‘A triumph of imagination over prosaic minds’: how the Sydney Opera House delivered Australia to the world
The beauty and magic never fade. Every time I walk from Circular Quay along the footpath towards the Opera House is like the first time. How to explain my sense of elation and enchantment when I approach that magnificent structure, especially at night? There’s the toy-like ferries coming and going from their wharves, the sound of their lugubrious horns, and inside them the passengers look like miniature dolls in a light box. Then there’s the calming sounds of the gentle slapping of the waves against the Sydney Cove retaining wall, the piercing cries of seagulls floating just above one’s head, the neon lights of the city, the glowing lights of the Harbour Bridge, the moon reflected on the nocturnal water, the briny smell of the sea and right in front of me, as if rising from the light speckled harbour itself, the awesome sight of the curvaceous and brilliantly white shells of the Opera House.
The straight lines of the long, steep entrance steps lead to the hushed interiors where, a few years after my arrival in Sydney from Melbourne in 1979, I saw Richard Meale’s opera Voss, based on Patrick White’s novel, and thrilled to the opening scene where the chorus sings loudly and jubilantly “Sydney! Sydney!” as if reflecting the audience’s pride in the glorious venue in which it was being staged.
The building and its surrounds sit on Bennelong Point, once home to the Indigenous warrior and peacemaker Bennelong. Later it became a fort to protect Sydney and morphed into a ramshackle tram depot. From this eyesore, rose one of the most innovative and architectural achievements of its time.
It was opened in 1973 after a construction period that started in 1959. Designed by the Danish architect Jorn Utzon, after his plans that had been rescued from a pile of rejects, it was dogged by controversy, especially its escalating costs and frequent rescheduling. In the beginning an optimistic Utzon suggested it would only take two years to build. Its prolonged construction was a mixture of tragedy and triumph, involving much personal turmoil, conflicts, divorces, disappointment, political bungling, petty minded officials and stormy walkouts. The lottery set up to fund it resulted in a young boy’s kidnap and murder. Even after it was finished it still had its victims when a television reporter and her crew died when their helicopter crashed while they were filming it.
After enervating arguments with philistine government bureaucrats, Utzon resigned, and the Opera House was completed by an Australian architectural team. An indignant and stubborn Utzon refused all overtures for the rest of his life to return to Sydney to see his glorious creation. As the architect Philip Cox said, “All involved were losers – except the people of Australia who gained the Sydney Opera House.”
To some Australians the structure was thought to resemble a beached whale, nine nuns playing football, or a bunch of nails clipped from an albino dog. It was a precious fluke, a rare instance of a parochial Australia reaching for the stars, or as the former prime minister Paul Keating said, “it’s more art than architecture”. The famous English diarist James Lee-Milne visited Australia in 1980 and marvelled, “The Opera House is astonishing … Architecturally it is a revelation of dare-devilry and outrage. And it succeeds.”
Its initial use was for opera, concerts, and theatre and, in the beginning, there was a preciousness about it, as if it were a shrine only for snobs and the wealthy. A sense that inside its hallowed shells, only High Art was allowed. But slowly it began to challenge and inspire local artists and performers, who understood they had to lift their game as they realised audiences were increasingly visiting from overseas, intrigued by the unique and beautiful building.
What went outside and inside it evolved. Outside there have been rock concerts and wild protests, inside there may have been opera, but there was also Nick Cave and Bob Dylan. There may have been Shakespeare but there was also standup comedy. There may have been classical music but there was also jazz and rock. Audiences realised that they didn’t have to be posh or dress up.
Though this could upset some people. My uncle, Bob Herbert, a theatre director of the old school, had one of his plays produced at the Opera House. On opening night, he was the only man wearing a tuxedo, When I saw him, people were giving him their coats and jackets thinking he was the cloak room attendant. He was not upset at being mistaken for one, but appalled that sartorial standards had fallen so low, especially at such a prestigious venue. It was further evidence that the Opera House had become a place for everyone. Perhaps this has been one of the most dramatic changes in its 50-year history.
It became internationally acknowledged as not only one of the architectural marvels of the world but recognised as the quintessential Sydney icon.
For overseas visitors it’s a must to be photographed in front of it and has become a prestigious venue for some of the great artists and performers of our time. For film audiences the world over it provides a visual shorthand for Australia as a whole. It may represent high culture to many but in popular culture it personifies Sydney. Many a Hollywood apocalyptic movie shows the Opera House being torn apart in spectacular fashion, Independence Day, X-Men Apocalypse, the remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still, World War Z and Pacific Rim, Uprising. If that’s not enough, Godzilla uses his giant tail to hurl his deadly enemy, Zilla, crashing into the Opera House.
Over 50 years its popularity has grown, as it has its importance to Sydney’s, even Australia’s, identity. It represents the triumph of imagination over prosaic minds, the victory of an artistic vision over bureaucratic timidity, and for the world a shining example of the way architecture can aspire to beauty and a dreamy enchantment.