Top 10 theme parks we’d rather visit than Austenland
And with forty-odd (at last count) adaptations of Austen’s work for the screen, we pretty much have, to be honest. Which is why we’re sort of sceptical about Austenland– the story of yet another single woman, this time in possession of a dead aunt’s fortune and desperately in want of a husband. Oh, and phenomenally obsessed with Jane Austen. That’s fine. Lots of people are. But here at Best For Film, we can think of plenty of other writers who deserve their shot in the spotlight…
So, without further ado- here’s ten authors whose theme parks- and related movies- would be an awful lot more exciting than yet another regency flounce. Here we go:
#10 – Mr Wilde’s Wild Rides
Dwindling in popularity with the rise of social media, which does the same job without charging an entry fee, Mr Wilde’s Wild Rides features a lot of people cleverer, funnier and significantly more smug than you. We recommend Lady Windermere’s Ferris Wheel, Dorian Gray’s Hall of Mirrors, and the Bumper Cars of Reading Gaol, although skip the final attraction- peeling wallpaper, syphilis, meningitis and the mocking ghost of Jude Law tend to leave everyone feeling just a little bummed.
#9 – The Crazy World Of Arthur Schopenhaueur
Ever thought about ending it all? The Crazy World of Arthur Schopenhauer is here to confirm all your darkest thoughts about the universe. It’s all pointless. This theme park is pointless. A dark room. A gramophone. A gun. Single admission only.
#8 – Jillywood
Based on Cooper’s legendary bonkfests, Jillywood comprises a lot of shirtless, thoroughbreds with abnormally toned abs, some Arabian studs and endless romps round the back of the tennis courts. Tagline: “What a ride!”. Over 18s only. No commoners.
#7 – Poirotechnics
An unexpectedly charming full day trip to Mary St Mead, populated exclusively by wily little old ladies, scheming butlers, dumb blondes, and sharp-witted Belgians. Spend the day poking into strangers’ gardens, asking impertinent questions, and harassing the servants! The famous firework display commences in glorious technicolour at eight! But beware! While the crowd gasps at the dazzling array of light and colour, one of you- yes, you, the guests!- will be actually, tangibly murdered! Whodunnit? Only Christie can tell. Fun for all the family, apart from the one who gets done.
#6 – Randland
Trains. Trains. A park dedicated to the heaving, steaming, sweaty, thrusting power of trains. Don’t you love trains? Look at their pumping, throbbing pistons, slick with grease, slick with success. The most successful theme park in town. Sit astride the great heaving iron beasts. Look down at the grovelling poor beneath you. Acknowledge your own superiority. Acknowledge the great superiority of the train. The success. The money. The power. Crush the poor. Ride the beast. Ride the beast. Private booths available.
#5 – Stephen’s Kingdom
Feeling too sane? Just a little too happy? Stephen’s Kingdom, conveniently located just outside Castle Rock, Maine, offers a state of the art selection of refurbished childhood nightmares, psychotic nurses, and spectacularly inattentive staff. You’ll come away feeling…something, at least!
Our tips? Try not to unsettle the chap who runs the Overlook B&B, and if you’re too tall for the rides, Annie’s House Of Axes will sort you right out. Parental caution advised, but not expected: after all, we all float down here.
#4 – Finnegans Fête
riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of INCREDIBLE ROLLERCOASTERS to bend of TEACUP RIDES TEACUP RIDES, brings us by a commodios vicus of ROLL UP ROLL UP SHOOTING RANGE back to HAUNTED HOUSE and Environs ROLL UP ROLL UP ROLL UP ROLL UP
#3 – Woolf’s Water World
Stranded in the suffocating anaesthetic of the suburbs? Longing for the violent jolt of the capital? The V. Woolf Water Park is jampacked with fun for every suicidal Modernist, from The Lighthouse Helter Skelter to Mrs Dalloway’s Log Flume. Bring your own water wings; stones provided.
#2 – Hard-boiled Murakamiland And The End of The World
You descend the train and go to the gate of Murakamiland. It’s hard-boiled. It’s the end of the world. There’s a young girl at the gate. She looks at you with wide eyes. “My name is Baked Bean”, says her name badge. She blinks at you, once, twice. She is very nubile and mysterious. She disappears. There are cats, cats everywhere. Some of them speak. The cats are whispering to you. Classical music plays, faintly. The cats are whispering. The cats are speaking. You think about Baked Bean, the nubile mysterious teen. What’s her secret?
Later you leave. You feel as if you’re being followed. There are still cats everywhere. You eat your spaghetti. You think about Baked Bean. You think about Murakamiland. That’s Murakamiland. That’s the end of the world.
#1 – Irvine Welsh
Choose life. Choose a ticket to Scotlandland. Choose a fucking big Mars Bar on a stick. Choose Begbie’s Whack-A-Schemie, the Sick Boy Dodgems, nicking a compact disc player from the bran tub and wondering who the fuck you are when the tannoy says there’s only one hour left to try some of the famous deep-fried skag. Choose sitting in a dilapidated boozer filled with jakeys and regret, watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing Proclaimers tribute acts, stuffing junk food into your mouth to the tune of I’m Gonna Be (500 miles). Choose rotting away on the drive home, pishing your last into flannels stained with broon sauce and regret, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats who would rather have gone to Disneyland. Choose life. But why would you want to do a thing like that?