Last October, at the kind invitation of Benjamin George, I gave a lecture for the Landscape Architecture & Environmental Planning (LAEP) Speaker Series at Utah State University. In “The Disneyland Effect” I presented an overview of my thoughts on thematic design in general and the development of Disneyland Park from a landscape perspective in particular. Here is the video of my talk.

Having travelled through Utah that past summer (which I am just now getting around to chronicling on this blog), I chose some examples for my presentation in order to demonstrate that the design principles of the theme park model are not limited to Disney, Universal, or Cedar Fair. You can find them just about anywhere. In particular I wanted to show the thematic influence on Main Street revitalization efforts.

Ogden, Utah

I was sure I’d find some “Disneyfied” Main Streets while in Utah last summer, and the state did not disappoint. Save for Ogden, the first such stop, these were unplanned, unscripted explorations. Though I didn’t know it until I actually got to town, the City of Ogden has what it calls the “Historic 25th Street District.” But I wasn’t here to see this.

I was looking for cyberpunk. The entire reason I wanted to stop by Ogden was Blade Runner (1982). I had read on the ever-venerable Atlas Obscura that the “Star Noodle Dragon” sign was a masterpiece of neon worth seeking out. And there it is above, in all its glowing multicolored glory.

I had further read on Atlas Obscura that the connection between in Ogden and Blade Runner is not fan fiction. The designers working on the film who fashioned the above sign had indeed come across a picture of the Star Noodle Dragon.

In a 2007 Blade Runner featurette, the film’s production illustrator, Tom Southwell, mentions that he was struck by an image of a dragon in a book of neon art, which inspired the one in Blade Runner.

So just like my prior pilgrimages to Devils Tower and Mount Rushmore, I was again partaking in a kind of “cinematic tourism” by seeking out this sign in a small Utah town. I wanted to experience a piece of one of my favorite science fiction films, even though it’s not even an actual shooting location. The Star Noodle Dragon was just the inspiration for a design element in the movie. Still that was enough for me. And enough for plenty others, apparently, given its entry on Atlas Obscura.

What I did not expect to find in Ogden was thematic design, of the revitalization kind. As I’ve written about before with towns like Deadwood, South Dakota, and Minocqua, Wisconsin, one of the results of the design language which came out of Disneyland is that, beginning in the 1970s, towns all over the United States started taking their art direction from the park’s Main Street U.S.A.

The first study to explore this phenomenon in detail is historian Richard V. Francaviglia’s excellent Main Street Revisited: Time, Space, and Image Building in Small-Town America (1996). Francaviglia is interested in notions of authenticity and collective memory, of theming and historical preservation.

One point that he makes is that some of the debate is moot, as there is no such thing as a truly authentic Main Street. "The image of Main Street that reaches the public is often a selected or edited version depicting what the street should look like," even with preserved, historic structures from the late 19th or early 20th century. In other words, this cultural curation has been going on across the country well before Disney got into the mix.

Francaviglia outlines a series of “sixteen basic axioms” for his reinterpreting of American Main Streets. These points describe the DNA of their architecture and why they look remarkably similar. Ogden had me thinking about Francaviglia’s third axiom:

Showcases architecture as an image-builder: The façade of buildings on Main Street become more important than any other elevation because they face the principal thoroughfare. Thus, Main Street puts its best face (or façade) forward.

And you can see this readily along Ogden’s 25th Street. The top of every building is decorated.

I found a bunch of cool typography in Ogden. And like Francaviglia points out with the buildings, it’s hard to tell what’s old, what’s new, and what’s restored. This Pabst beer lettering might be authentic. It might be a bit of theming which was added later to “sweeten” the historic look of the street, like Disney has done at some of their parks. Or it might have been painted and painted again; no longer real, but not fake either.

The reason for hunting down all the cool lettering is that my road trip buddy David Janssen Jr. and I were busy collecting images for a second 88MPH photobook of American vernacular typography, just like we did for the first volume back in 2017.

Here we have some wood type which, while is authentic in lettering style, is at once both too old (fashioned) and too new (looking) to be on 25th Street. This was clearly added in more recent years to “sweeten” the look of the building.

Some buildings (and their signage) are not trying to pretend they are old. The architecture and materials are “old enough” looking, but this is obviously a contemporary build. There are little flourishes straight out of the Disney playbook like the barn lighting goosenecks.

Where it gets interesting is when you see new builds directly adjacent to authentic antique buildings. They tried to match the basic architectural trappings and materials, even though there is no hiding the “newness” of the structure.

Looking closer, there appears to have been an attempt to match the hanglines of the trimmings. In this way the block "holds together” better from a distance.

This is where history, restoration, and thematic design collide. Francaviglia argues that the appeal of the Disney version of Main Street is because “so many of our perceptions of place in the twentieth century are colored by moving images…it has increased our expectations.” We want the movie we remember rather than the real thing.

I found this amusing. The typography is 18th wood style, but the application is contemporary (looks like cut vinyl). The “Est. 1878” is almost like either the occupant or owner wanted to make it really clear that “Hey, we’re really the OLD building here, unlike the one next to us.”

Provo, Utah

Further south I took some time to check out downtown Provo along West Center Street as I’d heard there was some great architecture to be seen. And it did not disappoint.

The streetscape arrangement of cities and towns in Utah is a fascinating topic all its own. It’s a Mormon thing, basically. Beginning at the center of the LDS church, streets are numbered north to south, and then named East and West relative to the church. Everything directs back to that central point.

Much like Ogden, Provo has outwardly branded its “Historic Downtown.” This is a performative gesture that, as Francaviglia points out, began in the 1970s throughout the United States, and continues to this day. Such initiatives often have the same gloss of a corporate advertising campaign, but might also leverage grants and other funds for the actual restoration and preservation of older structures.

Francaviglia notes that although Main Street façades have been heavily ornamented since the turn of the century, they are often restored today with a more garish and lively Disney color palette than would have been typical at the time.

It was hard for me to tell in Provo what lettering on these buildings was authentic and/or restored and which was augmentation. Again, Francaviglia suggests that this doesn’t really matter all that much. But as a typography nerd, it kinda bugged me.

Some of this filigree is truly lovely. Everything is cleaner, certainly, for which I’m sure historians and preservationists are grateful. But the bright, saturated paint treatments are pure Disneyland.

Sadly though, the elaborate Disneyfied paint jobs only apply to the sides of the buildings which directly face West Center Street. The sides which face alleys are left in their original, washed-out industrial states. Here the logic of film sets is evident. You only need to design for what’s on camera, in this case, the pedestrian and vehicle traffic on the main thoroughfare. The rest is “backstage” just like at a theme park.

Some of the structures in Provo really had me fooled/confused at first glance. This could just as easily be a successful renovation as it could be a “new for old” fresh build from the 1990s. Upon a close look at the trim and condition of the brickwork, I’d say this is an antique building.

From across the street it’s much tougher. But some of the architectural details make me think this is a recent development, like the mix of the turn of the century craftsman-style exposed rafters with the more 1920s and 30s brick and awning approach. This is a historical collage, a pastiche really only evident with those who have a background to spot it.

Conversely, his building would probably stand out to even the untrained eye. It features the kind of 1990s Italian rococo you see in business parks filled with law firms in Southern California which were inspired by Jon Jerde’s Bellagio in Las Vegas. This particular bit of West Center Street struck me as the most un-Provo.

Here’s a bit of authentic storefront with some light restoration to the paint and gilding.

And just like in Ogden, they’ve tried to theme the new construction to the adjoining antique structures. I don’t think they’re fooling anyone with that Central Bank. But as Francaviglia points out, it really doesn’t matter. This same kind of intermix, augmentation, and accommodation was happening in the 1990s but also back in the 1890s. It’s not a new thing. What’s new is the Disneyland Effect.

McCall, Idaho

Decades prior to the rise and dominance of the cinema, architecture would ape from other architecture. But now the sources of pastiche, more often than not, come from the movies. And what channeled that filmic grammar out into the built environment was Disneyland. Have a look at the block of storefronts above. Do they look familiar?

McCall, Idaho is a small resort on the south shore of Payette Lake. The settlement has been there for decades, but it wasn’t until the 1960s that the town started actively marketing itself as a vacation destination. The primary industry used to be logging, but the last sawmill closed in the mid-1970s. Today it’s the kind of place where big city residents would look to own a second home, or stay at a rental during the summer months.

For the few blocks of the downtown quad, you have a mix of what are likely historic structures. These look like what were once saloons and boarding houses. However, the building to the right, “STEAMERS,” has done some reduced-scale thematic staging on the second story.

When I drove through McCall, there were a couple new developments still under construction. And they all have the Disneyland touch.

The illusion of having larger structures featuring diced up façades with individual personalities is a Disney trick to make it look like there are numerous individual proprietors along Main Street U.S.A.

Even what were in all likelihood much older, individual storefronts have been “Disneyfied” with the same kinds of lighting sconces I saw in Ogden.

Holladay, Utah

All of the above places have a real history, however. Each of those Main Streets, despite being augmented with theming and numerous layers of alteration and restoration (resulting in a qualitative layer cake), have a genuine sense of place. Of what Charles Moore called “inhabitation.” What happens when you start from scratch?

As Richard V. Francaviglia might have predicted, you start with Disneyland. Which is what I found at this curious development in Holladay, just south of Salt Lake City.

Now this is different than the piecemeal new developments I saw in Ogden and Provo which were slotted into Main Street settings alongside their much older neighbors. The kind of buildings where you do a double-take and wonder if they’re actually old. This “Holladay Village” doesn’t try to fool anyone. This downtown block says: I’m here, I’m the new Town Center, I look like a theme park, and I know that you’re comfortable with that, too.

The plan was approved in 2011 and the developer agreement on the city’s website is dated 2012 (the city also has a nice archive of preliminary renderings). Holladay Village is the work of ArcSitio Design who are based in Salt Lake. It appears to be mixed use with lots of pedestrian space, no curbs, and pleasant plantings throughout.

The state thought enough of Holladay Village to select the project for the 2017 Urban Design Utah Legacy Award. This is the highest urban design award available in Utah, according to the Utah American Society of Landscape Architects.

I thought it was a pleasant enough site, and apparently Holladay Village is far better than what it replaced. And I’m not going to complain about the design, exactly, because I like the themed approach. All the little individual proprietors—like “Amy”—in their own storefronts, which are supposed to have the appearance of having evolved over time into Moore’s “inhabitation.”

Some of the buildings are attached and a few others are free-standing. The mixture of styles suggests that there wasn’t one single designer or team of designers. But of course, there was. All designed and built in one go. Lively paint and trim. Not shy about ornamentation and vernacular forms.

Many, if not most, architects loathe this kind of “lowbrow, populist” design. But when a practitioner doubts that a Disneyland Effect exists, and that the inspiration for—yes, award-winning—public spaces is cribbed from the movies and thus from theme parks? I point to places like Holladay.