Lisa Rochon's critique in the Globe:
FOUR SEASONS CENTRE FOR THE PERFORMING ARTS
Outside blah, inside awe
While the exterior brick wrap is mean to the street, the interior of the new opera house is nothing short of triumphant, writes LISA ROCHON
LISA ROCHON
A building is not a one-walled affair. And yet, from the outside, this is what we are expected to believe of the Four Seasons Centre for the Performing Arts. So regular, so hard, so profane are the brick elevations running along Queen Street West, Richmond Street and York Street in downtown Toronto that the building and its significance as Canada's first opera house disappear from civic consciousness. The monumental glass wall is an exhilarating addition to University Avenue, but it can hardly be expected to forgive all. A touch of the spectacular on all four sides of the centre would have gone a long way to argue the noble cause of culture.
On the day of the opera's gala opening this week, architect Jack Diamond asserted that "cities are made up of continuities, not discontinuities." On this point, he and I have long differed. To my mind, cities are made up of continuities and discontinuities. Architecture tames a city. It can create order from disorder. But, without moments of civic grandeur that stand apart from the rest, a city loses itself to systems of sameness.
Given a commission of cultural import, the role of the architect is to make us believe in something that feels larger than ourselves, bigger than life itself.
Toronto owes much to the grounded, sensible work of Diamond, an architect and urban virtuoso. For his sharply argued lessons on urbanism, on how to carve squares and courtyards into the block, on how to use architecture as a democratic, caring enterprise, architects in Canada and, further afield, in the United States, owe part of their edification.
The opera house is an honest work by Diamond, one that carries his signature of architecture reduced to a minimum of gestures, and, always, the hard muscle of the brick wall. The crisp, planar ribbon is essentially what Diamond has been delivering for decades. At 1.7 acres, the site for the Four Seasons Centre is tight but hardly impossible. Consider the tiny sliver of space accorded to New York's American Folk Art Museum, for which architects Tod Williams and Billie Tsien marked a place of staggering, sculpted difference. In our own backyard, there are fine examples of how to create an exhilarating built presence on tight sites. Massey College (1963), designed by Ron Thom for the University of Toronto, enchants for its slot windows hidden behind pleated brick walls, creating a tremendous, subtle dance that runs tight to the sidewalk.
As for the Four Seasons Centre, there is plenty of good news: Behind that monumental glass wall is a space that deserves its name, the City Room. Within it is the impossibility of a three-storey glass staircase beautifully engineered by Halcrow Yolles; grand, airy landing pads with maple floors; bars designed as lean, white racing tracks.
The City Room is a 21st-century version of Union Station's Great Hall, alive with optimism for the arts and a kinetic energy of people travelling through space to watch opera or ballet. Subtle entertainment is provided by the shadows cast by patrons on the room's vast, curved screen constructed of thin horizontal pieces of beech wood.
The German glass panels of the curtain wall are perfectly transparent, and suspended steel crosses laterally braced by horizontal glass shelves are rigorous and clean in detail. Similar, honest strategies of transparency are used for the glazing of Jackman Hall, the special-events room, and in the ballet rehearsal hall, both of which overlook the enchanting wrought-iron fence and urban forest of Osgoode Hall.
Diamond, principal of Diamond + Schmitt Architects, has masterminded an elegant unfolding of space, paying attention to ceremonial arrival, and room to socialize before a performance begins. Project architects Gary McKluskie, Matthew Lella and Michael Treacy were key to the centre's design.
But pity the people on the fourth and fifth levels. To get down from there, patrons can choose either to manoeuvre down the glass stairs -- not everybody's cup of tea -- or to press along one side of the wooden stairs leading to the third floor. These are mostly overscaled to serve as seating for afternoon concerts; only one narrow flank operates as a conventional stair.
On opening night, the elevators were unable to keep up, so the crowd was thick and intense as it filed slowly down the narrow stairs. Some youthful adventurers broke from rank to attempt large cowboy footfalls down the bench steps, turning the elegance of the night into a moment of commedia dell'arte.
While the exterior brick wrap is mean to the street, the interior of the house is triumphant. The R. Fraser Elliott Hall is a 2,043-seat horseshoe-shaped auditorium. That means that its shape has taken cues from La Scala in Milan and the Palais Garnier in Paris. But next to the red-velvet and gilded extravaganazas, the Toronto house is a restrained invention of dulcet tones.
Here, Diamond, prodded by acoustician Bob Essert, has produced a space enlivened by curving plaster walls and balustrades. The ceiling, a kind of sliced-open oyster, is teh most exultant gesture in the hall, and a delight to behold. Beyond its dramatic effect, the sculptural piece has been cut apart to discreetly accomodate a catwalk, loudspeakers for future, amplified performances, and lighting.
Though organic architecture is not part of Diamond's usual vocabulary, it is mostly articulated with elegance and credibility. Careful attention has been paid to creating the bone-like shape of the handrails. The vestibules that lead to private boxes are sensuous, intimate rooms. The floor undernath the upper-gallery seating has been curved up or down to allow for clear sightlines anywhere in the house, an innovative gesture on the part of the collaborating consultants.
Once upon a time, opera houses were lit by oil maps, with the orchestra playing alongside long dining tables where, in the foyer, gamblers placed bets at the casino. Places for the poor were formally set aside. The Italians call them the loggione, from which unhappy patrons whistle their discontent for any performer who dares to mishandle an aria. The upper gallery, also known as the chicken run at the Teatro Colon in Buneos Aires, is still hugely popular, allowing patrons to watch, standing up, for less than a dollar. We've come a long way since then, or have we?
What's been delieved these days are pristine cathedrals of Puritan conduct and acoustical science. One of the achievements of the Four Seasons Centre is the much-discussed, much-heralded acoustics by Essert of the London-based Sound Space Design. The N-1 rating means that a hall free of background noise has been created, a standard that required the physical separation of the building from its concrete foundation, to prevention any vibration from the subway.
The idea is to allow a white canvas for the performer to float their sound back, sideways or up and down throughout the hall. The same kind of strategy is being used for the new concert halls of the Royal Conservatory of Music, designed by Marianne McKenna of Kuwabara Payne McKenna Blumberg Architects in consultation with Essert, and currently under construction.
Other measures were taken by the opera-and-ballet house to create a voluptuous sound while allowing lyrics to be clearly understood. There is no carpet, only maple flooring. The chorus can now, finally, sing softly, bouche fermee, and capture the purity of gentle, soulful sound. On opening night, when they sang the final strains of Va Pensiiero, the national anthem of opera, and held the last note for a very long time, there was nothing but music that mattered. The hall had entirely disappeared.
In the world of culture, the making of an opera house is a rare, often painful event, provoked by fire, the social aspirations of the wealthy and/or a public's sheer love of music. The vision and tenacity of general director Richard Bradshaw cannot be overemphasized. He has built of a house of inspired performance, but it took him about 20 years to wrestle it to the ground.
Any time a new opera house comes along, there is a reaction from the public. A retired friend, nuts for Wagner's Ring cycle, argues that he'd go to opera in a cardbox box if the sound was good. Another friend, who bikes alongside the Four Seasons on her way to work, says the banality of the new house has convinced her to abandon her opera tickets. Two lawyers I know scoff at the views from their offices - the back loading docks with their green dumpsters.
Though deceptively ordinary on the outside, the case has to be made for the significance of the Four Seasons Centre for the Performing Arts, and argued with conviction. Cars should be flagged down, pedestrians should be stopped in their tracks and the whole madding crowd escorted inside by burly security guards. The future of opera and ballet depends on all those people who were absent on opening night.
AoD