Size Does Matter - Tokyo Update 1.

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.

The Tokyo Disney Resort consists of two adjacent theme parks encircled by a monorail line. In August 2001, I had visited the Disneyland park. In January 2003, I visited to the newly opened DisneySea park. This trip allowed me to spend extended time at both.

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 properties.

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 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 Tokyo 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 Tokyo Disneyland Railroad encircle only the exotic “wilderness” areas of the park, as a centerpiece of the overall theme.

This also makes the Big Thunder Mountain attraction a great fit for the park.

It contains elements from the both the Disneyland and Walt Disney World versions, along with some unique feature as well. 

The layout for the attraction and the Tokyo Disneyland Railroad route interact much closer than at either of those parks.

Thi dynamism is delicately designed and plays marvelously.

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 ready 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 starring John Wayne and Clint Eastwood), and understand what a 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). The Discoveryland at Disneyland Paris was designed this way from the start.

After this flurry of remodeling in the U.S., only the Tomorrowland in Tokyo remains largely what it was on opening day in April, 1983—a white concrete urban utopia of corporate control and technological supremacy. This design was based on both the earlier 1967 version at Disneyland, and Walt Disney World’s original 1971 opening day version.

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 technocrats 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 U.S., 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 California area.

In Tokyo, however, size does matter.

Hershey Dreams – New York Update 2.

Ask any New Yorker if they would recognize the Times Square of now even just fifteen years ago, and the answer is invariably an expletive followed by "no way." This central Manhattan district underwent redevelopment in the mid-nineties, transforming it from a seedy porn theater row into a brandscape powerhouse. Gone are the strippers and dealers—in their place are Mickey and Minnie, Nike and Ruby. The standout thematic attraction of the new Times Square wasn't produced by Disney, however. it's the Hershey Store. Designed by the Brand Integration Group (BIG)—an experiential, intensive laboratory of the global advertising giant Ogilvy and Mather—this remarkable retail space at the corner of 48th and Broadway blends the two extremes of the thematic spectrum—pure simulation and pure brand—into a delightful medley.

A few years back, an article in Fast Company provided the following insights by Brian Collins, executive director of BIG. "if you go into the Hershey Store," explained Collins, "what you have is an opportunity to live the brand in all five senses. music, what it tastes like, what it smells like, what it looks like." BIG's mission was to create a physically branded space that relied on visual storytelling to convey the Hershey brand. "In the case of Hershey, they had incredible mythology around chocolate making that had been hijacked in many people's imaginations. If i asked you to name America's favorite chocolate bar, you'd say Hershey. If i asked you to name the best chocolate factory, you'd say Willy Wonka because of storytelling," reasoned Collins. [emphasis mine]

The space works because the exterior feels suitably organic; it looks as if the Hershey Store itself—rather than just the company—has an actual history spanning decades. Each physical item in the intensive advertising montage on its roofline looks as if it had been added incrementally. This layered history was exactly the effect that Brian Collins and the Brand Integration Group were going for.

“Let’s look at it as architecture, not as a billboard,” Collins told Fast Company. “What would have been here? They would have been here since 1914. First floor, 1910. Second floor, 1930. Third floor, 1940...We’re designing a story...Looking at Times Square and its history, we decided that it’s all about layering. It’s about seeing the past under the present...The fact that they emerged over time meant that we could use the iconography from Times Square,” he noted.

The interior, full of piping and industrial works, followed in a similar vein (though I found it much less impressive).

In this way, the Hershey Store incorporates thematic simulation; an imagined company history of the actual retail space. Although it doesn’t simulate any particular era or locale—like a cowboy apparel outlet might resemble a ghost town from the Old West, or a tropical poolside bar might appear to be an actual island retreat—the store simulates the idea itself of having been at that location for many years, and having endured many alterations and additions over time. It is something I haven’t yet seen—the historical theming of an otherwise non-themed branded space.

Atlantic City – New York Update 1.

My trip to New York City this past May was an interesting experience. I was in town for personal reasons, but thought I'd add on some thematic exploration. Two places immediately came to mind; the Times Square District, and the Las Vegas of the Eastern Seaboard—Atlantic City.

I hopped on a late night bus with my friend Jenn Frank and by the time we arrived in The Garden State at Harrah's, it was nearly 4am. We decided to stay up all night milling around and return to NYC by noon.

Atlantic City has an interesting history; it’s long been a pleasure center for the rich elite; by mid-century, it was a destination for the middle classes as well. More traditional amusement park attractions have been here since the early 1900s, but the legalization of gambling in 1976 brought larger Vegas-style resorts. Many of these are owned by the very same corporations as their Nevada cousins, and many of the same entertainers stop through town. Similar permanent shows call Atlantic City home; in fact due to a Mafia crime wave in the early 1980s, New Jersey was prefered by many over Vegas for years.

The theming is also similar to what you would find in the desert of Nevada—that is, a decent design attempt (with minimal consideration to subtle detailing), yet sub-par when compared to Disney's offerings. We made our way through the Wild west, past Caesars, and out to the boardwalk, where we continued north up to Trump Taj Mahal, then back down again. Like Vegas—and most other casino environments—Atlantic City is a varied cropping of themes; a random visual collage.

What i noticed most about Atlantic City was the incongruity of the ocean. Fantasy worlds succeed best when they have no natural features (read: beauty) to compete with. Las Vegas sits in a desert wasteland; Walt Disney World was built in the middle of a swamp. But Atlantic City stretches along a very pleasant coastline, and as such, the themes of the various casino hotels are almost lackluster in comparison. The bluntness of casino thematic design is difficult enough to suspend disbelief for; next to such competition, it's near impossible.

The Wild West theme suffers the greatest—not only is the ocean prettier, but it shatters the illusion completely to walk out of a ghost town full of prospectors, miners and cowboys to set foot on...a sandy, very eastern, shoreline. What is essentially Martha’s Vineyard next to Caesar's Roman Empire doesn’t do any better.

Good theming—successful immersion—relies a great deal on control. Control of presentation, of perception; of setting, of seclusion. What makes the ocean—literally the ends of the earth—so compelling is the very lack of this control it symbolizes. We humans are creatures of free movement and free will; as such, no matter how compelling the controlled simulation might be, the endless, open, and untamed will almost always seem more fascinating by comparison.

When forced to choose the gambling funhouse and the deep blue of the Atlantic, I must say I favored the ocean. Maybe Atlantic City would have made a greater impression on me isolated and landlocked. Next to such a natural wonder, it just felt shoddy and sad.

Then again, I had been up all night.

Pleasure Island—and The Adventurers Club—to Go the Way of the Dodo.

As has been widely reported in the Disney fan community, from MiceAge to Boing Boing to Re-Imagineering, the Pleasure Island Entertainment District at Walt Disney World, Florida, is closing this fall for a complete overhaul. Disney will be introducing outside-franchise restaurants and bars,  as per the agreement the company already has with the likes of Rainforest Cafe and Planet Hollywood. This means that the half dozen or so uniquely themed bars and nightclubs on the "island" will be closing their doors forever on September 27, 2008.

This is a shame, because as a thematic entertainment and dining venue, Pleasure Island has no equal. unlike Jon Jerde's Universal Citywalk (which has a similar commercial presence), the area was designed with an extremely elaborate backstory; a testament to the thoroughness of the disney design process. The tale is reproduced here from Since the World Began: Walt Disney World's First 25 Years by Jeff Kurtti. The following concept art and text are © Disney Enterprises.

In the late 19th century, an adventuresome Pittsburgh entrepreneur, Merriweather Adam Pleasure, moved to the island and founded a canvas manufacturing and sail fabricating industry. The Florida climate favored his business, and though the merchant sailing industry was in its twilight, pleasure yachting discovered his superior product and his success was made.

The earliest buildings on the island were a wood-burning power generating plant (collapsed and rebuilt in concrete in 1934), the textile mill where high-grade canvas duck was woven, the circular fabrication building where sailmaking was done, and the owner’s residence. During the First World War, the manufacture of military tents required several additions to the mill and fabrication buildings. After the war, the pleasure craft industry expanded and boathouses for yacht outfitting were added. Before the catastrophic decline of the St. John’s aquifer in 1928, yachting clientele were accommodated in a salubrious club. Pleasure commissioned the building after becoming acquainted with the work of the messrs. Sir Edwin Lutyens, Charles Macintosh and Eliel Saarinen during a visit to the Paris Ecole des Beaux Arts.

Demand for the outfitting of luxury watercraft ebbed during the depression, and although financially unscathed in the market crash of 1929, the founder of Pleasure Canvas and Sailmaking, Inc., left the business in the hands of his two sons and embarked on a late-in-life adventure to the far reaches of the earth. Aware of the westering circumnavigations of Irving Johnson and the youthful crews of his Yankee Clipper, Merriweather Pleasure commissioned the yacht Domino (named for his then-favorite pastime), which brilliantly foresaw the awesome J-boat formula. With his daughter Merriam and her second husband, he embarked on a series of eastward ‘round-the-world voyages. They returned from their many expeditions with a vast treasure of adventure and discovery. The trophies eventually overwhelmed Pleasure’s comfortable bermuda-style house, and he built a warehouse to store and catalog them.

In 1937, Pleasure hit upon a novel advancement in amphibious aviation, and became consumed with the development of a secret device. He worked feverishly with a small staff of experts in a mysterious metal building he constructed just offshore in Lake Buena Vista.

The Domino was presumably lost with merriweather, merriam, and all hands, having been reported pitch poled in a howling summer storm while attempting a circumnavigation of Antarctica in December 1941.

With the outbreak of World War II, Henry and Stewart Pleasure’s sail and canvas business boomed, so much so that they added several large prefabricated steel buildings to house their expanded operations. The success continued after the war into the 1950s, sail making and chandlery being augmented by a flying boat service, until Stewart’s poor business decisions and Henry’s lavish lifestyle forced Pleasure Canvas and Sailmaking, Inc., into bankruptcy in 1955. As a note of finality, Hurricane Connie inflicted near-total destruction two weeks before the creditor's sale, ripping the roof and siding off the 1937 amphibian building and leaving the island an unsalable shambles.

Wow. That’s quite a detailed story to support the design of a small collection of bars and dance clubs—and that’s what makes Pleasure Island well, such a pleasure. Each and every square foot is designed to support this backstory, from the architectural mishmash to the layers of aging and weathering, from the wayfinding and graphics to the period-accurate typography. The crown jewel of this impressive district is the Adventurers Club—which is the primary reason the Disney fan community is up in arms over the dismantling of Pleasure Island.

The theme and setting of the Adventurers Club is New Year’s Eve, 1937. The club is a society of explorers and eccentrics from all over the world who have welcomed you, the guest, to partake in their songs and celebrations (replete with humor). They implore you to cheer along with the rallying cry “Kongaloosh!”—the name of the bar’s signature drink. The bar and theater are jam packed with ephemera, antiques and oddities from around the world, presumably collected by the club’s globe-trotting members.

The concept behind the Adventurers Club is “part thematic design, part live theater, part piano bar, part improv club, and part grandpa’s pool room (if gramps was Teddy Roosevelt and wildly eclectic)” in the words of one friend. Brad Beacom accompanied me on my research trip to Walt Disney World last fall—including two stops at the Adventurers Club (that's his back up top in the first photo walking into the club). He goes on to sum up the experience nicely:

"The Adventurers Club is completely unique—there is really nothing else like it. The level of detail is astounding (par for the course in Disney's world) and as a guest you are experiencing the design in a format that allows for infinite contemplation and investigation. Unlike a ride-thru attraction, such as Pirates of the Caribbean or The Haunted Mansion, you play a far more active role in exploring the thematic environment and interacting with both live actors and audio-animatronic elements.

It's a shame that Disney is removing this extremely unique thematic experience. A petition has been established to save the Adventurers Club, and it garnered nearly 3,000 signatures in the first 72 hours it was online, proving that the attraction has made a lasting impression on many visitors to Walt Disney World.