The Scala of Milan has reopened after three years of building sites and controversy. Domus clarifies the procedures and results of the restoration project carrying the name of Swiss architect Mario Botta. Text by John Foot. Photography by Lelli & Masotti. Edited by Loredana Mascheroni, Elena Sommariva.
 
The death (and rebirth?) of a theatre-palimpsest
John Foot

Palimpsest. Two definitions
1. A manuscript (usually written on papyrus or parchment) on which more than one text has been written with the earlier writing incompletely erased and still visible.
2. A “text” (film, book, building) presenting several different layers of substance and meaning that can be dissected, analysed and appreciated.

Preamble
Throughout its history, there have been debates about exactly how to “modernise” Milan’s La Scala theatre, the most famous opera house in the world. There have always been those who have wanted to knock down the old, in order to bring in the new. Others have always argued that change should come about gradually, through addition, restyling and respect for the existing structures. The gradualists have always won, even after an Allied bomb crashed straight through the roof of the theatre in August 1943. Until now, that is, because the latest “restoration”, begun in 2001, is as close to a wholesale renewal as possible without building an entirely new theatre. In carrying out this highly controversial work, the actors involved have ridden roughshod over their opponents, amidst a general climate of indifference and resignation. There has been little debate, and even less publicity concerning the work, especially in Italy. Now, the Milanese have been presented with a fait accompli – a finished piece of work. They may be in for something of a shock.

The Ruins
As a metaphor for contemporary Milan, it was almost perfect. From the front, the Teatro alla Scala opera house appeared to be the same as ever – anonymous, drab, even ugly, but undoubtedly elegant. But on the inside, nothing seemed to be left at all. La Scala had been “disembowelled”, its belly had been torn out, it had been gutted. The first photos of the “restoration”, taken in the autumn of 2002, were shocking. What had happened? What was going on? Where was La Scala, the most famous, most celebrated and most controversial opera house in the world? Since then, much has come to pass. Mario Botta’s large-scale “additions” to the opera house have continued apace, onwards and upwards. Inside, the opera house is no longer an open shell. A new, hyper-modern stagesystem has emerged that will give the theatre a flexibility it has never had before. New seats and boxes are being installed, with computer screens for each spectator. Seven layers of repaintings have been scraped away to prepare for shiny new walls and floors. The workers in the theatre are to have a new restaurant, and proper, spacious offices. All seemed to be going swimmingly, on time and according to plan. So, why does the project remain controversial, and why are the protagonists so hard to please, so touchy about any criticism? One answer lies in the rather unorthodox way in which we arrived at this work, which can in no way be defined as a simple “renovation” or “restoration”, but as a completely new theatre.

Renovation Story. What was wrong with the old La Scala?
For Carlo Fontana and many others La Scala was simply too old, too inflexible and (therefore) too expensive. There was – as he put it – an “emergency situation”. For years, the theatre had battled with deficits and financial crises. The stage mechanisms required unique and costly sets, and made changing shows difficult. Staff worked in cramped, dangerous and often unhygienic conditions. Fire was a constant fear. The theatre area was uncomfortable and out of date. If you were going to do one thing, it was argued, why not do it all? In any case La Scala had the opportunity to move to a super-modern new theatre on the edge of the city – the Arcimboldi – (opened in 2002). The crumbling and unsafe palimpsest that La Scala had always been, it was argued, needed a wholesale renewal, at last. A drastic decision was taken: knock down as much as possible in order to rebuild and modernise. La Scala has always had a desperate need for more space. It has always colonised other buildings and expanded upwards, and downwards, in the search for space for its expansive and luxurious productions and company. Now, this position is one that can be argued for, and which carries some force. The real question, however, is how such a decision was taken, by whom, and with which measures of democratic decision-making and public consultation. Whatever one’s opinions of the old La Scala, its historic value and its need for renewal, renovation or otherwise, it is clear that any wholesale deconstruction and reconstruction of the theatre should not have taken place without extensive public debate and open decision-making. This was not the case, and remains not the case. The old La Scala was destroyed, disembowelled, torn apart, almost in secret. The methodology of this de-re-construction was, to say the least, questionable. Judgement on the new project is left to the experts.

Deconstruction Story. I. The “missing stage” and the museum
Perhaps the most controversial decision of all consisted of the destruction, or at least the removal, of the stage and set mechanisms which were in part original, and in part those set up in the 1930s by the engineer Luigi Lorenzo Secchi – the ingenious craftsman of the stage with mobile scaffolding and boards moved by hydraulic pumps, and technical director of La Scala for 50 years. This “disembowelling”, some argue, showed a complete lack of respect for the history of the theatre and its role in Milanese history, as well as for the extraordinary engineering work of Secchi and his collaborators. This was, after all, the stage where Callas sang, where Fracci and Nureyev danced and upon which artists and theatre-directors of the calibre of Visconti, Zeffirelli, Ronconi, Strehler and Grassi had worked. The history of opera, and of music, has been made on this stage, on those pieces of wood which are now lying, gathering dust, in a warehouse just outside the city. La Scala was, and perhaps could have continued to be, a “museum of itself” (Pierluigi Cervellati, the architect and city-planner who had been called in to advise on the fate of much of Secchi’s work). Rules and regulations, concluded Cervellati, would probably mean that the “Secchian devices” would be destroyed. He was right. In the past, the choice had always been to work with what was there, in a piecemeal fashion. Architects and engineers had always preferred to add another piece to the palimpsest. In 1920-1921, for example, the theatre was closed while Cesare Albertini carried out extensive work on the stage and orchestra pit Secchi’s stage was constructed by the Sügler Company of Milan and adapted to La Scala’s famous “slope” and was the only one of its kind in the world. Secchi invented a system of moving parts, which were originally moved by hydraulic water pumps. The stage was dismantled in the heat and silence of August 2002 and moved to a warehouse on the edge of the city. Politicians have promised that the stage and its backstage mechanisms will be reconstructed in an old factory in Milan “for all the Milanese to see” in a new museum. Many are sceptical about this promise. Taken out of its speci-fic context, the stage loses much of its magic and its usefulness or interest in a museum is questionable.

Deconstruction Story. II. La Piccola Scala
In 1955 the Piccola Scala (small Scala) was built, on-site, to a design by celebrated Milanese architect Paolo Portaluppi with the participation of engineer Marcello Zavellini Rossi. This small and beautiful 600-seat theatre (complete with boxes and stalls) was designed to host intimate opera performances, experimental theatre and music, some rehearsals and other events. For 28 years, a series of memorable shows were put on here, from classic opera to the Nuova Compagnia di Canto Popolare in 1972 and even Ravi Shankar in 1973. In 1983, the question of space popped up again. The Piccola Scala was closed and part of its space was used for a new ticket office. In 2002 what was left of the Piccola Scala was demolished. The Piccola Scala was a key part of the scaligerian palimpsest. It was knocked down, without much ado.

Reconstruction Story. 2001-2004. The New Project and the New Theatre
How did we get here? In 2001 the architect Giuliano Parmeggiani, was asked by Milan’s local council to “define functionally the needs of a modern opera house”. Parmeggiani suggested a modest tower on the roof of the theatre. The next step was to find a building company. The building contract was awarded to Bologna company CCC in August 2001. At the end of the year, this company then approached the Swiss Architect Mario Botta to draw up a so-called “executive” version of Parmeggiani’s project. In layman’s terms, Botta was asked to make the project workable – to execute a series of rough plans. Work began before final permission had been granted, and many claim that Botta’s intervention is and was much more than an executive plan linked to Parmeggiani’s original idea. Many argue that Botta’s towers are radically different to what was originally intended and agreed upon. They can be seen from various parts of central Milan and are made up of a large roof tower, which is linked to the stage mechanisms and sets, and a smaller elliptical tower, which will house various offices. The colour is pale honey-pink. Opposition to Botta’s project has ranged from straightforward traditionalism and conservatism, to serious architectural engagement with the project. Many simply question the methodology behind this reconstruction and demolition. Of course, many theatres in the world have been modernised, rebuilt or redesigned over time. One key Italian example is that of Genoa, where Aldo Rossi built an extension to the Teatro Carlo Felice which divides opinion into lovers and haters of the project. What is at stake here is not the modernity of Botta’s project, or its qualities architecturally, but the way that this work has been carried out.

December 7, 2004. What is opening on opening night?
Rather pretentiously, on 7 December, 2004, La Scala’s traditional and always controversial opening night will give us the opera which opened La Scala right at the beginning, way back in 1778 – Salieri’s L’Europa Riconosciuta. The meaning of this choice is simple. It is an attempt to signal a rebirth, which pays its respects to tradition. However, the work, which has been going on at the site since 2001, has not paid particular respect to that tradition. The new theatre will be more modern, more efficient, less costly and more comfortable than it has ever been. As for “more beautiful”, that is a matter of opinion. Opinions change over time. But one question, and it is an important one, remains unanswered: will it still be La Scala, or just another modern theatre in a city which already has one of those? Thus, Milan (a city of 1.2 million people) will soon have two, ultra-modern opera houses. This in a city without a decent rock music venue (rock concerts have to be held at Assago, outside of Milan) and where the basketball team has played in crumbling stadiums since the collapse of Nervi’s Sports Palazzo after a snow storm in 1985. Yet, vast amounts of money have been lavished on two concert-house/theatres adapted above all to opera and classical music. The old theatre was a marvellous, creaking, dusty palimpsest, from which the most extraordinary opera somehow emerged. That palimpsest is dead: demolished, unravelled. For hundreds of years, to adapt to the times, or after disaster and near-disaster, those who worked on and in the old theatre adapted their projects to the space available, in ways which defied market logic and perhaps were largely anachronistic, but were also modifications touched by genius and love for what La Scala had always been. The New Scala breaks radically with this tradition. Only time will tell if this has been a brave (if undemocratic) rupture with the past, or a terrible series of errors.

Conversation with Mario Botta
Deconstruction or stratification?

Stefano Boeri: As you know, the fact that a commission of such relevance and impact as that for the restoration and rebuilding of Milan’s La Scala theatre was not the result of an international architectural competition, sparked controversy and protest. So one can’t help wondering: if we had been able to go through the procedure of an architectural competition, to which you would have certainly been invited, might we perhaps have seen more courageous propositions, more comprehensive redefinitions of La Scala’s building, or even a still more radical redesign?

Mario Botta: I entirely agree with the principle of holding a competition to enlarge a theatre as important as La Scala. But my work has been carried on in a site that had already opened, but too late. In reality this project has demolished forty years of continuous emergency. Inside, they had closed the courtyards, added superfetations, and installed systems everywhere. The decision to start the reconstruction/restoration dates from 1991. The point is that the idea of reconstruction never got beyond the administrative stages until tenders were put out for contract. By then it was too late for everything, including an architectural competition.

SB: A second big question remains unanswered: why and how did certain drastic acts of demolition come to be legitimised. To this day there are people wondering why the Piccola Scala had to be destroyed…

MB: When I received the final project from Mr Parmeggiani to be converted into the master project, I took the choices of what had to be demolished to be valid. The demolition substantially concerned the whole interior of the block. The only remaining historic things were four original columns of Piermarini’s stage tower, and even these had been drowned in two tremendous concrete cylinders in order to bear the technical stress. As for Portaluppi’s Piccola Scala, it had been unusable and unused for years; it was totally beyond repair. It is true this space has been lost, however a side-stage has been gained which the Scala badly needed. I understand the doubts and perplexities. But since we are working inside the belly of the building so to speak, I think the choices of what to retain and what to sacrifice are justifiable.

SB: So we’re not really talking about preserving the original entity of a theatre space that had been constantly readapted, with variations and additions. Nevertheless, didn’t you at least have qualms about for example, about the decision to destroy the ancient stage machinery which was a unique and fully functioning exemplar, even though it had production rates of events unsuited to the busy programmes of a modern theatre?

MB: The stage machinery was brilliant in some ways, because it broke in two all those stage sets that couldn’t be lifted into the stage tower due to lack of height, and which were instead slid to one side. But we mustn’t forget that Mr Secchi himself, the engineer, in reports prepared in the late 1970s, said that his stage machine needed to be replaced: it had been a perfect hydraulic machine when constructed, but had since become obsolete. Cervellati, too, who was a man above suspicion and a strong conservative, said the machine was by then a museum piece.

SB: Unfortunately these matters were publicly discussed when the decisions had already been taken. The fact is that the whole business of restoring La Scala has been somewhat obscure. Even what was happening on the site was kept out of view…

MB: “Blocking” the site was an error of communication, and in fact it was later revised and rectified. There were objective difficulties, though, involved in organising the site in broad daylight: the demolition was done by day and the rubble was taken away by night. It was a miracle. 120,000 cubic metres were removed from the heart of Milan.

SB: What restraints did you accept once you had taken up the appointment to do the master project?

MB: From the moment I accepted the brief I knew what I was up against. What I feel is the good thing about this project is that it sheds light on what has been renovated as a historical part, with a neoclassical idiom on the one hand and a 19th-century one on the other, in via dei Filodrammatici. As a result, the figurative image of the lower part vis-à-vis the city has regained its historical dignity. But above these levels reigned a confusion of languages, a jumbled kasbah of styles which we have substituted with these clear volumes. One of these is the elevated stage tower, which now rises to the level of the two turrets; and the other is the famous and much-debated elliptical body, containing all the service spaces and placed next to the longitudinal axis of the theatre. I defend this choice. Furthermore I believe it is the only feasible one in the tradition of a European city. We are lucky to be able to work and build by strata. In this way the new is not a built substitution, not something radically new, but part of a series of limitations and contradictions that have to reckon with what was already there.

SB: And yet I think the strength of your design lies precisely in its having come up with something quite radically new; and that what you have done is not an adjustment, but rather the addition of an entirely original, contemporary presence untainted by historicism.

MB: For me this is the only way of consolidating the European city, where even the contemporary enters into the development of a historical stratification. The language of the 20th century serves to keep the monument alive. SB: This is another major issue in the theory of architectural design raised by your project. In fact it does not hide, but is juxtaposed to the old building and works by distinction. But this seems to me to have accentuated, and carried to its extreme consequences, the fragmentary character of the theatre’s built body to the extent that La Scala today is no longer a single architectural organism. Piermarini’s facade and building, as you were saying, have stayed exactly as they were, and the urban front, even as perceived from the square, is absolutely the same and just as weak as it was before. The same goes for the portico in Via dei Filodrammatici. But after completion of the two new volumes containing the stage tower and services, which might almost be described as prostheses, what symbolically maintains the theatre’s impression of continuity is the auditorium, with all its connected stage properties. And the most interesting thing is that your project seems to go against the stream of architectural choices preferred by the leading museum, exhibition and cultural institutions, which in recent years have shown a predilection for unitariness. Essentially, even theories closest to differentiation and articulation - even deconstructivist architects - are designing exhibition and cultural systems everywhere that are homogeneous from the architectural and stylistic point of view. Perhaps you yourself are the real deconstructivist…

MB: Clearly La Scala today is no longer the theatre designed by Piermarini. This was a very violent parallelepiped, which the architect had emphasised by means of the portico that invaded the street, Via Manzoni. It was a work built to be perceived only by glimpses, because opposite the theatre stood a curtain formed by the street frontage itself. By 2000 the Teatro alla Scala had already undergone so many conspicuous alterations that it had been transformed from an isolated building into a theatrical agglomeration. Given that situation, it seemed logical to me to continue this stratified building. And my attitude also considered the major spatial change made to the city in 1858, when the street frontage opposite the present Piazza della Scala was demolished, after which the square and later Palazzo Marino were built.

SB: The front by Piermarini had by that time already begun to show its weakness. It had never been designed to face a square, and above all, a system of urban spaces as intricate as those leading through the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele and out into the wide-open “clearing” of Piazza Duomo. But can we really be sure your work has not made this weakness even more glaring? Hadn’t that previous system of superfetations and minor additions rendered the building as a whole more homogeneous?

MB: Either you reduce the theatre to its 18th-century scale and throw away all the other elements around it, or you accept the stratification that had been there since the mid-19th century… As far as I am concerned, the two volumes formed by the stage tower and the ellipsoidal body are a backcloth, a change of language from figurative to abstract. They create a stage set which at the back of the complex consolidates the services necessary to this transformation. From my point of view, the new part is justified by the spacious square in front of the building. Piermarini’s theatre also now stands as a backdrop, whereas it was originally built to be viewed in perspective. What we now see from the far side of the square is in itself a vision of the mid-19th-century, where the urban transformation was heavy.

SB: I think a city like Milan ought to have been courageous enough even to consider an altogether different architectural feature in Piazza della Scala, while keeping the auditorium intact. After all, basically what remains in the mind’s eye is this extraordinary space for the imagination of listening. This said, I believe the two volumes that you have built, instead of boosting Piermarini’s original building, point out even more than before its unfitness to relate to the urban scene. Yours are clearly volumes of a technical nature; they don’t express functions in architectural terms. And being set back, they claim no legitimacy as a front facing the square…

MB: Architecture is the art of the possible. Therefore your line of thinking is viable from a theoretic, literary viewpoint. The reality is that what we have done has already gone beyond expectations, because the initial project had even envisaged that the altered stage machinery would not have hurt the volumes standing out from the historic profile. Under the conditions of my brief and specified programme I don’t think I could have done better. Maybe others could have, but it’s like a football match: you have no counter-evidence.