Here, in two words, is the architecture that Los Angeles, the city that loves and hates architecture, currently loves to hate: Persian Palace. No other coinage so immediately evinces dismissal and revulsion. It is the ultimate form of "mansionization," taking a small lot and building the largest possible box on it. A compleat Persian Palace--there are many minor variations and lesser imitations--is distinguished by its exaggerated moldings, numberless layers of cornices, elaborate grillework and columns galore. A Persian Palace brazenly combines motifs and wantonly disregards proportion and scale. A giraffe could glide through the front door without stooping, then turn around and peer out the clerestory window while grazing on a crystal chandelier. In Beverly Hills, where the Persian Palace may have originated and certainly came to prominence, the design is now banned. In Glendale, where steep ravines have been piled high with faux stone and banded entablature, it must abide by strict official architectural guidelines. Elsewhere--as in Valley Glen, where some residents have begun leafletting against encroaching mansionization--it is often unwelcome, a sign that, if nothing else, a neighborhood is in for sniping over the look and size of its homes.
In Defense of the Persian Palace
They're ostentatious and ridiculous and blot out their neighbors' sun. They're also open to light and the street, and expressive of an inviting, sociable culture.
Here is what Beverly Hills officially says about Persian Palaces: "The mansionization of the city's residential neighborhoods poses a serious danger that such overbuilding will degrade and depreciate the character, image, beauty, and reputation of the city's residential neighborhoods with adverse consequences for the quality of life of all residents. The bulk and mass of such homes, as well as their general appearances, affect the desirability of the immediate area and neighboring areas for residential purposes." Builders and remodelers must adhere to the Residential Style Design Catalogue, a pictographic guide to the city's "architecturally pure residential styles," most of which, the 123-page brochure avers, "were period revival styles, some inspired by lavish film industry sets."
Of course, neither the word Persian nor the word Palace appears anywhere in the city's design grammar. The city planners didn't bother. It was immediately understood that the April 2004 ordinance was aimed at all those mini-mansions on the streets south of Burton Way and north of Wilshire. What other target could there be?
