With all the hype around Disney’s Galactic Starcruiser closing, the social media “influencers” have crawled out from under their respective rocks to dance on its grave with a collective cry of “told you so!” The problem is that by and large, these folks never took the time to try it out, so their “analysis” of the perceived shortcomings of this project are based largely on second or third-hand accounts of the experience. The cash grab to monetize these reaction videos and “hot takes” about how Disney is supposedly letting Star Wars fans down is so blatantly transparent to anyone who actually participated in the Starcruiser experience that it’s incredibly frustrating to watch mainstream media sites pick up their bile and spread it as some sort of informed insight.

I’m going to try and break down what actually happened from a few perspective vantage points: first, as a lifelong fan of Star Wars who saw the original trilogy of films in their theatrical run; second, as a marketing professional who has seen successful and failed campaigns of all kinds over the past two decades; and third, as someone who experienced Starcruiser twice.

The Promise

When Disney acquired the Star Wars intellectual property in 2012 a few things were pretty obvious to fans of the franchise: Disney was going to leverage Star Wars to produce a LOT of merchandise, we were probably going to see some sort of “Star Wars Land” in the Disney parks, and more movies or tv shows were on the way.

With the marketing expertise at Disney’s command, they merged all three ideas into a formidable project: Galaxy’s Edge. This expansion to the Disney parks was a guaranteed draw for fans of the films, but their most unique premise in building it was a kind of full immersion seen nowhere else in the parks.

While you can visit Disney World or Disneyland to experience characters from the films, or even scenes from various movies, you always do so in your own clothes. You are always a tourist visiting the magic of Disney in all of its forms: eating food, watching parades, buying merchandise, riding themed rides, and so on. With Galaxy’s Edge, Disney went a step further, making the park guests visitors on a separate world with its own mannerisms, traditions, characters, and backstory. The attraction is built to shield your eyes from seeing any other part of the park, the cast members (Disney employees working in all the roles ranging from custodial to food service) greet you with slang from this imaginary park. The bathrooms aren’t just bathrooms, they’re “refreshers.” The chicken you buy for lunch is “Endorian Tip Yip.”

In order to reach this full level of immersion, Disney made the decision to set the timeframe for this part of the Star Wars universe in the gap between two of the films from the “sequel trilogy,” so every day on Galaxy’s Edge rests squarely somewhere between the end credits of “The Last Jedi” and the opening crawl of “The Rise of Skywalker.” This means that if, in speaking to a member of the cast, you reference events that happen after that moment in time, they will look sufficiently bewildered by your words. It means that you cannot actually BE Luke Skywalker or Darth Vader while walking around in the park, because those are both famous people in their history, and both are quite dead before you ever set foot there.

But Galaxy’s Edge was never meant to be the only part to this moment in the Star Wars story, events that unfold within the park are only half the tale, and none of us realized until it was announced that there was a second half being built, an even MORE immersive part of the story, that would complete the picture.

The Passion

What Disney was building was essentially a 360 degree immersive theater, completely themed to look like the inside of a posh starship for wealthy dignitaries, and populated by a cast of unique characters. Disney guests would be able to pay for a little over two days living in that theater, where around them events would unfold that linked the story of Batuu (the fictional planet setting for Galaxy’s Edge) to the story unfolding between those two films.

One can only imagine the complexities of this project. There were technical innovations, world class performers, a unique script, original songs and dances, makeup and prosthetics, merchandise (of course) that all had to be developed, themed to this specific moment in the Star Wars story, and ultimately approved by the powerful Lucasfilm Story Group who oversees all licensed Star Wars content to ensure that it remains true to the brand and doesn’t “break” the running story established through 10 previous films and several hundred hours of television show episodes (not to mention countless books, comics, and video games.)

In order for guests to feel like part of the story, they would have to interact with it on a personal level, which means that small groups of guests (10 to 15 at a time) would have to move from one part of the set to another in order to see the same story moments again and again throughout their two day stay. Accomplishing this meant that every guest might have a different experience, they might see the same story moment with a different character, they might choose different choices when the opportunity arose, or they might throw the whole thing out the airlock and spend two days gambling in the “bar” located on the ship.

The Challenge

So, thinking like a marketing professional, how could you possibly market an experience that would be as unique as a fingerprint for everyone who experienced it? How could you tell the public, many of whom might not even be die hard fans of Star Wars, that you were giving them an opportunity to experience a one-of-a-kind immersive theatrical experience where they could (like the books we used to love as Gen X kids) “choose their own adventure?”

Here is where Disney seriously stumbled, but I can’t really fault them for it.

If you think back to the section above, many of the technical advancements, the costumes, the characters, the plotlines, and even the menus were still being developed at the same time that some marketing team was tasked with selling this idea to the public. This means that they had to sell an idea without much to show for it. Say too much and you ruin the story, show too little and the audience won’t show up.

Unfortunately they landed somewhere in the “too little” territory, and even bordered on some misrepresentation of what actually happens on a Starcruiser “journey.” For instance, they released a promotional video that showed Gaya, a character billed as an “intergalactic musical superstar” singing inside the tiny lounge bar on the ship. In reality, her performances would take place in the ship’s dining room in front of a crowd of over a hundred guests, but showing her singing in that tiny venue gave the sense that she was relatively unimportant to the story, some sort of afterthought.

Likewise, we knew just from the title of the film preceding this experience (“The LAST Jedi”) that there could be no Jedi on the ship, but the ads made a pretty big deal about there being a “lightsaber training” experience aboard. So how could this even “feel” like Star Wars without the guiding hand of someone like Luke Skywalker or Yoda to teach you about the Force?

Almost everyone who signed up for the first few “voyages” aboard the Halcyon (the name for the fictional space cruise ship on which the story takes place) did so entirely on faith that Disney had put thought into all of these things, that they would deliver on the promise, even though they had shown so little about what a guest was paying for.

The Cost

Unfortunately, before guests ever came to this experience, the price tag for Galactic Starcruiser had made news. It was a by-the-room kind of price structure, similar to an actual cruise ship, that was far too steep for folks without disposable income. The “sticker shock” from seeing that initial $6,000 to $10,000 estimate left a very sour taste in the mouths of many fans, and they were vocal on the internet about the sheer unfairness of it all.

If there had been more transparency about what was included in the experience, fans might have been able to understand the cost associated with it, but that lack of clarity left them wondering “what are we paying so much for? Is it just because Disney knows we love Star Wars and thinks we’ll pay anything for more of it?”

The Tragedy

As these elements were making the news, they were momentarily overshadowed by a global disaster. The Covid-19 epidemic would end the lives of millions of people across the world. The virus could be transmitted by breathing, and Disney was about to launch an attraction that was built around the concept of bringing hundreds of people at a time into indoor spaces. So on top of all the OTHER misgivings that fans had about Galactic Starcruiser, many were rethinking the entire concept of taking any kind of vacation for health and safety reasons

The Experience, Part 1

I will admit that on my first trip to Galactic Starcruiser I was fairly lost, and at one point I was even convinced that I had somehow “broken” the story. People all around us were running from room to room, pressing buttons and earnestly talking about galactic events, and my wife and I were sort of aimlessly wandering through these beautiful sets (in full costume with our own original characters and backstories) with nothing to do.

I realized a few hours later that this initial “lull” in the story was intentional, a chance for guests to get acclimated to the environment, loosen up a little, buy into the sensation of being “in space” before being invited into the story. Once we crossed that threshold it was a nonstop adventure for nearly twenty-four hours.

As the first trip drew to a close I realized that I loved Galactic Starcruiser, even with the faults it had, but maybe I had come into it with too many preconceived notions about the characters and the story. This was an ironic observation in that I had done my best to go on this trip entirely “spoiler free,” so I knew next to nothing about what parts of the story I could interact with, who i might see on the ship, how the story connected with the broader canon of Star Wars and so on.

But as soon as we were home and I found Facebook groups of other fans who had experienced it, I realized that Starcruiser had the potential to be SO MUCH more than anyone was saying out loud. I had this idea that, if you were careful, you could write yourself a story that fit within the greater narrative like a puzzle piece. If you didn’t make yourself TOO important, you could become a central character in an adventure so personally epic as to rival anything you saw or felt from watching the films as a child.

Interlude

So, I created a new character, and I thought a lot about what that character might have for an arc. There are many powerful themes in Star Wars, but central to my experience of the story has always been the concept of redemption and hope. I began to think that any character I would create and weave into the story would need to embody those themes, and to do so they would have to represent going from the WORST kind of person to the BEST kind of person (or perhaps a person “trying to be better.”)

I leaned into my own personal narrative of having grown up in a religious cult, of experiencing personal violence as a child, and living well into my 20’s thinking that strangers who believed differently than me were my enemy.

I created a character who was a member of the “New Inquisitorious,” an effort (much like everything that bad guy Kylo Ren did in the first two movies of the sequel trilogy) to revive some of Darth Vader’s power and malevolent glory. He had been recruited into a cult as a child, and trained to be a hunter of artifacts and practitioners of “the Force.” He was a pretty bad guy in that he was willing to hurt some people in order to follow orders.

I gave him a mission, he was sent to the Halcyon to investigate the “Saja,” the non-Jedi mystics who teach the ways of the Force aboard the ship. He was there to determine if they presented some sort of threat to Kylo Ren, and if so to personally eliminate them.

I created a 12 minute fan film that showed the character in a morally ambiguous light: he trained in martial arts until his “handler” assigned him this mission, he engaged in a brutal dogfight over a misunderstanding, he retrieved a box of clothes (and a journal) that belonged to a now-dead Saja, and all this led him to the final moments when he revealed himself in full black armor and red lightsaber blade, about to walk to the ship.

While I was engaged in all this, I found a group of strangers and we split the cost of our trip. Divided amongst us, I was only paying about $1500 for my voyage, and we were going to be there during May 4th (a globally celebrated “holiday” for Star Wars fans.) I also met dozens of other folks, equally dedicated to their own stories fitting within the greater narrative, all of them going in full costume (and a couple in full film-quality prosthetics and makeup) to make the most of their experience the same way I was making the most of mine.

But I was doing one thing that I hadn’t seen anyone else do up to that point, I was giving the cast and crew of Galactic Starcruiser a chance to “change” a guest. I was the proverbial Star Wars version of the meme with the guy sitting at his folding table, cup of coffee in hand, paper sign hanging in front with the words “I’m a bad guy and you are my enemy, change my mind.”

The Experience, Part 2

This time I knew about the quiet before the storm. I made use of it to walk through the ship menacingly in my shiny black armor, my evil probe droid perched on my shoulder beeping away as it “scanned” other guests and “hacked” into wall panels.

And then the door opened to the story, and I approached the Saja and introduced myself. “I have something that belongs to you, a journal from one of your comrades…” and I opened a battered leather book I had made for this purpose. It was a prop lovingly filled with pages of a fictional character’s observations on life and the Force, all written in Aurebesh (the alphabet of the Star Wars universe) and accompanied with illustrations.

The Saja eventually took the bait. They spoke with me, at different points of the voyage, with the kind of compassion and the lack of judgement that so many people had given me in my real life nearly twenty years ago. They offered me their perspective on changing who I was, on being a good person instead of a villain.

On the second day my character experienced a “crisis of faith” that I had written him. He abandoned the black armor for the found “Saja robes” from the short film. At a crucial moment in the story I asked if they would let me join them, and they welcomed me with cheers and open arms. The fact that all this happened in front of Rey, the hero of the sequel trilogy films (portrayed in the films by Daisy Ridley, but in the show by an amazing actor in her own right) made the scene have incredible emotional weight. I still think of that moment from time to time and wonder about the kinds of magic that made it possible.

The Conclusion

When “fans” tell me that Starcruiser was a stupid idea, or that it deserved to fail, or that it wasn’t worth the money, it’s hard to try and correct those misconceptions as gently as the Saja told my character about his misguided view of the universe. It seems like the great talent of the cast and crew of this interactive show deserved so much better than they got, and my arguing that point to folks who are convinced otherwise is not going to get them the recognition that they deserve.

The show was beyond ambitious, it was so far ahead of its time that it defied the ability to sell with traditional marketing. It was a kind of living, breathing video game adventure where you had side quests and objectives, you earned points and awards, and the whole while your story was driven by world class performers and technology that existed nowhere else in the entertainment industry.

It’s impossible for me to swallow the narrative that Starcruiser was a failure. The marketing failed, perhaps. The pandemic put it in financial jeopardy. The outrage culture of social media put nails in the coffin. Even so, this experience lives on for a dedicated group of several thousand fans who came with open eyes and saw it for what it was: a triumph of “Disney Magic” that we may never see again in our lifetimes.