SAVANNAH, Ga. — In this elegant old city of graceful mansions in muted tones, Bud Hall's House of Many Colors stands out like rap music at a Debussy concert.

You can almost hear the hot pink, lavender and blue paint that covers Hall's nine-room Victorian home on Whitefield Square in the city's historic district. And his 9-foot tall windows look even louder, 10 of them covered with paintings of women dressed in colors of the rainbow.

As expected in a city that prides itself on antebellum charm and architecture, a city that William Tecumseh Sherman spared after his March to the Sea because it was "too beautiful" to destroy, many Savannah preservationists look at Hall's home and see red. City officials took him to court, arguing that his home is not in character with the rest of the historic neighborhood. But Hall argues that preservation laws clash with his rights.

Sitting in a room that he uses for his hair styling businesses, Hall said indignantly: "If I want to hang pictures of Zsa Zsa Gabor and Martin Luther King in my window, that's my right. Our country was founded on property rights."

In many ways, Hall's house has come to symbolize increasingly worrisome issues surrounding the historic preservation movement. In Savannah, as in cities across the country, questions are being raised about whether the movement has become too powerful, too intrusive and whether preservation and progress are compatible--and affordable. The questions take on added weight as aging cities increasingly rely on historic districts to attract visitors and help fuel their service economies.

Across the nation, preservationists are battling to hold onto power they gained during the last several decades of heightened awareness of architectural treasures.

In Charleston, S.C., and San Francisco, preservationists have taken a beating as they tried to convince some victims of the recent hurricane and earthquake that, in repairing their damaged property, they should spend the extra money it takes to buy materials like those destroyed rather than purchasing newer, cheaper ones.

Pat Mellen of the Preservation Society of Charleston, said to be the nation's oldest such organization (70 years old), said, "You have to explain to them that you can put an asphalt roof on," instead of the more expensive metal, "but you're going to lose it in 10 years. You're also going to lose tourism" because the houses would not be attractive.