Bigger isn't Always Better
In upstate New York, there exists a place where viewers can
look up and marvel at a mass of falling blue.
Shimmering waves pierce the sky, as light refracts into a million
shining surface pieces. Below, pedestrians wander past craggled streets, towards
a wonderland of sight and magic. No, it
is not the phenomenal landscape of the Niagara gorge, with all of its twists
and turns through a delightfully hilly landscape. Sadly, it’s not even the post-industrial town
around the Falls themselves, a land of sharp drops situated between massive
lakes. Instead, it is the Seneca Niagra
Casino Hotel Complex, where viewers can turn their attention away from harsh sounds
of natural sights, and relax into a ‘once-in-a-lifetime’ mix of booze and
cigarette smoke. For them, it is a
figurative oasis, promoted as a spot found nowhere else on earth….quite literally
near an actual oasis, found nowhere else on earth.
I kid, of course. This
critique serves to lambast the gaudy, over-the-hill Casino Hotel building, with
its trite mess of ‘billboard façade’; one that fails not only as a commercialized
poster, but as a potent symbol of negativity displayed to the region at large. From a unique possibility to convert the
foundering downtown Convention Center into a new multi-purpose entertainment
venue in the late 2000’s, client and architect alike turned their back upon the
city environs, creating a bland façade unworthy of its populace. Like an overt billboard that serves to
distress and subject passer-by’s, this building works best at reminding locals
and visitors that they are not in some magical fantasy land of glitzy
showmanship….but instead, inside a paint-by-numbers box of bluest vanity. Such a stale jumble also implies that this
location isn’t fit for knockoff architecture, let alone the real, pure
thing.
While much has been said about the slow decline of post-industrial
American cities over the years, few areas in the world deserve such an outright
mockery of their own natural beauty as the ethereal Niagara region. The Falls have always been a place of wonder
and attraction, even as they flirted the gap between literal tourist trap and
engineering marvel. Both sides of the
boarder abound in scenic beauty, with a large expanse of the nearby shorefront becoming
a recent hiking and wine growing mecca. Yet
unlike other boomtown resorts, the city never truly descended into a roadside
attraction via the ‘giant ball of twine’, or fabled ‘mystery spot’ found
elsewhere in Americana. While it is true
that the Canadian city has gained as many citizens as the American side has
lost, both have done their best to capitalize on their major, picturesque setting. The region continues as a premier honeymoon
destination local and a major bucklist item for most Americans and Canadians
alike, with visitors coming from all around the world coming to wonder at the
Fall’s stunning presence. It has
maintained, even as business, industry, and locals themselves have packed up
for greener pastures.
In his seminal work Learning from Las Vegas, theorist
Robert Venturi advocated for an ‘architecture for the common people’, pushing
the general kitsch of the Vegas environs with passion and unexplored zeal. Vegas is in a harsh desert environment after
all, and its themed buildings attempt to distract patrons of from that simple
fact….and from the overwhelming heat of its summer environs. Niagara Falls, on the other hand, needs no
introduction: it can be marveled at from almost every direction, and is a
wonder to behold. Approaching the falls
is a thing of marvel and beauty, feeling the powerful roar come up from the
very earth itself. From a distance, the
viewer can see wispy mists gathering on blue days as much as gray. Up close, they are moved to the soul. Painters, poets, and photographers all abound
at the site, doing their best to capture such feelings in any available
medium.
Yet one wonders if even Venturi himself would blush at this particular
façade concept, which exploits the ‘decorated box’ concept beyond general image
replication, into downright vulgarity. The
‘waterfalls’ implied upon this buildings façade is actually taller that the waterfall itself, presenting a dual
oddity of intended meaning, vs what the perceived importance of the structure for
the region at large. The façade conveys
everything the building is not: it is neither natural, nor inspiring, a habitat
for woodland creatures, nor a reservoir to encourage the human spirit. It is
also underserves the billboard concept, being an abstract of an abstract of the
falls themselves. Did the client/architect
really need a water themed billboard, to remind patrons where they were? Are they implying that the building itself is
bigger, better, or perhaps more extravagant than the falls themselves? I for one, would have rather seen a bit of
Vegas flair, an actual sign saying “CASINO”, or even a replica of Hogwarts: all
would have made a bit more sense, been better looking, or at the least, been
more honest. Image, or guidepost, this
building is not.
The hotel also eschews these major points, being a self
identified island over a half mile from the nearest waterfall. General visitors are treated to a massive,
hulking object that hunkers over the whole town. It serves to distract, discredit, and waivers
like a blue-green monster ready to consume and abandon. It is surrounded by a swath of parking and
green grass, and is barely connected to the former downtown via a deftly
underserved main street. Upper story patrons
to the hotel can double down on these horrid feelings from above, looking west,
and get a magnificent view of the main, plain gaming floor roof. Or else a patron can look east from such
mighty heights, to a scattered array of early century houses, land left open
for future industrial parks, or the even the inspiriting sight of back parking
lots needed to access the main building proper.
On a clear day, it is even slightly possible to glimpse the rapids
around the semi-nearby Green Island, or maybe, possibly see the distant mists
rising from the backside of American Falls.
Site, sound, and context, this building is not.
(Where are the falls again? #what-a-view!)
Here in Detroit, our three Casino’s have also been critiqued
in their own way, and have often remained topic of controversy. Yet each has either a) embraced sleek forms that
expand upon light and flair, or b) acknowledged their purposeful spectacle, and
made little attempt to hide what they are.
They followed up on the patterns set in Vegas, Atlantic City, and
innumerable casino resorts around the world, and like Venturi promoted, are
oddly compelling (if not somewhat forgetful) in their own way. They replicate success in both kitsch and
pricey formats, expound upon environs not immediately available to patrons, and
promote unusual entertainment at every turns
Even the ones that are literal islands give a little something back, and
at the least, offer incredible light shows come dark. Some even promote natural materials, and
car-like, swoopy designs reminiscing of the city’s heritage.
So I say, let the neon bulbs of casino madness shine, if
they must. Let the façades of this
Niagara Casino mimic the flow of water (or money), and be what they are. Heck, even let such buildings embrace what
they are, and showcase entertainment possibilities through giant video screens
or BladeRunner ridiculousness. But first
and foremost, embrace yourself, embrace the town, and give every one of them something
to marvel or wonder at. The gaudy
tastelessness of the current 2D mountain images boarders on surreal, making the
average viewer wish for their own barrel by which to make a leap off either the
real, or even the imaginarily implied, waterfalls, themselves. We can do better. As designers, we will do better.
And we will outlast this sad footnote of wannabe architecta.
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