Medieval times kissimmee yellow knight1/17/2024 ![]() ![]() The dinner parties are spread out around on the arena, too. They are allowed to take their masks off while they eat in their seats as shield-wearing servers pass out chicken, garlic bread and tomato soup. Visitors are required to walk in with their masks and go through temperature screening. ![]() The knights battle in five to seven shows a week, down from what was once 14 performances a week during a typical busy summertime.Īdmission price is $64.95 per adult and $36.95 for each child although online offers a 25% discount. It’s about one-third of normal volume, although Dorn says he’s confident the business is not in danger of closing even as it faces the attendance hit. Under state guidelines, the Kissimmee show currently can host a maximum of 500 people in the 1,100-seat arena although some shows only bring in 350 or 400 people. The Central Florida castle is only one of three currently open out of the company’s 10 venues. His itinerary also included several International Drive attractions. “I’ve been wanting to go to one of these my whole life,” said Mallett, 36, a fan of swords, as he waited for the show to begin. Raymond Mallett flew into Orlando from Cleveland, Ohio, unconcerned about traveling during a pandemic, he said. They didn’t mind complying with the mask requirements while in town, he said. Others have traveled considerable distances, which leaves the general manager still unsure of who exactly his audience is - locals or tourists - in the early reopening days.īrent Hutto and his extended family of 12 drove from Georgia, Alabama and Louisiana to vacation in Florida and attend Wednesday’s show after a stop at the Universal theme parks. The parking lot is full of Florida license plates as some families celebrate birthdays and high school graduations. Shouts of "Bring out the Pear!" mix with the happy din of birthday-drunk little lords and ladies.Audience members cheer for their knight at Medieval Times in Kissimmee on Wednesday, July 22, 2020. Our Yellow Knight succumbs early, but we quickly shift our allegiance to the neighboring Black-and-White Knight. The color-coded cheering sections howl for blood as knights lance each other and tumble to the ground, then jump up to snatch an ax or bludgeon. "The king conveys his blessings on the birthday of Julia King, age seven, Mark Sarto, age ten, Angelo Cucchiara, age twelve!" ![]() Repeatedly, the tension is broken when the Master of Ceremonies announces birthdays of crowd-members - scores of them. The show steadily builds - from stately horses trotting backwards to the final clash of steel and valor in the Tournament Royale. An impulse purchase at this point is unwise - minutes later, they're taking a photo of your group and trying to sell it to you for another 5 bucks. ![]() Interspersed are visits by wenches and serfs selling souvenir booklets, illuminated flowers, pennants, and your personal king snapshot mounted in an elaborate promo booklet. Meals courses appear rhythmically, from the "stale bread" to the laughable tiny apple pastry that calls itself a dessert. Celtic is in, and a Druid has less pressure to perform than the Greatest Magician of All Time. Instead, a "Druid" spiritually cleanses the fog-filled arena of evil spirits. Merlin no longer warms up the audience with his feeble smaller-than-life magic tricks. Once in the arena, the crowd settles in for two hours of horsemanship and chivalrous battle. All too soon, the exit appears, and your only recourse is to start drinking heavily. Mounted on the walls are torture instruments like the " Breast Pincers," and " The Pear." Most of the featured devices were used in some lurid way on victims' private parts. No attempt at accuracy or realism is made in the three small rooms that visitors traverse in single-file. The displays are half-baked torture tableaus featuring Halloween-grade decorative skeletons and lots of thick spray-on cobwebs. The museum, apparently mirrored at the other kingdoms, provide about three minutes of entertainment. Ticket-holders are issued crowns at the door, then photographed with a short costumed, bearded man - the King? The crowd accumulates in a set of large castle rooms, conveniently equipped with several bars, souvenir stands, Trace-Your-Heritage concessions, and a Torture Museum. The merchandising gauntlet is as fearsome as ever. The magic has faded a bit, partly due to MT's own stature as a tourism fixture, and the subsequent rise of hundreds of dinner theater and "eatertainment" options. Set in a sort of 11th century Spanish Camelot, the mealtime pageantry and Arthurian shtick has changed little. Color-coded paper crowns adorn the heads of visitors, who cheer on their favorite hued knights while eating without utensils. You probably know the routine, even if you haven't seen The Cable Guy. ![]()
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