Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world…
-W.B. Yeats, The Second Coming
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| Purple reign |
In a way, Walt Disney may have died at just the right time. Over his years as a public figure, the man went through a number of changes, both personally and professionally (as everyone does, of course.) With his early successes with Mickey Mouse and Snow White he came to be seen as an artistic wunderkind, warmly embraced by Hollywood's elite and the intellectual set. As time went on and Walt Disney Productions came to face failure just as often as prosperity, Walt's worldview slowly soured into something more cynical. He was quick to blame labor issues at the studio on "communist infiltration," a sentiment no doubt nurtured by his growing number of friendships with influential conservatives like Richard Nixon and his cronies. When the studio's films weren't consistently performing well with audiences, Walt turned his attention to Disneyland - something that, unlike film, could be controlled in a much more continuous and "hands-on" manner. From cartoons, to movies, to theme parks, Walt seemed like he was always trying new and more direct ways to assert some kind of control over an uncontrollable world - and a real-life city was the next logical step.
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| Please hold all questions until the end |
And yet during this time, the uncontrollable and unpredictable landscape outside of Disney's interior world was changing rapidly - and Walt's one-time revolutionary mind was not keeping up. While those who thought as Walt did considered his company an American institution, producing traditional, quality family amusements, the rest of the world was increasingly viewing Disney's entertainment machine as a rusted dinosaur, part of the "old guard." The counterculture movement had already come onto the scene by 1966, and hippy "flower power" was about to explode during the "summer of love" the following year (and then just as quickly implode by the end of the decade.) Conversely, with American homes being privy to the daily horrors of war thanks to nightly television broadcasts from Vietnam, Disney's kinder, gentler means of escapism didn't seem to be cutting it any longer. While Walt may have thought a model city of tomorrow could go a long way to solving society's ills, it's hard to judge what elements of America's rapidly-changing society he felt were the ones that needed curing.
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| Soarin' over Saigon |
Many grouse that we could’ve been witness to a better society had Walt’s “city of the future” been there to show us all the way; personally, I believe the truth would’ve been much worse. When Walt died, his E.P.C.O.T. city remained a great "what might have been," a last undelivered gift from a beloved old legend. How different it would’ve been if he'd lived to see the project to it's completion, and to witness it's real impact upon the world. As alluded to in the first of my EPCOT articles, while Walt may have believed he’d hit upon a solution to the “problems of America’s cities,” it’s more likely that the people within those cities would’ve viewed Walt’s great gleaming tower as a joke; a quaint, unwanted, backwards-thinking idea of what the future should look like, ran with unwelcomed assistance by huge, faceless corporations lead by out-of-touch millionaires. It’s a sad thought, but had Walt lived beyond his brief 65 years upon this rapidly-changing Earth, he likely would’ve lived to see his legacy reduced to a laughing stock.
And so the Disney company created what I think was a more sensible alternative to it’s founder’s last big idea - and yet nearly bankrupted itself in doing so. Over the course of more than a decade, from planning to designing to construction (the largest construction project on Earth at the time,) EPCOT Center cost the company as much as $1.4 billion to create - that’s over $3.5 billion today, adjusted for inflation. For a still relatively small corporation that had invested over $330 million just a decade earlier for “Phase 1” of Walt Disney World (and whose underwhelming performances at the box office throughout the 1970s had lost them a considerable amount,) this basically meant that the entire future of their working capital was tied up in this single project.
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| Oh, those work crews - what a bunch of clowns... |
And yes, you read that right: EPCOT Center alone cost nearly three times as much to build as it cost to purchase 47 square miles of central Florida land, design and build canals and flood-control systems to redistribute it’s swamps, create an internal road and freeway system, build miles of monorail beams and trains, the Seven Seas Lagoon, the Fort Wilderness Campground, The Contemporary Resort, the Polynesian Village and The Magic Kingdom. Wow.
The finished EPCOT Center was truly a sight to behold: a vast wonderland of serene gardens, glittering fountains and massive, modernist buildings containing the most advanced theme park attractions in the world. Each pavilion addressed a real-world topic and brought them to vivid life by either bringing them down to a human scale (such as the World of Motion's discussion of transportation history which featured an Animatronic couple driving to a picnic,) or blowing them up to spectacular proportions (as in the Universe of Energy, where a lesson in fossil fuels took riders through a jungle full of dinosaurs, and then into a massive theater for a laser-light show finale.) The central Communicore pavilion introduced many to the world of digital technology for the first time, and gave glimpses into the future of instantaneous telecommunication that we now take for granted.
It’s hard to put it into words, really - there were (and still are) those who simply “got it”; who understood that what was represented at EPCOT Center was more than just simple amusements and fun (not that there wasn’t plenty of fun to go around,) but something greater. At it’s best, EPCOT left these high-minded individuals - both children and adults - excited to know more about the world; it managed to inspire them to actually work toward a better future. Granted, there were many - let’s call them “mouth breathers” - who whined that the park was boring, and that they didn’t come to Disney World to learn stuff. For them, the Magic Kingdom was just a monorail ride away, where they could ride Space Mountain until they got whiplash.
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| This, kids, is called a "print ad" |
Yet it was the massive over-spending on this mammoth monument to mankind that would lead to it’s downfall. From the outside, the investment seemed to be worth it: attendance to both the new park and the rest of the resort increased steadily, with guests extending their vacations now that there were a pair of massive theme parks to explore. Their feedback was mostly positive, especially once the initial setbacks and technical glitches typical of a theme park’s “shakedown” period were worked out. But in the wake of the park’s opening, the company was left indebted, financially unstable and ripe for takeover by corporate raiders. As has been discussed on this blog before, thanks to the intervention of Roy E. Disney the company made it through the ‘80s still intact, with ex-Paramount president Michael Eisner at the helm.
Eisner quickly did a number of very good things for Disney. He almost single-handedly rescued it’s filmmaking divisions from becoming complete write-offs in Hollywood, and turned the company's overall fortunes around. In regards to EPCOT, however, it was clear that Eisner could be counted among those who didn’t “get it.” That his first instructions regarding the park was for the Imagineers to come up with concepts for a “Movie Pavilion” (an idea he was so fond of that he quickly had it expanded into it’s own theme park) is telling, as it’s hard to reconcile a topic like the entertainment industry with EPCOT Center’s “big concepts” like energy and imagination. Under Eisner, EPCOT began to be referred to as Disney’s “Discovery Park” in company literature and brochures, a motto more befitting a local children’s science center than a spectacular park meant to “entertain, inform and inspire” (as is noted on it’s dedication plaque.)
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| Just begun to dream |
There was something else happening around the same time that forecast dark clouds over EPCOT Center’s sunny skies. While the rise of counterculture in the ‘60s would’ve made Walt’s E.P.C.O.T. an outmoded endeavor, the change from city to a forward-looking theme park couldn’t have come at a more appropriate time. Following the nightmare of Vietnam and the sucker-punch that was Watergate, the US was allowed to breathe a sigh of relief with the national celebrations focused around the bicentennial. As the 1980s dawned, the country seemed like it was ready to put a more positive spin on it’s future once again. With such unifying events as the pop-culture phenomenon of Star Wars and (as much as I hate to say it) the rise to power of “hooray for our side” president Ronald Reagan, the idea of futurism seemed to be on it’s way back into the collective consciousness. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t last.
It’s not something that anyone would’ve recognized at the time, but in 1982 America was presented with two different and distinct pop-culture visions of it’s own future: one was EPCOT Center, the other was Blade Runner. At the time, the “winner” of this ideological tug-of-war seemed clear, as EPCOT Center drew plaudits and crowds while Blade Runner tanked at the box office. However, as the decade passed more and more praise and attention began to be paid to Ridley Scott’s film, and it’s bleak vision of a dark, unappealing near-future came to influence a number of other works of popular art. This was concurrent with an alarmingly rapid turn toward cynicism as the ‘90s sighed into existence. It almost felt as if the upbeat energy of the ‘80s had shown itself to be more facade than fact, and America faced the turn of the new century with a shrug and a “well, now what?” Postmodernism, snark and mistrust of authority became the rules of the day, which stood in stark contrast to EPCOT Center’s corporate-fueled positivity; dreams of “Mars high school” gave way to cyberpunk. After being open for only a decade, EPCOT Center was already in danger of becoming a relic.
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| Deckard attempts to decipher his guide map at The Electric Umbrella |
Looking back now with knowledge of the decades which followed, Disney’s best bet to deal with their “EPCOT problem” probably would’ve been to let the park quietly keep it’s head down, lightly updating a few attractions and adding new ones along the way. I say this as it seems the park as originally built would’ve been “rediscovered” and reevaluated by a more open-minded post-Gen X crowd (would this be millennials?) who just may have recognized it as a modern classic. Unfortunately, Disney did just the opposite.
Bowing to the vaguely-defined pessimism of the era (and the "mouth breathing" minority whining for less intellectual distractions,) between 1994 and 2000 Disney altered, renovated, gutted or destroyed most of EPCOT Center’s classic attractions - some of which were barely a decade old. Imagine if, within the span of a few years, Disneyland had The Jungle Cruise, Pirates of the Caribbean, the Haunted Mansion, Splash Mountain and Space Mountain all removed and replaced with new or heavily-altered attractions. Seems improbable, right? And yet this is precisely what was done to EPCOT Center, the difference being that it was still a young enough park that it’s signature attractions were unfortunately not yet recognized as “untouchable” classics.
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| Simple, elegant. (Photo courtesy Yesterland.com) |
Throughout the park, the originally unified design philosophy was soon thrown out the window. The Imagineers who’d designed the place had been very conscious of building a harmonious environment, with complimentary color schemes, unified fonts across all attractions and buildings, and leaving enough open "spaces to breathe" between the park’s bold pavilions. With the coming of the ‘90s, however, each new attraction was handled by a different team of young Imagineers eager to prove themselves, and little attention was paid to the why of what had come before. Colors became garish, new signs and random "shade structures" were bolted onto the once deceptively simple pavilion buildings, and dozens of new merchandise and snack carts came to be scattered along the once uncluttered walkways. The iconic Spaceship Earth was even bedazzled for nearly a decade by a massive, cartoonish Mickey Mouse arm/magic-wand combination (following it's initial installation as a millennium celebration decoration.)
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| What. The. Fuck. |
To add further insult to injury, it was also at this time that Eisner’s Disney decided that the park’s name was too old-hat, and so after losing it’s heart, EPCOT was stripped of it’s Center. The most mind-boggling (and embarrassing) part of this was that the initial new name chosen for the park was (wait for it …) Epcot ‘94. Yep, in 1994 all of the park’s signage, guide maps, merchandise, and all of the road signs and bus stops on Walt Disney World property were updated to reflect EPCOT’s new “NOW!” name. The marketing geniuses that came up with this must’ve been in for quite the shock when January rolled around, and suddenly it was 1995! So once again everything needed to be updated, and the park was re-re-christened - yeah, that’s right - Epcot ‘95. Someone must’ve finally realized the futility of this plan, for by the end of the year the park was finally re-re-re-christened Epcot. The name of the place was now just that - a name, a made-up word with no pretense of standing for “Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow,” signifying nothing. Epcot had finally become just another theme park - a collection of amusements without a center.
To see how high the wave crested before it came crashing down, there’s no better case-study than the sad ballad of Horizons. Planned as an opening day attraction but, like Journey Into Imagination, it’s massive and complex ride systems were nowhere near ready in time, and so it opened in October of 1983 (exactly one year after the park had.) Horizons sat on the park’s east side, between the Universe of Energy and General Motor’s World of Motion, looking like some giant jewel or angular spacecraft that had just landed. A spiritual successor to Walt’s Carousel of Progress, the General Electric-sponsored pavilion contained only one massive attraction, which suspended riders over a number of detailed sets populated by Animatronic figures, as well as through giant “Omnimax” film-screen tunnels that gave the impression of flight. Horizons pulled together all of the various themes of EPCOT Center into one grand exploration of a promising future. Guests followed several generations of a family as they traveled (or telecommuted) from their homes in a futuristic city, a technologically advanced farm, and an underwater lab to their youngest relative’s birthday party on an orbiting space station. At the ride’s conclusion, each ride vehicle was given a choice of which terrain they would like to traverse on their way “back to the 20th century” (space, underwater, or a desert colony,) in a minor precursor to Disney’s “Soarin’” attractions. A big hit with guests and within the amusement industry, many considered Horizons to be the greatest (non-thrill ride) theme park attraction ever created, surpassing even Disneylands’s original Pirates of the Caribbean for artistic endeavor and thematic unity. As a matter of fact, it was from Horizons that the world was blessed with the oft-quoted “motivational phrase” - often erroneously attributed to Walt Disney himself - “If we can dream it, we can do it.” The crowning achievement of the park's mission statement to “entertain, inform, and inspire,” Horizons was truly the shining light at EPCOT’s center.
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| Horizons - all shining and new ... |
By the early 1990s, however, Disney seemingly had Horizons closed more often than it was open. When GE chose not to renew their sponsorship of the ride in 1993, it quickly began to show signs of disrepair - as if Disney couldn’t be bothered to replace broken-down Animatronics or missing ceiling tiles if another company wasn’t helping foot the bill. In December of 1994, the attraction was suddenly shuttered - barely a decade after it’s grand opening. Then just as suddenly, to compensate for the extended closures of both Universe of Energy and World of Motion, Disney re-opened Horizons at the end of 1995. The attraction, by now in a sorry state, chugged along, uncared for, for a further four years before it was unceremoniously closed for good at the end of 1999. As the new millennium dawned, the pavilion all about the future was completely demolished. To this day, no one seems completely certain what led to the decision to suddenly axe the beloved attraction - cost-cutting after GE pulled it’s sponsorship is likely a big reason, as is the rumor that a sinkhole developed under part of it’s foundation. Disney, at one point, claimed they needed to build an even larger structure to house the ride’s replacement, space-training simulator Mission: SPACE. However, when the new attraction opened in 2003, it was housed within a significantly smaller (and visually less interesting) building than Horizons had been. Mission: SPACE’s centrifuge-based experience has since gone on to send more people to local hospitals complaining of nausea and chest-pains than any other attraction in Orlando, and is probably best known for seeing two of it’s riders die from pre-existing conditions after riding in 2005 and 2006.
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| The end of the future |
Since the turn of the century EPCOT has more or less coasted along with a hodgepodge of attractions and experiences that sometimes make attempts at the old “edutainment” mantra. But the focused futurist unity of EPCOT Center is long gone. More often than not it seems as though Disney has to hide or sneak in any educational material it tries to introduce to it’s increasingly dumbed-down audience, like a wary parent blending vegetables into a picky child’s marinara. More and more, attractions are being changed-out for ones based on Disney’s successful film franchises - the Living Seas pavilion is now The Seas with Nemo and Friends, Norway’s eccentric Maelstrom attraction was replaced by Frozen Ever After, and just recently the venerable Universe of Energy (which had itself already been extensively refurbished into “Ellen’s Energy Adventure” in 1996, featuring Ellen DeGeneres and Bill Nye "The Science Guy" - it didn’t age well) was shuttered for good to make way for a Guardians of the Galaxy-themed roller coaster. Thought provoking inspiration begot snarky self-referentiality begot vacuous synergy.
Disney states that massive changes are on the way for Future World in the coming decade, ones they promise will remain “true to the spirit of EPCOT’s roots.” The increasingly disillusioned part of me is quick to think “bullshit” - Disney nowadays is quick to offer such empty platitudes while they shill overpriced merchandise with “retro” EPCOT Center logos slapped on. I half expect the entirety of Future World to be re-branded as “Marvel’s Iron Man: Stark Expo” or some crap like that.
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| Things to come? |
And yet, overall, I remain hopeful - perhaps naively so. No real fan of EPCOT can call themselves such without having a healthy stable of optimism stored somewhere deep inside. And, in spite of my bitter ramblings, the EPCOT of today remains a unique and fulfilling place to visit. The World Showcase, while typically infested with stumbling drunk “vacation-liberated” soccer Moms after nightfall, remains much as it did in the ‘80s, as the Imagineers' ability to create scaled-down versions of real-world destinations turned out to be their greatest and most timeless skill. Just as it was at the beginning, dining and shopping continue to be important aspects of the World Showcase experience; besides having the highest concentration of varied and interesting restaurants on property, it also features the most unique collection of “anti-gift shops” to be found in central Florida.
In Future World, meanwhile, some of the worst offenses from the ‘90s have been altered or softened somewhat. Journey Into Imagination’s short lived replacement (the “cleverly” titled Journey Into YOUR Imagination,) which did away with all whimsy and suggested that riders had no imagination whatsoever, was revamped to reintroduce Figment after massive fan backlash (though Dreamfinder is still long gone.) Though an improvement, the ride is currently in dire need of a better, more permanent replacement. Over in The Land pavilion, the peppy Kitchen Kabaret was replaced in the ‘90s by the obnoxious song parody-heavy Food Rocks; this show was thankfully removed, and in it’s place now sits the queue for Soarin’ (a California Adventure import that was added in 2005,) which was itself updated just last year into Soarin’ Around the World. While it’s addition to the agricultural-themed pavilion makes little sense, there’s no denying that it’s a magnificent attraction. And even Test Track, GM’s thrill-ride replacement for the World of Motion (which opened in 1999, after a much-delayed refurbishment of over 3 years,) which originally featured the glamorous and magical experience of careening around in a test-dummy car, was re-done in 2012 to deliver a “computerized” TRON-like experience; a better fit for Future Word, at least aesthetically.
Above all, what persists in being most striking about EPCOT - and a source of much thought and inspiration - is it’s composition and architecture. While Disney may have tried to distract guests from WED Enterprises’ sleek and monumental design choices with extraneous add-on details, ugly signage and an over-abundance of merchandising carts, the impressive scale of the pavilions and the way each one speaks to the theme within remains brilliant. EPCOT’s layout is still the most thoughtfully-considered of all Disney’s theme parks, extrapolating Disneyland’s “hub and spoke” design into a complex double-hub. And the rolling lawns and lovely gardens that still exist in the park continue to offer a thoughtful serenity rarely found in theme parks today. Summed up best in a quote from blogger FoxxFur (in a 2007 post from her blog, Passport To Dreams Old & New): “EPCOT’s design is too strong to be overshadowed by a gaudy bandstand ringed in pink neon ... no matter how hard you try, you can take EPCOT out of 1982, but you can’t take 1982 out of EPCOT.”
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| Reflections of (Spaceship) earth |
Over the past decade, pop-culture’s cynical edge has dulled into a weary mess of flash-in-the-pan social media fads. Science, like far too many realities in recent years, has astoundingly been politicized; if you dare bring up climate change you’re automatically accused of pushing a specific liberal agenda. Attempts to modernize American industry or create new, more socially and environmentally responsible technologies leads to accusations of “killing jobs.” Middle America has grown an exasperating tendency to move backward as quickly as possible in this regard, as if a nation full of blacksmiths is suddenly demanding to halt the proliferation of the automobile in order to keep their industry growing, rather than learning a new trade. After a brief reprise of social positivism during the early years of the Obama administration, our cultural spirit of hope has come crashing down; the continuing national nightmare of Trumpism having nurtured a growing revolt against decency and fact, as well as emboldening a startling number of reprehensible hate groups. Much like in 1982, as the Cold War was heating back up, a divided world lives with the specter of escalating nuclear tensions. Our dreams of progress have been revealed as mere delusion, and the chaos society finds itself in has, far too late, made it sickeningly obvious just how truly fucked we are as a culture.
Perhaps, if things get much worse, the human race will realize that it collectively needs something to strive for. As lame as it sounds, the world may never have needed the wondrous future promised by EPCOT Center as much as it does now.
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