Okay. Let’s begin our pre-flight check:
Massively hyped new high-tech thrill attraction? Check.
Budget-limited underthemed queue line? Check.
Repeated apocalyptic safety warnings? Check.
Scientifically calibrated Jagermeister hangover? Check.
We have liftoff!
As the launch sequence of “Mission: Space” begins, you’re likely to think to yourself “hey, this isn’t so bad.” The initial acceleration is surprisingly gentle. If you are expecting an Incredible Hulk-like kick in the seat of the pants, you may at first find yourself wondering where the thrill is. But in a few seconds all such thoughts will be erased as you are gradually pinned to your seat by the mounting G-forces.
Here’s how to simulate the Mission: Space experience at home:
1) Find a cheap motel with a vibrating “magic fingers” bed.
2) Throw in some quarters and lie down flat on your back.
3) Have a large person (approx. 3 times your weight) slowly lie on your chest.
By the time the ride reaches full launch velocity, you will be the proud recipient of an instant facelift. The sensation of your skin being pulled tauter than Katherine Helmond’s in “Brazil” is unique and quite enjoyable. You will also feel the pressure in your throat and chest, and may briefly have difficulty swallowing. It is not, however, the “pit of your stomach” feeling that causes many people discomfort on roller coasters and freefall rides.
Despite my lingering hangover, I was suffering no real discomfort during the launch. No matter how many times I ride, this sequence remains a genuine rush. You get a sense of immense power and velocity without the violent shaking or spinning that comes with most thrill rides. The radius of the centrifuge is relatively large, and as the capsule is enclosed, so you have no external point of reference. Therefore, as long as you stay seated with your head back, you have no awareness that you are spinning.
At this point, I decided to push my science experiment to its logical conclusion. Even in my debilitated state, I was suffering no ill effects from the ride. But what if I ignored the safety instructions that they’d drilled into our heads? Was I truly willing to risk my life and health (and the clothing of my crewmates) in the name of science? You betcha!
Kids, don’t try this at home.
Do it at a friend’s house.
As the launch acceleration reached its peak, I lifted my head from the headrest. I leaned as far forward as the restraints would allow. And I swung my head from left to right, looking from side to side. Repeatedly. Exactly the way they tell you not to.
For a brief moment, this was almost a very bad idea. Tilting your head seems to make your inner ear instantly aware of the ride’s spinning. The sensation you experience doing this is immediate and powerful vertigo. Imagine sticking your head out the window of a speeding car, or leaning over the edge of a tall building. It’s a dizzying and disorienting experience. But it is not the thrill-ride equivalent of sticking your finger down your throat. I managed to lean back into my seat without doing the Technicolor yawn, and as soon as I did the vertigo disappeared.
As the blue sky beyond the cockpit dissolves into the blackness of space, you transition into the “zero-G” portion of the ride. For me, this is the most intriguing and most disappointing moment in the ride. Roller-coaster junkies know that high-G inversions and hairpins are fun, but airtime is life. We thrill for that brief moment of weightlessness you get cresting a hill. Rides like “Tower of Terror” and “Doctor Doom’s Fearfall” focus on giving us as much space between our butt and the seat as possible.
“Mission: Space” promised to raise the bar on airtime by giving us a few moments of “simulated” deep-space weightlessness. Instead, we get a bit of a cheat. What happens is that the centrifuge rapidly decelerates as the launch sequence ends. The massive pressure pinning you to your seat is released, and inertia pulls you slightly forward against the restraints. The psychological effect of this deceleration is a brief instant of a floating feeling. However, there is no genuine airtime, as your rear remains firmly attached to your seat. Perhaps if the cabin had been designed to invert you would get a truer sensation of weightlessness. I’m sure that would raise the upchuck factor by a power of 10, so we’ll just have to make do with what we get.
The moment of pseudo-zero-G is followed by the slingshot around the moon, which is nearly as intense as the launch. Then comes “hypersleep,” which is simply few seconds of quiet and darkness. Hypersleep is broken by sirens and flashing lights alerting you to an asteroid field. As the centrifuge accelerates the cabin pitches and rolls to simulate your ship swerving among the rocks. This sequence is about as dynamic as Star Tours, with the addition of G-forces less powerful than the launch. The movement, like everything in the ride, is smooth and well coordinated to the video. It is certainly less taxing than “Back to the Future” or “Body Wars.”
In the interest of scientific completeness, I repeated my head-leaning experiment during all the high-intensity segments of the ride. Again, you get a brief head-rush, but nothing as nauseating as the warnings might suggest. Try as I might, I was unable to give myself anything worse than a short spell of dizziness.
I should note that throughout the ride you will be asked to participate in the ride’s “interactive” feature. Each crewmember will have two tasks to perform. One of the two lights in front of you will light up, and Gary will tell you to push the button. If you do, there will be a brief sound effect. If not, a computer voice will announce a “computer override.” Either way, there will be absolutely no effect on your ride or its ending. You will get no particular praise or condemnation based on your performance. Every mission is successful, even if you deliberately fail in your button pushing. There isn’t even a score provided so that you can judge how well you did.
The final section of the ride begins with the decent into Mars’ atmosphere, similar to the launch and slingshot, followed by a gently swooping ride through the canals. Again, the movement is smoother and less jarring than most simulators. During this segment, you will be asked to grab the vibrating joystick (is that appropriate for a Disney ride?) and follow Gary’s instructions (“Left! Left! Pull up! Pull up!) Like the buttons, there is no punishment or reward for playing with your stick (yeah, that sounds pretty bad too). In fact, I’ve grown fond of pulling the stick in the opposite direction, just to see if I can cause a crash. No luck yet.
The ride ends in an all-too-familiar “near miss,” much like “Star Tours” and “Back to the Future.” You get a round of applause from Gary and his mission control cohorts. He invites you to proceed to the “advanced training lab,” and the screens slide back and the restraints release. Guests stumble out of their capsules and are herded down an unglamorous corridor towards the postshow area.
So, I survived. I determined, based on my non-double-blind single-sample experiment, that it is possible to ride “Mission: Space” while hung over without losing your lunch. The only close call came when I lifted my head from the headrest, and that discomfort was short-lived. My headache and stiff joints were still there, but the adrenaline rush of the ride was quite invigorating. Rather than feeling sick, I was ready to go another round.
At this point I conducted an unrepresentative, unscientific survey. Basically, I bugged every person coming off the ride to tell me how he or she felt. Reactions ranged from delight and enthusiasm to mild shakiness. Pre-teen kids seems the most excited, many bouncing up and down asking to go again. Their middle-aged soccer moms typically said “Once was enough,” but did it with a smile on their faces. I even saw a few grandparents who really seemed to get a kick out of the ride.
In several trips through the attraction, I only encountered one girl who did not enjoy her trip into space. She was a British tourist who was lined up in the pod next to mine. She was extremely nervous waiting for the ride, and the safety warnings seemed to agitate her more. It took constant reassurance from her family to get her into the capsule. Despite all this, she conceded that the ride was not as bad as a roller coaster, and she didn’t need to rush to the bathroom or collapse in the corner. I suspect a drink of water and a few minutes rest will cure the majority of ill effects caused by the ride.
I also cornered some ride attendants and quizzed them about the upchuck factor. All the CMs I asked said they’ve been averaging only one or two in-ride accidents per day. Some days go by with no puking whatsoever. This is comparable to other thrill rides and simulators. It is significantly less than the original version of “Body Wars,” which probably holds the title as Disney’s all-time vomit king.
As I said, this survey is based on too small a sample to be scientifically representative. But I expect these results to be consistent for most riders. Remember, your mileage may vary. If you are unusually susceptible to motion sickness, you probably won’t enjoy this ride. People with low blood pressure may have trouble handling the high G-forces (my ex-wife used to black out on the hairpin turns in “Kumba”). But if you can handle most simulators and modest coasters, you can probably handle “Mission: Space” just fine. Even people who typically don’t enjoy large coasters or rides like the Teacups might be surprised how well they can handle it. As long as you can remain calm and approach the experience with a positive, relaxed attitude, the ride should be well worth your time.
On my last trip though the attraction, I experienced the side effects of one of these rare ill guests. I was in the ready room, Gary had just finished his spiel on the overhead monitors, and we were waiting for the door to the curving corridor to open. After a few moments wait, the door behind us opened. A chipper CM informed us that due to “technical difficulties” we would be restaged in another ready room. One row at a time we were led across the room to the opposite ready room and lined back up on our numbers.
“Protein spill?” I asked.
“Yup, something like that,” the CM chuckled.
“How often do you have to do this?”
“First one today.”
Apparently, when there is a mishap they briefly shut down the affected bay for cleaning and restage the guests to another centrifuge. If the spill is minor they can clean it and get the bay ready by the next cycle. If there is a bigger mess, they can seal that particular capsule, allowing the rest of the cabins on that centrifuge to be used until there is time to disinfect. The cabin interiors are obviously designed to make this cleaning as efficient as possible.
Mission: Space Race, the centerpiece of the postshow,
brought to you by Chuck E. Cheese.
Once you’ve disembarked the ride and proceeded down the exit corridor, you arrive at the “Advanced Training Lab.” Remember Gary’s numerous mentions of the mission control training you will receive? See the colorful signs overhead advertising the “Mission: Space Race” experience that awaits? Expecting an interactive postshow on the scale of the classic Kodak ImageWorks, or Seabase Alpha? Or even the AT&T Global Village? Well, forget about it.
Instead, we get a modest-sized room with the aesthetic décor of your local mall’s video arcade. To the left is a Chuck E. Cheese-style gerbil maze for the kiddies, a simple “find the lost astronaut” video game that would get laughed off your Xbox, and a kiosk for sending email postcards. To the right is the centerpiece of the postshow, a large group game called “Mission: Space.” At the front of the room, 4 players per team play “pilots,” matching colored balls to “trouble spots” on a spaceship schematic. The rest of the team uses their “mission controller” computer consoles to generate the colored balls by pressing buttons.
C’mon kids, you can play your Playstation at home.
It’s like a very simple cross between Simon and Tetris, without being as much fun as either one. The results of the “race” are projected overhead. The results of the game are always suspiciously close, with both teams coming in within a point or two of each other every time. My personal best score as a “mission controller” is 24 points, but there isn’t enough replayability to make it worth waiting in line for more than once.
Beyond the disappointing postshow is the inevitable gift shop. In fact, the shop gets as much (if not slightly more) square footage as the postshow, which tells you something about Disney’s priorities these days. The good news is there isn’t much plush. The bad news is that the ride-specific merchandise is uninspiring, and much of the shelf space is taken up by junk that you can find in any mall.
Cheap crap! We gottcha cheap crap here!
So, what can we conclude from this rather long-winded tour of “Mission: Space?” What advice do I have for the weak of spirit (or stomach) who want to reach for the stars?
1) Relax. The ride is intense and unique, but it isn’t a medieval torture device. If you can handle most simulators and roller coasters, you can handle this. Even if the teacups make you toss your scones, you may be surprised at well you survive “Mission: Space.” Your own anxiousness is your worst enemy, so don’t get yourself too worked up over the safety warnings.
2) Keep your head back and your eyes front. Failure to do so isn’t a recipe for instant disaster, but it will make your head spin. As long as you stay properly seated, you won’t be aware of the spinning, only gravitational pressure, and you are unlikely to get disoriented.
3) Don’t sweat the button pushing. If you want to play along with the “interactive” element of the ride, go ahead. But if you don’t, you won’t be missing a thing. This isn’t “Men in Black;” there’s no such thing as a good or bad ending. If you are the kind of person who panics under pressure, and worries that you’re going to “fail” the ride, chill out and ignore Gary’s directives. It won’t make a bit of difference in the end.
4) Lower your expectations. If you are expecting a ride that blends the Disney tradition of seamless storytelling with amazing technology, you may be a bit let down when you only get half the equation. Instead, expect an amazing technological demonstration, with just enough theming to get the job done.
Disney took out a full-page advertisement (disguised as a news article) in this past Sunday’s Orlando Sentinel. In the ad, they repeatedly refer to “Mission: Space” as an “E-Ticket.” I have read other sources where they refer to it as the “first F-Ticket ride.”
The thrill of “Mission: Space” is genuine, intense, and original. It is something that you won’t find at your local Six Flags.
But, to my mind, it takes more than exceptional thrills to make an E-Ticket. It requires a great story that has a beginning, middle, and end. It requires attention to the small details that you only discover after dozens of rides. It requires an immersive environment that flows seamlessly from the queue to the preshow to the exit.
“Splash Mountain” is an E-Ticket. So is “Tower of Terror,” the last true E-Ticket thrill ride built at WDW. “Killamanjaro Safaris” is an E-Ticket, but a scenic one in the tradition of the “Jungle Cruise” rather than a thrill ride. “Spiderman” is certainly an E-Ticket, perhaps the first F-Ticket, but the “Hulk Coaster” is not, despite its impressive launch.
“Mission: Space,” by this standard, is not a full E-Ticket. Call it an E-Minus or D-Plus. A more consistent storyline, follow-through on the promised interactivity, and a better queue and postshow would push it over the top. Maybe if a clone is built in Tokyo they’ll give it the budget needed to use this amazing new technology to its fullest storytelling potential.
Until then, I’ll be happily getting my G-force fix, and bringing along something to read in the queue.