Theater of Nightclub Design

If, as they say, night life is the best form of theater, then in bars, clubs and restaurants the city offers every kind of production, from the modern experimental to the operatic, from the thrown-together to the total design experience.

Not that they can all be found on some great white way; the city’s night-life theater is spread far and wide and caters to every taste, so perhaps it’s useful to get a sense of what you’re in for beforehand. After all, one man’s cool temple of minimalism can be another man’s sensual-deprivation cell.

In this famously exterior-led city, where what you see on the outside is not necessarily what you get on the inside, your choice of night life can come down to the look of your surroundings. L.A.’s architecture tends to be associated in the world’s imagination with clear lines, simple, bare modernism and conceptuality. The last few years, however, have seen a growing variation in the uses of building style, and nowhere is this more apparent than in some of the more recent arrivals on the night-life scene.

More than with public buildings or even perhaps galleries and theaters, the architectural design of the places in which we choose to drink, eat and dance are barometers of ideas of style, tastes and even our aspirations. Their appeal has to be immediate, but the ones that prove to have staying power--and those we look at here either have shown it or look set to--will be picked over and emulated by those looking for the next successful formula.

The latest in design trends often emanates from the gay world, so it’s fitting that we start with here, a gay cocktail lounge in the heart of boys’ town, on the corner of Santa Monica and Robertson boulevards. Opened in a brief ceremony in December by West Hollywood Mayor John Heilman, here is a great example of the new type of gay venue--that is, there’s nothing on the surface that is especially “gay” about it. Immaculate, uncluttered to the point of sparse and devoid of kitsch or camp references, it was designed for owner Pat Rogers and his partners by New York architect James Bartholomew, who was responsible for the enormously popular G lounge in Chelsea.

In its attempt to create an elegantly modern atmosphere that would attract a style-conscious, affluent crowd, here takes no prisoners. Ambience is all-important, says Bartholomew. “We wanted it to be modern but also warm and inviting.” The bar is a 4,000-square-foot L-shape of concrete floors: A long “runway,” which in other circumstances would make a great catwalk, leads to a staircase that opens up onto the main room, which is dominated by the rectangular, glistening main bar (another, smaller one greets customers at the entrance). A continuous wall seat, low tables and square, brown, squat leather stalls stand in a waist-high line down the side of the runway, giving patrons the chance to view (from the most intimate viewpoint) the comings and goings. Large floor-to-ceiling windows framed in aluminum look out onto a tree-filled patio and the street. It’s an indication of how far we’ve moved beyond the days when gay meeting places were hidden from view, or shrouded in back-street darkness, that here proclaims itself to the outside world as being integrated into the main street life.

Its cold, almost Roman classicism would have to be lighted carefully to set the right mood, so lighting supremo Ken Billington was brought in. “We didn’t want it to look dark--we wanted it to look bright and cheery,” says Billington, a veteran of more than 80 shows, including 22 Radio City Christmas spectaculars, who won a Tony for his lighting of “Chicago.” He’s used to using theatrical tricks to make those on stage look their best. “Bars are a form of theater, a place to see people and be seen. We used a sophisticated control system and warm tones to bring out the brick and tan of the interior.”

The effect is certainly a complete one--you feel as if you are walking into something that has been set up to match what you, as a sophisticated urban gay man, would apparently want from a bar. During my visits, the crowd--heaviest on weekends--featured a fair number of the most chiseled and buffed of the WeHo crowd, whose immaculate white T-shirts and designer leather jackets match the unadorned and masculine interior, and whose angular jawlines compete with the fixtures and fittings for sheer cut-glass squareness.

One feels that for many of the crowd, here looks like their idea of a dream apartment, the spiritual sister of the new Casa Armani farther down Robertson. It’s brilliant to take center stage in and pose, but if you’re looking for somewhere to hide, forget it, because there are virtually no nooks or crannies in these streamlined, somewhat daunting rooms. Whether you will feel at home in such a cool interior depends on how warmblooded a creature you are; the crowd there seemed to be in its element, but the cheeriness was lost on me, and I swear that there were a few moments when I saw my own breath.

Gay or straight, L.A. night life is for the most part dressed casual, albeit a painstakingly applied, terribly expensive (and in the case of here, a somewhat serious) casualness. But there are pockets of atypical, more formal glamour, where wearing a suit and tie or--heaven forbid, a fur--won’t get you thrown out. Those in search of this should make their way south to Beverly Hills and Reign, the restaurant and bar created a couple of years ago by football player Keyshawn Johnson. The elegance of the diners--the place is a favorite among the successful and affluent black community--is a direct response to and reflection of the subtly created, cathedral-like design of the 9,000-square-foot interior. And this is anything but chilly.

“We had to create it from scratch,” says architect Robert Thibodeau. “Before we started, it was a dive--too grim, too gothic for a restaurant. It had something of a cold karma.” In its place he created a restaurant that, while not breaking any design barriers, manages to be modern in sensibility and yet have an up-market, traditional, aspirational feel.

Thibodeau put in a mezzanine floor, which also acts as a gallery to look down at the diners below, separated from the massive bar by a screen. With the restaurant drenched in light maple wood on its floors and paneling (and thankfully no sign of concrete), the colorful dishes being served are thrown into sharp relief. The main room has the feel of a gallery, and the bright lighting, white linen tablecloths and subdued expensiveness make you want to walk more elegantly and talk more wittily. Food alone can’t do that; it’s the sense of occasion in the architecture that makes you want to rise to it. Reign has a more intimate VIP room at the back, which, decorated with contemporary paintings, houses live jazz on Saturday nights. The perfect evening for some: bar, dinner, jazz, people-watching, great surroundings.

If Reign seems too grown-up for you, then on Santa Monica Boulevard, east of La Cienega, is Felt, another gay bar that has been there for more than a year and that in many respects is a more feminine version of here; Tuesday’s Girl’s Night is one of the bar’s most popular. Designed by Sophie Harvey and Ralph Gentile, it’s described as having a “New York Chic/L.A. Cozy” ambience, which roughly translated means, again, a simple, minimal interior with virtually no extraneous decoration.

“There was a constant complaint that there seemed to be nowhere decent-looking or designed in that neighborhood,” says Harvey. The space was empty--it had been a restaurant called Capone’s in a previous incarnation--and the two were working on a small budget.

It certainly has a Manhattan feel to it; as for cozy--well, that may be stretching it a bit, but it’s certainly less chilly than here, which may be due to the fact that it is also a popular restaurant, with tables and booths on both sides of the room. But as with here, it’s also about being seen: The huge central bar is visible from the street, and just to emphasize the point, the side of it which one sees through the windows has been kept clear of stalls, so that passersby will be able to check out the perfectly rounded rear ends of those propping it up and nursing cocktails.

Felt by name, felt by nature--the material was used by Harvey and Gentile as much as possible in the large, high-ceilinged room. “We used felt on the light fixtures, the columns, the bar and on the backs of all the booths,” says Harvey. “This is about style, and we didn’t want it to be cold.” It’s certainly less self-conscious than here, which could be put down to the kitchen being visible--through a door at the back--and the fact that it’s had longer to, so to speak, settle. However what both places could do with would be a little spontaneity--not something easy to achieve using the modernist architectural lexicon.

L.A. club life has received something of a bad rap in recent years; when asked by out-of-towners where the hot places are, nothing would immediately spring to mind. But this year has seen a huge improvement, what with the arrival of Jeff Gossett’s stylish Moomba (again in West Hollywood) and the full-scale reinvigoration of Hollywood. Much has been made of the architectural merits or otherwise of the new Hollywood & Highland development; it’s farther along Hollywood Boulevard where perhaps the more interesting things have been happening. Clubs such as Beauty Bar and Star Shoes, and Chris Breed’s lavishly restored Pig n’ Whistle have been packing them in. And in June, Breed plans to open another restaurant and bar, White Lotus, in the building which currently houses the Crush Club on Cahuenga Boulevard.

But the club that seems to have made the most impact in what was hitherto the wasteland of Hollywood stands on the site of the old Brown Derby, at Hollywood and Vine. Deep couldn’t be further from here or Felt in terms of design and tone. Manager Ivan Kane worked with designer Fred Sutherland to create a venue that would emphasize elements of decadence, sexuality and voyeurism.

“Everything in the club is designed to be sexy and lived-in, not cold and sterile,” says Kane. “We wanted no posturing, no table-hopping--in fact, we didn’t want to create the typical L.A. place. We wanted a sexually charged energy.”

It’s interesting that this fear of coldness comes up time and again when discussing L.A.’s nighttime venues. Perhaps it’s an implicit recognition that for all its attention to matters of the body, L.A. lacks the sensuality of other, less modern cities. Sensuality requires a certain amount of humor and fun, and it’s difficult to create that in a town where you can live or die by your physical appearance. So it’s a real achievement for Deep that it’s managed to create an atmosphere of playfulness by using wit and an almost homespun approach to decoration.

By the standards of many such enterprises, Deep’s 5,000 square feet were redesigned on a tiny budget. It can be seen as proof that the “everything-in-its-place-and-a-place-for-everything” total design experience isn’t a prerequisite for a successful nightspot. The existing room was divided by new walls, and where possible, materials from the building were reused. Nine-foot ceilings were knocked out, and columns were embellished with old wooden decorative covers found by Sutherland, who’s not a trained architect but who has years of experience in clubland. Hanging chandeliers, a fake wrought-iron gateway in the front inside patio, and a fierce stuffed lion looming over the entrance to the main room all give the place an elegantly wasted, operatic feel. The booths, chairs and tables eschew leather for tan vinyl. Hanging over the bar at center is a ‘50s painting of a coyly sexy chick with a come-hither look, which was found in the old building. Slightly less coy are the dancers who are housed in brightly painted rooms behind the huge gilt mirrors; we can see them, but they can’t see us.

Dropped into the middle is the dance floor, which is effectively a glass and aluminum box, lined by old airport runway lights. Although above it one can look up and watch more professional dancers--”some of L.A.’s finest” says Kane--writhing about and enjoying each other, the dance floor has a retro feel, an atmosphere which is continued in the smaller back bar; its cool-psychedelic walls could have come straight out of a ‘70s blaxploitation movie. The club’s two-way mirrors and uninhibited use of interesting little details, such as figurines over the bar and nude magazine collages on the restroom walls provide something to look at wherever the eye alights.

So far as its crowd is concerned, Deep has a “tight rope”--beauty, fame or other eye-catching distinction is preferred. There are three VIP rooms at the back, converted walk-in fridges that have a more louche, naughty-but-nice atmosphere. The club pulls celebrities--Christina Aguilera hired it out in December for her 21st birthday, and Brad Pitt filmed here for one of the scenes in “Ocean’s Eleven.” But its success, like other venues I’ve looked at, rests on the lesser mortals, and in its slightly ramshackle way, the club has managed to successfully create an atmosphere of sophisticated, sensual fun. I certainly saw people having a good time; I even sensed (gosh!) elusive spontaneity. In the shallow world of clubs, Deep is it.

Peter Whittle is a Los Angeles-based freelance writer.