After spending countless hours combing every inch of Las Vegas, I can say that Paris is probably my favorite of the major themed casino hotels on The Strip.
Some may argue that The Venetian is just as elaborate, or just as classy, or just as lavishly detailed. To this I say, fine, "I'll always have Paris."
Granted, Paris and its Italian cousin down the street do share many design techniques. They both sport the painted sky, the indoor-as-outdoor setting, the replication of internationally famous icons, and a striking attention to architectural and typographic detail which have made the two resorts very popular with the public.
Yet Paris exudes a particular quality that The Venetian lacks—a sense of domesticity, a feeling of the familiar, and a charm best be described as quaintness—in details as small as this window box full of flowers.
Designed by world-renowned hospitality and leisure architecture firm Wimberly, Allison, Tong and Goo (WATG), The Venetian reaches out to her audience with majesty and provokes, above all, awe. The towering monuments of St. Mark's Square, the Rialto Bridge, the Grand Canal (complete with singing gondoliers); all these contribute to a feeling of "other" ("Ah, Europe") and simultaneously, intrigue ("How did they do that?").
It's the same overall impression I had of The Venetian Macau, although it seems magnified here. A friend commented that the diversity of attractions on the Las Vegas strip contributes to a sense of wonder and discovery. In Macau on The Cotai Strip there was no competing thematic design surrounding the resort, and thus no diversity.
The interiors are so richly laid with gold leaf, the replicas of art so breathtakingly beautiful, that it is hard to connect in any meaningful sense with The Venetian. Instead I'm in a mode of reverence. This worshipful awe is very similar to that felt when viewing Italy's actual cultural masterpieces, such as the Sistine Chapel.
Here in Las Vegas, however, the wonder and spectacle are inexorably linked to the exactness of the copy ("It looks so real!"), rather than the uniqueness of the original.
Paris evokes the same reaction to its exterior. The replicas of the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe are of similar scale and detail. Yet the interior of Paris is markedly different.
Instead of the riches of empire and the grand artistic tradition of the Italian Renaissance, I felt the relative smallness of Europe, the traditional way of life, the emphasis on food, on family, and on the simple pleasures.
This is wholly different Europe. Instead of awe and wonder, it's nostalgia I felt most urgently. Strolling through the dining and shopping district (which, like The Venetian, has painted skies and the indoor-as-outdoor effect), I couldn't help but long for a more provincial existence.
This nostalgia was more comforting—and comfortable—than anything that the majesty of The Venetian (or Bellagio, for that matter) could offer me.
For example, the food court/buffet area is designed as a village courtyard, surrounded by small local businesses and houses.
The wall murals nearby contribute to this picturesque rural setting.
Wayfinding throughout the resort is as you would find in a small French village, with cute individual markers instead of consolidated, modern hotel-style signage.
Most typography is hand-lettered—suggesting older, individual, small proprietors.
Nearly all the buildings have flats and apartments above the retail floor. The resort design exudes the residential—Paris feels lived in.
Conversely, the spaces designed to appear residential at The Venetian still feel regal, owing to the sense of power and majesty that renaissance architecture connotes.
The residential feeling at Paris extends onto the main casino floor, which—unlike The Venetian—utilizes the faux-sky design from the shopping and dining district throughout, with no break in the indoor-as-outdoor illusion.
Instead of alternating to a traditional ceiling in certain areas, roof arches link one large area to the next, providing a seamless alternative to traditional pedestrian doorways. The sky can thus continue all throughout the interior of the resort.
Emphasizing this and linking the interior spaces with the monumental exterior, the massive feet of an Eiffel Tower replica atop the casino descend through the ceiling and onto the floor.
Additional free-standing support columns for the casino's ceiling are designed to seamlessly match the tower's feet, even though they are clearly not part of the structure.
Paris also places considerable emphasis on landscaping and foliage—something that The Venetian, even throughout its Grand Canal Shoppes, is completely devoid of. Notice how the green tree (this particular one is real—iIsaw a gardener trimming it in the early morning) adds verisimilitude to the scene and even makes the painted sky above it seem more natural.
I think the lack of (even fake) plant life contributes greatly to the Grand Canal's sense of claustrophobia—which was even more urgent at the sister resort in Macau.
The only time at Paris that this pleasant rural setting is broken is in the main hotel lobby. This massive hall has all the regal glory of Versailles. Yet contextually, this is appropriate—it is where official business is conducted, and guests are made to feel pampered and welcome (like royalty). Because it's the only staging of opulence in an otherwise very down-to-earth small village-like atmosphere, the lobby doesn't overpower. At The Venetian, this wealth and grandeur is all you see, and it sort of washed over me as result.
I think the Paris resort is a more effective thematic environment than the cold, distant Venetian because it draws you away from awe and brings you closer to emotions you wouldn't normally associate with the glitz and glamor of Las Vegas—family, simple times, a quiet life, the country, food and wine. for me, this personally was a welcome respite from the bustle of the strip.
Yet I suspect that it also lulls visitors into that softer place which—like well-designed malls and parks like Disneyland—allows them to part with more money than they had perhaps planned.
Conversely, the overt displays of wealth and power throughout The Venetian are somewhat imposing (not quite as intimidating as the towering, modernist Wynn, perhaps) and distancing. I felt less engaged and consequently, less inclined to spend. It certainly doesn't look like they need the money.
I think this imposition works perhaps only when viewing the original masterpieces in Italy; after all, it was reverence that the Medici Family was hoping for in commissioning so many key works during the renaissance. The awe is directed towards the artist and his paymaster.
Here in Las Vegas, one marvels at the exactitude of the replication, the detail of the deception, the cleverness of the con. And behind it all, a casino. Games of chance, hopes of the big win, so much more fallacy and put-on. In a quote attributed to Nixon, "It's the lie that gets you."