A Talk With: Elizabeth Diller

Alice Tully Hall during re-construction/photo: Iwan Baan — Lincoln Center
Alice Tully Hall/photo: Iwan Baan, courtesy Lincoln Center
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...and baby makes six. / MARIO PEREZ/ABC
SPOILER ALERT: Before you read this post, why don't you watch this very informative video that'll answer some of your questions, and I'll take care of some business. I thought I would have had more to say right now. But compared with "Through the Looking Glass" last year, which threw us into unfamiliar situations and then upended the whole concept of the series, there was something very foreordained about "No Place Like Home." 95% of it was concerned with unfolding events that—more or less—we knew or had been led to believe would happen: the Oceanic Six were rescued, the Island was moved, Ben would go somewhere with a parka and a crowbar, etc. Showing us something we already knew (that the O6 would escape) and making the question of how they got there engaging for an entire season was quite a feat, but the closer it got to the payoff, the more perfunctory it seemed. And the final scene, or as the producers code-named it, the "Frozen Donkey Wheel" (which was the big thing Ben was pushing, right?) was the promised revelation of a mystery teased in the last finale (who was in the coffin?), and it turned out to be the first person a lot of folks guessed a year ago. (Locke. RIP. I think. Or at least until they haul you back to the Island and you spring back to life.) In other words, I just checked my mind and it is not blown. Fine. You can't expect one of those every time. I mean, we got a flash-forward last year; to repeat that, I suppose Lost would have to invent a fifth dimension. [Update: And in a way, not having an OMG twist at the end was the more daring thing for the show to do. I mean, the easy Lost thing—and the thing many fans dreaded—was that every season would add on new complications, new layers of conspiracy, new questions. By not doing that, the season 4 finale is saying thaat there really is an endgame, there really is a plan, and just as the show expanded wildly during its first three seasons, it must now contract toward a conclusion for the last three, or now two. (I have a feeling I'm just going to keep adding updates to this post as new things occur to me, like a dung beetle adding on to its ball.)] But I think even the more predestined scenes could have had a bigger emotional payoff. Last year, for instance, we essentially knew Charlie would die, but that didn't stop his death from being affecting, noble, even beautiful. Michael's presumed death was surprising—with the appearance of Christian—but he didn't quite get the Sydney Carton far-far-better-thing redemptive moment you might have expected. Jin's, likewise—and yes, this is Lost, you never know until you see someone sever and burn the head, but still—was more horrifying than emotional (though Sun's pathos was totally believable). On the other hand, Sawyer's self-sacrificing jump into the water—after making his unheard request to Kate—was a great moment, and further convinced me that Kate is mooning over the wrong guy in the future. (So is Sawyer now Juliet's consolation prize?) And Des and Penny—aw! [Melts into puddle.] Oh, and a nice small moment when Sun tells Michael she's pregnant and he smiles and congratulates her; I'd forgotten the connection they'd had. So where does the show kick off next year? Flash-forwarded again to the Six Plus Ben Plus Dead Locke returning to the Island? Flashbacked to show us the Very Bad Things that unfolded on the Island? Or do we have Ben and Jack traveling cross country a la Jake and Elwood Blues, trying to reunite the old gang? Now put on your suit of body armor and hold on to your dead-man trigger, because here comes my last hail of bullets for season 4: * Late in the episode, Mrs. Tuned In asked me, "So why do they have to lie exactly?" And I answered--um... I don't know, actually. I mean, I think I understand the lie mechanically: if they stick to the cover story, Widmore doesn't know that there are survivors left on the Island, wherever it is. Except: doesn't he? Had he gotten no reports back from all his hired men--before they got blowed up real good—that they had found the island, with survivors? [Update: Duh, right—Michael/Kevin sabotaged the radio. Sorry, late night.] If he'd go through the trouble of staging a crash in the belief that the real Oceanic 815 must have come down on the Island, would he believe the cover story for a second? [Update: Even if Widmore didn't stage the crash, he's clearly convinced that the 815 crash was related to the Island—would he so easily conclude he was wrong? And, remember, at the very least Jack believes that whoever staged the crash is looking for the Island, which is part of his rationale for the lie.] In other words, who is the lie really protecting? For that matter, why not just come home and expose Widmore? At least there's a plausible answer to that: "We have to lie because people will think we're crazy if we say we were on a magic disappearing island with a smoke monster." I'm not sure the actual stated reason for the lie holds water, though. Am I the only one with this problem? * Many, many nice one-liners in this episode, particularly involving Michael Emerson's inimitable delivery. ("Is he talking about what I think he's talking about?" "If you mean time traveling bunnies, yes.") If we never see him with live-Locke again, that'll be a shame. Cool-creepiest moment: "Checkmate, Mr. Eko." * So you load the Vault up with metal and it sparks and explodes. Basically, it's a big microwave oven. Nice, by the way, to see (the completed version of) the fragmentary Orchid video from ComicCon last summer. Turns out it was pretty relevant after all. * What does it mean that Michael—who never knew Christian—sees Christian in his last moments? Is "Christian" actually Christian at all? Is he a manifestation of the Island? (Which, by the way: If the Island lets people die as a way of telling them it's "done" with them—Michael, Locke—then the Island is kind of a jerk.) Or is he Smokey? Does Smokey have that kind of range? *Speaking of "range," a couple of the better dramatic scenes I've seen for Evangeline Lilly in a while. Apparently she took some acting classes in the future! So: why did she say "I'm sorry" to Aaron after getting chided by Dream Ghost Claire ("Don't you dare bring him back!"). Is she aplogizing because she must go back to the Island without him, because she must bring him with her, or for another reason entirely? * Last week, we were debating who it was who ultimately rescued the Six. In retrospect, I can't believe I didn't guess Penny. Though somehow I didn't think we'd be seeing her get reuinited with Desmond until the final episode of the series. That they're back together may just have cost Desmond his life-insurance policy. * Speaking of life-insurance policies, what are the odds for Faraday, drifitng on open sea in a boat full of cannon-fodder extras? * Significance of Charlotte (apparently) having been born on the Island? I've read the speculation that she's Annie, Ben's childhood sweetheart, but she seems clearly too young, unless there's some Alpertification going on. * Oh, and back to Locke. My own guess on the coffin was wrong: I had my money on Ben in the coffin, alive, having faked his death to get to Jack. I'd mourn Locke more, but again we run into the whole lack-of-faith-he's-permanently-dead thing, plus I can't imagine the series continuing without Terry O'Quinn in some substantial role—though I suppose he could be in flashbacks to the Island after the O6's rescue. * Speaking of which: I end up asking a question I was asking after last finale—where are we at the beginning of next season, now that the O6's rescue story has been told? I have a hard time imagining Lost going a long while without any of the cast who are back on the Island. Do the O6 come back that quickly? Is there a fill-in-the-gaps stretch of episodes—or parts of episodes—showing what happened on the Island from 2004 to 2007? And if so, are those considered flashbacks? Flash-forwards? Flash-in-betweens? And how do they get back? As Ben said, "I have a few ideas." Now you've got about eight months to think about yours.

This weekend Lincoln Center — which the New York Philharmonic, the New York City Ballet and the Metropolitan Opera all call home — will debut the wonderfully reconfigured building that houses its chamber music auditorium, Alice Tully Hall, plus the Julliard School of Music and the American School of Ballet. That premiere is the first stage of a redesign of substantial parts of the Center’s 16-acre campus by the firm of Diller, Scofidio + Renfro. So last week I stopped by their Manhattan offices to talk with Liz Diller about the project. Other than a much needed and beautifully achieved rehab of the Alice Tully interior, its larger purpose is to integrate Lincoln Center more tightly into the streetscape of its surrounding neighborhood, to make it less of a physically isolated culture-pod. (That picture up above, by the way, shows Alice Tully a few weeks ago, when it was still under construction.)

A couple of the other performing arts centers that were built in the 1960s and early ’70s — the Music Center in downtown L.A., where Frank Gehry’s Disney Hall was added a few years ago, and the John F. Kennedy Center in Washington — have been thinking about ways to connect better to their surroundings. But Lincoln Center, which will roll out its redesign in stages over the next few years, is the first to actually do it. And so far, to get it right.

LACAYO: When you were invited into this project, was it everybody’s idea right from the start to knit Lincoln Center physically back into the fabric of the surrounding streets?

DILLER: It was. When we came in the whole framework was already the question: “What can we do to make Lincoln Center more a part of the city?” The notion of democratizing that campus — “Let’s bring Lincoln Center to the streets” — was on the table from the very beginning.

LACAYO: So what was the first problem you were faced with?

DILLER: Our first idea was to erode the edges of the “plinth”. [She's referring here to the raised mega-block that the whole of Lincoln Center stands on, which on its western and northern sides is in some places a platform 24-feet above street level.] We wanted to make more access points.
We also wanted to make good on the “public-ness” of the outdoor public spaces, so they could be programmed with outdoor events. It was part of the aesthetic of the ’60s to have these desolate open plazas, which over the years became more and more desolate. The lack of lighting, the lack of shade — there were just so many lacks. Just by adding something, small gestures, mostly landscape, we’ll be able to bring the north plaza to life.

LACAYO: The original Alice Tully/Julliard building had a strange split-level existence. There was this little street-level entrance for the concert hall, and the entry door for the school was hidden away on an upper level, and then there was a huge pedestrian bridge from that level that ran across the street to the rest of the raised Lincoln Center campus. One of the main things you did was to put everything back at sidewalk level, get rid of the bridge, greatly enlarge the Alice Tully lobby and wrap everything in glass.

DILLER: The notion was to make Alice Tully more of a visible presence on the street. Now all the pedestrian movement comes back down to the city street. That bridge wreaked such havoc with the street that we felt very comfortable moving it.

LACAYO: The other big thing you did visually was cut a huge angular slice through the corner of the building, so there’s a triangular canopy now that’s like a giant wave.

DILLER: At Lincoln Center small gestures don’t work.

LACAYO: You’re also changing the whole way that lobby will be used. It’s now going to be a cafe/bar open to the public, not just to ticket holders, from early morning into the night.

DILLER: Exactly. Yesterday our lighting designer was saying we should have three different “looks” in the lobby. One should be pre-theater, one should be intermission and one should be after the event. But then we realized that was wrong. The cafe bar is not about the theater or what’s going on in there on any given night. It’s the other way around, it’s a public place, for people coming in from the neighborhood, and the audience on any night will just spill out into that public place.

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