The news is that Hyderabad is going have an “iconic” new auditorium, which will replace the old Ravindra Bharati hall. This new auditorium, we’re told, will be in the form of a pearl oyster. And it will be “somewhat similar to the Sydney Opera House”.
All this might sound very glamorous, but not everybody is necessarily thrilled. Filmmaker Vijay Marur, for example, thinks an oyster depicting this ‘city of pearls’ is too literal a concept. Professor and author Jyotirmaya Sharma finds the building “ugly”. Architect Yeshwant Ramamurthy believes it looks like a frog.
And, as for any similarity to the Sydney Opera House, anyone who know the inside story of that building might feel a small chill of superstition creep up their spine when they hear that name invoked.
The reason is that the Sydney Opera House might be one of the greatest pieces of 20th century architecture, but it is also a classic case study of an architectural project gone berserk. It came at an enormous cost, both financial and non-financial: not only were there huge overruns of budget, and of time, but also there was also a state of general chaos and nervous tension that prevailed over the 16 years it took to build.
It is, in short, a lesson on what can happen to ambitious works of public architecture.
In the beginning
It all began in 1956, when the government of New South Wales decided that Sydney needed a public auditorium. They selected a magnificent site for it, overlooking the harbour. And to make sure that they got a great design for the building, they announced an international architectural competition.
Sure enough, they received over two hundred entries (including some from the world’s leading architects). All the entries were broadly similar: based on the most logical, functional shape for an auditorium, which is a large rectangular box. But one entry bucked the trend.
First, it was designed in the form of a series of dramatic, billowing sail-like structures. Second, it did not include a set of detailed drawings, as stipulated, merely a series of flamboyant doodles. And third, it was by an unknown young Danish architect, Jorn Utzon, who had never designed anything more ambitious than a house.
Utzon had approached the assignment as an intellectual problem to crack. Being a sailor, he first studied maps of Sydney Harbour, and then he sailed around Elsinore castle in Denmark several times, imagining that to be the site. One day, as he was sailing, he saw a vision of cascading clouds being reflected in the water – and that became the inspiration for his design.
Copulating armadillos
Despite Utzon’s complete disregard of the rules, the judges selected his design as the winner. Yet, not everybody was convinced about Utzon’s design. The Australian public thought it looked like “copulating armadillos”. But more relevantly, Frank Lloyd Wright, the world’s most respected architect of the time, dismissed it by saying, “This circus tent is not architecture.”
The design might have been “at the edge of the possible”, as Utzon once put it. But it had very fundamental flaws. First – breaking the very first rule of modern architecture – it was all form, and very little function. In other words, it looked very nice, but it simply didn’t work as an auditorium. (For example, Utzon had, unforgivably, not given enough thought to key issues like acoustics.)
But, even worse, while his irregular sail-like forms looked great on paper, they were, in fact, impossible to build – because they simply did not have the necessary geometric strength.
The fact that Utzon hadn’t yet prepared any detailed plans for the building made things even more worrisome. However, the government was under great pressure to show that its famous Opera House was on schedule. And so they decided to proceed with the construction, regardless of all the problems.
It was a really, really bad decision.
Delays and tantrums
Utzon was a poet of architecture, but quite inexperienced. So a leading Danish engineering company, Ove Arup, was engaged to take care of the structural realities of life. Construction was now under way although they still had no idea, for example, how they were going to ultimately construct the building’s irregular sail-like forms.
Thus the project was a huge risk: there was a possibility that the building would reach a certain point and then have to be abandoned, because it was impossible to construct its most important architectural feature.
The 1950s led into the 1960s, and the project was progressing in a chaotic fashion. Utzon was prone to behaving childishly, going incommunicado for long periods, and throwing tantrums. He was also, by now, not on talking terms with the engineering team. The project, which was supposed to have been ready in 1962, was still a long, long way from completion, and costs kept mounting. To the Australian public – and the political opposition – the Sydney Opera House became an object of ridicule.
Quite fortuitously, it was the advent of the computer that helped rescue the project. When computer applications for architectural engineering were introduced in the 1960s, the project’s engineers were among the first to use them, being able, at last, to translate Utzon’s dreamy sail-like forms into mathematical – and, therefore, constructible – reality.
Thus, at least one problem was solved. But others remained. The project lurched on.
A new minister
In 1965 the Australian government was voted out of power, and a new coalition government came in (one of the election issues having been the Sydney Opera House controversy). A tough new Minister for Works took over, with the mandate of concluding the project as soon as possible. Things built up to a showdown with Utzon, who emotionally quit, swearing never to set foot in Australia again.
A new team of local architects was then assembled to try and complete Utzon’s half-built structure. When they studied the work in progress they discovered a can of worms: not only were critical factors like power supply, drainage, air-conditioning and fire safety in a mess – but the seating capacity itself was now falling short of the requirement, by almost 25%.
The new team had to painfully put together the project’s many bits and pieces, and thereby create the Sydney Opera House as we know it today – a process that would take a further eight years.
Some say that the building we see today is not as ethereally beautiful as Utzon’s original vision. Others say that the exterior is dramatic, but the actual auditorium spaces are very disappointing. But, under the circumstances, it’s a major feat that the Opera House was finished at all.
The project, which was supposed to have been completed in 1962, was finally completed in 1973. What was supposed to have cost 5 million pounds, ended up costing 100 million dollars (the unit of currency having changed mid-way). The seating capacity that should have been 3,500 was ultimately less than 2,700. Utzon, for all his visionary genius, went back to Denmark and lived the rest of his life in relative obscurity, designing only one other project of any significance.
The price of creativity
So that is the story of the Sydney Opera House, as it unfolded. (Yes, it does sound like the screenplay of a James Marsh biopic, doesn’t it)
Most people consider the building to be one of the greatest architectural achievements of the last century. But there are also those who remember it as an architectural disaster – and not without reason. The point is, that’s the way it often is with works of great creativity: there’s a huge emotional investment involved, and a fine line between success and disaster.
Which brings us back to the new Hyderabad auditorium.
I’m sure the architectural firm concerned is very competent. And I’m sure that the Telangana government will be a very supportive client. It’s just that when someone starts throwing around comparisons with the Sydney Opera House, it makes me feel a little nervous.
We welcome your comments at
letters@scroll.in.
All this might sound very glamorous, but not everybody is necessarily thrilled. Filmmaker Vijay Marur, for example, thinks an oyster depicting this ‘city of pearls’ is too literal a concept. Professor and author Jyotirmaya Sharma finds the building “ugly”. Architect Yeshwant Ramamurthy believes it looks like a frog.
And, as for any similarity to the Sydney Opera House, anyone who know the inside story of that building might feel a small chill of superstition creep up their spine when they hear that name invoked.
The reason is that the Sydney Opera House might be one of the greatest pieces of 20th century architecture, but it is also a classic case study of an architectural project gone berserk. It came at an enormous cost, both financial and non-financial: not only were there huge overruns of budget, and of time, but also there was also a state of general chaos and nervous tension that prevailed over the 16 years it took to build.
It is, in short, a lesson on what can happen to ambitious works of public architecture.
In the beginning
It all began in 1956, when the government of New South Wales decided that Sydney needed a public auditorium. They selected a magnificent site for it, overlooking the harbour. And to make sure that they got a great design for the building, they announced an international architectural competition.
Sure enough, they received over two hundred entries (including some from the world’s leading architects). All the entries were broadly similar: based on the most logical, functional shape for an auditorium, which is a large rectangular box. But one entry bucked the trend.
First, it was designed in the form of a series of dramatic, billowing sail-like structures. Second, it did not include a set of detailed drawings, as stipulated, merely a series of flamboyant doodles. And third, it was by an unknown young Danish architect, Jorn Utzon, who had never designed anything more ambitious than a house.
Utzon had approached the assignment as an intellectual problem to crack. Being a sailor, he first studied maps of Sydney Harbour, and then he sailed around Elsinore castle in Denmark several times, imagining that to be the site. One day, as he was sailing, he saw a vision of cascading clouds being reflected in the water – and that became the inspiration for his design.
Copulating armadillos
Despite Utzon’s complete disregard of the rules, the judges selected his design as the winner. Yet, not everybody was convinced about Utzon’s design. The Australian public thought it looked like “copulating armadillos”. But more relevantly, Frank Lloyd Wright, the world’s most respected architect of the time, dismissed it by saying, “This circus tent is not architecture.”
The design might have been “at the edge of the possible”, as Utzon once put it. But it had very fundamental flaws. First – breaking the very first rule of modern architecture – it was all form, and very little function. In other words, it looked very nice, but it simply didn’t work as an auditorium. (For example, Utzon had, unforgivably, not given enough thought to key issues like acoustics.)
But, even worse, while his irregular sail-like forms looked great on paper, they were, in fact, impossible to build – because they simply did not have the necessary geometric strength.
The fact that Utzon hadn’t yet prepared any detailed plans for the building made things even more worrisome. However, the government was under great pressure to show that its famous Opera House was on schedule. And so they decided to proceed with the construction, regardless of all the problems.
It was a really, really bad decision.
Delays and tantrums
Utzon was a poet of architecture, but quite inexperienced. So a leading Danish engineering company, Ove Arup, was engaged to take care of the structural realities of life. Construction was now under way although they still had no idea, for example, how they were going to ultimately construct the building’s irregular sail-like forms.
Thus the project was a huge risk: there was a possibility that the building would reach a certain point and then have to be abandoned, because it was impossible to construct its most important architectural feature.
The 1950s led into the 1960s, and the project was progressing in a chaotic fashion. Utzon was prone to behaving childishly, going incommunicado for long periods, and throwing tantrums. He was also, by now, not on talking terms with the engineering team. The project, which was supposed to have been ready in 1962, was still a long, long way from completion, and costs kept mounting. To the Australian public – and the political opposition – the Sydney Opera House became an object of ridicule.
Quite fortuitously, it was the advent of the computer that helped rescue the project. When computer applications for architectural engineering were introduced in the 1960s, the project’s engineers were among the first to use them, being able, at last, to translate Utzon’s dreamy sail-like forms into mathematical – and, therefore, constructible – reality.
Thus, at least one problem was solved. But others remained. The project lurched on.
A new minister
In 1965 the Australian government was voted out of power, and a new coalition government came in (one of the election issues having been the Sydney Opera House controversy). A tough new Minister for Works took over, with the mandate of concluding the project as soon as possible. Things built up to a showdown with Utzon, who emotionally quit, swearing never to set foot in Australia again.
A new team of local architects was then assembled to try and complete Utzon’s half-built structure. When they studied the work in progress they discovered a can of worms: not only were critical factors like power supply, drainage, air-conditioning and fire safety in a mess – but the seating capacity itself was now falling short of the requirement, by almost 25%.
The new team had to painfully put together the project’s many bits and pieces, and thereby create the Sydney Opera House as we know it today – a process that would take a further eight years.
Some say that the building we see today is not as ethereally beautiful as Utzon’s original vision. Others say that the exterior is dramatic, but the actual auditorium spaces are very disappointing. But, under the circumstances, it’s a major feat that the Opera House was finished at all.
The project, which was supposed to have been completed in 1962, was finally completed in 1973. What was supposed to have cost 5 million pounds, ended up costing 100 million dollars (the unit of currency having changed mid-way). The seating capacity that should have been 3,500 was ultimately less than 2,700. Utzon, for all his visionary genius, went back to Denmark and lived the rest of his life in relative obscurity, designing only one other project of any significance.
The price of creativity
So that is the story of the Sydney Opera House, as it unfolded. (Yes, it does sound like the screenplay of a James Marsh biopic, doesn’t it)
Most people consider the building to be one of the greatest architectural achievements of the last century. But there are also those who remember it as an architectural disaster – and not without reason. The point is, that’s the way it often is with works of great creativity: there’s a huge emotional investment involved, and a fine line between success and disaster.
Which brings us back to the new Hyderabad auditorium.
I’m sure the architectural firm concerned is very competent. And I’m sure that the Telangana government will be a very supportive client. It’s just that when someone starts throwing around comparisons with the Sydney Opera House, it makes me feel a little nervous.