The Glitter vs. the Grit

Millions visit the landmark Mann’s Chinese Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard every year, hopping out of tour buses or cars to snap the footprints in its fabled forecourt, but few stay to stroll along what was the world’s starriest Main Street. It’s a sad loss. Handsome buildings survive on each block--from the art deco Pantages Theatre, a former home of the Academy Awards, to the Egyptian Theatre, an opulent movie palace where the big premiere was virtually invented. Nostalgia buffs can find a favorite actor among the stars in the Walk of Fame, climb the stairs of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, where Shirley Temple danced with Bill (Bojangles) Robinson or conjure the ghost of Philip Marlowe over a dry martini at Musso and Frank’s.

That’s the good news--and there’s not much more people want to hear. The neighborhood has been on the slide for 60 years, and Hollywood Boulevard reflects that. Sleaze and low-lifes scare off investors and tourists alike, and what’s new is mostly shoddy. Thirty-five years ago, John Steinbeck wrote: “When a city begins to grow and spread outward, from the edges, the center which was once its glory is in a sense abandoned to time. Then the buildings grow dark and a kind of decay sets in; poorer people move in as the rents fall, and small fringe businesses take the place of once flowering establishments.” He was describing Seattle--but could easily have been talking of Hollywood or other areas of urban decay.

Shopping malls offer sanitized alternatives, and their appeal is evoked by urban historian Witold Rybczynski in his recent book “City Life.” They are, he writes, “like public streets used to be before police indifference and overzealous protectors of individual rights effectively ensured that any behavior, no matter how antisocial, is tolerated.” Crowds flock to Universal CityWalk because it’s clean, safe, free from annoyance and has abundant parking--things they can no longer take for granted on a real street. In this newfangled town square, linking the scattered attractions of Universal’s non-city, the public can eat, shop, admire vintage neon signs, catch a movie and linger without fear. There’s even a flourishing branch of UCLA Extension, with an IBM-supported computer lab.

This profitable fantasy was actually conceived at the intersection of Hollywood and Vine--a legendary spot that has lost whatever magic it once possessed. James A. Nelson, an architect seeking ways to revive Hollywood, had looked around at the dingy site and asked a passerby if there was another crossroads with the same name. “Yes,” the man replied, “in peoples’ memories.” Nelson made some proposals for upgrading local streets, was rebuffed by the city’s Community Redevelopment Agency, then took his ideas to MCA-Universal, where he became head of planning and development. To create a sense of place and a money-making attraction, he hired Jon Jerde--chief designer of the 1984 Olympics and of Horton Plaza, an urban mall that revitalized downtown San Diego.

Jerde and his team distilled the generic architecture of Los Angeles into a cunningly composed movie set, with rentable spaces behind. In contrast to Disney’s version of Hollywood in Florida, where replicas of celebrated landmarks have been juxtaposed to form a squeaky-clean theme park, Jerde created an array of facades that could be layered by tenants’ signs, and stepped away.

CityWalk is too raw and of a piece to win over skeptics. Just as video can offer only a diminished version of a movie that was made to be seen in lustrous tones on a big screen, CityWalk is a pale copy of a dynamic urban street. Strip away the glitter and it’s as manipulative as a suburban mall, carefully regulated and devoid of surprises. Yet, it works for most visitors, as Hollywood Boulevard--for all its history and architectural diversity--no longer does.

Is there a better way? The cities we most admire--Paris, Amsterdam and Venice--have evolved over centuries as expressions of civic glory, and they invest huge sums to stay that way. Many Americans--beginning with Thomas Jefferson--have regarded cities as a necessary evil, at best, and have begrudged spending money on them. The City Beautiful of 1900 has become the City Despised of the 1990s. No wonder we feel an urgent need to reinvent the urban environment.

Our best hope may be to fuse reality and artifice, private and public investment, borrowing key elements from the malls to revitalize our streets, as Jerde (and Disney before him) appropriated the best of the city for their inventions. Jerde has set a lead by covering Fremont Street--the dingy hub of Las Vegas--with an electrographic canopy, creating an audio-visual spectacle every hour through the night. Closer to home, Old Town Pasadena, the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica and Melrose and La Brea avenues were all on the skids but have been turned around by vision, investment and sweat equity.

Today, they are potent draws for neighbors and tourists; sources of pleasure and profit.

Developer Ira Yellin has spent 10 years on lonely quest to restore the faded glories of Broadway--once this city’s Great White Way. He has rehabilitated the Bradbury Building, Grand Central Market and the Million Dollar Theater, adding parking and converting offices to apartments. What’s needed now is a push by the city and building owners to restore adjoining landmarks and clean up the sidewalks. Downtown, as in Hollywood and throughout the city, the same logic applies: Give people a reason to come and more will, generating business and reducing decay and crime by their presence.

Back in the 1960s, author Ray Bradbury suggested that Walt Disney should be elected mayor of Los Angeles--because he was the only person who knew how to make a city fun and profitable. An appealing idea--if life were nothing more than fast food and theme rides. Now that even more Americans seem to be retreating from reality--into cyberspace or a cozy illusion of an idealized past--it’s time to stop dreaming and begin applying the lessons of what works today.