vulcania mountain, lies some chinese imperial architecture done in very well-designed forced perspective. i’m impressed, but as a visitor i just don’t care. it doesn’t make narrative sense; it isn’t immersive.

which is a shame, because some of these vistas are delightful.

they lead into the very north tip of the macau fisherman’s wharf complex, the TANG DYNASTY temple area, which contains attractions not yet open to the public.

why does macau fisherman’s wharf fail then, if many of the design elements—by themselves—are successful? the answer is one of the key components of thematic design, and its one that you really don’t notice until it’s absent: cohesion.

in order for thematic spaces to fully envelop their visitors and/or inhabitants, they must be cohesive. within a single themed environment, this is not very difficult; pick the theme, and stick to it rigorously without fail. carry design expressions of the theme across disciplines, from the macro to the micro. for a multi-themed environment, however, this is a bit more challenging. the individual themed areas—such as was mostly the case here in at this complex in macau—may be cohesive on their own. but do they make sense together? there are two primary ways to accomplish this unity.

disneyland does it primarily through navigation; the central plaza hub act as a dial which the guest uses to select their fantasy (not altogether unlike the actual television set dials of the times). in this way the themes do not unfold haphazzardly—they are chosen from a somewhat neutral location. second, disneyland also accomplishes this via transition zones; when a guest leaves one theme for another, there are subtle cues (visual, auditory and even olfactory) that ease the leap from one realm to another without jarring dissonance. the relative psychological distance traveled from america of 1890–1910 to the jungles of equaorial africa is thus lessened by minute changes in the walking surface, the vegetation, the architecture, etc.

macau fisherman’s wharf has none of these, however. and i really felt lost as a result. without navigation cues or transition zones, the complex not only felt overwhelming, it also made no sense. why were these various locations connected? the promotional materials stated they were “maritime cultures”—fine, but show me. macau fisherman’s wharf fails on all accounts, and it’s really a shame, because as i’ve noted—and hopefully these pictures show—the individually designed elements are (for the most part) successful.

it’s a matter of cooking—here we have an assortment of fine dishes, presented without connection to each other, in random order. hence; there is no meal.

the venetian macau’s grand canal shoppes are very similar to the original design in las vegas—yet about double the total size (something like 149,000 square meters, spread over two stories).

rather than a single, winding route with a few forks, the space forms a circular ring shape in which three main canal routes are connected by a series of plazas. this forms roughly a hub-and-spoke format (similar to disneyland, actually) with the main escalators, down to the casino on the ground floor, in the center.

i’ve wandered through the the venetian in las vegas a couple of times before, so the concept here was not foreign to me—but the signage certainly was.

it was oddly curious to see traditional chinese characters pointing me towards st. mark’s square (not piazza san marco?), for example, given marco polo’s travels to china during nearly the same italian period depicted in this thematic environment.

the false skies i first saw at shopping malls in dubai are used here to the same ends—a sense of timelessness and indoor-as-outdoor that confuses the eye and confounds the understanding.

forced perspective is carefully employed to give all the shop facades added verisimilitude, combined with vibrant color hues and ornate detail work at every turn. despite being patently fake, the overall design is certainly impressive.

these canals really distort the senses—i was here about two or three hours but it might just as well have been two or three minutes (or two or three days, for that matter). part of this is not only in the lighting and setting, but the overall din; shoes scuffling, patrons talking, children shouting, and all of it echoed and thus amplified.

this also made the setting noticeably less peaceful that outdoor thematic venues such as a disney theme park, and made it harder for me to suspend disbelieve and succumb to the illusion.

more than anything, it was the timelessness that i fell prey to, which i suppose, in a casino/shopping complex is the desired effect. i don’t enjoy gambling—but if i did, i would have felt the urge probably as pressing as my persistent hunger and thirst. the one thing i didn’t feel was tired, however. like wasting away the wee hours in front of a computer monitor, the omnipresent artificial light stimulates (well, more like pokes and prods) the cortex and fights off circadian rhythms from taking hold.

bright blue, chlorinated waterways with singing gondoliers; a synthetic, backlit clouded blue sky; electric lampposts subtly flickering like candles—what would marco polo make of this place; moreover, what would he think about having never left china at all?

just down the way from the old neptune restaurant at the venetian macau i encountered another cross-cultural theme within a theme, when i sat down to order a kilkenny at mcsorley’s ale house. this is where things get really convoluted, and further illustrate the interwoven, overlapping, confusing, postmodern nature of thematic design.

mcsorley’s resembles just about every other themed irish pub i’ve ever been in—and irish pubs are one of the oldest mainstays of thematic restaurant design in the united states. they run the gamut from authentic to downright plastic, and mcsorley’s feels more the former; in and of itself, a pleasant yet unremarkable venue.

wonderfully staged prop vignettes fill the second floor’s ledges, and each wall of the pub has a different theme. there is this scene for farm tools, for example.

and another for gentlemen’s sports of the british isles.

and also this one representing rail and steamship travel.

guinness advertising ephemera (typical at all other such pubs), along with poetic witticisms of ireland’s most famous drunks—i mean authors—cover the walls (typeset in large, green, gaelic script, of course). certainly out of place within the venetian, but not unheard of. not the giant leap i was required to make to enter the old neptune. that is, until i did my research.

this mcsorley’s ale house is a hong kong chain (with three locations, including macau), and is itself a thematic representation inspired by mcsorley’s OLD ale house in the east village, manhattan. this (original) mcsorley’s is quite famous as bars in america go—it opened in 1854 and was one of the last “men’s only” pubs, admitting women only by supreme court lawsuit in 1970, and counts abe lincoln, teddy roosevelt, boss tweed, and woody guthrie, among other luminaries, as former regulars. the place is simply legendary.

mcsorley’s old ale house in new york is not a themed venue; design-speaking, it developed slowly and organically over time, and only by virtue of its long history has come to represent “olde new york” in the eyes of its current patrons.

the mcsorley’s chain in hong knog was inspired by this classic bar, yet retains a much more traditional irish pub feel—actually, it feels more british than anything, from the beer selection to the fish ‘n’ chips served in newspaper. this anglicized expression—rather than the american of the source—comes, of course, from the long years of british rule over hong kong; such pubs here are a dime a dozen.

yet here at the venetian macau—inside the italian renaissance—i’m drinking a pint in ireland, by way of the hong kong mcsorley’s ale house chain, by way of britain’s colonization of the region, by way of mcsorley’s OLD ale house in new york city. and more than the beer is giving me a headache. am i in a thematic representation of an old english pub, an old irish pub, an old american bar, or an old kong kong pub? or all of these at once?

walking around the venetian macau (somewhat lost, admittedly) for several hours—the place is twice the size of its las vegas sister, the single largest building in asia and the third largest in the world—i came across some oddities (apart from the expected indoor gondoliers) that gave me pause.

like many other large casino resorts, this hotel contains an extensive interior dining and upscale retail district—the grand canal shoppes—unified within the master theme (in this case, renaissance italy). yet in order to provide a sense of variety (not everything can be a pasta ristorante or a gelato shop, right?), other venues have taken root inside. like russian nested dolls, these are themes inside of themes.

a traditional cantonese restaurant startled me as i walked by—the old neptune, a smaller satellite location of a larger entity apparently established in 1986 (according to the venetian macau’s dining website). ordinarily, i would think that a chinese restaurant in macau would require very little design flourish to draw patrons. not so inside the venetian. because the casino complex is itself so lavishly themed—visually “shouting” as it were—this tiny eatery must be just as “loud” to compete. in this way, multiple thematic venues within the same space are like a cacophony of advertising billboards crying out for the attention of passer-bys. i would think that this principle is what drives a place like las vegas to greater and more extreme levels of thematic design; it operates here much the same (perhaps more sedately).

even for this single small restaurant, though, care has been given to provide a transition zone or “buffer” between the italian grandeur outside, and the aura of classical china within. an artificial sky—identical to those used in the larger grand canal area beyond—isolates the fortress wall architecture and imperial roofline so that they stand apart from the venetian’s gilded gold, carpeted hallways just outside the doorway.

the interior space of the old neptune smacks of most other chinese themed restaurants—notably the american, hollywood-ized, chinatown model. which caused me to wonder, why? we’re already in china, right? why does thematic design have go so overboard to immerse me in china if i’m already there?

and then this complex layering of aesthetic meaning began to unravel; i’m not in china, i’m in a former 400 year-old portuguese colony (macau is both the first and the last european presence in the region, from the 16th century until the end of the twentieth). yet moreover, i’m not even in macau, i’m in venice—and not the even the venice of now, but the height of venice in all its glory, the italian renaissance.

formerly portugal, now the china of today but also italy of the past—and i somehow have to make the colossal leap backwards through time and space to enjoy cantonese cuisine in a quiet classical asian setting. the old neptune restaurant not only struggles to project its theme against the the visual competition of its splendid spacial parent, the venetian, but across the massive rifts that keep it from its actual cultural roots—the glories of china old.

on my second day in hong kong, i decided to take a ferry to nearby macau, the world’s gambling capitol (its gaming revenues surpassed former global mecca las vegas in 2005). ever since the local casino monopoly was opened to foreign operators seven years ago, american-style mega-resorts have been popping up on the burgeoning “cotai strip.” the sands macau opened in 2004, the wynn in 2006, and the MGM grand followed in 2007.

that same year brought the arrival of the venetian macau, the city’s first major themed casino resort. accordingly, it’s where i spent much of my day wandering around.

the venetian macau is a manifestation of the very same phenomenon that i witnessed at the hong kong disneyland resort—a sort of copy-of-a-copy degradation. just like the main street U.S.A. at that park strives to be a “100% copy of the american original,” so too does this $2.4 billion, 980,000 square meter mega-resort strive to replicate the las vegas original (opened in 1999). designed by wimberly, allison, tong and goo (WATG), the original venetian resort is of course itself a replication capturing the essence of venice and the romance of the italian renaissance.

in the initial vegas design, every effort was made in name of “authenticity”—the publicity materials routinely boast of the scrupulous attention to detail with regards to the architecture, fine art and finishing touches.

all of these designs in turn were the basis for the macau casino hotel. the theme is no longer venice; the theme is the venetian itself.

just as the original disney park “magic kingdom” model has become a global brand, replicating itself across three continents (albeit through varied mutations that reflect local culture, economy, geography and climate), so too has the exotic las vegas mega-resort now been transformed into an self-contained, exportable thematic package.

if theming is by definition always referential, what happens when its design language is fully internalized, drawing not on external visions but rather caught in a narcissistic navel gaze? where the only reference is the reference? the themes of the twenty-first century are not times and places of old; they are themes of already established design properties—themes of themes.

like many other disney design projects, each themed area contains many graphical elements and small illustrative details that add to the overall impression and strengthen the reality of the illusion. these touches are essential to successful thematic design, and are especially key when attempting to re-create a particular historic era. i’ve posted some of the more interesting examples from the hong kong disneyland resort below. all images are © disney enterprises.

adventureland’s jungle river cruise is adorned with a large illustrative sign.

the nearby restraurant features a large, hand-painted wall mural advertisement for the attraction with various typefaces true to the period (1920s–1940s).

this additional sign atop the jungle cruise shed roof elaborates on the nature of the attraction, in beautiful hand-lettering.

the graphics at this tropical eatry accurately capture the mid-century american tiki craze.

more retro-1950s tiki styling, this time in dimensional letterforms.

it was curious to see traditional chinese script integrated with early twentieth century american lettering.

most of hong kong disneyland’s main street U.S.A. contains dimensional letterforms rather than the illustrated placards and advertisments more common at other disney parks.

although here is an exceptional hand-lettered example from the midtown jewelry store.

this sign in fantasyland is very similar to other such pieces at all disney parks—old english script-style lettering that reflects the medieval bavarian theme of the area.

one of the most interesting facets of the hong kong disneyland resort is the attention that was paid to traditional chinese design principles—and not superficially, either. a resident feng shui master of hong kong consulted very specifically on the masterplan for the resort project and worked directly with wing chao, executive vice president for disney master planning and vice chairman for disney asia/pacific development (and a native born chinese).

for example, unlike any other disney park around the world, guests do not approach the entrance directly. instead there is a central plaza, complete with a fountain (moving water is considered both good fortune and sound design), that everyone walks though before sharply turning right to enter the park.

the ‘dog leg’ turn from the central plaza is evident on the above resort map.

this is because according to the chinese principles of feng shui, evil spirits can only travel in straight lines. as you walk towards hong kong disneyland from the transportation center / MTR line, you can’t see the park at all—and neither can those pesky evil spirits.

there are no straight paths throughout the entire resort area (the only exception being the thoroughfare leading up to and including main street U.S.A.); all of them wind slightly.

landscaping is omnipresent, and is groomed in the traditional chinese classical garden style. the main entrance to the park is orientated in a north-south direction to ensure maximum advantage from the green dragon mountain to the east and the white tiger mountain to the west. all doorways at the resort are positioned to maximize the flow of positive energy. fittingly, cash registers are close to corners or along walls, where such placement is believed to increase prosperity.

in addition to these spacial design considerations, the chinese obsession with numerology was addressed in various ways. the number eight is the luckiest (hong kong’s bank of china opened on august 8, 1988 to insure future prosperity; the beijing olympic games opened on that same extremely lucky day this year) and the number four is the worst, signaling death. accordingly, the main ballroom at the hong kong disneyland hotel, often used for weddings, was intentionally designed with a floor area of 888 square meters, and the fourth floor was deliberately omitted from both hotel properties. you will also find no numerical references (addresses, years, etc.) on main street with the number four in them.

the incorporation of feng shui into the thematic design of the hong kong disneyland resort is its single most interesting and unique feature, especially given the design duplicity of main street and sleeping beauty castle (which gives the park a carbon-copy feel)—but it’s only part of the equation. all over hong kong disneyland, small details show a distinctly chinese flourish to the design. this is in marked contrast to the tokyo disney resort, where a more purely american-style approach is favored (the japanese like to think of going to their disneyland as like visiting the states for the day).

for example, just like the original disneyland, there is a snow white’s wishing well just to the right of the castle; as in california, all coins thrown into the fountain are regularly collected and given to children’s charities.

here there have been very conscious efforts to make the wishing well appear (and thus function) more like a chinese buddhist shrine. the roof line edges have a slight upturn in the asian classical temple style, but the wishing well still conforms to the general thematic design of fantasyland’s medieval bavarian architecture.

accordingly, the chinese touches are subtle enough that the well still works perfectly in concert with neighboring sleeping beauty castle.

just behind the castle and to the right in fantasyland are the fantasy gardens. the very existence of this space in the park’s initial masterplan demonstrates a careful consideration for chinese culture.

this space contains no attraction or show, its only function is a walking place for quiet contemplation—an ancient asian passtime.

here too traditional chinese architectural accents can be found.

the asian flavors of tomorrowland are a bit more obvious, and suit the bright, pop-space-fantasy theme of the area quite well.

roof curves, while still modernistic and other-worldly, still contain traditional upturns on the tip.

the wavy roofline structure of the restaurant buildings at first seems whimsical, but upon closer inspection, it nods to classic chinese design formats.

miniature turrets, built using forced perspective, add layers of depth to tomorrowland’s asian stylings. these small features manage to convey alien planetoids with rings as well as the grand palaces of imperial china. again, this is not an attempt at a more direct architectural simulation (as on main street)—rather it’s a unique amalgam of referenced styles.

the landscaping of autopia is meticulously groomed in a chinese classical topiary format, making a drive through it very relaxing (and, given a moment of thought, very traditionally asian as well).

it’s fitting that disney designer john hench’s original concept sketch for space mountain was based on japan’s mount fuji—here in hong kong disneyland (much more than even at the tokyo park) the design feels completely at home among these asian gardens.

despite the shortcomings i’ve mentioned in previous posts, it is this seamless incorporation of chinese traditional design practices that makes the hong kong disneyland resort a rewarding experience. the park is a good example of how theming—in order to be properly received by a specific regional audience—must be carefully adjusted and rethought.

the overall lack of crowds at hong kong disneyland made for an unusual visit—at times the park felt like a ghost town, abandoned and eerily quiet; almost as if the majority of the guests were heading home for the day, and i had somehow eluded detection and had stayed behind to explore on my own.

this is not a comment on the park’s popularity, per say—because of the oppressive humidity and oft-rain showers, most of the summer remains an off-season time for the resort; i was also spending my time there during the middle of the work week.

if it had visited during the fall and winter’s peak tourist season—or worse, during the chinese new year (when even the wait for fast food is nearly an hour)—the experience would have been markedly different.

at first i was delighted; hong kong disneyland seemed like mine alone to enjoy. yet this quickly wore off, and i began to realize that the crowd dynamic is a very strong component of the thematic experience.

without a population, main street U.S.A. comes off as just another movie set sitting idle, awaiting filming.

similarly, the lack of cues on nearly every attraction (i rode space mountain five times in a row in less than an hour) was a novelty that soon lost its luster.

there simply wasn’t enough time in just five minutes per attraction to adjust to each new thematic environment. also, without waiting, there is no anticipation built up before each new stimulation; after a short time, every new sight, sound or smell blended together into one long, bland buffet.

a buffet in which everything seems to have been siting under the heat lamp all day. like a restaurant with a long wait (”something must be good in there!”) draws an even longer one, an empty restaurant excites and invites no takers.

thematic environments are most effective in an interactive social context; they are, despite my suspicions, better when somewhat crowded with bodies. not only does the constant flow of kinetic energy add to the liveliness of the designs, but the presence of a community inhabiting the spaces gives them an added touch of reality.

even if this crowd is constantly posing with cameras, eating and drinking, and chasing enthusiastic children—the dynamic is similar to any heavily visited site; tourist behavior is pretty much the same at a real bavarian castle as at hong kong disneyland’s diminutive simulation.

a site is hardly a sight without the requisite “seers.” people needs spaces, but spaces also really do need people.

in terms of design direction, i found the hong kong tomorrowland area the most interesting. the original concept at disneyland’s opening in 1955 was a “world of the future: 1986″ (representing the next return of halley’s comet). walt disney intended the area to be a constantly revolving and updated showcase of the most current technological advancements in the industrial sector and in transportation—both of which he was personally fascinated by.

projecting this future has been problematic since the earliest days of the park; either your predictions are wrong and turn out laughable, or they are correct and your vision quietly becomes passé. walt disney himself saw his land of the future go through three major revisions in just over its first decade (remodeled in 1959 and again shortly after his death in 1967).

when the time came to develop concepts for disneyland paris in the late 1980s, the designers had learned from their mistakes—theming requires a degree of control and the future, by definition, cannot be controlled. thus, as is so often the case with thematic design, they turned to the past for inspiration. instead of a tomorrowland, the park in paris would have discoveryland—a retro-futurism vision of what past science fiction and fantasy luminaries thought the future would look like. the works of jules verne, H.G. wells and leonardo da vinci were carefully woven into a single meta-narrative with a victorian steampunk aesthetic (see my previous post on mysterious island at tokyo disneysea for a more in-depth discussion of this style).

besides being a refreshing and innovative theme, the design of the paris discoveryland solved a key problem—rather than project what might come to pass, it’s easier to fantasize about those that already have.

the approach was so successful that in 1994, a remodeled tomorrowland at walt disney world’s magic kingdom opened to rave reviews. billed “the future that never was, is finally here,” this reboot injected the original technological utopia with a healthy does of fantasy (and plenty of neon). drawing on early twentieth century american science fiction legends such as buck rogers, the new design featured early modernism combined with 1930s and 40s art deco; the focus was again on past visions of the future, albeit this time more recent and definitely more american.

in 1998, the disney designers once again took a look at the original tomorrowland in anaheim and saw the need for change. taking cues from discoveryland and florida’s new remodel before it, disney gave the area a bevy of (some would argue mostly superficial) alterations, ranging from new architectural accents to new neon lighting effects and a completely fresh color palette of gold, burgundy and emerald. whatever the extent of the redesign, once again the emphasis was on fantasy and not prognostications. after this flurry of remodeling, only the tomorrowland at tokyo disneyland remains largely what it was on opening day in april, 1983—a white concrete urban utopia of corporate control and technological supremacy.

with the design of hong kong disneyland, however, any pretense of futurism has all but been erased from the tomorrowland formula—this is science fantasy, not science fact.

the architectural features, color palette and graphics style are all playful with an almost comic book vitality. the feel is very, very pop; bright and colorful.

this approach makes sense, given the popularity of sci-fi/fantasy—not to mention graphic novels and manga—throughout asia; it’s a language that the native audience grasps fairly intuitively.

the overwhelmingly whimsical approach is far beyond even the steampunk victorian stylings of paris and tokyo disneysea’s mysterious island; well beyond the fanciful neon rings of the magic kingdom’s “future than never was.”

here in hong kong there is, in essence, no tomorrow left in tomorrowland. i suspect the name was kept only to tie the park closer to the original in california.

rocket ships carrying humans to the moon and mars have given way to flying saucers and cartoonish alien cultures.

the hong kong space mountain attraction serves not to launch us to faraway stars—instead it’s just a trip around the neighborhood; as for the cosmos, we’re already there.

even the autopia attraction—a mainstay at disney parks since 1955—is decidedly otherworldly; no interstate freeway signage here.

tomorrowland at hong kong disneyland illustrates the difficulty that present-day thematic design has with true, visionary futurism. modernism and progress is the name that sociologist mark gottdiener gives to this archetype—one in which technological utopia is fused with a sense of “cutting edge” and perpetual becoming—and it’s one of the least successful models, if disney’s constant revising at its parks over the years is any indication.

the company’s slow retreat from walt’s original “showcase of the now and soon to be now” concept has been gradual, lasting many years and numerous different stabs at a solution.

now, with the hong kong iteration, the transformation from tomorrow to today is complete—the area is basically a fantasyland with little green men instead of a wicked stepmother.

the broad decision to stick with what works makes hong kong disneyland something of an uncanny experience for the seasoned visitor.

both the central sleeping beauty castle and main street U.S.A. are near-exact replicas of their counterparts at the original disneyland in california (there are, however, infinitesimal distinctions evident only to the designers—inside jokes, i suppose).

the disney press releases state this proudly; it’s unique because this is the first time the designers have decided to ‘pay tribute’ to the original anaheim park. however, i feel it detracts overall.

disneyland paris was charming precisely because it was so uniquely engineered for european tastes. similarly, the two cloned cinderella castles in florida and tokyo were designed to evoke a sense of massive scale and provide a landmark visible at a great distance—departing from the small intimacy of the original disneyland. in all cases, the design was greatly modified, quite intentionally, for the needs of those parks.

here in hong kong, the theme is not so much medieval fantasy or americana as disneyland itself. the park has become not a thematic representation of other times and places, but a representation of the ‘original’ disney theme park.

this tendency in disney design to replicate itself has been manifest since the walt disney world (second generation) opened in 1971, and has carried through the company’s other resorts around the world—but here in hong kong it is distilled to the point of changing the formula itself.

this newest disneyland, in an odd sense, has become a museum to itself.

instead of hong kong’s main street being a simulacra of an archetypal small, midwestern american town at the turn of the twentieth century, it’s rather a copy of a copy. and just like a document duplicated on a copy machine, and then in turn that copy is again duplicated, there is a noticeable loss of quality. quality and, in the case of thematic representation, authenticity as well.

as a result, hong kong disneyland’s main street U.S.A. felt the most patently fake of all the disney parks i’ve visited, in ways that i can’t quite describe or explain. granted, my perception carries with it a certain bias; i grew up close to the original disneyland, and i’ve visited that park many more times over the years than the average visitor. i could notice, instinctively, tiny details that make hong kong’s castle and main street feel less concrete, less real than the anaheim original.

part of this is just due to the newness; the original disneyland has been fermenting for over 50 years, changing with each new attraction added or replaced, each new restoration and paint job, each new re-paving and remodel.

in this sense, it is like any other human-designed space; it evolves and continually gains complexity by virtue of its passage through time. hong kong disneyland is much like dubai compared with new york city—an entire metropolis constructed in a split second.

in any case, for the majority of visitors to hong kong disneyland (i observed about 80% to 90% asian, with the remaining ten or so percent being british from hong kong, south africans, australians and new zealanders—i saw no other americans at the park or at the hotel during my visit), these distinctions are moot—this will be the only disneyland they will probably visit; this is disneyland.

continuing my trek through asia, i left tokyo, japan to spend a week at the hong kong disneyland resort. this is the company’s newest theme park (opened on september 12, 2005) and it is also the smallest of all the magic kingdom-style disney parks.

sitting on reclaimed land in penny’s bay, lantau island, the resort has a somewhat unique development model. rather than being owned outright by foreign capital (as is the case in tokyo with the oriental land company) or by a consortium of publicly traded stock, outside investors and disney (the case in paris with euro disney S.C.A.), hong kong disneyland is jointly owned by the walt disney company and the government of hong kong, via hong kong international theme parks ltd. even more interesting, the government is the majority shareholder; it is unusual for disney to cede this kind of control to a civil authority (but was probably a de facto condition of the ownership negotiations).

hong kong disneyland differs from its sister resorts in a few key ways, the most notable being the omission of a frontierland archetype. this is not for lack of interest; the chinese find the american wild west just as exotic and exciting as the japanese and the french. more likely a development of this kind is being reserved for a future expansion—the disney company learned the hard way with the disneyland paris project that they had built too much too soon (a very expensive proposition).

as a result, the park exudes caution at every turn—from a smaller initial masterplan, to an emphasis on tried-and-true design solutions. though the interpretations of the classic disney park thematic archetypes vary somewhat, overall the park lacks originality; hopefully this will change with future additions (disney officials promises that two “unique lands” are not far off on the horizon).

the other classic disney themes (main street U.S.A., adventureland, fantasyland and tomorrowland) remain, with the tropical paradise jungles of adventureland being by far the largest. this area’s waterways replaces the frontier rivers of america moat-and-island model seen at the other parks with a route for the classic jungle cruise attraction.

on the island still sits an exploratory playground accessible by raft, but instead of tom sawyer or pirates, a tarzan’s treehouse (similar to the theme of the disneyland attraction, itself a 1999 update to the classic 1962 swiss family treehouse) rises high above adventureland’s subtropical skyline.

adventureland feels most authentic here in hong kong, because the resort lies at a latitude that can provide the proper sub-tropical climate for a thriving jungle. it’s only been nearly three years since the park opened—making the planned vegetation itself about four years old—but the growth appears to be double or triple that, with much of the foliage completely indigenous. florida’s magic kingdom experienced similar plant proliferation in its early years (owing to that region’s own heavy rains and humidity), but the original jungles of anaheim took far longer to settle in.

the subtropics of hong kong’s lantau island seem out of place elsewhere at hong kong disneyland, however. unlike the desert wasteland that provides las vegas with little visual competition—or the easily sculpted orange groves of anaheim, for that matter—the thick vegetation presents a strong sense of external ‘place’ for the park. in fantasyland and tomorrowland, there is a certain disconnect that i suppose, given the park’s location, was inevitable. you might think that the thick vegetation of florida would have caused a similar disconnect at walt disney world, but my impression of the magic kingdom there is that disney spent considerable time (and money) clearing trees and brush away from the park’s perimeter and berm—so much so that you only see the surrounding everglades from the highest vantages.

disney does, however, leverage this as a design asset in not only adventureland, but also at the hong kong disneyland hotel, which sits just outside the park. built in the style of a nineteenth century grand victorian resort (similar to the grand floridian at walt disney world, the disneyland hotel at the paris resort, and the new disneyland hotel in tokyo), the structure nods to the sprawling english, french and portuguese colonial estates of southeast asia.

seeing the turret tops of the hotel poke through the thick jungle foliage is a charming nod to the region’s quaint—albeit tainted—colonial past; the thematic design is made complete by the naturally landscaped setting of lantau island, with its green hills and rocky shoreline.

conversely, i stayed at disney’s hollywood hotel down the street (because frankly, it was the far less expensive option) which clashed unpleasantly with its surroundings. the thematic design of the hotel itself—done in a los angeles golden era art deco style (1920s–1940s)—is executed decently enough, showcasing the usual level of detail and subtly that disney is known for.

yet without the palm tree-lined boulevards and the endless brownish sprawl of southern california, the theme falls flat. given the tropical setting, seeing its blue and gold rooftop rise above the lush green skyline is as disconcerting as the hong kong disneyland hotel’s pink victorian spires are charming.

the natural setting and indigenous vegetation of where a thematic environment is built greatly affects how the design is perceived. a vacuum, although lacking in charm, is probably ideal—think how even more fake and cheap the las vegas strip would feel in the shadow of the grand canyon’s effortless majesty.

the thick jungles of hong kong’s lantau island—and moreover, the tall, rolling green hills—present an attractive backdrop, for sure, but provide an uneasy staging for the park’s multiple thematic spaces.

sometimes the effect is better, but more often, it’s a subtle (and omnipresent) distraction; the magic kingdom’s castle feels dwarfed by the high ridge line behind it. this ridge disrupts the entire scaling of the park—including disney’s famous forced-perspective architectural techniques—making it feel like a miniature model of a theme park rather than the real thing.

in this regard, it’s the forest that makes it hard to see the trees.

the design of tokyo disneysea is quite impressive, and nowhere is this more apparent than in the american waterfront area. dozens of signs and printed ephemera dot this vivid representation of new york city at the turn of the twentieth century (1890–1920). the artists at disney went to great lengths to insure period accuracy in their illustrations, layout and typography. some of the hand lettering is really nice. again and again, the effectiveness of a thematic environment often hinges on the smallest of details like these. moreover, these touches demonstrate the often integral role that graphic design plays in successful theming. i’ve posted some of the more interesting examples below. all images are © disney enterprises.

framed piece advertising “the rajah’s pool,” basement of the hotel hightower (as you exit the tower of terror attraction). this entire gift shop area is themed in the style of an imperial indian royal bathhouse.

various advertisements and signage in the american waterfront area. this example is very victorian in styling.

whereas this posting smacks a bit more of art nouveau, with touches of 19th century wood type.

some larger billboards add to the sense of depth, scale, and realism on the rooftops of the american waterfront area. this example leans more towards the latter half of the represented time period (late 19-teens).

very rarely, a piece will have an actual date attached to it; these tend to fall near the middle of the themed time period.

some of these vintage-styled advertisements are enclosed in glass frames. copious amounts of text reflect the media of the times.

for a truly authentic look and feel, more than one graphic design movement can be glimpsed on the walls of the american waterfront. as is the case in actual history, styles of typography and illustration often overlap by decades; in addition, loosely-regulated broadside laws ensured that many advertisements from earlier eras often remained for years before being taken down. the american waterfront thus showcases wood type from the late 1800s alongside more ‘modern’ color printing examples from as late as the 1920s, for the proper gestalt of an entire era, rather than a fixed year.

true to the period (1890–1920), several massive painted ads adorn the sides of brick brownstones. they are weathered appropriately to reflect the passage of time.

because the american waterfront borders the mediterranean harbor on one side, a few transition elements were designed to ease the eye through such a leap in time and space. this mural ad for olive oil features a scene of the venice, and appropriately, faces an actual, physical replica of the canals in italian-themed area across the street. although residing in new york about 1900, it feels enough at home in the background when viewed from ‘renaissance italy’ next door as to not be jarring and incongruous.

one of the finest examples of hand lettering that i’ve seen at this, or any other disney park.

not content with just framed ads and billboards, the disney designers have produced and applied (very accurately, with wheatpaste) scores of broadsides, fliers and posters on the brick walled alleys of the american waterfront.

upon close inspection, one finds detailed references to the politics, popular culture, and social mores of the times. references like this one, indicating teddy roosevelt’s popular fame even after he had left office as president, show that the disney designers certainly did their homework. and this homework is not lost upon even the most casual visitor. reality is composed of numerous levels of detail and subtle layering—illusion too, if to be successful, must contain the same depth. graphic design pieces like this add an immeasurable ring of truth to the entire scene, and are one of the cornerstones of good thematic design.

my absolute favorite themed port of disneysea was surely mysterious island. admittedly, i’m quite biased—not only a fan of the writings of jules verne, i’m also an unabashed aficionado of disney’s 1954 live-action film, 20,000 leagues under the sea. add my general love of history—specifically the victorian steampunk aesthetic—and you can see why i might enjoy the design vision behind this area.

the supervising art director on 20,000 leagues was harper goff, a hollywood production designer and studio artist. harper was working for warner bros in 1951 when he met walt disney in a london model-making shop, and walt quickly recruited him to the then-burgeoning disneyland concept team.

after contributing numerous sketches and plans for the development of that park, he was the man responsible for the award-winning design of captain nemo’s submarine, the nautilus. (unfortunately goff was denied an oscar because of a dispute with the disney studio that has never been satisfactorily resolved). harper took his inspiration from actual metalworking techniques of the late nineteenth century; iron plates and rivits, and once quoted his wife as calling the overall style of the nautilus “nautical but nice.”

one of disney’ most enduring icons, the nautilus has taken up residence at three other parks, first at the original disneyland (in the form of an early tomorrowland film set exhibit), then at the magic kingdom in florida (at the 20,000 leagues under the sea submarine ride, since removed) and again at the disneyland paris park’s discoveryland (as an elaborate walk-through attraction). this time, the folks at disney took goff’s original designs for the film—combined with what related elements had been previously imagined for the other disney parks—and created a complete, cohesive vision for an entire land.

lead creatives at WDI simply took as a given that nemo drove goff’s submarine, and then extended that aesthetic—what would nemo’s headquarters, on the literary verne’s “mysterious island,” look like? what sort of materials would he employ? how would he construct his retreat deep within, and around, this remote volcanic ocean base?

everything follows: from the glasswork, to the stained, weathered and oxidized bronze; from to the elaborate metal pipework to the exacting lantern shapes; from the typography on signage, wayfinding and associated ephemera to the vivid color palette.

this impressive beauty aside, mysterious island is a curious example of the post-modern nature of thematic design today. i know. post-modern is a term so frequently bandied about that it seems to have lost all meaning; anything, at this point, can be called “post-modern.” however, specific fields have very different definitions for it—from architecture, to literature, to fine art. when i associate post-modern with theming, however, i’m using a definition often employed by social scientists—one in which the terms means a breakdown in the referential chain. this chain is the link between source and reference, between original and descendant. a post-modern thematic environment, then, is a designed space in which it is difficult (or near impossible) to separate the inspiration from the execution; a space in which it’s very hard to discern fact from fiction, and pop culture from history.

mysterious island draws on many ideas that originated in the literary works of jules verne; the namesake novel, the novels 20,000 leagues under the sea and journey to the center of the earth (both of which are themed attractions in this area), as well as elements of a lesser known verne work, facing the flag. yet it also adds the 1954 disney film into the mix (where most of the design aesthetic originates), and various popular culture notions of the victorian era and steampunk culture.

steampunk refers to a fictionalized history of the later nineteenth century, in which many modern-day technological advancements (such as computers, nuclear and electric power, etc.) did indeed exist, albeit using the materials and philosophies of the industrial revolution. it is a form of science fiction fantasy that takes place in the past, rather than an imagined future, and has proliferated, beginning in the 1980s, through literature, cinema, television, comics and video games.

along similar lines, discoveryland at disneyland paris merges steampunk with the works of jules verne (around the world in 80 days, 20,000 leagues under the sea, and from the earth to the moon) alongside the 1954 disney film aesthetic, and also draws upon the works of H.G. wells and leonardo da vinci to create a ‘past-future’ fantasy (sometimes called retro-futurism).

mysterious island at tokyo disneysea is all of these things—and yet none of them—all at once; literary source, actual history, science fiction fandom, and a key disney cinematic reference. yet it’s impossible to tell where verne ends and disney begins, or for that matter which is actually disney creative property and which is appropriated out of the cultural ether. such is the nature of post-modern thematic design.

one of disney’s most popular attractions in recent years has been the twilight zone tower of terror, an elevator-gone-awry free-fall thrill ride. because japanese audiences are not as familiar with the twilight zone television show (and also because the designers had a nearly limitless budget—nearly U.S. $200 million was spent), the tower of terror attraction at tokyo disneysea is completely unique. it utilizes the same basic ride engineering—yet the architecture, story and setting were designed from scratch, and do not use the theming shared by the original tower of terror at disney’s hollywood studios in orlando, or the sister attractions at california adventure in anaheim and walt disney studios in paris. the thematic design of the disneysea tower of terror is interesting because it’s an excellent example of what i’ve come to call hard narrative versus soft narrative.

hard narrative is storytelling in the literary tradition; there are antagonists and protagonists, and a situational, ‘course of action’ driven plot that occurs over a number of interconnected scenes or acts. this is the narrative format of the campfire yarn, the printed page, the live theater (including its descendants, film and television), and very often, song. there are heros and villains, tragedy and comedy, romance and suspense.

soft narrative, conversely, is visual storytelling. this includes setting and space, time and place—and often succeeds without any literary, hard narrative support. for example, the ambiance of a restaurant may suggest provincial europe, the tropics or ancient rome through architecture, typography, lighting, landscaping, music and wayfinding, even employee dress—all without establishing any characters or plot. yet the story is unmistakable, and it is this: you are here. in terms of time, here may be the distant past, the present or a fantasy future—in terms of space, here might be across town or across oceans.

theming relies heavily on both to captivate and thus transport us. the combination of hard narrative and soft narrative varies from venue to venue; a restaurant or bar requires very little in the way of direct plot, yet a themed theatrical production requires much more. many amusement park attractions—such as roller coasters—get by just fine without much narrative, but for disney, it is this detailed storytelling that makes their experiences (and parks) unique.

at tokyo disneysea’s tower of terror, hard and soft narrative are blended seamlessly into a delightful medley. the soft narrative is this: the setting is new york city, around the turn of the twentieth century. the hightower hotel—a massive, imposingly gothic structure—is offering tours of its impressive collection of relics from around the world. simple enough; we know where we’re at and why.

probably owing to the rich tradition of folklore and ‘fright tales’ in japanese culture, the hard narrative, however, is exceedingly complex. so detailed, in fact, that leaflets in both japanese and english are passed out upon entering the attraction [PDF]. this art is © disney enterprises.

the owner of this hotel is one illustrious harrison hightower III—a robber baron character typical of his era—who is also an intrepid world traveller and explorer. sort of a cross between teddy roosevelt (or indiana jones for that matter) and john d. rockefeller. apparently hightower had trotted the globe in search of rare antiquities to display in a tour at his hotel.

this literary (hard) narrative builds in successive stages, each of which heightens the level of audience suspense. first, you are presented the leaflet upon entry.

as you make your way through the cue area, various soft narrative elements—such as framed photographs, ephemera, and a stained glass window of hightower himself—support the elements of hard narrative you’ve already been given to read. you know that there have been mysterious happenings at the hotel, and that a tour of these curiosities is formally offered, but that’s it.

after this main cue area, you’re herded into a second room, in which a cast member (disney-speak for an employee in public view) reads a spiel from a PA microphone. because this was presented only in japanese, i can only guess as to the details provided (at the very least, i was asked to refrain from smoking and taking flash pictures), but it seemed like my fellow guests gained a better understanding of what was in store for them.

after this presentation, you’re moved into yet another room; this appears to be hightower’s work study. books line shelves on the back walls, and at the front of the chamber is a desk with business papers, etc. on this desk is an antique phonograph, true to the period, and above it on the wall is a large stained glass window of hightower and his hotel. i apologize, no photographs were permitted from here on, so i don’t have any images of this part of the attraction.

a cast member enters, says a few words (in japanese, of course), and proceeds to turn the crank on the phonograph to get it going. she then quickly departs and we are left to listen to—an appropriately distressed and crackly—recording that concludes the hard narrative. because this audio is only in japanese, supporting visuals—digitally animated in the stained glass window above—insure that non-speakers like myself still get the gist of things. we are introduced to a certain ancient artifact, a voodoo-looking statue that has the requisite subtle cuteness exuded by all characters in japan. this statue, however, has sinister intentions. it ‘zaps’ hightower and somehow transforms him into a ghost (i suppose, he was killed, but his presumably brutal death is left appropriately ambiguous for a family crowd) and then hightower plunges down through an elevator shaft of his hotel.

after witnessing this, you walk down into the basement of the hotel, which appears to be the storeroom for hightower’s ancient relics that he has collected from around the globe—the centerpiece of which is a large egyptian-style sphinx. from here you board the maintenance service elevators common to the other tower of terror attractions, and experience the free-fall thrill ride so popular at the other parks.

tower of terror succeeds as a thematic experience because it manages to blend copious amounts of hard narrative—cast member spiel, audio/video presentation, and written handouts—with soft narrative (atmospherics) in ways that do not let each detract from the other; rather, they vigorously support one another to create an immersive environment.

even the leaflet you are given at the start of the attraction is under the guise of the legitimate ‘tours’ that are being offered by hightower of his hotel and the collected treasures within—this is not just a informative handout tacked onto a roller coaster. the first spiel is also given as part of this ‘tour’—and only when the cast member cranks up the phonograph do you depart from this tour and learn of the true nature of the haunting and hightower’s death.

the reveal is meticulously planned and executed in stages that increase the level of excitement for the guest and incrementally increase our knowledge of the outcome. all through the power of thematic design—a carefully orchestrated combination of both direct (hard) and atmospheric (soft) storytelling.

my second full day at the tokyo disney resort i spent at tokyo disneysea. this sister theme park to tokyo disneyland opened in september 2001, and is one of the world’s most popular—over twelve million people visited in 2007. sparing no expense, the oriental land company (owner of the tokyo resort) spent over an estimated four billion U.S. dollars to design, develop and construct the park. concepts for a disney park based on the world’s oceans date back to the early 1990s, when the company was considering building at either its burbank studio location, the long beach pier, or adjacent to disneyland; this development later became the disappointingly lackluster california adventure. the original disney sea concept painting above is © disney enterprises.

instead of the typical lands designation found at other disney parks, disneysea uses ports of call for its seven themed areas. at the center is a large man-made lagoon (disney sea is built on reclaimed land and sits directly adjacent to the ocean) with numerous interconnected waterways that encircle the park. this echoes the revolutionary hub-and-spoke central plaza layout of the original disneyland (and all subsequent magic kingdom-style parks), but is intentionally designed to feel more organic. the strict geometry and symmetry of a central plaza thus gives way to the natural fluidity of rivers, streams and lakes.

after walking through the main entry plaza, i arrived at MEDITERRANEAN HARBOR. this first port is themed in the style of europe’s renaissance and the early age of seafaring exploration (roughly 1300–1500). rather than the long walk down main street U.S.A. to a central plaza, this area opens up in a V-like shape in which guests can venture east or west around the park’s main lagoon.

italy is the most pronounced, with replicas of several portofino buildings, the famous venice canals as well as florence’s arno bridge—but portions of the design subtly nod to spain, north africa, greece and turkey as well. as is the case with many disney designs, the architecture is referential rather than an exact simulation—most features, styling and colors are exaggerated in sometimes obvious, sometimes subtle ways. the overall result is an “impression” of the mediterranean coast, not a re-creation—and this impression draws upon both popular and cinematic stereotypes of the region.

continuing to the left, i walked into AMERICAN WATERFRONT, the setting of which is the eastern seaboard of the united states at the turn of the twentieth century. central here is a meticulous representation of new york city at roughly the same time period as disneyland’s main street U.S.A. (1890–1910), including a nearly full-scale ocean steamer docked alongside. the outer edge of this area pays homage to the small fishing towns of new england.

the design detail here is absolutely stunning and showcases some of the company’s most exceptional graphics and typographic work. there is a level of verisimilitude here unparalleled at any other disney theme park—from the architectural weathering and aging, to the signage and storefronts, to the various print ephemera scattered about in the form of advertisements and postings.

an elevated electric railway (the kind that existed on america’s east coast in the early 1900s) connects the american waterfront with PORT DISCOVERY, which is called the “marina of the future.” it functions as the equivalent of the disney tomorrowland archetype, yet this port is not modernist in the way of disneyland’s white concrete utopian visions—instead the area takes most of its design cues from discoveryland at disneyland paris.

there is a subtle victorian styling to port discovery, which serves as a remarkable transition zone to the adjacent MYSTERIOUS ISLAND. located more or less at the center of the park, the theme here is based on disney’s interpretations of the writings of jules verne, and is very strongly influenced by the company’s 1954 feature film 20,000 leagues under the sea. the landmark of mysterious island (and of disneysea as a whole) is mount prometheus—a live volcano the same height as tokyo disneyland’s cinderella castle next door—which erupts periodically with smoke and light.

behind mysterious island, at the far back of disneysea, i walked into LOST RIVER DELTA, which is something of the equivalent to the disney adventureland archetype—the theme here is tropical paradise and the exoticism of the world’s equatorial jungles, with an emphasis on central and south america. lost river delta hosts only two major attractions; the designers have left much of this area at the back of the park vacant to accommodate future expansion.

continuing to the right, i entered ARABIAN COAST which, as the name suggests, is themed as an arabian fantasy. drawing on the 1992 disney animated film aladdin and the stories of sinbad from arabian nights, the designers have fashioned an elaborate world that simultaneously appears true-to-life and out of a children’s storybook. the use of forced perspective, delicate lighting and other stage set building techniques contribute to an atmosphere of friendliness and present the foreign (the middle east is extremely exotic to not only western audiences, but asian as well) without being intimidating

especially worthy of note was the color palette, which seems to also have been inspired by techniques employed at disneyland paris. light pastels and deep, striking hues are utilized to give the structures greater presence in overcast grey. this is wise choice, given that both times of year that i’ve visited disneysea—january and now june—it was far from sunny and clear.

right next to this beautiful arabian fantasy is MERMAID LAGOON, the most unimpressive port at disneysea. designed for young children, the entire complex is indoors and features numerous rides and attractions all themed after disney’s 1989 hit animated film the little mermaid. because it doesn’t reference any cultural or geographic cues, and is devoid of nostalgia, i would say that this is the least successful themed area at disneysea. certainly, the concept is striking and the execution detail-laden, but as i’m seeing again and again across the globe, thematic design relies on cultural and geographical references that are imbued with a certain wistful nod to the past (or, less often, a fantastical future). mermaid lagoon exists to give a certain film property—and only that film—life, and as such its vision is painfully limited.

my day (and night) at disneysea was an extremely rich experience, and i would say that it ties with the disneyland paris park for best thematic design overall. the level of research and depth of referential material that the park designers followed in their concepting shows through in a painstaking attention to ever conceivable detail. two areas of the park struck me the most—the tower of terror attraction and the mysterious island port—so i will elaborate on those in further posts.

i’ve been going over the notes from my research trip to asia this past june (tokyo, hong kong, and macau), so here are some observations about the major attractions i visited—tokyo disneyland and disneysea, the hong kong disneyland resort, the venetian macau, and macau fisherman’s wharf.

i had been to the tokyo disney resort twice before—once in august 2001, in which i visited the disneyland park, and once in january 2003, when i went to the newly opened disneysea park. both times i saw the resort as an ordinary tourist and enthusiast, and i didn’t pay very close attention in a serious sense. returning to japan this past june for the first time in five years has allowed me to take a far closer look at this lavishly designed resort—one of the most profitable and popular thematic destinations in the world.

some background; the tokyo disney resort is owned by the oriental land company, which licenses the design from the walt disney company. disney receives only an annual royalty percentage of admissions, food and merchandise sales. this unique arrangement came about because at the time of the tokyo project’s conception (1979–83), disney was in the middle of building the EPCOT center theme park in orlando, and was severely strapped for cash; the company later came to regret this decision terribly, given the immense profitability of the tokyo resort.

the first park, tokyo disneyland, opened in april of 1983, and is considered “third generation” by disney designers—meaning that the anaheim park is the foundation, the magic kingdom in florida is the second iteration, and the tokyo park uses both as a basis. to the casual visitor, tokyo disneyland would appear to be very similar to the walt disney world version, with a few elements blended in from the original disneyland. yet there are five very key distinctions.

first of all, the main street U.S.A. concept was significantly retooled for japan, on both cultural and geographic grounds. the japanese are less familiar with the nuances of a small american town at the turn of the century, but due to the influence of the west during the meiji restoration, they have an affection for both european and american victorian architecture.

taking a cue from walt disney world (which also boasts exaggerated victorian forms instead of small-town midwestern americana), main street U.S.A. is thus further homogenized, and also renamed world bazaar to distance it from its distinctly american roots. the architecture is something out of a dickens-like fairy tale; it has all the makings of the late 1800s to early 1900s, broadly, but there is no specific reference to latch on to.

you can’t really say that world bazaar represents any real time or place—and that’s part of the appeal. in addition to these cultural revisions, this entryway to tokyo disneyland is completely covered by an elaborate glass canopy, making it an ideal mass shelter in times of inclement weather (it rains often in tokyo, and sometimes snows in the winter).

from a design perspective, this gives the area the feel of a grand european train station, conservatory or perhaps a royal arboretum. the specific layout of the glass panes and ironwork superstructure reinforce this impression.

the second key distinction that sets tokyo disneyland apart from its sister parks is the layout of the railroad—it only runs around the adventureland / westernland / critter country section of the park, and does not make a continuous loop like at every over magic kingdom-style disney park. there are probably three reasons for this.

first, by japanese law, any train with more than one station (stop) must be regulated by the nation’s rail authority. if the disneyland railroad circumnavigated the park grounds with multiple stops, it would be subject to functional and aesthetic alteration that would perhaps hurt the overall design (uniforms, ticketing,  train engine and car layout, etc.). not to mention that disney rarely likes ceding control over its operations to anyone, let alone a government regulatory body. with only one stop, the train is legally considered a “ride” and not a transportation system.

second, the perimeter plan of tokyo disneyland did not include a raised berm; rather, only landscaping is used to shield the park from backstage areas and the hotels / parking lot. riding a train around this boundary would expose guests to these vistas and shatter the thematic illusion of an immersive environment. thirdly, the japanese do not associate classic railroads with americana (as is the effect at the original disneyland)—rather such trains are a symbol of the wild west. thus it makes perfect sense that the disneyland railroad encircle only the exotic “wilderness” areas of the park, as a centerpiece of the overall theme.

and the way in which the big thunder mountain attraction layout and this railroad route interact (unique at a any disney park) is delicately designed and marvelously dynamic.

the third way in which the tokyo version is distinct from other disneyland style-parks is that frontierland is renamed westernland. this is because the japanese have no concept of what a frontier is. being on a small set of islands with extreme population density, there has never been anywhere to go—so the idea of a vast land out on the edge that is largely unsettled is completely foreign.

the japanese do, however, have a very romantic notion of the western cowboy (owing mostly to the mass popularity of western films staring john wayne and clint eastwood), and understand what westernland is (and where it is, and what it represents) almost instantly.

this makes westernland the largest area of the park, just as frontierland is at disneyland paris. the wide-open feeling of the american southwest is accentuated in every regard, from the detailed rockwork to landscaping.

there is also a quaintness to the structures in this part of the park, almost like the feeling conveyed at disneyland’s original main street. it’s markedly different from the “ghost town” feeling at the stateside parks, or even disneyland paris, for that matter. again, this is probably done to better meet the expectations of the japanese, based on what they’ve read and seen in their media, and in ours. the representation dictates the reality.

the wilderness—”wild-ness”—is all-encompassing. and, in contrast with the extremely dense urbanity of tokyo around it, very refreshing and beautiful. i saw many japanese just walking quietly, taking it in, near the banks of the water features.

fourth in terms of difference from the other disney parks is tokyo’s tomorrowland. the future has always been a troubling area to theme, and as a result both anaheim and florida’s versions have been re-done to convey a nostalgic ‘past-future’ fantasy (sometimes called retro-futurism); disneyland paris’ version was designed this way from the start.

after this flurry of remodeling, only the tomorrowland at tokyo disneyland remains largely what it was on opening day in april, 1983—a white concrete urban utopia of corporate control and technological supremacy (based on both the earlier 1967 redo at disneyland, and walt disney world’s original 1971 opening day model).

in the early 1980s when the park opened, japan was at the height of modernization and its economy was gearing up to be the envy of the industrial world. the overall views of corporatism and technopolies that reigned supreme then are still held by many japanese.

i wonder if the japanese view their tomorrowland, then, as a ‘past representation of the future’ and hold a certain nostalgic attachment to it as a model of 1970s–80s technologic optimism.

certainly here in the states, it is a design period (and philosophy) that fails to capture current audiences’ imaginations. but in japan it still has currency.

what’s most nostalgic for americans is the period of middle-class prosperity immediately after world war II (1950s), but for the japanese this same wealth didn’t come until decades later; it’s this period that their tomorrowland represents.

lastly, my single strongest impression of tokyo disneyland was its sheer size and wide open spaces. again, being so population dense, especially in tokyo, the japanese absolutely revel in being able to walk around freely in recreational spaces. the world bazaar avenue is wide and spacious, the central plaza hub seems endless and lush with landscaping, and even the small attractions of fantasyland are given wide berth.

the central plaza here is easily three times the size of the original in anaheim. this takes a cue from walt disney world in florida, which also has a larger main street, larger plaza, and an identical, towering cinderella’s castle. in westernland particularly, the walkways and paths are at times triple the width of their stateside counterparts, which means, practically, that tokyo disneyland has nearly triple the capacity that the anaheim park has—and the annual attendance figures to prove it.

conversely, the tight layout of the original disneyland is intentionally designed to feel delightfully intimate when compared to the sprawling, impersonal spaces of los angeles and the greater southern californian area. in tokyo, however, size does matter.