Tramways and Dinosaurs: Jurassic Discovery in Seaton

“Seaton Tramway operates narrow gauge heritage trams between Seaton, Colyford and Colyton in East Devon’s glorious Axe Valley,” according to their website, providing superb views across the wetland habitats of curlews, lapwings, egrets, shelducks, swans, and many more. But just in case you’d rather see Mesozoic dinosaurs, Seaton Tramway (Enterprises) Ltd. also operates Jurassic Discovery, a venue filled with robotic saurians located directly next to their Seaton station. (And an indoor soft play area, but that doesn’t concern us.) What’s more, the robots are all made by the Japanese company Kokoro, and so are a cut above the usual rubbery-looking attraction-fodder. You can even buy a Jurassic-tramway joint ticket!

Last week, Agata and I spent a few days in Lyme Regis, famously the home of Mary Anning. While there we naturally visited the town museum – home to plenty of fossils and Mary Anning memorabilia (Marymorabilia?) – along with the good ol’ Dinosaurland fossil museum, home to Steve Davies’ almost worryingly vast collection and a lot of cheesy models that I’m glad he hasn’t binned yet. I was last there ten years ago, as you probably won’t recall. I also insisted that we go and check out Jurassic Discovery, a relatively new attraction that had opened only a short distance away in Seaton.

Although I knew that Kokoro creations awaited inside, initial impressions weren’t good. Visitors are greeted by flagrantly AI-generated artwork plastered over the walls in the lobby/gift shop – a definite black mark. Fortunately, after passing through a set of double doors into the exhibition proper, the first robot proved quite delightful – a disembodied Edmontosaurus neck ‘n’ head, its true nature artfully concealed with fake foliage, that swung about with a wonderfully fluid motion and even chewed convincingly.

It was clear right from the off that Jurassic Discovery lets visitors get much closer to their robots than most such attractions, although I should note that we went during term time and had the place virtually to ourselves; your experience during the school holidays may vary. The lack of annoying children also gave us plenty of time to examine each model and appreciate the atmosphere. The first hall mostly consists of a ‘jungle’ of fake foliage and rocks, although one corner scene does stick out on its own, not least because it looks awfully familiar…

The models here would appear to all be second-hand [updated to add: they were used in NHM touring exhibitions and purchased in 2022] and are outdated to varying degrees, with the above scaly Deinonychus being the most obviously so. They also look a bit worse for wear, as those of us who were around in the early ’90s tend to do these days. Fellow oldies won’t fail to notice that these are identical to the models that were posed around a Tenontosaurus carcass in London’s Natural History Museum back in the ’90s, and were subsequently dressed in fluffy pyjamas and moved elsewhere. (Photos of them also appeared in DK books.) One can argue about scaly dromaeosaur models being of dubious merit in an ostensibly educational attraction, but on the other hand…nostalgia. Besides, there are some feathered dromaeosaurs elsewhere, so that’s all right, then.

“But where’s the third one?” I hear you shout. No idea. Its skin probably fell apart.

Re-entering the phony forest, we encounter an Edmontosaurus (that I strongly suspect was originally a Maiasaura) looming over a nest filled with incredibly cute, chirping hatchlings. It’s probably a little concerned by the Triceratops that have moved in next door, represented by a pair of babies (that correctly have stumpy horns and short faces) and a more mature-looking individual of about half full adult size. The red eyes are a rather strange touch, but other than that, they’re pleasing enough. Unlike the Edmontosaurus, the Triceratops‘ fingers are concealed in foliage in order to hide their imperfections from nitpicking nerds. Nicely done.

Pressing on, and here are those feathered dromaeosaurs I mentioned and yes, while they are feathered, they aren’t feathered especially well; they suffer from the ‘gorilla suit’ syndrome that afflicted such models around the time these were made (which I’d estimate as being the late 2000s to early 2010s, based on my encounters with them in museums). They are all clearly Velociraptor, although one or two are labelled ‘Dromaeosaurus‘ for no apparent reason.

Rest assured that, somewhere out there, Jed Taylor is looking at that feathering and those hands and feeling appalled. At least those claws look suitably vicious, and as if to emphasise this point, a few of them are posed around a gloriously gory dismembered Protoceratops carcass, all while a robotic Protoceratops stands opposite and bleats annoyingly. You’re next.

Gallimimus is also here, conspicuously scaly and bunny-handed but, again, very close to visitors. While outdated, it’s nevertheless a useful reminder of exactly how tall these things were – they can look a bit puny when posed next to larger dinosaurs in artworks, but they would have towered over humans. Well, apart from that basketball player who was in Alien: Romulus. This robot also gets quite worryingly close when it bends down, which is great fun.

Visitors are then taken through a ‘rocky’ tunnel with illuminated lava veins and screens depicting stalking dinosaurs, a build-up to the grand finale: The Last Day of the Dinosaurs. Or, a moodily lit large room with two really cool Tyrannosaurus models in it.

While not quite full adult Tyrannosaurus size (I’d say they’re around two thirds full size), these are still impressively large models because, after all, Tyrannosaurus was famously on the heavier side. While one model (presumably the older one) does suffer the dreaded pronated forearm problem, both are suitably bulky and hefty-looking, so they have aged pretty well overall. They’re also impressively lifelike, fluid and naturalistic in motion, perhaps more than any other robot here, in spite of their size. Standing close to one of these things, one does get the impression of a living, breathing animal…and I’m sure it’s not only because my inner child was wishing really hard.

The animal…uh…model at the rear of the hall is the better and slightly more up-to-date of the two, even if Older Rex does get to tuck into a Triceratops carcass (complete with synchronised bone-crunching noises). As I mentioned years ago when reviewing a different set of Kokoro robots, they are very good at giving their creatures beautifully convincing eyes. It was no doubt due to every other careful detail about this model adding up to a convincing illusion of life – from the immaculately detailed scaly skin, to the breathing and twitching motions, to the smoothness of its gross vertical movements – but there was something a little unnerving about looking into those eyes. The immediate impression was of blank stupidity, but when they flicked in their sockets and stared right at me, there almost seemed to be an intelligence there. A low, devious, unknowable reptilian intelligence. Or maybe I’m going soft in the head.

I want one, anyway – I’m a collector of dinosaur models, after all, and this would be one hell of a prize. Not sure it would fit in my living room, mind you. I wonder if Kokoro make one with a slightly less shrink-wrapped head, these days? Oh, and yes, it appeared to be the same model as the one in London’s Natural History Museum.

The same hall featured a scaly Ornithomimus living dangerously under Old Rex’s tail and the above Oviraptor, which suffer from the same problems as the Velociraptor, even if they’re still miles better than the robo-dinosaur dreck you’ll see in most places. As to what Oviraptor were doing in the general vicinity of Hell Creek 66 million years ago, it’s best not to ask; I should perhaps mention that the signage (which seemed to be accurate, not that I read a great deal of it) did describe it as living millions of years earlier in Mongolia. I guess they needed to stick them somewhere.

As the theme of this room was, indeed, The Last Day of the Dinosaurs, the moody lighting was complimented periodically by a booming voiceover that recalled, in suitably dramatic fashion, all the nightmarish things that we believe happened to the poor sods after the asteroid hit; everything within 600 miles was incinerated, tsunamis traveled hundreds of miles over continents, the atmosphere was choked with dust like Washington DC after one of Trump’s firework shows, etc. etc. Combined with the spectacle of the Tyrannosaurus robots, and particularly because one of them was just happily going about its business feeding, it was all surprisingly affecting. I even shed a tear. Well, not really, but I certainly considered it.

And then we went outside and, wouldn’t you know it, an extant theropod (a herring gull Larus argentatus) had chosen to nest under the fibreglass feet of one of its reconstructed extinct brethren. How poetic. Life goes on, and so do the dinosaurs, stealing our sandwiches and shitting on our cars.

Would I recommend checking out Jurassic Discovery if you’re down on the Jurassic Coast this summer? Yes, but given the attached indoor soft play area, it’s probably best to visit before or after the school holidays. My visit was certainly enhanced by not having to jostle for space with a small army of kids. I’d also recommend riding the tram too, as it affords some excellent views over nearby nature reserves and the trams themselves are really really cute, although be warned that the combined tickets are a little pricey.

But why is it called ‘Jurassic Discovery’ when all the models are of Cretaceous animals? Because it’s the Jurassic Coast and it’s a snappy name, that’s why. And, how will these robots hold up after years and years of constant movement? Guess I’ll have to return one day to find out…