Amid a series of deaths, departures and devastating losses, take a moment to appreciate the cathartic benefits of blowing shit up

This week's installment of Live Active Cultures was originally intended as a lighthearted look at the latest addition to Orlando's theme parks, but I'm interrupting our regular programming to recognize a series of deaths, departures and devastating losses suffered by our local cultural community in recent weeks. Disney historian Jim Korkis lost his battle with cancer, after publishing scores of books — including a memoir by "Sully" Sullivan that we both contributed to — and inspiring an entire generation of fellow theme park archaeologists with his well-researched work and warm friendship. Nanci "MamaBo" Boetto, the meme-sharing honorary mom of Orlando's entire alternative theater and dance community (and actual mom of VarieTease's Megan Boetto) passed away following an automobile accident.

Longtime arts advocate Dennis Sobeck, Fringe supporter Brian Flaherty and actor Travis Winkler all also passed in July, on the heels of losing Denna Beena — the rainbow-haired booster of Fringe, Spooky Empire and downtown arts — to cancer in June. Playwright and producer Michael Wanzie survived his own car crash, but requires physical rehab and expensive accessibility adaptations to his home after shattering his leg and ankle; visit GoFundMe to contribute to a fund started by friend Andrea Canny. Finally, although she's far from deceased, seeing singer Janine Klein's final area performance before moving north was decidedly bittersweet, as her July 27 reprisal of writer John Ryan's "Gay Bar Star" at the Ren demonstrated again that she was truly Orlando's answer to the Divine Miss M. My thoughts are with the family and friends of all the recently departed.

At the risk of segueing indelicately, amid all this grief I've been appreciating the cathartic benefits of blowing shit up — at least in the safe context of a theme park attraction. Although Disney may let you toss 3-D darts at talking Tim Allen toys, Universal now allows you do something that ought to be even more satisfying: Blast the crap out of Despicable Me's yammering yellow Minions. In case you've been living in a swamp, Shrek's 4-D film and nearby meet-and-greet were evicted from their homes in Universal Studios Florida last year, making space for yet another Minion-themed attraction right across the street from the existing Despicable Me Minion Mayhem simulator. (Don't mourn the ogre; he and Donkey will occupy part of the new DreamWorks land replacing KidZone in 2024, alongside Trolls and Kung Fu Panda.)

Villain-Con Minion Blast, which has been running in public "technical rehearsal" previews for several weeks and should officially open in August, is based on the evildoers convention seen in the Minions spinoff films, and has participants competing to fill a coveted vacancy among the infamous Vicious Six by shooting wireless blasters at big screens. The bigger twist is that your own legs are the ride vehicles here, because this is Orlando's first glide-through moving walkway attraction that can turn around corners ... if you don't count the MCO baggage carousel.

Hopeful supervillains start off in a semi-shaded outside queue, watching a short loop of satirical animated news clips — including one acknowledging the evilness of Universal's exorbitant parking fees — setting up the backstory, before being swiftly shuffled through a small indoor preshow of Easter egg-stuffed trade show booths. (I'm low-key amazed that various bits of fetish gear ended up on display in a family attraction.)

The attraction's two-handed guns are grabbed from a clever recharging carousel, and you have a few moments to sync your weapon to the score-tracking smartphone app (which was not yet available during my test rides) before being assigned a colored dot on the moving sidewalk, which has transparent waist-high barriers on either side. Don't move off your spot, or else your blaster will stop working; instead, stay put and swivel in place as you slowly glide past oversized video images of a Minion-infested factory, museum, discotheque and even CityWalk itself. The screens are surrounded by some impressive static sets, and each environment features a different big baddie to blast at. (Pro tip: Shoot the physical cubes to upgrade your main shot, then hit each villain until a special ammo crate spawns. Shoot that and launch it with your secondary button for bonus points.)

I approached Minion Blast with high hopes, but I fear this ride comes from the Mr. Hyde side of Universal Creative responsible for screen-centric misses like Fast & Furious — Supercharged, as opposed to the Dr. Jekyll half behind winners like VelociCoaster and Mario Kart. While the concept is appealing and the technology is advanced, after giving Villain-Con about a dozen tries, the gameplay doesn't yet grab me the way Universal's Men in Black shooting ride still does decades later. Most of that is fundamentally attributable to feedback, or the lack thereof: With a near-constant chaotic cascade of colorful explosions on every screen, it's difficult to tell where to shoot, which shot is yours, or whether your shot hit or missed. The blasters don't do much with their sounds and haptics to help you target, but they do tire out your trigger fingers and arms by the end of the surprisingly long six-minute ride. (There's a non-interactive mini blaster available for little kids, who get another much-needed zero-height-requirement ride at Universal.)

While Universal continues to tweak the ride's programming (which sometimes stutters like an overtaxed Xbox) ahead of its grand debut, my biggest issue is with the glacial pacing, which feels like grinding videogame boss battles that you never win. My modest proposal: Speed the belt up by 20 to 25 percent, and increase the spacing between dots on the belt by an equal proportion. The ride would service the same number of guests per hour, each environment would have fewer players to track at one time, and guests would enjoy a tighter, less boring experience that's still about the same pace as the parking garage's moving walkway.