The Most Vile, Unredeeming Hotels Ever Built—Ever!

Early concept drawing for the Dolphin
(c) Disney

The Swan and Dolphin Resorts at Walt Disney World. For a couple of chain hotels, there’s certainly been a great deal written about these buildings.

Back in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s, when Disney was on an expansion bender, the Swan and Dolphin were emblematic of the new way things were being done at the Mouse House. Michael Eisner and Frank Wells were on a mission. For six decades, Walt Disney Productions accumulated an amazing array of assets and then, inexplicably, allowed them to sit fallow. The new team was here to leverage those assets, pronto.

At Walt Disney World, that meant exploiting the thing they had plenty of: LAND! Disney had plans for that land and was building like mad. The goal was to keep its current customers longer and to attract a new clientele—all while wringing visitors’ pocketbooks tighter than ever before. An explosion of new hotel rooms was just beginning. It was a key part of the new regime’s money-grab strategy.

Of course, the description above is pretty snarky, if not downright cynical. It also isn’t fair. Because, in spite of the ugly way Michael Eisner’s time at Disney ended, there really was a lot of finesse to his expansion program. In the case of the Swan and Dolphin, that finesse came in two main forms.

The first is the most conspicuous: the architecture of the Swan and Dolphin.
Unlike previous large scale hotels like the Polynesian Village or even the Contemporary—both of which plopped guests into hyper-realized fantasy locales in much the same way as the Magic Kingdom’s themed lands—The Swan and Dolphin refused a representational thematic approach. They also are not the “glass and brass” buildings found across from the Orange County Convention Center and throughout the United States (it’s worth noting that fact, as Tishman Realty’s original contract with Disney allowed them to build that sort of uninspired hotel structure as part of this development).

Instead, Eisner set himself on a hiring-spree, engaging the services of so many high profile “starchitects” that his mania warranted an article in a 1991 issue of Time Magazine. For these new Florida hotels, Eisner chose an architect who was fresh off a previous Disney commission, Michael Graves.

Model of The Walt Disney Company corporate
headquarters in Burbank

Graves and his team conceived the Swan and Dolphin storyline* and custom-designed everything, down to the detail of the hotels’ carpet patterns and the plates used in restaurants throughout the complex. The end result was strikingly different to anything that had ever come out of Disney before. It had a different scale and a lavish attention to detail. And it had the gravitas of being praised by architecture critics—something unusual for a company whose very name was often used as a prejorative among the Inteligencia.

Graves's designs for room furnishings in the hotels
(c) Disney

The second bit of finesse Eisner employed with the Swan and Dolphin is only slightly less apparent, but far more impactful: the hotels’ siting on Disney property and the subsequent development of this new expansion area.

When Walt Disney World debuted in 1971, it featured a Disneyland-style theme park buried deep within the Central Florida wilderness. This Magic Kingdom anchored a sprawling Seven Seas Lagoon that featured two large hotels, each one serving Disney’s guests and framing the Walt Disney World experience. This was Phase One, a world of its own, seemingly-complete, right down to the white sand beaches, man-made waves, and monorail-themed cocktails.

Flash forward eleven years later to the opening of EPCOT Center. For the billion dollars spent to create this massive project, absent was the peripheral development found along Phase One’s lagoon. For the entirety of the 1980’s, EPCOT Center, the harbinger of the world of tomorrow, stood alone in its swamp, miles distant from the Hawaiian luaus, buzzing watercraft, and hotel rooms that surrounded the Magic Kingdom and meant money in the bank for Disney.

The Eisner and Wells team wasn’t the first to acknowledge this omission and propose a remedy. Disney’s previous chairman, Ray Watson, had approved the Tishman Realty deal with the same objective in mind. But the new team’s approach was bold in the same way Graves’ aesthetic was bold. The location of the project would change. As Joe Flower noted in his Eisner biography Prince of the Magic Kingdom, the new hotels would be placed at the physical center of the WDW property, its “center of gravity.” Which nestled it in between EPCOT Center’s World Showcase and the then-under construction Disney-MGM Studios.

When it opened, this new development—anchored to its south by The Swan and Dolphin and their shared Crescent Lake—transformed the EPCOT Center experience. No longer was the park some hard-to-access offshoot that committed guests to travel by automobile, bus, or a convoluted monorail exchange just to experience its offerings. In fact, EPCOT Center was in many ways now the most accessible park for the guests staying at the Swan and Dolphin. You could get to the park by a Friendship launch, or a tram, or even by foot. And you’d enter through an exclusive backdoor, cleverly positioned near the park’s many acclaimed restaurants.

Even more importantly, the entire Walt Disney World property was transformed by this new development. As the Yacht and Beach Club hotels and, later, the Boardwalk Inn opened as part of the same area, the Florida resort now had two bustling mixed use centers, each with its own unique attitude and offerings, and potential for growth. With the Swan and Dolphin’s enormous convention facilities and the unique EPCOT Center tendency to attract adults, Disney imagined building a second nighttime entertainment facility in the area, similar to Pleasure Island.

Satellite view of the Swan and Dolphin Resort and the Crescent Lake development

that today connects Epcot and Disney's Hollywood Studios.

It was all so good. And it was successful to boot, attracting guests and keeping them at Disney just as intended. So why then the title of this article? Why are these the most vile, unredeeming hotels ever built—ever?

If you’ve read this far, you already know the answer. Because, for many Disney fans, these hotels represent a cardinal sin, an offense to a key tenet of the Walt Disney Methodology for Creating Entertainment Spaces. The Swan and Dolphin are distractions. They violate the rhythm, landscape, and illusion of EPCOT’s World Showcase. They are visual intrusions.

It’s pretty easy to find fault with the Swan and Dolphin, looming as they do over World Showcase’s southwestern attractions. There is no sense to it, no logic that explains why a stylized pyramid and a colossal gang of classically-inspired (but oddly cartoonified) water creatures would occupy the same horizon line with hyper-realized replicas of real-world landmarks. Japan’s castle, Morocco’s minarets, and even Eiffel’s Tower are all made diminutive, living like doll houses under the shadow of these post modern monstrosities.

It’s a collision between two worlds that do not belong together and it should never have happened. Themed spaces should be kept singular and uninterrupted by competing elements. Visual intrusions shouldn't exist in a well-designed themed attraction.

Actually, I don’t believe that. In fact, I think that reaction is far too prevalent in contemporary theme park design, especially at Disney. And I think it sucks.

Stay tuned for Part 2 and I’ll explain why…


*Werner Weiss unfolds the premise behind The Swan and Dolphin’s design in a wonderful article that reveals the truth behind one of my favorite WDW urban legends AND has a picture of a helicopter!

Million Dollar Spud

Just back from a ridiculously-long vacation to the sunshine state and the Vacation Kingdom of the World. While there, we made sure to visit Toy Story/Midway Mania ride at Disney's MGM Hollywood Studios Theme Park. More about the ride below. This entry begins with a recounting of our second visit to this attraction.

Anyway, we took the Standby line which was posted at 65 minutes but was chucking along so quick, it seemed like our wait would be maybe half that. Of course, the idiot who thinks that way jinxes himself. And sure enough, the line just stopped.

I used this time to take in the queue (nothing really special, big toys on a thin budget) and the much-lauded Tater Head animatronic (NOT visible to Fastpassers). So we stood watching the Potato. Pretty soon, he started acting weird. He'd freeze. Then he'd hit the wall. He took his ear out (nice). When he went to shove it back in, he kind of just lobbed it onto the floor (ooops!).

Below is a suboptimal, blurry shot of the unfortunate Cast Member who had to walk the gauntlet of grumbling Standby guests so he could replace the giant spud-ear using a highly-themed aluminum stepladder.

(Seriously, I'm totally embarrassed at the quality of this shot.)

"Hurry up, ya hockey puck! Bob Iger spent more on my nose than you'll make in a lifetime!"

Tater Head continued to sputter and whirr as we stood in place for 90 minutes. Once, he went haywire when an irritable guest used an emergency exit near the spud...seemed like some proximity sensor killed the show.

Panic Bar versus Tater Head. Panic Bar WINS!

Eventually though, we did ride (after a 130 minute wait...STOOPID Fastpass). And it is a very well done attraction. Insanely addictive.

THE FUNMEISTER IS DEAD!

LONG LIVE THE FUNMEISTER!





I can't figure out whether I should be sad or resigned to the idea that Pleasure Island wil officially be shuttered this September. The memories of great times are there, but it has been way too much work to pretend that PI was fun for, oh, maybe the last decade. Seriously, how many times can you sit through the same show at Adventurers Club and pretend the old yarns are still funny, or even interesting?

What I do mourn is the fact that Pleasure Island never lived up to its potential and now never will. There was always this nugget inside me that hoped the Mouse would someday see that PI could be "grown up" and still every bit as rich and fanciful as the best Disney attraction.

Instead we say goodnight to Merriweather Adam Pleasure, his idiot sons, the canvas factory, the pigeons from Sandusky, and the Balderdash Awards. We loved you when you were young. But we'd rather see you dead than have you living as some gibbering, drooling old fart.

How Does This Make Any Sense???

If you think this makes no sense, try piecing together Jim Hill's most recent story.

Ask me six or seven years ago and I would've told you that Jim Hill was my favorite Disnoid-writer in the whole wide Interweb. For reasons we won't bother with here, that changed, but I've always believed Jim was one of the gang--a Disney geek with enough of a head on his shoulders to be skeptical when required. If anything, I thought the guy was getting to be a little too rough on the Mouse following the Pixar purchase a couple of years back.

But then, what the heck is this story Jim "broke" on Friday?

Jim's purportedly got the inside scoop on WDW's 5th gate, whimsically referred to as Disney's Night Kingdom or DNK . And maybe he does--I'm not suggesting he's making things up. But look at what he's describing. First off, the title suggests that the Mouse is set "to reimagine the Disney-theme-park-going experience." And maybe the key word to appreciate in that phrase is the "Disney" modifier, because Jim then goes on to explain that this park is really just aping Sea World's Discovery Cove.

Read the specific experiences Hill is listing: rock climbing, spelunking, frolicing with penguins, zip lining over crocodiles, and--OH YEAH--eating gourmet meals and watching state-of-the-art stage shows. Huh? Jim's article just gives that randomness a pass.

But I think this is my favorite part of the whole story:

"I know, I know. A lot of you may have trouble wrapping your heads around a Disney theme park that's as distinctly different as DNK is going to be."

Yes, I am sure it is all the reader's fault, not being able to make sense out of this Frankensteined mess that's been described. Just as it was guests' fault for not appreciating the masterpiece that was Disney's California Adventure on opening day. At least the marketing department will be there to show us the way!

(deleted)

Who knows, if Disney decides to cook up this stew, they may just pull it off. But this is the same company that:

1. took nearly a decade to convince guests that a $750 million zoo was worth a visit.
2. is throwing in the towel and an extra billion dollars to pull DCA out of the ashes.
3. routinely scares guests with its Year of a Million Dreams-scheme.
4. marketed the Disney Institute big-time and then quietly euthanized it due to lack of interest.

Jim thinks the big question is whether his readers will shell out $250-$300 to visit this thing he's outlined. Yeah...THAT'S the big question alright.

For my part, I wonder what the heart of the place is, what's the big idea? Swimming with dolphins I get--it's what every kid who goes to Sea World dreams of...doing that in an island setting has a romance to it. But what is this "Night Kingdom?" It sounds like a downtown version of Medieval Times.

If Jim wants to ask his audience questions, how about asking what everyone thinks about Disney swiping a successful operating model from another park down the street?

Or, if Jim is really interested in how this park and your billfold might interact, how about finding out whether guests would prefer to spend their $300 bucks on "Night Kingdom" or Discovery Cove?

I firmly believe that mixing up the theme park model is necessary and that Discovery Cove is an indicator of what bold moves and great ideas--when paired together--can yield. There are so many more opportunities out there...especially when capacity can get dialed down. I sincerely hope Disney has that great new attraction in their grasp. If they do, Jim Hill's story did nothing to promote it.