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-notch, 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 this project. 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.”
A hive of pursuit. 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 loses 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 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 at Tokyo DisneySea which I posted about earlier. 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'm 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 it's 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 (much like the actual television set dials of the times). In this way the themes do not unfold haphazardly—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 Equatorial 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.