Interior Design | March 1997

Philippe Starck's renovation of the Mondrian brings a fresh definition of glamour to Los Angeles.

By Edie Cohen

While may well have hit upon a successful formula for his growing collection of hotels, his successes are anything but formulaic. Beginning with his 1984 purchase of Morgans and the hotel's renovation by AndrÈe Putman, Schrager typically buys dated or even derelict hotels in areas with varying degrees of desirability. He then calls on stellar talent-Putman was followed by Philippe Starck-and has the properties redone in a cutting-edge design vocabulary that manages both to capture and push the envelope of the design culture of the moment. And it is this hipper-than-thou attitude that assures that the hotels become destination venues for locals as well as guests, a condition deemed vital for their success. "It's obvious," says Schrager. "You go into a city and want to go where the locals go. It's not so important to generate dollars per sq. ft. in the public space. We make up for it with a sense of enjoyment and by providing a visceral experience. We want it to be fun."

So it was with the Royalton and Paramount in New York and the Delano in Miami. So it is with L.A.'s Mondrian in the short time since its December 1996 re-opening.

The Mondrian, built in 1959 with its Agam-painted facade a quasi-beacon on Sunset Boulevard, was decidedly ripe for Schrager's picking. Its public zone, implausibly oblivious of views and exterior spaces, had been a chilly study of dark marble and unrelieved hard-edged furnishings. To call the Mondrian dated was a kindness. Yet for a New Yorker, "it had the magical appeal of Sunset Boulevard and West Hollywood," says Schrager, who admits to having had his eye on the property for ten years prior to its sale by the Ashkenazy brothers. In pragmatic terms, it had a healthy key count, which, in Schrager's program, remains unaltered to avoid "the treacherous process" of reconfiguration. Further, each of the 245 rooms boasted the attributes of a floor-to-ceiling glass wall plus generous proportions to accommodate Schrager's vision of "in-room merchandising," which translates to a mini-apartment fitted with the necessities of quotidian life.

Whether one knows the City of Angels intimately or has had only brief encounters with it, one can't help but have strong conceptions (or preconceptions) of it. Schrager, Starck and Schrager's director of design Anda Andrei all had powerful impressions; all had bearing on the solution. Schrager describes Los Angeles as a city of contradictions. "On one hand, it's laid-back, natural, honest, spiritual and dedicated to good health. On the other hand, it's the make-believe capital of the world." For Andrei, Los Angeles seems a puzzling place, a suburb in which there are no pedestrians and everything is seen from a car's vantage point. Nevertheless, she says, "our response to L.A. was to recreate the glamour of Hollywood for our time."

Starck's view, based on what he calls "intuition and impression," is a poetic one, and it is this ethereal interpretation that holds the key to the new Mondrian. "My first impression of Los Angeles is of a city that one shall never know, that one's life is not sufficient to know this city, which is rather rare but at the same time modern, since it resembles the ultra-modern cyberspace territory. One has the feeling that on foot, one can spend a lifetime and there will always be an unknown area in this city. Therefore, before all, there is this idea of mystery in Los Angeles. Secondly, because of the climate and the fog, the white stands out as thick as a cloud. One can therefore arrive at the idea that Los Angeles is a white mysteryÖHere one is in white mystery, flat and linear, a little bit like a sea with a leaden sky."

Starck's musings take concrete form in the public space, which, like its predecessors at the Royalton, Paramount and Delano, was demolished and rebuilt as a magnet for social activity. Extraordinarily white, with a collection of exotic furniture/objects arranged in seemingly haphazard manner, the lobby exudes a shimmering quality and leaves one with the sensation of not quite knowing where one surface ends and another begins. Achieving this quality meant overcoming some immutable obstacles. The elevator bank, for example, was located dead center and on-axis with the entry. What could be more uninviting than entering a hotel and immediately confronting a trio of bland elevators? In the new scheme Starck transformed this disadvantage into the lobby's focal point and one of its most memorable features. He wrapped the elevator core in three layers of translucent cotton draperies contained within an illuminated glass cube. Just what space lies behind those draperies and how far it extends are subject to conjecture. The lobby's second detraction was a critically low ceiling of 9 1/2-ft. height. An elaborate lighting plan, developed with Arnold Chan and Clark Johnson, does much to dispel the plane's boundaries. During daylight hours, much of the lobby is bathed in an orange glow that, as evening approaches, gives way to a computer-programmed series of colors. Just as California's natural light shifts during the hours of a day, so the Mondrian's artificial illumination changes throughout the course of an evening. "This was tricky," says Schrager. "I would have been devastated if it looked like a disco."

A partitionless expanse of 10,000 sq. ft., the public zone accommodates all the traditional hotel functions of reception, lounge seating and lobby bar, yet the solution is one that defies tradition. Only the bleached maple reception counter approaches familiarity. Otherwise the so-called lobby bar and the lounge seating resemble nothing we've seen before, save perhaps at the Delano. Out in the open and not tucked away in some dim corner, the bar is actually a long, freestanding table composed of an integrally lit marble top supported by gold-leafed legs. It is surrounded by an odd assortment of closely placed bar stools and is meant to promote conviviality among visitors and guests during breakfast, lunch, dessert and cocktail service. There is no back bar. Instead, an exceptional mirrored cabinet with copper fittings was fabricated in Venice to house bar stock. Placed throughout the lobby space are singular pieces culled from a year of collecting with an eye towards multiculturalism. The white cross bench, purchased from a MoMA exhibit, is from the Dutch firm Droog Design. The egg-shaped stool comes from Baleri of Italy. A pair of amorphous polyurethane stools is by the French designer Vincent Beaurin; a wood stool is by the Brazilian artist Renato Varela. The composition, says Andrei, "is as eclectic as it comes." But there are also familiar items to temper the edginess: Chinese porcelains and Eames chairs sit alongside a rough log from Florida a la David Lynch. The sole piece used in multiples is Starck's custom game chair with attached arm tablet and bag containing mini game pieces for backgammon or checkers. Finishes and furnishings meld to form an overall effect of mannered calm. The rococo bravura of the Royalton and Paramount is nowhere in evidence here.

As a virtual continuation of the lobby, the restaurant provides a good solid reason for Angelenos to navigate the curves of Sunset Boulevard, and for guests to remain near the hotel. Collaborating with restaurateur Pino Luongo to bring Coco Pazzo into the mix, Schrager has imported the brand name and tasty fare familiar to New Yorkers and Chicagoans. Make no mistake, however: The restaurant is part of the Mondrian, with a complementary clean white, quasi-beachfront feeling characterizing its decor. Coco Pazzo spills over to the outdoors, seating an additional 180 within all-new landscaping that includes a teak deck and heated pool.

"This could be an outdoor village by the sea," says Schrager of the amenities, which include Rande Gerber's Skybar aerie. From an operations stance the open public space had benefits and problems. "The contiguous open space is profitable," says Schrager, "but difficult because of the number of operators required to buy into the idea and concept."

Rooms, each with a full complement of kitchen appliances plus dining area, are fresh and clean with Starck's white slipcovered furniture related to the pieces that caused a sensation at the Delano. "The rooms are not highly designed, but they're comfortable," says Andrei. With killer views, 550 sq. ft. or more of space, plus well thought-out zones for sleeping, eating and lounging, who needs anything else?

"What's next?" is the inevitable question, and Hotels has a full quota of projects on the boards. The Clift in San Francisco is slated for a late 1997 opening; multiple sites in London (Covent Garden and Soho) are scheduled for completion in 1998. Each project will be designed by Starck.

The Mondrian was completed in 22 months and remained open throughout. Renovation costs totaled $15 million on top of $17 million for acquisition.

In addition to Starck and Andrei, credits extend to Michael Overington, director of development; Helka Puc, Kim Walker, Kelly Behun and Leila Fazel of Schrager Hotels design studio; and Donald Kaufman, color consultant. Koning Eizenberg Architecture was the production architect. Art direction is credited to Fabien Baron, Lisa Atkin and Melissa Sison.