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Legoland is growing up.

The Carlsbad theme park will on Friday open Lego Galaxy, a new 2.4-acre themed land that will feature its most adult-focused attraction yet in the Galacticoaster. An indoor, space-themed thrill ride, Galacticoaster is brief but impressionable, a spinning race through a darkened landscape to save a Lego-infused galaxy from an “asteroid of probable destruction.”

At 40 mph, it’s the park’s fastest ride, but coming in at about 60 seconds and focusing on banking and turning means it still has full family appeal. Expect it to serve as an introductory, big kid coaster for many. It’s infused with lighthearted humor — floating farmers and barnyard animals cruise among the stars — lending it a rather relaxed atmosphere for a save-the-world, fast-paced attraction. In other words, it’s sleek, it’s hurried and it’s cutesy.

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“My favorite is the surfing alien,” says Tom Storer, North American project director for Merlin Magic Making, the creative team behind Lego experiences. “She’s my favorite thing to see in there. It’s right after the blast. It will sneak up on you.”

The Galacticoaster is the centerpiece of Lego Galaxy, which also includes two smaller outdoor attractions, a vintage-style shoot-’em-up video game and a play area for little ones. Its part of a $90-million investment in Legoland’s California and Florida parks on behalf of parent Merlin Entertainment (an identical Galacticoaster can be found in Lego’s Florida park). Lego Galaxy hopes to draw visitors — and perhaps new audiences — by focusing on slicker, more modern technology and injecting in the park the sort of excitable ride more commonly found at Legoland’s Southern California competitors.

Storer, for instance, isn’t shy about the Galacticoaster’s inspiration.

A view of the stars and scenery that surrounds the Galacticoaster track.

(Legoland / Merlin Entertainment)

“What is the space roller coaster of 2026? Space Mountain is a classic from back in the day,” he says, referring to the Disneyland Resort staple launched in 1977. “But this is kind of the new way.”

It is faster and brighter than Space Mountain, as the Galacticoaster is heavily populated with twinkling stars, planetary projections and many a Lego brick creation. But while Space Mountain tops off at about 32 mph, it likely still has Galacticoaster beat in the intensity factor due to its lift hill, sudden dips, jolting turns and near pitch-black darkness. No matter, says Storer, as here the objective was to place guests in a welcoming adventure with plenty to look at.

“When you think of outer space, you instantly think of stars and planets,” Storer says. “We have a really cool digital planet and we have stars everywhere.”

The Galacticoaster sits four per car, loading attendees parallel in a row via a moving platform. Once seated and locked in, it nearly immediately takes off, jetting riders into a darkened hallway with white lights before injecting them into a Lego galaxy. Lego aficionados or those who grew up with the sets will likely spy many an allusion to past toys. In the ride’s queue, for instance, guests in line will walk past a wall that features a timeline of many a Lego space set. Action comes fast, but surrounds guests, as the coaster cars rotate around a hurtling asteroid.

Legoland’s new Galacticoaster is an indoor space-themed roller coaster with twinkling stars and many Lego brick projections.

(Legoland / Merlin Entertainment)

While it twists from side to side, which has drawn light comparisons to Guardians of the Galaxy: Cosmic Rewind at Walt Disney World’s Epcot, with some referring to this as sort of a starter version of that more powerful coaster, it’s a smooth and relatively unobtrusive twisting. Those prone to motion sickness — and I am one of them — likely need not be too concerned here.

While Legoland has other coasters, many are known as what Storer refers to as “pink knuckle” coasters, slang for safe for kids and families. Galacticoaster, with a minimum height requirement of 36 inches, certainly is as well, but the creative executive hopes it falls somewhere between the pink and white knuckle level of force, the latter term reserved for the most thrilling of coasters.

“We’re known for having ‘pink knuckle’ coaster, where it’s not too scary,” he says. “It’s kind of, ‘My first coaster.’ This is family-friendly. We’d never do anything that’s not family-friendly. We want to make sure our guests from 5 to 12 have lots to do, but it’s a little more punchy and has that cool launch with a space blast-off feel.”

Theme park aficionados will be keen to know that this is the first attraction in the park to feature an animatronic figure. The character of Biff Dipper, an engineer, will be found in the ride’s preshow, familiarizing guests with the story of the asteroid that spells impending doom. Stout and slightly gruff, Dipper has a digital face that can approximate more than 40 expressions. The animatronic, says Storer, was an important investment for the park, as Legoland in Lego Galaxy was cognizant of guests becoming bored in what will surely be one of the park’s longest lines this upcoming spring and summer season.

There are interactive elements throughout Lego Galaxy. In the Galacticoaster, for instance, riders will build a virtual approximation of a spaceship from a touchscreen, selecting options for wings, cannons and more. Some are militant. Others look like burgers or rainbows. There are 625 variations, and the creation will then appear at the start and finish of the attraction, injected into the ride’s projectors via a guest wristband. Legoland officials like to refer to Galacticoaster as a 10-minute experience, a time that takes in the preshow with the Dippper figure as well as the construction of the spacecraft.

The character of Biff Dipper is Legoland’s first animatronic figure. Dipper is in the preshow of the Galacticoaster.

(Legoland / Merlin Entertainment )

Elsewhere in Lego Galaxy, there’s a full video game-like experience called the Rocket Assembly Bay. Here, guests will first build their own spaceship, and then have it scanned into the game for a cooperative shoot-’em-up. Rocket Assembly Bay is good fun, and rewarding even, to see a virtual scan of a hand-built ship injected into the game, this despite that fact that the play experience is largely a modern update of old coin-op “Asteroids.”

“There’s something about the simplicity of some of the things that have been done,” Storer says.

Two other core attractions dot the land. The G-Force Test Facility is a spinner that’s pitched as an astronaut training experience. Guests with a minimum height of 40” will be elevated off the ground via vehicles situated on rotating arms. There’s plenty of swinging and rotating action in this more standard amusement park-like creation, although Storer notes that riders won’t experience any actual G-forces. Still, here’s one that those with a propensity to motion sickness may want to take a pass on.

Lego Galaxy is rounded out with a play area and the preschool-focused ride Launch & Land. For those with a minimum height of 34 inches, this is a casual, patient experience, one in which seated guests will gently lift off into the air for a slightly elevated view of the land. Nominally designed as a spaceport, Lego aliens and spaceships populate the area. Press a button near one of the ships, and initiate, for instance, an engine test.

But don’t expect anything too serious. The Galacticoaster, after all, has a farting space cow.

By day, you’d be forgiven for walking past the newest theater in downtown L.A.

It isn’t hidden in an alley or obscured via a nameless door. No, this performance space is essentially a theater in disguise, as it’s designed to look like an electrical box — a fabrication so real that when artist S.C. Mero was installing it in the Arts District, police stopped her, concerned she was ripping out its copper wire. (There is no copper wire inside this wooden nook.)

Open the door to the theater, and discover a place of urban enchantment, where a red velvet door and crimson wallpaper beckon guests to come closer and sit inside. That is, if they can fit.

With a mirror on its side and a clock in its back, Mero’s creation, about 6 feet tall and 3 feet deep yet smaller on its interior, looks something akin to an intimate, private boudoir — the sort of dressing room that wouldn’t be out of place in one of Broadway’s historic downtown theaters. That’s by design, says Mero, who cites the ornately romanticized vibe and color palette of the Los Angeles Theatre as prime inspiration. Mero, a longtime street artist whose guerrilla art regularly dots the downtown landscape, likes to inject whimsy into her work: a drainage pipe that gives birth, a ball pit for rats or the transformation of a dilapidated building into a “castle.” But there’s just as often some hidden social commentary.

With her Electrical Box Theatre, situated across from the historic American Hotel and sausage restaurant and bar Wurstküche, Mero set out to create an impromptu performance space for the sort of experimental artists who no longer have an outlet in downtown’s galleries or more refined stages. The American Hotel, for instance, subject of 2018 documentary “Tales of the American” and once home to the anything-goes punk rock ethos of Al’s Bar, still stands, but it isn’t lost on Mero that most of the neighborhood’s artist platforms today are softer around the edges.

Ethan Marks inside S.C. Mero’s theater inside a fake electrical box. The guerrilla art piece is near the American Hotel.

“A lot of galleries are for what can sell,” Mero says. “Usually that’s paintings and wall art.”

She dreamed, however, of an anti-establishment place that could feel inviting and erase boundaries between audience and perfomer. “People may be intimidated to get up on a stage or at a coffee shop, but here it’s right on street level.”

It’s already working as intended, says Mero. I visited the box early last week when Mero invited a pair of experimental musicians to perform. Shortly after trumpeter Ethan Marks took to the sidewalk, one of the American Hotel’s current residents leaned out his window and began vocally and jovially mimicking the fragmented and angular notes coming from the instrument. In this moment, “the box,” as Mero casually refers to it, became a true communal stage, a participatory call-and-response pulpit for the neighborhood.

Clown Lars Adams, 38, peers out of S.C. Mero’s theater inside a fake electrical box. Mero modeled the space off of Broadway’s historic theaters.

A few days prior, a rideshare driver noticed a crowd and pulled over to read his poetry. He told Mero it was his first time. The unscripted occurrence, she says, was “one of the best moments I’ve ever experienced in making art.”

“That’s literally what this space is,” Mero says. “It’s for people to try something new or to experiment.”

Marks jumped at the chance to perform for free inside the theater, his brassy freewheeling equally complementing and contrasting the sounds of the intersection. “I was delighted,” he says, when Mero told him about the stage. “There’s so much unexpectedness to it that as an improviser, it really keeps you in the moment.”

A downtown resident for more than a decade, Mero has become something of an advocate for the neighborhood. The area arguably hasn’t returned to its pre-pandemic heights, as many office floors sit empty and a string of high-profile restaurant closures struck the community. Mero’s own gallery at the corner of Spring and Seventh streets shuttered in 2024. Downtown also saw its perception take a hit last year when ICE descended on the city center and national media incorrectly portrayed the hood as a hub of chaos.

Artist S.C. Mero looks into her latest project, a fake electrical box in the Arts District. Mero has long been associated with street art in the neighborhood.

“A lot has changed in the 13 years when I first got down here,” Mero says. “Everybody felt like it was magic, like we were going to be part of this renaissance and L.A. was going to have this epicenter again. Then it descended. A lot of my friends left. But I still see the same beauty in it. The architecture. The history. Downtown is the most populous neighborhood in all of L.A. because it belongs to everybody. It’s everybody’s downtown, whether they love it or not. And I feel we are part of history.”

Art today in downtown ranges from high-end galleries such as Hauser & Wirth to the graffiti-covered towers of Oceanwide Plaza. Gritty spaces, such as Superchief Gallery, have been vocal about struggles to stay afloat. Mero’s art, meanwhile, remains a source of optimism throughout downtown’s streets.

At Pershing Square, for instance, sits her “Spike Cafe,” a mini tropical hideaway atop a parking garage sign where umbrellas and finger food props have become a prettier nesting spot for pigeons. Seen potentially as a vision for beautification, a contrast, for instance, from the nature intrusive barbs that aim to deter wildlife, “Spike Cafe” has become a statement of harmony.

Elsewhere, on the corner of Broadway and Fourth streets, Mero has commandeered a once historic building that’s been burned and left to rot. Mero, in collaboration with fellow street artist Wild Life, has turned the blighted space into a fantastical haven with a knight, a dragon and more — a decaying castle from a bygone era.

“A lot of times people are like, ‘I can’t believe you get away with that!’ But most people haven’t tried to do it, you know?” Mero says. “It can be moved easily. It’s not impeding on anyone. I don’t feel I do anything bad. Not having a permit is just a technicality. I believe what I’m doing is right.”

Musician Jeonghyeon Joo, 31, plays the haegeum outside of S.C. Mero’s latest art project, a theater in a faux electrical box.

After initially posting her electrical box on her social media, Mero says she almost instantly received more than 20 requests to perform at the venue. Two combination locks keep it closed, and Mero will give out the code to those she trusts. “Some people want to come and play their accordion. Another is a tour guide,” Mero says.

Ultimately, it’s an idea, she says, that she’s had for about a decade. “Everything has to come together, right? You have to have enough funds to buy the supplies, and then the skills to to have it come together.”

And while it isn’t designed to be forever, it is bolted to the sidewalk. As for why now was the right time to unleash it, Mero is direct: “I needed the space,” she says.

There are concerns. Perhaps, Mero speculates, someone will change the lock combination, knocking her out of her own creation. And the more attention brought to the box via media interviews means more scrutiny may be placed on it, risking its confiscation by city authorities.

As a street artist, however, Mero has had to embrace impermanence, although she acknowledges it can be a bummer when a piece disappears in a day or two. And unlike a gallerist, she feels an obligation to tweak her work once it’s out in the world. Though her “Spike Cafe” is about a year old, she says she has to “continue to babysit it,” as pigeons aren’t exactly known for their tidiness.

But Mero hopes the box has a life of its own, and considers it a conversation between her, local artists and downtown itself. “I still think we’re part of something special,” Mero says of living and working downtown.

And, at least for now, it’s the neighborhood with arguably the city’s most unique performance venue.