“My biggest fear is that we’ll be too successful.” – Robert Fitzpatrick, Euro Disney chairman
Remember summer vacations? Les vacances as the French say? For many, those international trips are just distant memories now. The global pandemic has certainly changed travel plans, and even local escapes feel different. For Disney aficionados, the magic is particularly muted with Disneyland parks facing closures and altered experiences. When Disneyland reopens, many anticipate a slightly off-kilter feeling, a sense of something being not quite right – an “uncanny valley” effect in the happiest place on earth. This feeling of something being almost familiar, yet subtly amiss, might just echo the story of Euro Disney in its early days.
In fact, the initial launch of Euro Disney, now Disneyland Paris, serves as a fascinating, if cautionary, tale. Often cited in business schools, it’s a case study in cultural adaptation, the perils of hubris, and the sunk cost fallacy. It’s a story filled with protesting farmers, unexpected culinary clashes, and even a forgotten bombing incident, all set against the backdrop of a grand ambition to bring Disney magic to Europe. Join us as we explore the journey to what was once dubbed the “Not-So-Happiest Place On Earth,” and discover how the iconic Euro Disney Castle, or rather, Sleeping Beauty Castle Paris, became a symbol within this complex narrative.
As the calendar turned towards 1992, the Disney empire was riding high. While it’s hard to imagine now, the 1970s were a period of relative stagnation for Disney. By the mid-80s, corporate raiders were circling, and Hollywood whispered about Disney’s fading relevance. Enter Michael Eisner, a new CEO with a vision. His strategy was multi-pronged: revitalize existing assets, create new classics, and expand the parks division. Re-releasing beloved animated films on VHS was a stroke of genius, tapping into a wave of nostalgia. Then came the animation renaissance with hits like The Little Mermaid (1989) and Beauty and the Beast (1991), followed by Aladdin. But the real game-changer was theme parks. Walt Disney World was thriving, and Disneyland remained a consistent draw. However, the unexpected triumph of Tokyo Disneyland in the 1980s was the catalyst for even bolder ambitions.
Tokyo Disneyland defied expectations. Despite high construction costs and cultural and linguistic differences, it became a phenomenal success. Japan, experiencing a post-war economic boom, embraced Disney wholeheartedly. By 1991, Tokyo Disneyland’s visitor numbers surpassed both Disneyland and Disney World, convincing Eisner that Europe was the next frontier. Scouting for locations began, setting the stage for the Euro Disney adventure.
When Disney began its European quest, Spain and France emerged as frontrunners. Spain, with its Californian and Floridian climate, seemed a natural fit. However, Tokyo Disneyland’s success proved that perfect weather wasn’t essential. France offered a different allure: it was already the world’s top tourist destination. Paris attracted millions, and Disney aimed to intercept those travelers. Furthermore, in 1982, French workers gained a fifth week of paid vacation, providing ample opportunity for family getaways. Yet, France almost fumbled its advantage.
By 1985, French negotiations were faltering. Disagreements over site proposals, train access, and funding stalled progress. Meanwhile, Spain, eager to showcase its economic progress after the Franco dictatorship and during its EU membership application, rolled out the red carpet for Disney. Spain promised everything Disney desired. A French delegation’s presentation at Disney HQ was met with cold silence, while the Spanish team celebrated. However, real estate decisions often hinge on one key factor: location. Spain’s initial Mediterranean coast proposal, while appealing, proved problematic when Disney scouts encountered relentless off-season winds. Barcelona, slated for the 1992 Olympics, was the next Spanish suggestion. Unfortunately, Spain was grappling with ETA terrorism at the time. A car bombing in Madrid, claiming an American life, shifted Disney’s focus back to France. Faced with external competition, the French finally unified and presented a compelling offer.
“Paris is a global magnet, attracting 50 million visitors annually who spend billions,” the French delegation argued. “They’ll spend money on Mickey Mouse ears, trust us. And remember that fifth week of vacation? We have the perfect location, just outside Paris, plenty of space. We’ll handle relocating farmers. We’ll build a train and fund it. We’ll offer tax breaks, cheap land, and a substantial loan – $700 million – just please, bring us le Mickey.”
It was an irresistible proposition. On December 15, 1985, Disney and the French Prime Minister signed a letter of intent. Euro Disney was coming to France.
The chosen site was Chessy, a small, ancient village embodying 20th-century European suburbanization. “Cheese,” as it was nicknamed, was a hamlet about 20 miles from Paris, historically consisting of farms, a church, a school, and a road. Its population remained stagnant for centuries. However, post-World War II, Europe witnessed a massive population shift from rural areas to cities. Urban planners saw these aging villages as potential “new cities,” planned communities with modern infrastructure. Chessy, with its open beet fields stretching towards Paris, was ideal. In the 1950s and 60s, suburban development began along the Marne River, transforming Chessy into a commuter town. In the late 60s, a vast beet field on the village outskirts was earmarked for large-scale development. The 1973 oil crisis halted these plans, leaving the beetroots untouched, until Disney’s arrival.
Groundbreaking for Euro Disney occurred in August 1988, Disney’s most ambitious construction project yet. Unlike Tokyo Disneyland, which largely replicated existing Disney parks, Eisner envisioned something innovative in these beet fields. He aimed to learn from past ventures and maximize revenue. In Tokyo, Disney had ceded too much control and revenue streams. In Orlando, Disney only owned a fraction of hotel rooms. Euro Disney would be different – vast. The complex would feature seven hotels with 5,200 rooms, extensive office space, a golf course, and hundreds of homes. And then, of course, the park itself. The challenge was to make Euro Disney distinct, uniquely European.
Certain park elements would remain classic Disney: Main Street, Frontierland, Adventureland. But adaptations were necessary. Parisian weather, with its frequent rain, dictated covered queues and fewer water rides like Splash Mountain. Beyond practicality, cultural nuances were paramount. Castles, for instance. While Americans might be awestruck by Sleeping Beauty’s Castle, Parisians lived within hours of real, historic castles. Why pay to see a replica? Yet, a castle was essential, and Disney created a truly spectacular one: Sleeping Beauty Castle Paris, or Le Château de la Belle au Bois Dormant. No expense was spared. Stained glass from the same studio that restored Notre Dame’s windows adorned the Euro Disney castle, adding a touch of authentic French artistry to this fairytale centerpiece.
Another unique challenge was snow. Euro Disney had to be winter-proofed. Covered walkways, real doors, and central heating were crucial. During a winter site tour, a freezing Michael Eisner sought refuge in a hotel lobby. Warming himself by the fireplace, watching the snow fall, he mandated fireplaces in all hotels and restaurants – a costly addition. Construction costs soared, but confidence remained high. As Euro Disney’s chairman told the New York Times, “We are spending 22 billion French francs before we open the door, while the other places spent 700 million. This means we can pay infinitely more attention to details. There’s just too great a response to Disney for us to fail.” A statement that would soon prove overly optimistic.
Unbeknownst to the confident chairman, French enthusiasm for Euro Disney wasn’t universal. Despite the French government’s eager embrace, France, in the early 90s, was at the forefront of resistance against “cultural imperialism.”
As the Cold War waned, cultural influence became a new form of global power. Nations exerted dominance through cultural exports, particularly pop culture. France, wary of American cultural dominance, championed cultural protectionism. While a signatory to the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT), France advocated for cultural import restrictions to favor domestic products. If legally unable to block Disney, French intellectuals aimed to undermine its cultural cachet.
Novelist Jean-Marie Rouart warned of a world where “the kingdom of profit will create a world that will have all the appearance of civilization and all the savage reality of barbarism.” A member of the Academy Française decried Euro Disney as “this horror of cardboard, plastic, atrocious colors, solidified chewing gum constructions and idiotic folk stories that come straight out of cartoon books for obese Americans,” fearing it would “wipe out millions of children…mutilate their imaginations.” One critic even labeled Euro Disney a “cultural Chernobyl.” When Michael Eisner arrived to celebrate Euro Disney stock listings, protestors greeted him with ketchup pelting.
Disney countered intellectual criticism with a massive $220 million pre-launch advertising blitz. They highlighted Walt Disney’s World War I ambulance service in France and emphasized the French origins of the “Disney” name, tracing it back to d’Isigny-sur-Mer. Antonio Banderas and Melanie Griffith graced the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Goofy’s bienvenue was omnipresent on French television. Despite the intellectual backlash, Disney’s mass appeal was undeniable. By 1992, Europe accounted for 25% of Disney licensing deals. Europe, particularly France, loved Mickey and friends, especially Donald Duck. The French affinity for Donald Duck, the pantless, slightly rebellious character, remains somewhat of a cultural quirk. Even the Catholic Church embraced the arrival, assigning a priest to Chessy for the first time in decades. With European integration gaining momentum, Europe seemed poised to become a unified consumer market ripe for Disney. Polls indicated 85% of French households welcomed the park. In February 1992, Beauty and the Beast earned a Best Picture Oscar nomination, and a month later, won for Best Score and Best Song. Tokyo Disneyland celebrated its 100 millionth visitor. The timing seemed perfect. Euro Disney was ready. Just before opening, the New York Times reported, “No one at the company is even having second thoughts. Disney being Disney, executives instead are worried that Euro Disneyland – covering an area one-fifth the size of Paris itself – just might not be big enough to handle the crowds. In a move that would border on hubris at almost any other company, plans are already being draw for emergency radio and subway announcements to warn people away when the park fills up. “My biggest fear,” Robert Fitzpatrick, Euro Disney’s chairman said, “is that we will be too successful.”
History, however, had other plans for Bob and Euro Disney.
April 12, 1992, opening day. Admission was set at $40 for adults and $27 for children. The box office was ready, balloons inflated, streets pristine, gift shops stocked, and rides operational. Only one crucial element was missing: guests.
Instead of the anticipated 60,000 visitors, Euro Disney welcomed a mere 25,000 on opening day. The parking lot was half-empty, and not due to train arrivals. A French transport strike crippled the local train line. Hubristic radio announcements warning of overcrowding ironically deterred locals. Tourists and public figures also stayed away. Even the Culture Minister, a vocal critic of cultural imperialism, cited being “too busy” to attend. One critic, invoking the 1968 riots, hoped for a “May 1992 that will set fire to Euro Disneyland” – a wish almost fulfilled. That night, two small bombs damaged the park’s electricity pylons, barely averted disaster. The disastrous opening day was followed by worse days. The new park was a flop.
French backlash intensified. In June, protesting American trade policies, French farmers drove tractors through the former beet fields, blocking park entrances. “Euro Disneyland is the symbol of an American culture that has invaded our culture,” one farmer declared. “Now the Americans want to do the same thing to our agriculture.” Local police remained passive. Within its first year, Euro Disney accumulated a 300 million franc loss. The core problem became clear: Disney had focused on “Frenchifying” Disneyland’s aesthetics, like the Euro Disney castle, but neglected to “Disneyfy” the French consumer.
Problems originated within the park itself. Disney offered well-paying, full-time jobs to thousands of French employees, exceeding minimum wage. However, the paychecks couldn’t compensate for Disney’s stringent employee regulations: no mustaches, specific undergarments, short fingernails, minimal makeup, and no public smoking. These rules sparked labor union resistance. Disney’s refusal to relax grooming standards led to 500 cast member resignations and 500 firings within the first nine weeks. French cast members resented forced smiles, constant friendliness, and endless questions. “The customer is always right” philosophy was culturally lost in translation. As one journalist observed, “There are several styles of service in Europe, unbridled enthusiasm is not a marked feature of them.” However, customer service issues paled in comparison to lunchtime outrage: Euro Disney served no wine.
Walt Disney’s staunch anti-alcohol policy prevailed. French executives argued for wine service, citing European dining norms. Adapting Disneyland to Europe, they contended, meant offering wine with lunch. A compromise seemed possible after one executive took Eisner to Copenhagen’s Tivoli Gardens. Observing families enjoying wine with meals in a family-friendly setting, Eisner seemed to reconsider. However, as they left a restaurant, a drunk man vomited on Eisner’s shoes. Eisner’s verdict: “We are not having alcohol in the park.”
Wine wasn’t the only lunchtime frustration. American dining habits, flexible and snack-driven, contrasted sharply with the French adherence to a traditional, fixed meal schedule. Euro Disney restaurants, prepared for a steady flow of customers, were overwhelmed at 12:30 PM. “Wait until 2 PM?” In France, lunch is at 12:30 PM.
Euro Disney also misjudged French vacation patterns. Disney executives fixated on “five weeks of vacation,” envisioning week-long stays. However, the French viewed Euro Disney as a day trip destination. While Americans might travel to Orlando for Disney World and stay in Disney hotels, Europeans weren’t flying to Paris solely for Disneyland, nor choosing beet field hotels over Parisian charm. Hotel occupancy plummeted. French families took vacations in August, les vacances, en masse. During the school year, the park was deserted.
Finally, a crucial question arose: did the French even like theme parks? Three other French theme parks, each costing over $150 million, had opened in the preceding three years. Two had already gone bankrupt by Euro Disney’s opening.
An even larger issue loomed: Europe was entering a recession. Tokyo Disneyland opened during post-war prosperity. Euro Disney debuted amidst the end of the Cold War, an oil price spike, and the hangover from 1980s excess. French unemployment surged to post-WWII highs in 1992. Shareholders received grim financial news quarter after quarter.
By 1994, the Disney shareholder meeting was somber. Euro Disney had hemorrhaged $1 billion in its first 18 months. Disney sold a 10% stake to a Saudi prince and threatened park closure. Michael Eisner, the park’s champion, admitted, “Anything is possible today, including closure.” Hope rested on an economic miracle.
Two miracles arrived the following year: Space Mountain and the TGV. Space Mountain, a high-thrill roller coaster, was a calculated risk. When cultural nuances failed, high-speed thrills might succeed. Disney “Frenchified” the classic attraction, theming it around Jules Verne and steampunk. At $90 million, it was the most expensive roller coaster then built. Even the French embraced the high-speed space coaster. Accessibility improved dramatically with the 1994 opening of the Channel Tunnel and the extension of French high-speed rail (TGV) to the park’s gates. British Disney fans could now reach Euro Disney in under three hours by train. These two additions, Space Mountain and TGV access, delivered something Euro Disney had never seen: profit.
Yet, one glaring issue remained: the name “Euro Disney.” American market research had misjudged European perception. “Euro” to Americans evoked luxury and exoticism. To Europeans, “Euro” signified business, finance, bureaucracy. The future currency, the euro, reinforced this association. “Euro Disney” sounded corporate, not vacation-like. Disney’s marketing team brainstormed for a glamorous, romantic, and elegant alternative. The solution, surprisingly simple: “Disneyland Paris.”
The Euro Disney debacle cast a long shadow over Disney’s theme park expansion for the rest of the decade. Back in California, Eisner had envisioned WestCOT, a West Coast EPCOT, adjacent to Disneyland. However, EPCOT’s billion-dollar (1970s dollars) cost was now prohibitive. WestCOT, ambitious and experimental, felt too risky after Euro Disney’s near-failure. Disney opted for a more conservative approach for the WestCOT site.
In 2001, California Adventure opened. Disney executives, again, predicted massive crowds, inadvertently deterring locals. California Adventure flopped, perceived as cheap and lackluster. Its rides were underwhelming, and the park felt like a cash grab – because it was. California Adventure was a budget-conscious attempt to recoup losses from Euro Disney. A billion-dollar overhaul in 2007 was needed to transform it into a success.
Meanwhile, Disneyland Paris struggled on. French resentment lingered. Just as recovery seemed possible, the 2008 economic crisis crippled Europe, decimating theme park spending. 2009 was one of Disneyland Paris’s worst years, losing nearly $100 million. In 2014, Disney saw an opportunity: the hit film Ratatouille, set in Paris. A Ratatouille ride was launched and proved popular, but insufficient. Disney refinanced the park with $1 billion in 2014. Terrorist attacks in Paris and Nice in 2015 further deterred tourists, causing a 10% attendance drop. In 2017, for the park’s 25th anniversary, Disney announced a buyout, taking near-full control to finally fix its troubled European venture. In 2018, with 99% ownership, Disney pledged another 2 billion euros for park expansion, including three new areas and more rides. Disneyland Paris had recorded losses in 18 of its first 25 years. The buyout offered a fresh start. In 2019, Disneyland Paris achieved its first profitable year in a decade. Then came 2020.
The year of nightmares. Yet, something unexpected happened. Disneyland Paris, the once-doomed experiment, survived. It weathered empty parking lots, strikes, protests, intellectual scorn, recessions, and cultural clashes. Now, it’s navigating a global pandemic. After closing in March 2020 due to COVID-19, Disneyland Paris reopened on July 15th. Remarkably, Disneyland Paris is currently more profitable than Disneyland itself, albeit with low attendance and potential for future closures. But low attendance and economic challenges are familiar territory for Disneyland Paris. For now, c’est dans le boite! It’s in the can.
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