ProjectXBlog
Well-Known Member
Alright, here goes. I went last Sunday and have been processing my thoughts for the last week (as a Star Wars fan, a Disney Parks fan, and a fan of storytelling in general) but didn’t want to say anything for fear of pooping on everyone’s parade.
This land does nothing for me. And before I get into it - this mostly has more to do with me than anything else. I know there are plenty out there who will visit this park and have memories forged in irons no amount of cynicism or negativity can crack, and I appreciate those perspectives; I also understand that this is a different age and time for theme park design, but let me try to explain my position.
This land is hollow and joyless. Something about all of the brown, tan, smoky, dusty, laser-singed, metallic, cold, music-free ambience really flips the switch that the rest of the park turns into the “ON” position. The details are there, sure, along with the ambient sound, useless jargon, sign-free restaurants and shops, Imperial soldiers that bump into you and don’t apologize for fear of sacrificing “theme,” and shopkeepers that gently remind you of what, exactly, they sell that you’re not allowed to wear immediately outside of the shop, but there’s something missing here.
From the day it opened, Disneyland has committed itself to keeping uniform themes and motifs that are in line with the film industry that helped facilitate its creation: subtle changes in tone, musical shifts, stories within the attractions presented - the whole thing is built to be a walk-through movie. Moving through Main Street, to Tomorrowland, to Fantasyland, Toontown, Frontierland, Adventureland, New Orleans Square, there are individual themes presented; however, each theme, while disparate, still ties into the overall “story” that is Disneyland (I guess it helps more if you think of each land as a vignette in this story). With this being said, the addition of “Galaxy’s Edge” is a total quagmire.
With “Galaxy’s Edge,” all of the careful theming put into place over the last sixty years is now slowly being disregarded and dismantled. In 2011, Universal Studios took “Harry Potter” - the “Star Wars” of nerdy things - and turned the whole thing into a theme park phenomenon. The sheer magic of walking through Hogsmeade Village for the first time is impeccable; the sounds of creatures lurking behind any door, the magical music piping from all around, the cutesy shops that each have their own purpose - it’s all perfectly formed around the IP it represents. With that being said, it seems clear that Disney has seen what’s worked here on the financial side and strived to implement that, whereas anything that worked from a thematic or storytelling perspective was set by the wayside.
Now, part of this can be easily explained away. Hogsmeade Village is an established locale in the massive cultural juggernaut it represents: from the first time it was established in the books, the scenery has been vividly imagined and only represented sparingly throughout the film franchise. Looking at the “Star Wars” end of the spectrum, Batuu is a crappy craphole planet that I have never heard of, or believed in, or (frankly) wanted to see. I don’t mind most of the locales from Star Wars; give me an Endor forest, or Naboo, or Hoth, or ANYTHING related to these movies, over whatever made-up battle-torn refugee warzone that’s been concocted for the purpose of telling this story.
Oh wait! There is no story!
Yes, as far as Disney is concerned, this land is a piece of the current saga’s canon, and is tied into the plot of “Star Tours” (which takes place on the whole opposite side of the park), but what in the actual hell is the plot? What are we doing here? What is the point of having earthlings from Disneyland visit this space? Even Tomorrowland presents itself through the lens of “you’re visiting the future while you’re visiting Disneyland”, which, truth be told, is lacking in subtlety but keeps the mission intact. Batuu is basically wandering from the Hungry Bear restaurant, drenched in the recycled flop sweat and unused Dasani filling the waters of Splash Mountain, finding yourself in a futuristic version of a middle-eastern war zone, and then wondering just where exactly Big Thunder Mountain is.
Yes, I know I’m being overly facetious with my description - I can only imagine the aforementioned scenario in ten or twenty years, but for now, this park is only about appealing to the people who truly know about it: the exact people who influenced the design of the park.
Plenty of discussion has been paid to the wares on display at “Galaxy’s Edge,” and for good reason: $200 for a lightsaber? $150 for a custom droid? Get out of town, buster! Of course, I’m speaking for myself: most of the items being sold in the park are already hot commodities, with lines for Oga’s Cantina and Savi’s Workshop extending beyond the mere physical concepts of “lines” and into the pure metaphysical, becoming part of waiting itself, becoming a part of your very essence, trapped in time forever. With all that being said, is it really worth it? Like, really? As someone who’s single and childless with expendable income who enjoys spending time in these parks, really? Like, really? I think part of this extends into the new theme park trend that began with Hogsmeade, which is “sell as much crap as you can.”
Of course, the entire concept of Disneyland has been lampooned to death with “Exit Through the Gift Shop” jokes, but there’s something different between being spat out at the end of “Pirates” and seeing pirate tchotchkes and visiting an entire themed land built seemingly solely on the idea that people will spend extra money on a custom wand from Ollivander or, more appropriately, a custom lightsaber from whoever “Savi” is. My time waiting in line just to be let in to this land was mostly spent next to a couple, one half of whom was FURIOUS at the other for failing to secure an early enough spot in line to guarantee an early enough spot in line to guarantee an early enough reservation at the already comically-cramped cantina; this act of attrition was apparently enough to ruin the 4-hour reservation window and doom the failed half to a lifetime of being reminded of their failure in the eyes of god itself. I wasn’t that bothered, though, because I wasn’t there to drink booze. I can do that at home! I was here to do one thing - fly the Millennium Falcon, baby!!!!!!
God, this ride is terrible. I really, really wanted to like Smuggler’s Run, but it seemed to actively work against my wishes in an effort to turn itself into a hulking genie of anti-wish, like Will Smith in “Aladdin.” Even the queue, with record-low waits of 30 minutes on average, failed to inspire any real confidence in the experience. Loads of control panels with pushable buttons line the railings alongside various components of the queue, but pushing the buttons does nothing. Long stretches of the queue itself are just cold, musty hallways meant to evoke the “feel” of the Falcon, which may as well be an alternate-universe Space Mountain where the future is no longer clean and pristine, but hollow, dirty and metallic.
Once you actually get past the life-like Hondo Accord animatronic and get your assignment, you learn how truly cruel and impassive this world has become to the dreams that dominated the kingdom beyond Batuu’s reach. If it sounds like I’m being dramatic about any position but “Pilot” sucking, it’s because I am. Getting on this ride with any card other than Pilot is basically a waste of time. Engineers: get into the cockpit, and stare at your control panel until Wakandan Tigger - OOPS - Hondo! - tells you to do something. Gunners, get ready to stare at whatever the pilots are doing and press a button when things get hairy. Pilots, have fun doing the job this ride was designed for! If you’re unlucky enough to not get the Pilot job and imagine that sitting and enjoying the ride is enough, think again. The ride itself truly is not thrilling or exciting; it’s simply a video game in a moving theatre designed to get groups to work together. The ride doesn’t take into account that most groups of people don’t want to talk to people outside of their group (and I say this as a frequent single rider).
All in all, I’m just bummed from the disappointment. I wanted to like this land, but even the hummus and pita I got was as lukewarm as the initial feelings I had - both turned cold quickly, and only one was easy to swallow. The “Disney touches” - the extra ways in which the land is designed to appeal to the curious minds who love to search every nook & cranny - are mostly reduced here to mini games within the app that let guests Hack and Scan and Translate and stand completely still in the middle of a thoroughfare while I’m just trying to find a water fountain. Maybe my gripes are unjust; maybe I can’t really tell if my problems with “Galaxy’s Edge” are just my problems with theme park design in the 21st century. We’ll see where things lead in the next 3-5 years; until Rise of the Resistance opens, though, I can’t say I’m excited to see the edge of this galaxy again.
This land does nothing for me. And before I get into it - this mostly has more to do with me than anything else. I know there are plenty out there who will visit this park and have memories forged in irons no amount of cynicism or negativity can crack, and I appreciate those perspectives; I also understand that this is a different age and time for theme park design, but let me try to explain my position.
This land is hollow and joyless. Something about all of the brown, tan, smoky, dusty, laser-singed, metallic, cold, music-free ambience really flips the switch that the rest of the park turns into the “ON” position. The details are there, sure, along with the ambient sound, useless jargon, sign-free restaurants and shops, Imperial soldiers that bump into you and don’t apologize for fear of sacrificing “theme,” and shopkeepers that gently remind you of what, exactly, they sell that you’re not allowed to wear immediately outside of the shop, but there’s something missing here.
From the day it opened, Disneyland has committed itself to keeping uniform themes and motifs that are in line with the film industry that helped facilitate its creation: subtle changes in tone, musical shifts, stories within the attractions presented - the whole thing is built to be a walk-through movie. Moving through Main Street, to Tomorrowland, to Fantasyland, Toontown, Frontierland, Adventureland, New Orleans Square, there are individual themes presented; however, each theme, while disparate, still ties into the overall “story” that is Disneyland (I guess it helps more if you think of each land as a vignette in this story). With this being said, the addition of “Galaxy’s Edge” is a total quagmire.
With “Galaxy’s Edge,” all of the careful theming put into place over the last sixty years is now slowly being disregarded and dismantled. In 2011, Universal Studios took “Harry Potter” - the “Star Wars” of nerdy things - and turned the whole thing into a theme park phenomenon. The sheer magic of walking through Hogsmeade Village for the first time is impeccable; the sounds of creatures lurking behind any door, the magical music piping from all around, the cutesy shops that each have their own purpose - it’s all perfectly formed around the IP it represents. With that being said, it seems clear that Disney has seen what’s worked here on the financial side and strived to implement that, whereas anything that worked from a thematic or storytelling perspective was set by the wayside.
Now, part of this can be easily explained away. Hogsmeade Village is an established locale in the massive cultural juggernaut it represents: from the first time it was established in the books, the scenery has been vividly imagined and only represented sparingly throughout the film franchise. Looking at the “Star Wars” end of the spectrum, Batuu is a crappy craphole planet that I have never heard of, or believed in, or (frankly) wanted to see. I don’t mind most of the locales from Star Wars; give me an Endor forest, or Naboo, or Hoth, or ANYTHING related to these movies, over whatever made-up battle-torn refugee warzone that’s been concocted for the purpose of telling this story.
Oh wait! There is no story!
Yes, as far as Disney is concerned, this land is a piece of the current saga’s canon, and is tied into the plot of “Star Tours” (which takes place on the whole opposite side of the park), but what in the actual hell is the plot? What are we doing here? What is the point of having earthlings from Disneyland visit this space? Even Tomorrowland presents itself through the lens of “you’re visiting the future while you’re visiting Disneyland”, which, truth be told, is lacking in subtlety but keeps the mission intact. Batuu is basically wandering from the Hungry Bear restaurant, drenched in the recycled flop sweat and unused Dasani filling the waters of Splash Mountain, finding yourself in a futuristic version of a middle-eastern war zone, and then wondering just where exactly Big Thunder Mountain is.
Yes, I know I’m being overly facetious with my description - I can only imagine the aforementioned scenario in ten or twenty years, but for now, this park is only about appealing to the people who truly know about it: the exact people who influenced the design of the park.
Plenty of discussion has been paid to the wares on display at “Galaxy’s Edge,” and for good reason: $200 for a lightsaber? $150 for a custom droid? Get out of town, buster! Of course, I’m speaking for myself: most of the items being sold in the park are already hot commodities, with lines for Oga’s Cantina and Savi’s Workshop extending beyond the mere physical concepts of “lines” and into the pure metaphysical, becoming part of waiting itself, becoming a part of your very essence, trapped in time forever. With all that being said, is it really worth it? Like, really? As someone who’s single and childless with expendable income who enjoys spending time in these parks, really? Like, really? I think part of this extends into the new theme park trend that began with Hogsmeade, which is “sell as much crap as you can.”
Of course, the entire concept of Disneyland has been lampooned to death with “Exit Through the Gift Shop” jokes, but there’s something different between being spat out at the end of “Pirates” and seeing pirate tchotchkes and visiting an entire themed land built seemingly solely on the idea that people will spend extra money on a custom wand from Ollivander or, more appropriately, a custom lightsaber from whoever “Savi” is. My time waiting in line just to be let in to this land was mostly spent next to a couple, one half of whom was FURIOUS at the other for failing to secure an early enough spot in line to guarantee an early enough spot in line to guarantee an early enough reservation at the already comically-cramped cantina; this act of attrition was apparently enough to ruin the 4-hour reservation window and doom the failed half to a lifetime of being reminded of their failure in the eyes of god itself. I wasn’t that bothered, though, because I wasn’t there to drink booze. I can do that at home! I was here to do one thing - fly the Millennium Falcon, baby!!!!!!
God, this ride is terrible. I really, really wanted to like Smuggler’s Run, but it seemed to actively work against my wishes in an effort to turn itself into a hulking genie of anti-wish, like Will Smith in “Aladdin.” Even the queue, with record-low waits of 30 minutes on average, failed to inspire any real confidence in the experience. Loads of control panels with pushable buttons line the railings alongside various components of the queue, but pushing the buttons does nothing. Long stretches of the queue itself are just cold, musty hallways meant to evoke the “feel” of the Falcon, which may as well be an alternate-universe Space Mountain where the future is no longer clean and pristine, but hollow, dirty and metallic.
Once you actually get past the life-like Hondo Accord animatronic and get your assignment, you learn how truly cruel and impassive this world has become to the dreams that dominated the kingdom beyond Batuu’s reach. If it sounds like I’m being dramatic about any position but “Pilot” sucking, it’s because I am. Getting on this ride with any card other than Pilot is basically a waste of time. Engineers: get into the cockpit, and stare at your control panel until Wakandan Tigger - OOPS - Hondo! - tells you to do something. Gunners, get ready to stare at whatever the pilots are doing and press a button when things get hairy. Pilots, have fun doing the job this ride was designed for! If you’re unlucky enough to not get the Pilot job and imagine that sitting and enjoying the ride is enough, think again. The ride itself truly is not thrilling or exciting; it’s simply a video game in a moving theatre designed to get groups to work together. The ride doesn’t take into account that most groups of people don’t want to talk to people outside of their group (and I say this as a frequent single rider).
All in all, I’m just bummed from the disappointment. I wanted to like this land, but even the hummus and pita I got was as lukewarm as the initial feelings I had - both turned cold quickly, and only one was easy to swallow. The “Disney touches” - the extra ways in which the land is designed to appeal to the curious minds who love to search every nook & cranny - are mostly reduced here to mini games within the app that let guests Hack and Scan and Translate and stand completely still in the middle of a thoroughfare while I’m just trying to find a water fountain. Maybe my gripes are unjust; maybe I can’t really tell if my problems with “Galaxy’s Edge” are just my problems with theme park design in the 21st century. We’ll see where things lead in the next 3-5 years; until Rise of the Resistance opens, though, I can’t say I’m excited to see the edge of this galaxy again.
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