Theme Park-ing

It appears that the management or governments of certain cultural landmarks in East Asia often turn to amusement and novelty as a means of propagating the survival of their establishment. Although such performances may or may not be deliberate, their effects are somewhat critical in reinforcing imagery that supports the hollistic sence of immersion for visitors and guests. Though some sites advertise such features more aggressively than others, this sense of thematic amusement remains generally constant.

Incidentally, when the Chinese government were faced with the task of creating a feasible enterprise out of the Old Summer Palace, they turned, quite explicitly, into a theme park, replete with foot-pedaled swan rides in the man-made lakes that once carried splendid yachts in which royalty or nobility were transported on their elusive vacations. While this is no longer the case, the New Summer Palace slowly turns towards such tactics to reinvigorate its environment with the use of a variety of arguably irrelevant vendors and hawkers marketing products that refer to traditional Chinese arts or motifs.

The activities of these vendors, cumulatively, work to satisfy other senses that the physical monument itself does not seem capable of satisfying. While the buildings and landscapes offer that primary visual factor to the experience, the cacophany of vendors hawking crude musical devices, the overflowing stands of novelties that visitors may wear, touch, or play with, offer a wealth of audio and tactile stimuli that simultaneously bombard passers-by. Such activities reinforce the cultural illusions, lending the site some sense of currency, despite its almost total loss of function, and also despite the fact that the activities and wares of those hawkers and vendors relate very little to the Summer Palace.

Photographic Delights

Tourism often involves amusement or novelty of varying degrees, many of these novelties or amusements could constitute instances of performance or performative architecture. At the Terracotta Warrior museum in XiAn, as an addendum to the excavation pits, a few photo studios sit at the corners of the buildings. Some of the tourists take it upong themselves to engage in these amusements, all of which involve superimposing their likeness onto a fictitious re-creation of the archaeological sites. These stages contain often humorous imagery, or comically inaccurate constructions that collapse several features from each of the three excavation pits into images in which participants may position themselves anywhere, posing in whatever pose they wish, or even mounting a horse. There is even one studio that superimposes the likeness of the person onto the head of one of the terra cotta warriors.

The third depiction offers the most accurate, but the upper two create very unusual imagery. But in any case of these studios, it seems explicitly indicated that photos of the actual warrios from the viewing platforms in the excavation sites are potentially inadequate. Clearly, visitors are not permitted to enter the pits and take photos from the vantage points offered by these studios. While it cannot be claimed that visitors prefer the studios to the sites themselves, these activities to beg the question of where the attention and stresses are applied in these cultural sites. It seems the likeness of the warriors are enough to tickle the fancies of these tourists who are willing to put in the extra cash to take these peculiar photos.

The Voice of Mao

Amongst architectural or urbanistic entities that impart a sense of overwhelming political pressure and propaganda, Tian An Men Square in Beijing likely offers the most powerful example. Amongst the relevant characteristics are:

Its disproportionate size in conjunction with the many symbolic and political communist structures and establishments both in and around it contribute to an ineffably stifling sensation, and a similarly sterile human behavioral pattern within its tightly controlled confines. Three overall factors seem to contribute to a performative effect in which political pressures and processes seem to shape a cultural environment by inhibiting activity, rather than stimulating it.

In most open urban spaces, being unoccupied by architecture, a wide array of human activity emerges, in which both deliberate and chance encounters and congregations between people occur, defining a place of unobstructed and undefined community where multitudes of human transactions and recreational activities might develop. However, in Tian An Men, no such transactions occur. Whereas the open square in Western cultures often signify a type of democratic order in which access is not a means of privilege or restriction, Tian An Men Square is not only fenced off from direct access, but is also heavily policed, requiring access through security points that involve metal detectors and scores of peace officers and related personnel. In addition, an incomprehensible array of security equipment, both audio and visual, that demonstrates no effort at concealment or visual integration pollutes the landscape with the overall impression of a jailyard.

Secondly, the sheer proportions of the square, which was enlarged four times since 1950, make it the largest uninterrupted urban square in the world, covering about 440,000 square meters in total (Solely in terms of size, the Imam Reza Shrine Complex in Iran is the largest, but its nearly 600,000 square meters are spread across seven distinct courtyards). The general human behavior in a square is not often to occupy wide open spaces, but to nucleate around objects within it, or to remain near the periphery by some margin. Due to this behavioral pattern, Tian An Men Square features an incredible amount of vacant space that does not encourage or specify any use.

Lastly, the square is both surrounded and occupied by a wide array of Chinese administration facilities and landmarks that were built for or insinuate the Communist party of China. The structures include the Great Hall of the People to the West, the National Museum to the East, the Forbidden City with its gargantuan portrait of Chairman Mao to the North, the Memorial Hall of Chairman Mao within the Square, and the Monument to the People's Heroes just North of the Memorial Hall. From the presence of these structures, most of which are relatively large compared to surrounding urban fabric, a great sense of forboding emerges that seems capable of exerting a sensation of great pressure.

A extremely sparse and indistinct human movement and density pattern constitutes the combined resultant of these factors. Visitors, both local and international, mill about quietly along the premise, partaking in little merriment or activity beyond the occasional photo with one of the administrative monuments or structures as a backdrop, tracing relatively indistinct trajectories as they move, as there are no obvious places to even sit to rest or trees beneath which they may take shelter from the sun. Visitors do not even seem drawn to the monument. The only other activity on the premise seems to be some mild hawking of photo services and concessions. Some people are drawn towards the two large screens near the north end of the Square, but as the content is strictly advertising in nature and not especially relevant, the attention span devoted to these screens is relatively brief. In short, the performative aspects of this urban entity seem to deal with control, insinuating the government's power through its extravagant architectural expressions and devices. It seems equally concerned with preserving itself by asserting its physical dominance as it does with preserving an atmosphere and decorum, for in all effectiveness, although the Communist regime of Chairman Mao's creation is no longer an extant political reality, its likeness is capable of conjuring a sensation of great foreboding. Chairman Mao's intent in expanding the Square was to produce the most spectacular of its kind in the world. As his vision was carried out by the descendants of his movement, we could easily qualify the success of his ambitious venture by the survival of his architectural brainchild.

Frenetic Tourism

Backtracking somewhat, I will identify an instance of performative properties in the Forbidden City, which has risen to fame as the pre-eminent landmark of China's cultural and political history. As the facility that once served as the official residence of many emperors of China, the largest standing palatial complex in the world, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and the essential center of Beijing, the Forbidden City, comparable only to the Terracotta Warrior complex in Xi'An and the Great Wall, constitutes the most visible and of the most recognizable symbols of historic China. A complex of great architectural splendor and excess, the site draws an annual volume of approximately 8 million tourists, which, in China, is exceeded only by the Great Wall.

During the visit, I witnessed a relative frenzy surrounding very few places within the complex. While exterior photographs offer the primary prescription for tourists, photographs of the interior seem to be of equal importance, but of far greater urgency, as the ability to view the interior of the chambers is largely impeded by extensive enclosures. As visitors can only view the interiors through the central door and one opening to either side, a great crowding occurs about these openings as tourists attempt, often unsuccessfully, to photograph an arrangement of furnishings that do not differ extensively between the six chambers, which are pictured below.


As the exterior forms and structures must attest to some nature of permanence, their appearance does not conjure many serious questions of veracity. However, as the objects that exist in the interior of the chambers could easily be moved or replaced or embellished upon, the verifiability of the exhibits of imperial thrones and podiums falls into great ambiguity. The image that so many tourists have invested intense effort into capturing could very well be a fabrication of unknown origin. And yet, they continue to do so, often raising their cameras over enthused crowds to in haphazard attempts to record the contents of six nearly identical throne-rooms.

As the Forbidden City no longer hosts its original function, its current architectural condition could be described as more or less a physical re-enactment of some now greatly obscured and, arguably, irrelevant cultural insinuation. However, based upon this post-humuously developed significance, the Forbidden City has shaped its internal physical environment into a new cultural landscape that has taken on a new type of dynamism, albeit one driven exclusively by tourism. By this principle, the site is effectively reinvigorated, perpetuating its survival. In effect, the new relationship between the Forbidden City and its inhabitants could be likened to that of the bee and the flower, whose bright colors attract its codependent species to pollinate and complete a complimentary cycle of symbiosis.