I Lost My Mind At Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser
Was my time at the Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser an extended fit of manic delirium, caused by whatever low-grade fentanyl they put in the drinking water in Florida?
I’m almost sure of it.
This is about what you get, for roughly two nights (more on the price later): a room in a frighteningly window-averse building at Disney World that has been decked out to feel—at every single inch—like a spaceship out of A New Hope. Everyone is in character. Even some guests. You eat cute space food. Take a shuttle to Galaxy’s Edge, the Star Wars theme park. (With a true all-timer of a ride in Star Wars: Rise of the Resistance.) Small talk with a freakishly smart AI droid in your quarters. There is a running storyline, which is unbelievably intricate, including missions, cameos from Yoda and the like, and an app that keeps track of it all.
Hinjinks fucking ensue. Once, I saw Chewbacca lumbering around, MWWWWAHHHing to some Disney Adults about the resistance, so I snitched on my app and laughed when Stormtroopers came, making Chewy wail uncontrollably. (Or confusedly? Angrily? I don't speak Wookie.) I sipped wine at the cantina and watched someone ask the guitar-playing space hippie character if he knew any High School Musical songs. In a mission where I was slamming imaginary levers like a doofy Han Solo, a First Order commander looked at my roomy pants and screamed, “I’M GLAD YOU’RE COMFY, BRADY!”
Of course, the real villain here is Galactic Starcruiser's Death Star-sized price tag. It's roughly $5,000 for two people, and $6,000 for three adults and one kid. There's been enough of an outcry for the Mouse House to start offering discounts in recent months. The pint-sized rooms don't do Galactic Starcruiser any favors, either, AI droid be damned. My take? If you really love Star Wars, pay the money. You'll have the time of your life. I've been on a fair amount of ridiculous trips for this job, and I've never quite had an experience—the travel world's favorite buzzword—like Galactic Starcruiser.
The joint is scientifically designed to make ridiculous shit happen, often spontaneously, no matter where you are or what you're doing. The Chewbacca incident? I just saw the furry buffoon meandering down a flight of stairs, so I followed him—and my Galactic Starcruiser app somehow triggered a First Order baddie to text and ask if Chewbacca was near me. (I shot first, baby.) The running storyline, I have to repeat, is unfairly intricate. Characters with full backstories, twist, turns, and a legitimate finale. The feeling, as an adult, skews very I'm-living-in-George-Lucas's-Black Mirror, because some other adult is insisting his name Sandro Alimander, and all the other adults are buying into it. By the end, you're starstruck by the ship's big boss, Captain Ryola Keevan. It's as if those sicko Stanford researchers made a new-and-improved sequel: The Star Wars Prison Experiment. But as a kid, it's probably more like, "Golly gee, it's R2-D2!" Or whatever children say. It's fun, OK?
So, my fellow opponent of the rebellion, throw this one on your bucket list. Lose yourself there. Tell Mr. Space Hippie to play your favorite song, which is obviously "You Got a Friend In Me." Plot the demise of that little seven-year-old swinging around a lightsaber like a damn fool. Remind Chewbacca that I'm. Still. Watching. Him. After two and a half days, return to your earthly existence, shield your eyes from the harsh Orlando sun as you step into a Minnie Mouse van, and never speak of what happened at Galactic Starcruiser ever, ever again.
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