By Amy Silverman
By Olivia LaVecchia
By Monica Alonzo and Stephen Lemons
By Chris Parker
By Michael Lacey
By Weston Phippen
The Gateway was constructed in an old rail yard. The project is a mix of 350 apartment units and about 650,000 square feet of retail and entertainment venues. A children's museum, planetarium and IMAX theater are under construction along with 150 condominiums.
Local architects have been critical of some of the bold features and colors, comparing some areas of the project to stage sets.
"It's a fake little . . . I don't even know what to call it," Robert L. Bliss, a retired architect and former dean of the School of Architecture at the University of Utah, was quoted as saying in the Sacramento Bee.
"Architecturally, it's Disneyland. It pretends to be historic, and it certainly is not."
The Bee wrote about Gateway because Sacramento will soon get its own Jerde project. Last month, that city agreed to move forward with a 240-acre development in its abandoned rail yard that will include several thousand new homes and millions of square feet of retail and commercial space.
It's hard to dismiss such critics as jealous highbrows taking pot shots at a renowned architect when you visit some of Jerde's masterworks.
CityWalk's faux Hollywood setting with colorful banners and '50s-style streetscapes relies heavily on a barrage of amplified music to keep patrons gyrating through streets lined with corporate outlets (yet another Hard Rock Cafe, for instance), a massive cinema complex and -- in all but one or two cases -- predictable food-court fare.
The loud music combined with conflicting jingles at some of the outlets make for shear racket. The audio horror reverberates through every nook and cranny of the circuitous complex. Patrons become so maniacally confused inside the labyrinth that the most satisfying part of the CityWalk "experience" can be locating your car in the massive parking garages at the end of the night.
Horton Plaza is a decidedly more sedate experience. Situated in the middle of downtown San Diego, Horton was opened in 1985 as a pioneer project in San Diego's seedy downtown.
City leaders forced retail developer Ernest Hahn to build the downtown complex in exchange for permission to continue putting up shopping centers in the city's rapidly expanding fringes.
The idea was that Horton Plaza would suck wary visitors into San Diego's decrepit downtown and provide them a safe and (the developers promised) "exciting" shopping experience.
Spread over six blocks, Horton is inaccessible to pedestrians along most of its perimeter. Its daunting exterior is designed to keep the homeless and drifters who are part of the real downtown scene from gaining ready access to the sanitized and heavily policed mall.
Once inside, Horton appears less plastic than other Jerde developments. There are narrow, mazelike walkways that give the illusion of density. The food court, which overlooks a plaza jammed with shoppers, seems more like a street-side cafe than the communal dining hall typical of suburban shopping malls.
City officials expected it would take Horton Plaza five years to spark a noticeable change in downtown San Diego, but the project attracted 25 million people in its first year and immediately served as a catalyst for downtown regeneration, Jerde Partnership claims on its Web site.
Jerde may not be exaggerating. City leaders credit Horton with helping trigger a $2.4 billion wave of downtown investment that includes massive expansion of the city's waterfront convention center and ongoing construction of a new baseball stadium for the San Diego Padres.
In every direction leading from Horton Plaza, either new residential high-rises are going up or developers are converting old warehouses and flophouse hotels into lofts. Prices are high -- $1,190 a month for 700-square-foot apartments and more than $2 million for penthouses with views of the bay.
Horton Plaza benefits immensely from a steady influx of tourists who sweep through the area to shop and dine in the adjacent Gas Lamp District, which is jammed with cafes, coffee shops and tourist traps. The supply of tourists is constantly restocked by cruise ships that dock a few blocks away.
While Horton probably isn't the first destination of most of its visitors since refurbishment of the Gas Lamp District, it's every bit as much a retailer's wet dream as CityWalk. Eighteen years after it opened, it boasts San Diego's highest sales per square foot. Assessed property values at the project have increased by $451 million during this period, or 2,721 percent.
It's not difficult to envision Colangelo -- who stokes his entertainment venues with food and booze vendors -- salivating over the prospect of putting a CityWalk or a Horton Plaza in downtown Phoenix.
The problem is, such a development isn't what is needed downtown, Colangelo's critics say. It might be good for the mogul's interests, but the last thing the core city needs is a tourist trap like Horton and the Gas Lamp District. These are the kind of places that lure largely tourists, not locals. And big shopping malls exist in spades in the city's suburbs.
In addition, these critics ask, isn't it time that Colangelo and his backers came out of the shadows? City Hall is the entity that should be ramrodding downtown redevelopment, not a big-business man. They note wryly that Colangelo and his friends aren't even providing incoming Mayor Gordon with insider knowledge about their would-be master plan.