thedrifter
07-14-05, 06:20 AM
LEISURE & ARTS
Block Party
A child of the '60s visits Legoland.
BY ARNIE COOPER
Thursday, July 14, 2005 12:01 a.m.
CARLSBAD, Calif.--When they celebrated the opening of the long-awaited Freedom Tower recently, participants were treated to former New York City police officer Daniel Rodriguez belting out "America the Beautiful." This was just one highlight of the ceremony honoring those who helped rebuild New York following the 9/11 attacks.
Don't worry. Your gray matter's fully intact. This particular Freedom Tower resides not in Manhattan but in the New York section of Miniland, the scale-model collection of cities and landmarks that constitutes the heart of Legoland, the California theme park dedicated to the little plastic pieces with the interlocking knobs.
Like many kids growing up in the mid-1960s, I spent countless hours cloistered in my room assembling those multicolored bricks. So much so that my parents thought I was destined for architecture. (Little did they know that my obsessive designing of multistoried mansions with spiral staircases and circular driveways stemmed from my secret desire to abandon our 4 1/2-room apartment for something, well, palatial.) But my once solitary activity has not only gone public; it has also diversified, at least within the impeccably landscaped confines of Legoland here, about 30 miles north of San Diego.
Not that a water-shooting Lego elephant or a Mariachi band--yes, you can make a serape out of Lego bricks--won't captivate any six-year-old. And what child wouldn't enjoy an interactive musical fountain or the chance to hurl water balloons at a buddy at an attraction called the Raptor Splash? But as you enter the amusement park, as I did a few weeks ago, to the harmonies of Renaissance music and get welcomed by a pirate walking on stilts, the question "What does all this really have to do with Lego?" begins flashing in your mind.
Back in primordial times, well before PlayStation 2, Lego was about building structures. The brainchild of Danish toymaker Ole Christiansen, the term Lego was coined in 1934 and derives its name from "Leg godt" (play well). A forerunner to the current brick was invented in 1942; the current "stud and tube" model, in 1958. The first sets of Lego "Automatic Binding Bricks" were sold in Denmark in 1959, eventually making their way to these shores as an instant hit in 1961.
By 1999 those Lego bricks inspired Legoland, Calif., which built on the success of its Danish and German counterparts (The U.K. version opened in 2002). But make no mistake: Legoland is first and foremost a theme park, with its share of shows, shopping and rides--the newest being the Knights Tournament Robocoaster, which opened Memorial Day weekend in the Knights' Kingdom section of the park. Here's where guests strap themselves into a futuristic robotic arm of what looks like a NASA training device. Despite the spectacular fiery-red dragon (one of 5,000 Lego models found in the park) at the entrance and medieval-themed artwork at the queuing area, the only tournament seems to be the struggle to hold down your lunch as the contraption jerks you in countless directions.
Perhaps more jarring is the notion that my favorite toy has assumed a Dungeons and Dragons motif. Sure, nothing's wrong with a roller coaster named The Dragon or rides like The Royal Joust (though I do worry about the warning: "This ride is intended for children under 170 pounds"). But to a traditional Legophile, such trappings are unnecessary.
Anyway, I opted for the more sedate toddler-oriented ride in Explore Village called the Safari Trek. A 90-second journey into the African veldt, it offered zebras, tigers and a wildebeest that reminded me more of a topographical map--sometimes Lego models require a bit of imagination. My inner child, though, was more than satisfied hearing Tarzan's roar as my little jeep passed through a thicket populated by monkeys and, yes, a panda.
The adult in me, at least the one seeking to reclaim his lost Lego childhood, was more concerned with tracking down Lego puro. And scattered in various pockets of the park, bins of ordinary Lego pieces beckoned the non-thrill-seekers to play as I once had.
But sadly, such moments were few and far between. Somehow I'd expected to find mountains of bricks with masses of children assembling, creating and wondering why this 45-year-old was having so much fun. Too often, what assembling did occur undermined the simplicity of Lego's good old days. The creativity remains; it's just been, well, modernized.
At the Imagination Zone, rather than build for the sake of it, kids design a tower to see if it can withstand a simulated earthquake. Yet this pales in comparison to Lego Mindstorms, a park feature (and product line) that helped me understand why just snapping bricks together no longer cuts it for 21st-century kids. A special software program lets you design and program, for example, a Martian rover capable of retrieving a couple of boulders so they can be "rocketed back to earth." Not impressed? Keep in mind that entire college classes are now being taught using Lego Mindstorms kits.
For us nonscientist artistic types, Legoland nurtures creativity in unexpected ways. A sculpture walk with Lego busts of individuals like Luciano Pavarotti and Arnold Schwarzenegger leads to an art gallery featuring Lego-brick reproductions of paintings by Andy Warhol, Wassily Kandinsky, Joan Miró and others. In a sense, though, the idea of a Legoland Art Gallery is redundant. At 128 acres, Legoland is perhaps the world's biggest sculpture garden. Where else could you find a 10-foot sculpture of Albert Einstein's head or a full-scale 2,930-pound Volvo made entirely of Lego bricks, minus the tires?
Certainly, no other place can recreate cities like Miniland, USA. Here's where Legoland shines, aided, of course, by the perpetual California sun. Twenty million bricks capture six different geographical areas, all in amazing detail. Squatting down to admire the Victorian façades in San Francisco, you are as entranced by the colorful brickwork as by the (non-Lego) shrubbery and trees, pruned no doubt by a bonsai expert. With the Golden Gate Bridge in the background, it's easy to get lost in the moment--that is, until a "giant" bird (a real one) pecks at the 10th-floor window of the Transamerica Tower and disrupts your fantasy.
Moving down the California coast to "Legowood," across to Mardi Gras in New Orleans, then over to Florida and up to Washington, D.C., you'll see manifestations of infinite patience. The master builders responsible for these 450,000 model buildings have toiled over 100,000 hours.
And a good chunk of that time was dedicated to newly renovated New York, where you'll find Rockefeller Center, the Guggenheim Museum, Grand Central Terminal and the Flatiron, Citicorp, Chrysler and Empire State buildings--even Central Park's Bethesda Fountain. Yet as impressive as these structures are, it's the little details I prefer. Like the window washers scaling a skyscraper, the helicopter landing on the Met Life Building, and my personal favorite, a break-dancing trio, replete with a DJ sporting a Lego-fro.
As for the Freedom Tower, at 28 feet it's now the tallest structure in Miniland. Yes, it's the original nonpedestal design. But if you can't wait until 2010 to see the real thing, at least you can catch a glimpse of the Lego version. It was completed in just four months.
Mr. Cooper is a free-lance writer based in Santa Barbara, Calif.
Ellie
Block Party
A child of the '60s visits Legoland.
BY ARNIE COOPER
Thursday, July 14, 2005 12:01 a.m.
CARLSBAD, Calif.--When they celebrated the opening of the long-awaited Freedom Tower recently, participants were treated to former New York City police officer Daniel Rodriguez belting out "America the Beautiful." This was just one highlight of the ceremony honoring those who helped rebuild New York following the 9/11 attacks.
Don't worry. Your gray matter's fully intact. This particular Freedom Tower resides not in Manhattan but in the New York section of Miniland, the scale-model collection of cities and landmarks that constitutes the heart of Legoland, the California theme park dedicated to the little plastic pieces with the interlocking knobs.
Like many kids growing up in the mid-1960s, I spent countless hours cloistered in my room assembling those multicolored bricks. So much so that my parents thought I was destined for architecture. (Little did they know that my obsessive designing of multistoried mansions with spiral staircases and circular driveways stemmed from my secret desire to abandon our 4 1/2-room apartment for something, well, palatial.) But my once solitary activity has not only gone public; it has also diversified, at least within the impeccably landscaped confines of Legoland here, about 30 miles north of San Diego.
Not that a water-shooting Lego elephant or a Mariachi band--yes, you can make a serape out of Lego bricks--won't captivate any six-year-old. And what child wouldn't enjoy an interactive musical fountain or the chance to hurl water balloons at a buddy at an attraction called the Raptor Splash? But as you enter the amusement park, as I did a few weeks ago, to the harmonies of Renaissance music and get welcomed by a pirate walking on stilts, the question "What does all this really have to do with Lego?" begins flashing in your mind.
Back in primordial times, well before PlayStation 2, Lego was about building structures. The brainchild of Danish toymaker Ole Christiansen, the term Lego was coined in 1934 and derives its name from "Leg godt" (play well). A forerunner to the current brick was invented in 1942; the current "stud and tube" model, in 1958. The first sets of Lego "Automatic Binding Bricks" were sold in Denmark in 1959, eventually making their way to these shores as an instant hit in 1961.
By 1999 those Lego bricks inspired Legoland, Calif., which built on the success of its Danish and German counterparts (The U.K. version opened in 2002). But make no mistake: Legoland is first and foremost a theme park, with its share of shows, shopping and rides--the newest being the Knights Tournament Robocoaster, which opened Memorial Day weekend in the Knights' Kingdom section of the park. Here's where guests strap themselves into a futuristic robotic arm of what looks like a NASA training device. Despite the spectacular fiery-red dragon (one of 5,000 Lego models found in the park) at the entrance and medieval-themed artwork at the queuing area, the only tournament seems to be the struggle to hold down your lunch as the contraption jerks you in countless directions.
Perhaps more jarring is the notion that my favorite toy has assumed a Dungeons and Dragons motif. Sure, nothing's wrong with a roller coaster named The Dragon or rides like The Royal Joust (though I do worry about the warning: "This ride is intended for children under 170 pounds"). But to a traditional Legophile, such trappings are unnecessary.
Anyway, I opted for the more sedate toddler-oriented ride in Explore Village called the Safari Trek. A 90-second journey into the African veldt, it offered zebras, tigers and a wildebeest that reminded me more of a topographical map--sometimes Lego models require a bit of imagination. My inner child, though, was more than satisfied hearing Tarzan's roar as my little jeep passed through a thicket populated by monkeys and, yes, a panda.
The adult in me, at least the one seeking to reclaim his lost Lego childhood, was more concerned with tracking down Lego puro. And scattered in various pockets of the park, bins of ordinary Lego pieces beckoned the non-thrill-seekers to play as I once had.
But sadly, such moments were few and far between. Somehow I'd expected to find mountains of bricks with masses of children assembling, creating and wondering why this 45-year-old was having so much fun. Too often, what assembling did occur undermined the simplicity of Lego's good old days. The creativity remains; it's just been, well, modernized.
At the Imagination Zone, rather than build for the sake of it, kids design a tower to see if it can withstand a simulated earthquake. Yet this pales in comparison to Lego Mindstorms, a park feature (and product line) that helped me understand why just snapping bricks together no longer cuts it for 21st-century kids. A special software program lets you design and program, for example, a Martian rover capable of retrieving a couple of boulders so they can be "rocketed back to earth." Not impressed? Keep in mind that entire college classes are now being taught using Lego Mindstorms kits.
For us nonscientist artistic types, Legoland nurtures creativity in unexpected ways. A sculpture walk with Lego busts of individuals like Luciano Pavarotti and Arnold Schwarzenegger leads to an art gallery featuring Lego-brick reproductions of paintings by Andy Warhol, Wassily Kandinsky, Joan Miró and others. In a sense, though, the idea of a Legoland Art Gallery is redundant. At 128 acres, Legoland is perhaps the world's biggest sculpture garden. Where else could you find a 10-foot sculpture of Albert Einstein's head or a full-scale 2,930-pound Volvo made entirely of Lego bricks, minus the tires?
Certainly, no other place can recreate cities like Miniland, USA. Here's where Legoland shines, aided, of course, by the perpetual California sun. Twenty million bricks capture six different geographical areas, all in amazing detail. Squatting down to admire the Victorian façades in San Francisco, you are as entranced by the colorful brickwork as by the (non-Lego) shrubbery and trees, pruned no doubt by a bonsai expert. With the Golden Gate Bridge in the background, it's easy to get lost in the moment--that is, until a "giant" bird (a real one) pecks at the 10th-floor window of the Transamerica Tower and disrupts your fantasy.
Moving down the California coast to "Legowood," across to Mardi Gras in New Orleans, then over to Florida and up to Washington, D.C., you'll see manifestations of infinite patience. The master builders responsible for these 450,000 model buildings have toiled over 100,000 hours.
And a good chunk of that time was dedicated to newly renovated New York, where you'll find Rockefeller Center, the Guggenheim Museum, Grand Central Terminal and the Flatiron, Citicorp, Chrysler and Empire State buildings--even Central Park's Bethesda Fountain. Yet as impressive as these structures are, it's the little details I prefer. Like the window washers scaling a skyscraper, the helicopter landing on the Met Life Building, and my personal favorite, a break-dancing trio, replete with a DJ sporting a Lego-fro.
As for the Freedom Tower, at 28 feet it's now the tallest structure in Miniland. Yes, it's the original nonpedestal design. But if you can't wait until 2010 to see the real thing, at least you can catch a glimpse of the Lego version. It was completed in just four months.
Mr. Cooper is a free-lance writer based in Santa Barbara, Calif.
Ellie