The Royal Festival Hall reopened to the public yesterday after a two-year internal revamp. This iconic building was cutting edge, architecturally speaking, as the centrepiece of the Festival of Britain back in 1951. But the concrete grandeur slowly faded, and the acoustics were never great in the first place, so a major refurbishment became increasingly necessary. Has it all been worth it?
I headed down to the Nu-RFH at half past four yesterday afternoon, to see if the big bronze and glass doors had finally been unlocked. And unlocked they were, but only just. The central foyer was a hive of last-minute activity, mostly handymen and service staff, with only a few bemused members of the public wandering around inbetween. "Are we actually allowed in yet?" "Yes, looks like it." The bar was open, of course, and already doing brisk business. A herd of black-shirted catering assistants hovered round one pillar awaiting their final pre-launch briefing. Large bowtie-shaped plastic display cases were being wheeled around on trolleys, ready to to dispense multi-coloured leaflets to weekend visitors. Down half-a-level, on the Ballroom floor, members of a semi-Chinese Gamelan Orchestra were practising sedately for two performances later in the evening. Meanwhile, up a nearby stepladder, last minute adjustments were being made to overhead signage - this way to Level 3.
Being not quite properly open yet, most of the internal staircases were still taped off. No chance of gatecrashing that TV interview downstairs, but at least the upstairs walkways were semi-accessible. The carpet underfoot was a nigh perfect copy of the well-worn 1950s original - all muted green and geometrically retro. The handrails were still proper grainy undervarnished wood, not black plastic upgrades. Even the 'new' Skylonrestaurant, overlooking a Thames-side terrace, looked like it might possibly serve up rationed ox-tongue and strawberry trifle. Indeed the whole ambience of the interior remains that of Modernernist austerity Britain - if you'd not been here before you'd almost never guess that the place had changed at all. Which is a bit of a triumph really.
I didn't stay for the party because the official kick-off was still a couple of hours away. But a non-stop 48 hour cultural event, entitled Overture, is now underway should any of you fancy popping down to see the RFH makeover for yourself. It's been arranged in short dip-in dip-out chunks, and there's bound to be something at your level. Maybe some poetry, or jazz, or a bit of African gospel. Or a sit-down in St Etienne's Turntable Cafe, or a strum-along with Billy Bragg, or even a proper orchestral extravaganza. There'll be thousands of proper orchestral extravaganzas in the revamped auditorium over the next few decades, and it would be great to see one of the first. All 24000 tickets for this weekend are free, so you've got nothing to lose.
Appearing Rooms: Meanwhile outside the Royal Festival Hall, at the northern end of the first floor terrace, they've installed an enormously enjoyable walk-in water feature. Fountains are the new face of interactive public art, so it would seem, and this square-shaped gusher is up there with the best of them. Imagine a 2-by-2 grid with water jets along every edge, each of which can be switched off independently. Every so often one of the liquid walls disappears and you can nip inside, or dash through from one square to another, without getting too damp. And then the jets re-spurt and you're trapped inside your watery cell... at least until another wall fades (or you risk running through the upward torrent to freedom). Anybody under the age of 10 will adore it. Anybody with a child under the age of 10 will love having an excuse to dive into it. And I'd have loved to have had a go myself, had there not been quite so many serious-looking people all standing around with predatory cameras poised. Maybe later in the summer, when nobody's looking...
The Royal Festival Hall reopened to the public yesterday after a two-year internal revamp. This iconic building was cutting edge, architecturally speaking, as the centrepiece of the Festival of Britain back in 1951. But the concrete grandeur slowly faded, and the acoustics were never great in the first place, so a major refurbishment became increasingly necessary. Has it all been worth it?
Being not quite properly open yet, most of the internal staircases were still taped off. No chance of gatecrashing that TV interview downstairs, but at least the upstairs walkways were semi-accessible. The carpet underfoot was a nigh perfect copy of the well-worn 1950s original - all muted green and geometrically retro. The handrails were still proper grainy undervarnished wood, not black plastic upgrades. Even the 'new' Skylon restaurant, overlooking a Thames-side terrace, looked like it might possibly serve up rationed ox-tongue and strawberry trifle. Indeed the whole ambience of the interior remains that of Modernernist austerity Britain - if you'd not been here before you'd almost never guess that the place had changed at all. Which is a bit of a triumph really.
Appearing Rooms: Meanwhile outside the Royal Festival Hall, at the northern end of the first floor terrace, they've installed an enormously enjoyable walk-in water feature. Fountains are the new face of interactive public art, so it would seem, and this square-shaped gusher is up there with the best of them. Imagine a 2-by-2 grid with water jets along every edge, each of which can be switched off independently. Every so often one of the liquid walls disappears and you can nip inside, or dash through from one square to another, without getting too damp. And then the jets re-spurt and you're trapped inside your watery cell... at least until another wall fades (or you risk running through the upward torrent to freedom). Anybody under the age of 10 will adore it. Anybody with a child under the age of 10 will love having an excuse to dive into it. And I'd have loved to have had a go myself, had there not been quite so many serious-looking people all standing around with predatory cameras poised. Maybe later in the summer, when nobody's looking...
