A story about an unsightly, unfinished ziggurat in Pyongyang, North Korea afforded an architecture critic an opportunity to throw a roundhouse right at Las Vegas. Lumping it together with Shanghai as the bad-architecture capital of the world, California Polytechnic State University (San Obispo) Architecture Dept. professor Bruno Gilberti couldn’t single out a single Vegas property for opprobrium, lumping the entire Strip together as something that “has no authentic sense of place and is thus more than a little soulless.”
Well, unlike Gilberti, I can nominate a single-worst building in Las Vegas and it’s …
Yes, Harrah’s Las Vegas, the hotel that put the “Ugh!” in “ugly.” This weird behemoth brings the charm of Warsaw Pact architecture to Sin City. The Bulgarian State Central Bureau of Collective Internal & External Revenue would feel right at home here.
Harrah’s LV is also the despair of photographers, partly because of the extreme width of its façade (not shown) and the considerable distance that the hotel towers (I wanted to say “clump”) are set back from the street. I’m reliably told there are only two decent photographic angles on this place: right up close to the façade, concentrating on one or two details (like the jester), or an extreme wide angle — in which case you’ll be lucky to pick out any detail at all.
Harrah’s big makeover plan for the east side of the Strip is generally believed to start with the demolition of the Imperial Palace (just barely visible to the right). But at least the IP looks good at night, under the blue wash of its floodlamps. No amount of lipstick can spruce up the pig that is Harrah’s LV. (But its casino does an extremely good volume of business, possibly the best on the Strip, so what do I know?)
In second place …
If Michael Gaughan‘s South Point doesn’t eclipse the fugliness of Harrah’s it’s not for lack of trying. Not only does it obtrude from the South Strip landscape like a swollen thumb on steroids, it’s as unimaginative as all get-out. It’s just one gargantuan Stalinist block, its charmlessness ever so slightly ameliorated by its canary yellow paint job.
In Gilberti’s defense, he singles out the much-abused (but still lovable) Tropicana for embodying the “real and popular style that the old Las Vegas … once had,” which was pretty much my reaction when I walked in there for the first time in 1998. Of course, that was before Aztar Corp. began letting the place go to seed and then allowed Columbia Sussex to club it like a baby seal.
Gilberti also lauds the old Golden Nugget but I think he ought to take a gander at its current incarnation. Anyone nostalgic for golden age Vegas ought to feel at home there, since Tilman Fertitta has the place looking like the hundreds of millions of bucks he’s reinvested there.
And as for the clunker “that has sat unfinished for more than a decade [it’s North Korea; whaddya expect?] and has been … called ‘The Hotel of Doom’,” surely Kim Jong-il can get his bosom buddy Stanley Ho to take on the task of finishing it. The Hotel of Doom looks like the sort of white elephant that old Stanley goes bananas over, thinking himself on the very cutting edge. If Kim Il-sung‘s degenerate playboy heir throws in a casino concession, it’s a done deal.
