I’ve been home for a week now, and I’ve been going through my copious notes reflecting on my time spent at Disneyland Paris. Most observations align quite well with what I’ve seen elsewhere. Successful thematic design—like architecture or graphic design—is remarkably consistent. Similar grammar, techniques, thinking, etc. What works, works. And on that same note, what doesn’t work (see my earlier post on the Walt Disney Studios park) just doesn’t.
Altogether, the Disneyland Paris park is the most remarkable example of thematic design I have seen in my research thus far. Tokyo DisneySea, which I visited once in 2003, is definitely on par, but I was looking at it back then through the eyes of a tourist and not a critic. When I return to Japan for research in June, it will be interesting to give it a second, serious pass (and in direct comparison to the Paris park). Again, much of this is owed to the fact that the Disney organization felt compelled to top themselves in order to win European audiences. And top themselves they did.
In going back through my field journals, I have highlighted some specific observations. I will discuss two of them here. First of all, transition zones. All Disney parks are composed of multiple thematic environments, usually delineated by ‘lands’ or sub-lands. When two or more themes bump into each other, there are specific design challenges as to how guests experience the transition in between. Above all, it cannot be jarring. Any cause for pause can disrupt the illusion and the guest’s place in the story. Beginning with the original Disneyland park, the designers have paid special attention to these areas.
For example, a building between two lands shares a roofline, evenly split down the apex from one side to the other, or the style of pavement morphs from brick to cobblestone.
The most remarkable such transition I’ve seen was pointed out to me by Gabor, my private tour guide, on our two-hour stroll through the Paris park. Take a careful look at these next two pictures—the first being Adventureland and the second, Fantasyland.
The two lands are separated by a small covered bridge. All of the bodies of water are connected, underground or otherwise. So on the Adventureland side, the theme is tropical paradise. The waterways are rough and rocky, with many flowing streams and rapids. The foliage is wild and overgrown.
The Fantasyland side is extremely groomed in the orderly nature of an English garden; it is a medieval fantasy theme, yet of a very particular type—the complete opposite of its neighbor, essentially. The Disney designers have used this covered bridge as the barrier between the two themes. So the moment you cross over, the very same moving body of water transforms, almost by way of magic, from the wilds of the tropics to the tame serenity of a classic European estate. Maintaining proper transition zones is essential to preserving the illusion of multiple themes integrated within the same environment. What Las Vegas often does poorly, for example, (by way of multiple owners and a varied development model) Disney produces very, very well (by exercising complete creative control).
Second among these journal notes pertains to the Disney Village retail and dining complex, designed by renowned contemporary architect Frank Gehry. It’s not that the environment (or rather, environments) is poorly designed—in fact, as to form and function, it succeeds both aesthetically and commercially. However, Disney Village was very revealing in how the two extremes of my thematic vector—pure brand and pure simulation—interact.
Disney Village sits more on the brandscape side of things; this stylistic row of shops and restaurants is much more akin to Jon Gerde’s Universal Citywalk than Disney’s park next door (which is more pure simulation). In addition to the retail spaces enclosed in Gehry’s rather avant garde structure, the space includes a number of what I would call ‘traditional’ thematic venues:
- Annette’s Diner – An American burger joint in the 50s nostalgia theme
- Rainforest Café – A popular chain in the tropical paradise theme
- Planet Hollywood – one of the last remaining locations of the ailing, bankrupt chain, themed in Hollywood memorabilia
- King Ludwig’s Castle – A german steak, sausage and beer restaurant in the medieval fantasy theme
- Billy Bob’s – A restaurant, saloon and music venue in the wild west theme
- Hurricanes – An all-night dance club in the tropical paradise theme
- The Steakhouse – a restaurant in the Wild West theme, but more of the Great Plains and Chicago than the far West
Standing alone, the Disney Village does an excellent job as an upscale, varied shopping and dining complex. It is a perfect brandscape in the Jerde tradition. However, next to the pure simulation of Disneyland Paris (and, to an extent, the Walt Disney Studios) it falls flat. I think that brandscapes in direct comparison to ‘traditional’ thematic spaces create an uncomfortable juxtaposition—one that derides both formats. Each style of thematic environment operates on different assumptions, and asks different things of their audiences. In designing Universal Citywalk, Jon Jerde specifically stated that he wanted to avoid pure simulation in the Disney vein, and instead present a collage pastiche of inflated iconography. His Citywalk reads like a daydream of Los Angeles; the design hints at much, yet resists referencing anything specific. Disney Village was conceptualized on very similar terms.
On the contrary, the Disney vision of pure simulation (again, what I call ‘traditional’ theming) thrives on the specificity of its design references. The Disneyland park model is a holistic design concept that envelops the guest in the narrative, using cinematic cues to construct a tightly controlled (and thus a very heightened) experience.
The Disney Village in contrast presents itself to the viewer much as a traditional architectural program does—one is not enveloped or involved, rather one is forced to respond in a subject/object relationship.
As a result, to stroll from one to the other is jarring, and raises the kind of awareness that removes the guest from the illusion that theming is trying to convey. Disneyland park looks too cute, too kiddy, not serious enough, next to Gehry’s architecture.
And Disney Village, in turn, looks like a stern taskmaster in the face of Disney’s openness and gaiety. Designers of thematic environments would do well to separate the two—within the same user experience they both lose their luster.
Anywho that’s it for now on Disneyland Paris. Next stop is Dubai.