Cathedral of culture: Sydney Opera House

This piece was originally published in AR September 1973, and was republished online in Februrary 2019 to coincide with a feature on the heroic failures of Jørn Utzon’s Sydney Opera House and Can Lis. You can read the new feature here

Many of the ideas which the Sydney Opera House embodies, in particular the view of life which thought it appropriate to enshrine and isolate the dramatic arts of a whole city in a cathedral of culture, are extinct. The fundamental ideas of the design were established as a result of an international competition held in 1956, 17 years ago; the building has now been completed at a cost of $100 million. During this long gestation, the project has suffered from almost every ill which a major building can suffer, most notably the resignation of the original architect in 1966, a tragedy in the proper sense. At that time the podium and the vaults were complete in form. The glass walls and the whole of the interior design, including the very substantial replanning occasioned by changes in the proposed uses of the building, are the work of the architects who succeeded Jørn Utzon. In this article Tom Heath, an Australian architect and partner in the firm of McConnel Smith & Johnson, examines the building itself, rather than the story of its construction, much of which is already well known.

The building as completed contains a concert hall, an opera theatre, a drama theatre and a small theatre which will be used by both cinema and chamber music groups, not entirely to the satisfaction of either; a large exhibition area and a recording studio which can also be used for rehearsal; a small recital room and a variety of restaurants, bars, and ancillary public spaces. The concert hall was at first intended to be a multi-purpose auditorium serving both concert and opera; the change of use and the accompanying demand for an increase in the number of seats have involved strains and changes not only in the design of the concert hall itself but throughout. The concert hall auditorium has been enlarged beyond the original dimensions at the back over the lounges, and also at the sides. The second major auditorium, originally for drama only, had then to be similarly enlarged to accommo­date opera and ballet; the forced com­promise between increased seating, in­creased stage space and a fixed envelope has resulted in row spacings in the stalls which arc less than ideal for continental seating and an orchestra pit of 78m², which is below average, though far from being the world’s smallest. The so-called experimental theatre of the original scheme, which was always a conventional proscenium theatre, but with few seats and little equipment, has been up-graded by the provision of flies and the construc­tion, below water level, of a revolve and traps. This theatre has no direct connection with the service gallery; none was provided initially and the intervening walls are structural and highly stressed; sets will have to be knock-down or built in situ. Finally, under-stage space no longer needed for the concert hall has been very successfully converted to form the record­ing and rehearsal studio, which will also be a good space for musical performance and experimental theatre.

The site, Bennelong Point, is the source of much of what is bad, as well as what is good, about the finished work. It is a small peninsula extending into Sydney Harbour between the busy ferry wharf of Circular Quay and the Botanic Gardens, and immediately below Government House. Access is minimum and exposure maxi­mum. This is a site with no possible back; and theatres, as Peter Moro once observed (AR October 1971), tend to have backs. One of the great ingenuities of Utzon’s competition design was that it had no back. The two main auditoria, called for by the conditions, are raised up on a podium of such gigantic proportions that it amounts to an artificial acropolis. Everything else – service courts, lesser theatres, workshops, dressing rooms, offices, the lot – is buried in the podium, excepting only the restaurant, which sits perched on the entrance steps – the baby of the family. The ends of the service court, which runs right through the complex from north to south, are concealed, the one under the main steps and the other in a cleft in the podium which expressively marks the division lwtwccn the main halls. And just as all the other elements are united in the podium, the normally contrasting func­tions of auditorium, stage tower and foyer are packaged, with powerful rhetoric, in a carapace which rises 45m above podium level, nearly 60m above the water. The scale is sufficient to withstand the presence of the harbour bridge.

Masterly as the visual unification of the scheme in response to the nature of the site is, it has created more difficulties than it has solved. Most of these arise directly or indirectly from the vaults. In terms of architecture as monumental sculpture – a work to defy time – they are superbly successful. But the problems of construc­tional and utilitarian detail associated with them have forced a series of com­promises, some of them resolved, some visibly unsuccessful. For example, when it became clear that the boundary conditionions of the proposed shells were such that a true shell action could not be achieved, the structure was redesigned as the largest and probably the heaviest group of masonry vaults in the world, though the ‘stones’ are of precast concrete and the overhangs are restrained from toppling by post-tension­ing. This huge mass has had to be sup­ported on enormous ‘feet’ which can be seen quite clearly in plan punching through the podium levels. In the green room, which lies on the north-south axis in the centre of the complex, there are several of these intrusions, but the room, designed to serve all the performers, is big enough to tolerate it. ln the domestic-scaled rooms on the east and west sides of the podium the effect is bizarre.

More conspicuous contradictions have arisen in the construction of the glass walls which fill in the open ends and sides of the vaults. The technical constraints on the designers were here of a most daunting kind and some of the illustrations on the preceding pages are specially devoted to this problem. The mere size of the open­ings puts them outside normal glazing technology. In addition there were prob­lems of acoustics, of fixing, of wind load and of thermal movement. And all these complications were multiplied by a simple fact: the vaults cut back from apex to base. Visually the most, if not the only acceptable infilling would have been a minimum surface or ‘soap bubble’ mem­brane. But the relationship between the plan at podium level and the plan of the vault is too indirect for such a solution to be possible. On the north face the glass walls spill out at the comers, forming curious ‘dog ears’ which cut across the springing of the vaults; the secondary or infilling element becomes dominant. Such an ambiguity might in theory be entertain­ing; in practice it is weak. Other related conflicts between the plan, the geometry of the vaults and the infilling walls occur where little cubical houses containing doors, which must be vertical, have been poked into the rake of the glass; and again where the internal stairs rise into the southern foyers of the concert and opera halls, just at the point where the glass walls ought to descend. To accommodate this junction the podium rears itself up into a sort of diving board, incongruous both with the plane of the podium and with the glass wall into which it breaks.

To the tourist or theatre-goer these criticisms may not be very important. The tourist will begin a visit to the opera house with the impressive climb up the grand stairs to the podium. Patrons of the con­cert or the opera are more likely to arrive at the car entrances under the steps, even if they have to do so by minibus from remote parking areas, since no generally acceptable solution to the problem of providing on- or near-site parking has yet been found. The entrances and foyers to the drama theatre, the cinema and the exhibition space are all in the west flank of the podium and there is no direct way for the public to reach them from the rest of the building. On fine nights the walk down the broadwalli:: to these theatres will be a pleasant one; on wet nights, and Sydney can be very wet, not so pleasant. The approach to the minor theatres is quite direct. The approach to the two main halls is a lengthy, but not tiring, promenade architecturale. From the lower concourse stairs lead to the long foyer which extends right across the site, connecting the restaurant, the concert hall, the opera hall and the recital room. The cloak rooms, booking office, and management functions are at this level.

Long, narrow, and low, with its off-form concrete ceiling oppressively close, this foyer is in carefully planned contrast to those of the next level, again reached by stair. (Lifts for the disabled are provided from the broadwalk level.) These foyers are the largest spaces in the whole com­plex, other than the main halls themselves, extending right up to the vaults 30m or so above, and fully glazed on the south. The reconstructed granite of the concourse carries through in this area and the outside faces of the halls are panelled in brush box, a delicate pinkish brown timber which harmonises well with the pink granite. Thence the movement is north round the sides of the halls, architecturally a most exciting space, complex and dynamic, enriched by the sculptural quality of the vomitories and of the vault springings, though at points the raking and curving junctions of the soffits and sides of the halls have produced some unconvincing detailing. Owing to the changes of level which the redesign of the opera hall entailed, some of the entrances have awk­ward little ramps; they are well signposted but not otherwise emphasised by either modelling or finish, and this understate­ment gives the halls their full impact.

The opera hall is subordinated very properly to the stage. The completely black walls and ceiling have an interesting faceted shape if one attends to it, but attention is focused elsewhere. The elegant purpose-designed seats of white birch ply and red hide and the off-form concrete of the gallery front catch the eye when the hall is empty; but at all times when the house lights are up the architecture will be dominated by the heroic scale and vibrant colour of the stage curtains by John Coburn. A similarly self-effacing architec­tural solution has been adopted in the drama theatre with equal success. In a concert hall, however, the main activity of listening leaves the eyes under-employed; on the other hand listening is the main activity and must be served. The designers have risen to this challenge. The acoustic requirements have been treated as abso­lute and this self-discipline, in the opinion of the musical experts, has produced a fine musical instrument. It is a very fine room as well. The first impression is of great space; since it is not in fact so very large, this must be attributed to the carrying­-through of the human scale. There is a clear visual definition of elements: the audience and the performers sit in a bowl or shallow well, panelled and floored with brush box; the same white birch seats are used, this time with magenta upholstery. Over this bowl hangs the richly modelled canopy of white birch, a remarkable, though not a flawless work.

Given the clarity of the initial conception, the decision to further emphasise the orchestra by bringing the ceiling to a crown or eye above it was mistaken. The volume is such that the ceiling has little visual relationship to the orchestra; the wandering eye is led up to the circle of diffuser boxes at the crown, expects a climax, and finds none. The organ, on the other hand, always a difficult element, has been managed with perfect control, neither over- nor under-stated. And the acrylic clouds, flashing like great smoke rings or a rain of heavenly doughnuts, are in neat counterpoint to the general harmony and restraint – an accent which can afford to be modish because it is easily replaced. Enough traditional Australian puritanism survives for the main bars to be located on the podium level to the north of the main halls, as far as possible from most of the seats. To make up for this the experience of descending through the lounges is a delightful one: here, as almost nowhere else in Sydney, the harbour can be enjoyed. As architecture rather than prospect, they are less successful; despite intelligent and sensitive detailing, the contradiction be­tween the vaults, the overrun of the halls, and the structural gymnastics necessary to hold up the glass walls has produced some cramped spaces where breadth was called for. The bars themselves, sunk into the podium level, provide pools of intro­version and enclosure after the extraver­sion of the lounges.

Throughout, the aesthetic of the interior design is one of restraint. This is evident in the limited palette of materials, the minimal but correspondingly effective use of colour, and particularly in the detailing. Every effort has been made to resist the lure of the special case. The slotted and moulded birch ply panels which cover services on the walls perform the same function on ceilings. The same elegant perspex and aluminium directory recurs. Lockers and dressing tables, door handles and light fittings, are kept-to a minimum number of standard patterns.’ How the Australian public, accustomed as they are to what Robin Boyd used to call Austerican design – the American fashion of 10 years ago at half the price – will react to this aristocratic idiom remains to be seen. In view of the broadly popular use anticipated for the building, it may change taste as much and as happily as it will theatre-going.