(Un)Conventional Voyages?—Star Trek: The Cruise and the Themed Cruise Experience

Abstract

Despite its relevance for the industry, cruise ship tourism has so far received a surprisingly little amount of academic attention. It is a central example of what has been described as “post-tourism,” a tourism that presupposes “a consumer who embraces openly, but with some irony, the increasingly inauthentic, commercialized and simulated experiences offered by the tourism industry” (Macleod et al.). Even though the term “inauthentic” is somewhat problematic and has sparked heated discussions in this context, the turn toward the commercialized and simulated described here is nevertheless a notable characteristic of tourism after the 1970s. Concepts such as George Ritzer's McDonaldization and Alan Bryman’s Disneyization (which builds on Ritzer) have been applied to many tourist destinations since these concepts were introduced. Disneyization means that the Walt Disney Company's underlying principles used for their theme parks have increasingly found use outside of their origin and now permeate several commercial sectors. These principles are theming (the design of a space following a central narrative idea), hybrid consumption (bringing together different forms of consumption, such as staying in a hotel or shopping), merchandising (branded goods), and performative labor (the requirement of workers to act as part of their job, whether playing character roles or just performing friendliness). Even though Disney itself entered the cruise ship market in 1998, Alan Weaver has shown that Disneyization played a role in that sector long before: The advent of Carnival's Fun Ships in the 1970s made the ships as much a destination as the ports they visited (“Disneyization” 389). Today's cruise ship industry developed over the 1980s and 1990s, with more and more diversified offerings in all respects: different cruise lines catering to different clientele, bigger and bigger ships with more entertainment and activities, and more and more destinations visited on route. Reflecting this development, yearly passengers increased from roughly 500,000 in 1970 to 10 million in 2000 (Weaver, “McDonaldization” 346). Thus, cruise line tourism, “once considered the preserve of the wealthy elite, became comparable in price to mass-market resort holidays” (Weaver, ”McDonaldization” 347). Part of this diversification of the market is also the catering to niche audiences—what has also been called “Post-Fordist customization” (Weaver, “McDonaldization” 349). One of the earliest instances of this phenomenon in the cruise ship industry was a biannual jazz cruise hosted by Holland America between 1974 and 1979.1 Despite such early forays into the market, the idea of the themed cruise only fully came to fruition in the 2000s, and since then, cruise lines have begun to offer a variety of these experiences: whether for foodies (such as P&O Cruises's “Food Heroes Sailings”), history buffs (American Cruise Line's Civil War-themed Cruises), the LGBT community (Atlantis's self-described “Largest European Gay Cruise” on Royal Caribbean ships), or fans of country music (the “Outlaw Country Cruise” organized on Norwegian Cruise Line). Within a larger context of fan tourism, some of these themed cruises cater to fans of pop culture: Star Trek: The Cruise is a fruitful case study. Run by an independent company, Entertainment Cruise Productions (ECP), but officially licensed by CBS, the first Star Trek: The Cruise took place on the Norwegian Jade in 2017, chartered from Norwegian Cruise Line for the purpose. After two back-to-back sailings in 2018, the third cruise (also called Star Trek: The Cruise III) took place January 4-10, 2019, leaving from Miami, Florida. This voyage serves as the case study for this analysis. The themed cruise experience poses several productive questions in the larger context of fan tourism: How much does the physical space matter for the fan experience, particularly in comparison with other sites such as filming locations? How central is the role of theming for this placemaking? How does the closed-off space of a cruise ship foster an immersion in the fandom and thus community building that may be superior to the visit of a regular convention? Does the fan engagement with other fans and series actors, as well as performing cosplay, still count as an immersion into the original text, in this case, Star Trek? And, most centrally, within the framework of secular pilgrimage, does the unique role of the ship as both location and transportation vehicle lend another dimension to that experience? In light of these questions, themed fan cruises, as evidenced in Star Trek: The Cruise, emerge as an important, but so far understudied, part of the consumer–capitalist industry that is fan tourism. The study of fan tourism has been firmly established as a subcategory of both fan and tourism studies over the last few years, even if it is not usually called that. Sue Beeton's 2005 Film-Induced Tourism established the titular term for those tourists who visit film destinations, whether publicly accessible filming locations, studio tours, or theme parks. Despite providing a comprehensive study, including a list of these destinations, Beeton does not discuss cruise ships (10–11). Other scholars have built on her concept, expanding it to “media tourism” or “mediatized” tourism so that other media forms, such as fiction books or television series, might be included (Reijnders, Places 4–5; Månsson). “Fan tourism,” however, might be a more precise term to describe these forms of tourism, since it places more focus on the agency of fans, rather than on the medium they consume. Roger C. Aden, who builds on Victor Turner, has argued in his influential work that fan tourism can be framed as a pseudoreligious experience, a form of secular pilgrimage. The cruise ship, as a curious hybrid of destination and journey, can be seen as taking its travelers on a secular pilgrimage, but it potentially complicates this theoretical approach. As Aden argues, “pilgrimages … are ritual journeys that separate us from our homes, immerse us in a liminal experience as we visit a sacred place … and reaggregate us at home with a new perspective” (81). Fan tourism serves this purpose, as it is “embedded in a longer process of the imagination … . When the media tourist finally makes his or her journey, this trip more or less represents a realization of an earlier imaginary journey” (Reijnders, “Stories” 673). Fans immerse themselves in the story worlds of the media products they love and, more importantly, their own imaginary versions of and emotional connection to these worlds. As studies have shown, immersion in a story only happens through such an imaginative, intellectual, or emotional connection (Hofer and Wirth 167). Generating such a connection has been essential to the design of theme parks, for example, and helps in their promotion of media companies’ intellectual property. Such efforts can be highly successful, as exemplified by the Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal Studios (Waysdorf and Reijnders). Themed cruises work under the same premise, since they engage their passengers in a familiar narrative space. In contrast to a theme park, however, they are more closely targeted to a specific audience and narrow in what they can offer. Whereas a theme park is usually an amalgamation of diverse themes and media properties (usually simply called IPs, intellectual properties, in industry jargon) appealing to a broad audience, themed cruises have to focus on one very specific media property and its fans. Star Trek: The Cruise, for instance, relies on a franchise that has existed for over fifty years and spans several highly varied television shows and movies, but, despite the scope, it could never appeal to more than Trekkies/Trekkers.2 It promises to immerse this specific fanbase in the Star Trek world, and for this, the fans are willing to treat the cruise ship as a Star Trek voyage. The real crux of the experience is not so much the theme as the sense of community, or communitas, which, not coincidentally, is also an integral part of the pilgrimage experience. The central importance of community makes themed cruises closer in form to conventions than other variations of fan tourism—a dimension also acknowledged by Star Trek: The Cruise's tongue-in-cheek billing of itself as an “unconventional voyage.” Conventions, even if an integral part of fandom since at least the 1970s (San Diego Comic-Con had its humble beginnings in 1972), have grown significantly in importance over the last decade or so, and some have expanded to become massive commercial ventures. Scholarship on them frequently situates them as secular pilgrimage sites. In an influential essay, Jennifer Porter analyzes Star Trek conventions within this framework, outlining how the meetings provide an opportunity for fans to step out of their everyday lives, making possible a connection with kindred spirits to form communal bonds in the liminal space of the convention site. As Lincoln Geraghty argues, conventions are “sacred sites where fans can immerse themselves in a text through rituals of performance, consumption and worship; making the text all the more real and creating a mythology” (94). A curious marker of how conventions differ from other sites of fan tourism is their essential placelessness: They are usually held at nondescript convention centers or hotels and may change location from year to year. Gil Rodman has argued that this placelessness is something that particularly haunts the Star Trek fandom, since its locations are almost exclusively studio built and usually not accessible to the public. (Historically, Star Trek TV series have been filmed in Paramount Studios, Los Angeles, while Star Trek: Discovery is shot at Pinewood Studios in Toronto.) Hills has pointed toward the (now defunct) Star Trek Experience in Las Vegas as an attempt to counteract this (156). Although sites like these and others, such as the James T. Kirk birthplace (Geraghty 94), somehow fill that void, they are ultimately not as important for the fandom as similar locations might be in other fandoms. Conventions remain integral to the experience of being a Trekkie/Trekker, also exemplified by the fact that there are many long-running conventions solely built around the franchise, such as Star Trek Las Vegas, Destination Star Trek at multiple locations in the United Kingdom and Germany, and FedCon in Germany. The latter was originally a Star Trek convention but has since expanded to all science fiction over its twenty-year-long run. That these are annual events, usually around the same dates, also reaffirms their status as pilgrimage sites, since attending them becomes for many a ritualistic act. In many ways, then, Star Trek: The Cruise is just another Star Trek convention, but contrary to other such events, the cruise banks much more on the use of enclosed, “immersive, shared spaces in which fannish pursuits can become codified, reinforcing both the behaviors and significance of fan practice” (Gilbert 319). Communitas remains at the heart of all of these experiences: It is about meeting other fans as much as it is about meeting the actors (and, occasionally, the writers and producers) of the franchise and creating a communal, shared space that allows for an emotional bond between all of its members. Yet, at regular conventions, most fans interact while waiting in long lines or in packed convention halls, ultimately leaving only limited time to do so. Although some conventions also host nightly parties, these are not always well attended, prohibited by tired feet and the often-attached extra charges. Interactions with actors are also ultimately limited, as photograph sessions are quick affairs and leave no room for conversation. Autographs might occasionally make one-on-one exchange possible, but depending on the popularity and schedule of the guest, fans may not get more than a few minutes of access to them at best. Fans can also ask questions at panels, but to do so requires the courage to speak up publicly, and time and access are also limited in this context. The experience on Star Trek: The Cruise differs from this quite significantly. One of the most obvious contrasts between the cruise experience and a regular convention is the length of the event: over five full days of events versus the standard convention length of one weekend. While Star Trek Las Vegas currently runs almost as long as the cruise, most celebrity guests do not attend the whole length of the event, and its offerings are much less diverse. Aside from the usual panel and photograph/autograph sessions, the activities on Star Trek: The Cruise III also included nightly evening shows (such as a one-woman revue by Gates McFadden and a staged reading of the Scopes Monkey trial written and hosted by John de Lancie), sports (such as a tennis match between Jason Isaacs, Ken Mitchell, and Michael Dorn), and episode screenings with introductions and commentaries by the actors. These are all exclusive performances not to be experienced anywhere else, and the events held in cruise ship's theaters were also forbidden to be filmed or otherwise recorded. Such exclusive access is comparable to the experience of being in Hall H at San Diego Comic-Con (Gilbert 323), but a significant difference is that all of the cruise experiences showcase a much more personal side of the celebrity guests. Additionally, on this third cruise, many of the celebrities also mixed and mingled at the nightly themed parties, karaoke nights, and even the restaurants. Some actors also hosted port excursions, thus extending the entertainment even to locales off the ship. This varied programming made it possible for fans to mingle and get to know each other better. The enclosed space of the ship and the resulting intimacy also play a central role in this community building that cannot be underestimated. By the end of the cruise, it was impossible for fans to walk into any venue on board without at least recognizing one familiar friendly face, whether it belonged to a celebrity or a regular guest. remove guests from their everyday lives and place them into a liminal, encapsulated, and themed experience. … It isolates participants, not only from their regular, everyday life, but it creates a hyperreal experience with which participants engage. They do not even go on a normal cruise, with its constructed tourist enclaves and tourist bubbles, but often avoid any aspect of the actual for the constructed, engaging only with the ship experience, the extensions of the ship experience (themed islands, cruise ship tours) and the theming of the festival[/event]. (“Voyage” 28) The concept of the ”tourist bubble” mentioned here is another important marker of the cruise experience. The isolation from the outside world automatically immerses guests into the cruise ship space a lot more than is usually the case at conventions.3 Although Geraghty has convincingly argued that the transformation of downtown San Diego for San Diego Comic Con is a version of placemaking (12–18), this situation is rather unique to that specific convention. Smaller events, such as Destination Star Trek, never extend beyond the convention hall or maybe an attached hotel, and they never reach a themed cruise level of immersion. However, the themed cruise ship experience does have some parallels to a visit to a theme park or another themed space. To understand how such themed venues work, two already mentioned key terms have to be more closely defined: “theming” and “immersion.”4 Theming, according to Scott A. Lukas, is simply “the use of an overarching theme … to create a holistic and integrated spatial organization of a consumer venue” (“Themed” 1). Theming is achieved both by detailed recreations of the environments the space is meant to be themed to—in the case of Star Trek: The Cruise, the overarching theme is the Star Trek franchise's storyworld—and by the evocation of general ideas of the portrayed theme. Theming thus includes “material attributes of the environment (scale, color, layout, costumes), all sensory environmental stimuli (visual, aural, tactile, olfactory), commodities sold (arts and crafts, foods, souvenirs), and the practices of all constituents (both on frontstage and backstage)” (Mitrasinovic 121). The goal of theming, ultimately, is an affective response to a space designed to achieve the so-called “authenticity of experience” (Bolter and Grusin 172). For this to be possible, the guest needs to be immersed into the space's story. Immersion literally means being submerged into something completely; for example, a person is immersed in water during a baptism. Janet Murray, dealing with metaphorical immersion in virtual reality, writes, “We seek the same feeling from a psychologically immersive experience that we do from a plunge in the ocean or swimming pool: the sensation of being surrounded by a completely other reality, as different as water is from air, that takes over all of our attention, our whole perceptual apparatus” (98–99). In the metaphorical sense, then, immersion implies “a transition, a ‘passage’ from one realm to another, from the immediate physical reality of tangible objects and direct sensory data to somewhere else” (Huhtamo 159). As Lukas sums it up, “immersion is all about the ways that the guest feels able to be part of that space” (Immersive 136). Since Star Trek: The Cruise takes place on a regular chartered cruise ship rather than a permanently themed one, the organizers have to decorate, or in industry jargon, retheme the space in an incredibly short amount of time (usually in a few hours before embarkation). This results in mostly superficial theming. For instance, on the third cruise, all the elevators were redesigned to resemble the starship turbolifts so familiar to fans, and one of the ship's souvenir shops was stocked with themed merchandise. Additionally, most locations around the ship were simply renamed: The bar area, for example, was rechristened “Quark's Bar” from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (1993–99), a popular venue to recreate (Karpovich 204–05). But aside from the bartenders wearing branded t-shirts and offering drinks like the famed “Romulan Ale,” nothing else was done to make the space resemble the fictional locale. And yet, despite these minor touches, the intimacy of the cruise ship managed to immerse guests in the experience, rather than in a precise recreation. Star Trek cruises are thus reminiscent of the transformation of downtown San Diego for San Diego Comic-Con every year, “a space for which most of the year is neutral but for one week in July is highly emotive” (Geragthy 103). The immersion here is truly based on the “authenticity of experience” (Bolter and Grusin 172), rather than on the oft-debated spatial authenticity potentially attached to filming locations (Williams 100). The fans themselves play a huge part in this type of immersion. Every night during the third voyage had a specific theme (e.g., Risa, the vacation planet featured in several of the franchise's series), and a majority of guests on board dressed up according to that theme. Cosplay was also frequently seen at any time of day, and it prompted a lot of interaction among guests. Cosplayers not only add to immersion into the fictional Star Trek universe by providing visual theming markers but also foster community building. Porter has noted the importance of cosplay at conventions in aiding the liminal potential of the experience, as donning a costume marks an even cleaner break from the everyday and as such holds a certain transformative power (249-50). Overall, then, the immersivity of the cruise stems less from the actual physical theming of space than from the shared community of fans. Although this is also true for the regular convention experience, the “bubble” of the ship acts as an added catalyst for it and makes the experience uniquely immersive. a deeply meaningful journey, for it is only in this context that fans can step outside their everyday social roles, and fully immerse themselves in a role where love of Star Trek unites participants into a community of equals that transcend racial, ethnic, gender, or class lines. The convention setting represents a “place and moment in and out of time,” in which fans experience a sense of egalitarian community epitomized, in fan perceptions, by the model of relationships found with the Star Trek television series themselves. (245) These presumed shared values (ideally) result in a more welcoming, or even safe space for fans, something exemplified also by the inclusion of the Gaaays in Spaaace fan organization in Star Trek: The Cruise III, which hosted several activities around the ship. Founded in 2016—sparked by the first-time depiction of an openly gay character in the franchise in a brief moment in Star Trek: Beyond (2016)—the group is dedicated to promoting LGBTQ+ visibility within the Star Trek fandom, and since 2016, it has been further fueled by the first two openly gay series regulars, Paul Stamets (Anthony Rapp) and Hugh Culber (Wilson Cruz) on Star Trek: Discovery (2017-). Notably, cosplay also played a role in the visibility of the queer community around the ship, since many openly queer guests chose costumes associated with these characters. The specially hosted events also provided space for the subcultural community to find each other even as they were also inclusive of straight/cis allies—most notably the several celebrity guests that attended the Gaaays in Spaaace karaoke night and used the opportunity to openly voice their support of the venture. They also extolled the more visible inclusion of the community in these fandom spaces still often associated with white, straight cis men. Although this notion of a safe space, both for fans, in general, and queer minorities, in particular, is an important part of the Trek cruise experience, Porter's notion of a community that transcends “racial, ethnic, gender, or class lines” at such fan events has to be problematized (245). Rebecca Williams has similarly argued that when participating in these events, “fans’ ordinary markers of identity such as age, class or gender cease to be important and connection with other fans depends only on a shared sense of belonging and solidarity” (102). While this feeling of solidarity and community is certainly often cited by fans, the reality of it is more complicated. These experiences seem to be able to break an invisible barrier—particularly in some rather surreal moments, when such a feeling of connection extends to celebrity guests—it is important to note that most often, there are not that many borders to cross in the first place. Both the fannish community at conventions and especially the travelers on the cruise are overwhelmingly white and middle-to-upper class.5 Although there are no official visitor data available for either the Star Trek cruise voyages, nor the music festivals at sea that Cashman has analyzed, there are personal observations and studies to fall back on. Cashman's cross section of interviewees were 95 percent white, with an average age between thirty and forty-five, and they were typically employed, with a majority (75 percent) having had a tertiary education (“Voyage” 23). My personal observations on Star Trek: The Cruise III suggest that the demographic makeup on these cruises is very similar. This largely has to do with the high cost of such a cruise vacation. While conventions are also pricey (particularly when it comes to the cost of autographs and photograph opportunities), the costs can usually be lowered with the choice of accommodations (if one is not a local) and attending only the activities included with the entry fee. Geraghty has addressed the consumption-oriented nature of these events, arguing that a “fan's love and valuing of the text is expressed alongside their financial investment in it, represented by them spending money on expensive tickets, souvenirs and memorabilia” (103). While spending on merchandise is much more limited on the cruise (there is only one location on board to do so), consumption is still central in the purchase of the cruise package. The availability of a package makes it attractive for those who can afford it. Cashman's interviewees, for example, cited the following advantages to the cruise experience over comparable land-based events: “dedicated staff, safety, convenience, no noise concerns, all-inclusive cost, access to hotel rooms and food” (“Atypical” 252). Star Trek: The Cruise also comes as a complete package that includes accommodation, all-you-can-eat food and beverages (excluding alcohol), and almost all on-board activities. Port excursions are extra, but not participating in them does not detract from the overall fan experience as much—if anything, one could argue that they potentially interfere with immersion, unless one joins a celebrity-led trip. Yet, either way, prices are rather steep (around $1,500 per person for the cheapest category), and that excludes travel to and from the cruise port. The utopian ideal of a community solely built on Star Trek's mantra of “infinite diversity in infinite combinations,” then, is thus only a theoretical possibility and a far cry from the lived reality of these commercial fan events. This rather limited demographic makeup of such events has two consequences: First, it skews the public image of the overall diversity of the fandom—while the existing trope of the Trekkie/Trekker as a pasty, male nerd wearing fake Vulcan ears may no longer hold up in these spaces, the majority of the attendees will still be white and affluent. And, second, and this is ultimately worse, the underlying capitalism also actively excludes large percentages of the fandom from participating in some of its central, and vital, activities—and thus also stands in jarring opposition to the virtues that Star Trek's utopian world extols. Themed cruises are slowly emerging as central experiences in the larger trend of fan tourism, a sector that only seems to have grown and gained more significance over the past decade, and likely will continue to do so. It is thus important for scholars of this trend to pay more attention to this unique style of not only vacationing but, more importantly, fannish practice. Themed cruises share a lot of common ground with fan conventions because they are less specific to certain spaces than, for instance, visits to film locations or theme parks. While theming still plays a marginal role in immersing the cruise guests into a certain storyworld, their immersivity largely stems from a sense of community among fans, as well as among fans and the celebrities of a fandom—the possibility for more personal or intimate encounters with the latter is also a central and almost unique draw of cruises compared to the convention circuit at large. Such a sense of community building, as well as the remoteness and “tourist bubble” of the cruise ship in and out of itself, also marks the themed cruise experience as another instance of a secular pilgrimage, a common framework to understand the attractiveness of fan tourism. Yet, while the community building that is possible here cannot be underestimated in its relevance in keeping fandoms alive, the underlying consumer-capitalist nature of both conventions and, to an even greater extent, themed cruise travel, ultimately prohibits them from being truly inclusionary, diverse spaces for fannish activities. Even as the Star Trek fandom prides itself on a shared utopian ideal of overcoming race, class, and gender boundaries, the capitalist origins of Star Trek: The Cruise remain particularly problematic and ultimately mean that these voyages are much more heterogenous and, thus, not as “unconventional” as they could be. Sabrina Mittermeier holds a doctorate in American cultural history from LMU Munich and Universitat Augsburg, Germany and is the author of a forthcoming monograph under the working title Middle Class Kingdoms – A Cultural History of Disneyland (Intellect Books 2021). She is also the coeditor of Here You Leave Today – Time and Temporality in Theme Parks (Wehrhahn 2017), Fighting for the Future – Essays on Star Trek: Discovery (Liverpool University Press 2020), and the Routledge Handbook to Star Trek (2021). She has taught and published on other diverse topics of American popular culture and history, and she can be found on Twitter @S_Mittermeier [Corrections added on October 11, 2020, after Online publication, the secondary affiliation Universitat Augsburg, Germany was added for the corresponding author.]