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STAR TREK: THE TOUR: THE STORY

Steve LoweryWed. February 20
 

Or, how the Queen Mary can live long and prosper

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Kevin is regaling us with tales of impaled Japanese motorcyclists. Kevin is the most interesting kid I know and it’s because of him that I remain informed about Latin derivations, the location of the world’s supply of small pox and how Japanese motorcyclists who get run through with pipe that falls off trucks don’t die but are transported to the hospital “kabob-style,” pipe and all.

Kevin is excited that I am taking him and my son to see Star Trek: The Tour at the Queen Mary Dome. It’s a collection of all things Star Trek: sets, costumes, props, and Kevin has been pumped ever since I told him I had tickets. (“Can we go now, Steve?” “No, Kev, I’ve got things to do right now.” “Can we go in an hour?” “Sorry.” “Can we go in two hours?”)

Kevin is so excited that he doesn’t flinch when they tell us we’ll have to wait in line for an hour to get in. Nobody does, as they didn’t flinch when they were told it would cost 35 bucks for a single ticket (we went on the weekend; tickets are $30 on weekdays.) Star Trek: The Tour has been such a hit that tour officials announced they’d extended the show’s stay another two weeks, until March 2.

Standing in line, I glance at the Queen Mary and think about all discussions about attracting the kind of crowds the Queen needs to survive and here I am standing with such a crowd in the midday sun and all it took was offering people something they actually wanted to see and/or do. Russian subs, paranormal dinner tours and afternoon teas are all very nice niches but if you want to attract the mobs you gotta give the ’em something they actually want. Moses said that. Or maybe it was Marilyn Manson.

Walking through the doors of the dome we are immediately met by a whole lotta Star Trek. The set of the original bridge, display cases of costumes, scale models of the starship Enterprise. It is almost overwhelming even for Kevin, who turns to me with a satisfied grin, and says, “Thank you, Steve.”

While Kevin is looking at the stuff in the dome, I am gazing up at the dome. It’s huuuge. Star Trek: The Tour contains sets, four flight simulators, a theater, multiple trivia kiosks (“Did Dr. Bones have his tonsils removed?”) and a sprawling gift shop and all of this takes up only part of the dome’s space—a huge black curtain separates the exhibition from the dome’s uninhabited area. So much talk about this property seems to center on what to do with the ship, but, I mean, the possibilities of this dome, I mean, it’s huuuge.

We have a wonderful time. When it’s time to leave, we head over to the gift shop where people are waiting to pay for pictures taken of them on the Star Trek sets—$24.95 for an 8×10. There are people buying replica uniform shirts for 60 bucks, T-shirts at 30. The other thing about offering people something they actually want is that they tend to spend lots of money once there; on models and action figures and books and food—the dome’s kitchen ran out of it by 5 p.m.

We leave the dome and stroll past the Queen, talking, laughing and, these being 14-year-old boys, hitting each other. I look at the ship, and it looks beautiful in the dusk. I look out across the water at the Long Beach skyline and it looks beautiful. I think, Why is it so hard to get people out here? People should be streaming into this place, if only this place would give them something to stream for. Stop trying to shove English civility and history down their throats and give ‘em the good stuff, the stuff they want—anybody up for Cirque du Soleil?

It seems so simple. Of course, it seems simple to clean up the beach, knock down the breakwater, welcome back the waves and offload the resulting tourist cash. I’m wondering if they—the people who run the Queen, the people who run Long Beach—will ever get it, and then I pull up to the parking kiosk and the woman tells me it’s going to cost $15. Fifteen dollars! Do you realize it only costs 11 bucks to park at Disneyland? Disneyland!

I pay, we leave and I no longer wonder if they’ll ever get it. I know they won’t. I brood on this a while until Kevin gets me right:

“Hey Steve, what does toilet paper and the starship Enterprise have in common?”

“I dunno, Kevin, what?”

“Both of them circle Uranus in search of Klingons.”

And then “Freebird” comes on the radio. We fall silent.

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