The Restaging of "Luna Luna" Calls Back to a More Exciting—But Dead—Art World

The modern incarnation of Luna Luna is not the 1987 theme park envisioned by artist and curator André Heller. It’s not even close. Instead of a park in Hamburg, Germany, this resurrection is hosted at The Shed—a relatively new 200,000-square-foot structure in Midtown Manhattan constructed to "welcome innovative art and ideas." In a broader cultural landscape that’s dripping nostalgia and pastiche, this $100-million-dollar (funded in part by rapper Drake’s media company, DreamCrew) restaging of pieces from the ’80s by big business interests is a compelling window to a time when provocative Pop art looked toward—and attempted to influence—the future.

In 2025, the ticket to attend is no longer 20 Deutsche Marks (around $22 today), and you can’t get on any of the rides. But for $44 dollars ($64 on weekends), you can still view the majestic attractions created by artists like Salvador Dalí, Keith Haring, David Hockney, Roy Lichtenstein, and Jean-Michel Basquiat. It’s not a fairground built for running and laughing—it’s an exhibit staged for milling and posting on social media. There are a few interactive experiences: walking around the two halls of mirrors, getting (fake) married in the wedding chapel, engaging with actors patrolling the floor, and playing with stuffed rubber blocks.

Despite the contrast to the original, Luna Luna finds a successful middle ground between trendy participatory "immersive museum," curated exhibition, and historical preservation project—marrying a serious art show with Instagram-perfect photo ops. This formula has proven incredibly popular, first welcoming 150,000 visitors in L.A. for the better part of 2024 and now on an extended New York City run until February 23.

Upon entering, an usher advises visitors to work their way along the perimeter and read a historical timeline on the walls—a new element of the exhibit—before taking in the artifacts themselves. The timeline begins at the turn of the 20th century, combining historical context with a history of the park and its contributors. Holocaust tragedies, notable art history moments, and political upheavals give the viewer context and a sense of urgency. But the timeline stops in 1987 at the park’s debut. A short addendum details Luna Luna’s quiet retreat from public view and mentions a few historical events such as 9/11, the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the sale of a Van Gogh for $53.9 million. The timeline restarts in the 2000s, with a much shorter space dedicated to a practical account of restoring Luna Luna. No historical context was added to the more recent history.

The lack of interest in the contemporary feels apt for our current moment. Amid a precarious future due to climate change, regressions of civil rights under a forthcoming administration, and widespread artist censorship, it’s no surprise we are awash in economically and politically safe reboots and live-action adaptations. In Ghosts of My Life (2014), pop philosopher and music critic Mark Fisher wrote about "the slow cancellation of the future," detailing how—thanks to a variety of political and social factors—pop culture of the 2000s and onward has become less and less interested in breaking new creative ground. Its focus is reminiscing and recycling the past. Similarly, Dean Kissick’s recent (much applauded and criticized) Harper’s essay, in part, lamented the art world’s "nostalgic turn towards history"—looking towards the past as a bland way to reconsider our present moment.