Welcome to Action Park: Where Fiction Writers Find Wickedly Flawed Characters
If you’ve never heard of Action Park, aka “Class Action Park” or “Traction Park,” let me paint a picture: imagine a 1980s amusement park run by your unqualified high school friends, designed by people whose engineering skills topped out at “doodles on a napkin,” and patronized by thrill-seekers blissfully ignoring OSHA. This New Jersey deathtrap is a goldmine for fiction writers looking to explore characters who aren’t malicious, just fatally flawed—literally.
Much like the rides at Action Park, these characters can become wicked or comedic (often both) because of their obliviousness, arrogance, or sheer incompetence. Let’s dive in.
The Cannonball Loop of Moral Oversight
Let’s start with Action Park’s most infamous monstrosity: The Cannonball Loop. This was a waterslide with a full vertical loop, built with all the precision of a middle school science project. Riders exited bruised, concussed, or occasionally bleeding, with stories about how the designers had to throw test dummies in first—many of which came out decapitated. So naturally, the park opened it to guests.
Now, Gene Mulvihill, the park’s founder, wasn’t evil; he just had a vision. His fatal flaw was overconfidence. He truly believed his reckless creations could deliver fun without disaster, much like a mad scientist convinced their untested invention won’t explode. For writers, this is your template for a character who means well but operates with blind faith in their own flawed brilliance.
Think of the “cool teacher” who lets students do chemistry experiments without goggles, or the reckless leader who improvises a dangerous plan with no backup. They aren’t villains—they just don’t grasp that their optimism is a weapon of mass destruction.
The Grave Pool of Bad Decisions
Next up: the Wave Pool, better known as the “Grave Pool.” It was too deep, too crowded, and manned by barely-trained teenage lifeguards. Guests regularly underestimated their swimming skills and overestimated the thrill, leading to frequent rescues and a tragic number of drownings.
This is where writers can explore characters whose “wickedness” stems from ignoring consequences. Maybe it’s the well-meaning inventor who creates a life-saving serum that accidentally zombifies half the town. Or the overzealous parent who pushes their kid to stardom without noticing the mental toll. Like Action Park’s wave pool, these characters aren’t evil—they just refuse to acknowledge they’re in over their heads.
The comedy here comes from the absurdity of their hubris. Picture a character throwing a dinner party with zero cooking skills, setting fire to the kitchen, and insisting, “This is fine,” as smoke fills the room. The tragedy? They genuinely thought it would all work out.
The Alpine Slide of Escalating Chaos
Ah, the Alpine Slide—a downhill ride where guests controlled sleds that were either stuck in “snail mode” or “breakneck speed.” Protective gear was optional, and crashes were inevitable. Riders walked away (if they walked at all) with burns, scrapes, and broken bones.
This ride encapsulates the appeal of a character whose flaws snowball into chaos. Maybe it’s the overly ambitious entrepreneur who keeps doubling down on bad ideas until the whole operation collapses. Or the hapless friend who tells one little white lie that spirals into a web of deceit, culminating in a disastrous reveal at the worst possible moment.
Like the Alpine Slide, these characters are a mess waiting to happen. The comedy lies in how spectacularly they crash; the tragedy is that they can’t stop themselves.
A Staff of Teenage Enablers
Action Park’s workforce was a ragtag bunch of underage, undertrained teenagers. These kids were lifeguards, ride operators, and, occasionally, the first responders for injuries they couldn’t possibly handle. Their bosses? Adults who should’ve known better but didn’t care.
This dynamic is fertile ground for character relationships in fiction. Imagine a naive but well-meaning protagonist surrounded by enablers who lack the courage or experience to stop them. Or a boss who prioritizes profit over safety, creating a domino effect of bad decisions. These relationships can highlight how collective flaws compound into wicked (or hilarious) outcomes.
For instance, maybe your character runs a startup where everyone’s too afraid to say, “Hey, this app might actually bankrupt us.” Or a family sitcom where one person’s terrible idea becomes a group effort, culminating in a ridiculous (and possibly illegal) scheme.
The Wickedness of Being Human
The genius of Action Park as a metaphor for fictional characters is that its chaos wasn’t driven by malice. Gene Mulvihill didn’t want people to get hurt; he just couldn’t see past his own ambition and believed in the invincibility of fun. Similarly, the rides weren’t designed to kill; they were just the result of incompetence, bad judgment, and a refusal to consider worst-case scenarios.
This is what makes flawed characters so compelling. They don’t have to twirl a mustache or cackle menacingly. They just need to act on their human failings—arrogance, ignorance, carelessness—and let those flaws wreak havoc.
And when those flaws escalate? That’s where the comedy and tragedy meet. Picture your character realizing, too late, that their metaphorical wave pool is swallowing them whole. Or that their cannonball loop isn’t thrilling—it’s fatal.
So the next time you’re crafting a character, think about Action Park. Remember, the best flaws are the ones that make people laugh, cry, or both. And if all else fails? Just send them down the Alpine Slide of their own bad decisions.
The Snark
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