Directly adjacent to the Universal Studios theme park is Universal Citywalk, which opened in May, 1993 (undergoing a large expansion seven years later) and does not require an admission entry.
This 23-acre shopping and dining district was designed by the legendary entertainment architecture firm Jerde Partnership International, noted for other such spaces; Horton Plaza (San Diego; 1985), Fashion Island (newport beach; 1989), and the Mall of America (Bloomington, Minnesota; 1992). In Las Vegas, the Jerde firm has developed numerous thematic environments; Treasure Island's pirate show and facade (1993), the Fremont Street Experience (1995), and the entire Bellagio resort complex (1998). The Citywalk project also has lead to collaboration with Universal at both their parks in Florida and Japan.
The work of Jerde, Universal Citywalk in particular, represents one of the vectors that thematic design has been traveling—away from its Disneyland roots. In an earlier post, I elaborated on a gradient that tends to form between two extremes: Pure Simulation and Pure Brand. Near one end, there is Main Street U.S.A., for example—a conscious attempt to recreate Americana at the turn of the century. Near the other, there is something like Niketown—a space where the only representation is the brand itself.
Universal Citywalk falls somewhere in the middle. It's not simulation, and it's not brand—it's sort of referential. Instead of trying to represent various icons of Los Angeles architecture and design, the space creates a new environment for these icons in which they are reassembled and then referred to. Not replicated, not simulated, but nodded to.
Visceral Reality, a 1998 monograph of the Jerde Partnership International, notes that the firm consciously avoided the simulation end of the spectrum. Jerde "did not want [Citywalk] to be an imitation of any other place or time period."
The passage continues; "The [Citywalk] design, thus, became a collage of the images and characteristics of the city of Los Angeles; it distills the atmosphere, the ephemeral quality, of Los Angeles street life, without duplicating any of its iconic architecture" (emphasis is mine).
There is a level of distance (not cold, but sort of a playful detachment) between the source and the execution. That distance grows greater the closer you get to Pure Brand. The path from one extreme to the other, then, would look something like this:
- PURE SIMULATION (Traditional theming)
- REPRESENTATIONAL (Interpretive theming)
- REFERENTIAL (Decontextualized theming)
- PURE BRAND (Self-Reflexive theming)
If New York, New York in Las Vegas looked like a giant Lego Store display, Universal Citywalk is a smattering of oversized garage sale purchases lined in a row, baking in the Southern California sun.
Lawn gnomes, Mother Virgin Mary charms, and vintage furniture pieces aplenty. Here, kitsch is cool.
Jerde encouraged individual retailers (attached to long-term renter contracts) to develop permanent spacial designs and signage to reflect the uniqueness of their brands.
The intriguing and engaging design of these retail spaces has endured longer than some of the businesses. One former tenant, Sam Goody music, closed its Citywalk location following a massive bloodletting in 2006. The storefront tower, reminiscent of the Capitol Records tower in nearby Hollywood, remains.
There is loud, roadside neon throughout, with a healthy dose of Route 66-styled retro thrown in.
Some are functional; others are antique examples installed purely for atmosphere.
Universal's own King Kong is thrown into the mix, in the style of a roadside advertisement.
Even the most recognizable national brands have created unique inflated, pop architectural details for their Citywalk outlets. Here, every store is a "superstore."
Exaggeration and giantism are the name of the game (literally).
Many architectural features typical of the region are sprinkled into the medley. The lighting seems to have been plucked from the area's tangled freeway network—nearly identical to Los Angeles county municipal streetlights.
The drive-in, long time mecca of Los Angelinos, is here too—at least in vague tribute.
It's disemboweled, appropriately shown to be past it's prime. Again, it's not a simulation or a representation—I don't feel that I'm really on a drive-in lot. There's a distance between me and the reference being made, but I still get the message and know where it's coming from. It's just less immediately felt.
I am left with the icon of the drive-in's bulky frame, without enough environmental context to fool me into thinking that I'm actually there.
The same goes for these large billboard-styled signs atop the perimeter. Since there is no context, I can't really feel that I'm out on the expressway, or in the middle of a city.
Fortunately, there's a healthy sense of humor here.
Where else would a UFO crash into a comic book store?
You Are Here, the Jerde firm's 1999 monograph, describes these various elements. "Citywalk is both unique and familiar—a collage of the images and characteristics of vernacular Los Angeles architecture. The project's buildings are formulated from a 'kit of parts' of generic components: decorative tower and marquee elements, flat simple facades with a layering of various grids and signage."
Within this "kit of parts," however, there are many self-contained thematic venues within the Citywalk itself, just like I've seen inside both Mandalay Bay, Las Vegas and The Venetian Macau.
Well known theme restaurant chains, such as the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co., dominate Citywalk.
The initial Bubba Gump's location opened in 1996 in Monterey, California—the first such chain to be based directly on a film property (1994's Forrest Gump)—and there are now nearly 30 scattered throughout the U.S., Mexico, and Asia.
The front facade of the Citywalk location is a good example of referential, versus representational, design. Note that the masts of Gump's boat from the film (the Jenny) are not sitting atop an actual replica.
There is no water, no dock, no seaside setting. Just concrete. The masts are instead decontextualized; taken away from both ocean and boat.
If Disney's imagineers had designed this restaurant, there would likely have been an actual environment surrounding it to provide context, because Disney tend to practice more traditional, simulation-based theming. Such a thematic environment—with a recreated dock, water features and seaside landscaping—would have clashed with the look and feel of Citywalk's referential collage. Jerde's aim is to remove sources from their original context and collage (reassemble) them into a wholly new setting.
Once I moved inside, however, I found the restaurant employed more traditional, representation-style context. This was closer to simulation; a series of beach shacks on the bayou. There was now environment—there was context.
Deep inside the restaurant, I was far enough from Jerde's montage of "kit parts"; the more traditional theming here enveloped me without clashing with the overall thrust of Citywalk's exterior.
At night, the Citywalk creates the same kind of visceral, dynamic energy as the Las Vegas Strip, replete with garish (yet well-designed and attractive) signage and lighting.
Although a decontextualized montage that departs from traditional theming, the space has continuity, similar to the cinematic staging of parks like Disneyland. In the words of Jon Jerde, "when I look for urban archetypes, they are not things, they are sequences."
Universal Citywalk is a fascinating example of the referential; decontextualized thematic design that moves further away from Pure Simulation and towards, but not quite arriving at, Pure Brand.
Sacrificing the immersion of simulation, the space instead excites through its multiple, fragmented references.
At first I thought this would be jarring (as Universal Studio's numerous incongruities were), but rather, since Jerde establishes this as the program from the outset—here is a montage, it's not meant to simulate, replicate or otherwise re-create—he succeeds.
It's not theming in the traditional sense, but it's the direction that much retail and restaurant design has gone in the past two decades (due in no small measure to Jerde himself).
And let's not forget the nice pun on the way to the parking lot!