This storied theater is crumbling. Time to compromise on restoration of Grove Playhouse | Opinion
There’s not enough love or respect in this town for Miami’s history.
If there were, our cultural landmarks would be in the hands of better stewards, not left to rot in order to justify demolition by neglect more than a decade later — as is poised to happen with the Coconut Grove Playhouse.
In Miami, unfortunately, more often than not, avarice wins, bulldozers at the ready to destroy the past in favor of the glitz of steel and glass. More urban clutter at the expense of who we were and what we had: beloved neighborhoods with character.
In the prolonged case of the Playhouse — once the most important venue of its kind in the Southeast — there’s even less appreciation for the theater among its low-brow gatekeepers. Nor is there enough public awareness that today’s Miami and Miami Beach — after the restoration of The Colony Theatre, an example of preservation done right — have thriving thespian scenes that contribute to neighborhoods’ economy.
But the Playhouse is up for demolition — albeit, a partial one. Despite its historical and architectural importance, that’s reality.
Opened as a silent movie theater in 1927, it’s listed in the National Register of Historic Places, a designation that, though honorary, isn’t easy to obtain and is supposed to protect structures from destruction.
“A fanciful Spanish Rococo movie palace,” the historic designation report says of the early boom-era architecture of the celebrated firm Kiehnel and Elliott.
‘A disgusting mess’
The shuttered, crumbling building, owned by the state but leased to Miami-Dade County for 99 years, doesn’t stand much of a chance of being completely saved in today’s political climate.
There’s little likelihood of preserving the large, boxy, ungraceful mismatch of sloppy additions made during the ‘60s and ‘70s. By 2006, the nonprofit theater couldn’t sustain itself economically and was closed.
Almost two decades later, it’s time for a reality check: There’s no $42 million restoration miracle in the making, only a viable county plan to save the oldest and most historic parts of the Playhouse.
The proposal calls for restoration of all three floors of the original 1920s playhouse — and for the rest, the cultural affairs department has filed for a demolition permit with the city of Miami, still under review as of this writing.
The beloved Playhouse is a boarded-up eyesore, inside and out.
I saw most of it — what could be accessed without losing my life by falling over rotted wood and rusted concrete — navigating widespread debris left behind by former tenants and the people and varmints who’ve taken up residence through the years.
After signing a waiver, required because of the large presence of asbestos all over, I toured most of the dark, damp building, N-95 mask on and flashlight in hand, with Miami-Dade Commissioner Raquel Regalado, spokeswoman Amanda Maldonado, and Alejandro “Alex” Peraza, the county’s construction projects manager.
Along with the Mediterranean facade, all three floors of the original 1920s playhouse will be restored, Regalado and Peraza assured me, but the auditorium where generations enjoyed theater will be torn down.
The new 300-seat theater with “21st Century technology,” plus offices and living quarters for actors, won’t be anything like the 700-seat Playhouse had. And it won’t be housed in the historic building, but be a standalone behind it, separated by a plaza.
I was taken to the delineation points of what will be saved — and what won’t like the auditorium — and to say the county is only restoring the facade, as some preservationists claim, simply isn’t true.
In addition, historic elements from the rest of the building — sculptures and decorative wall motifs — will be extracted and “repurposed in the new project,” Regalado said.
It’s a far-from-perfect compromise, but it’s the only thing on the table, despite decade-long efforts to restore the Playhouse’s original grandeur.
Accepting a compromise plan doesn’t mean exempting the county from the role it has played in the Playhouse’s demise.
County government has been a terrible tenant and hasn’t complied with its obligations to maintain the property under lease terms with the building’s owners, the state of Florida.
As attorney David Winker points out, the county “has allowed the Playhouse to turn into a disgusting mess. What the county is doing is nothing but intentional demolition by neglect, so that they can tell people, ‘Look at how terrible this place is. It has to be torn down.’ ”
Politics & preservation
The right politics along the way could have saved the Playhouse, but they didn’t exist in chaotic Miami — now on the way to destroying the historic Tower Theater — or in a county where developers pay to play politicians with donations.
Everyone loves Miami — until an issue becomes a hot political liability.
Seeing the deterioration I saw would break the most cynical of hearts.
Similar is happening to other battered historical landmarks — the Miami Marine Stadium and Olympia Theater, for example, are in desperate need of restoration. Shift the fight there.
But the Playhouse is a lost cause.
Even architect Richard Heisenbottle, who restored the Colony and wanted to do the same for the Playhouse, concedes that the county plan “is a done deal” with no more room for compromise.
The new lawsuit brought by Winker on behalf of Grove residents, and not yet served on the county, is a Hail Mary move.
It argues that the county can’t use the $20 million bond voters approved to restore the Playhouse and expand its cultural offerings “to tear down 80% of it and replace it with retail and office space.”
Regalado, pointing to the restoration of the original theater area, where bond money will be spent, predicts that county attorneys will succeed in dismissing the lawsuit.
Losing a piece of history
Politics — and ignorance about the role of the performing arts in communities — have conspired to destroy our heritage.
Yes, while the original theater is where the architectural value is the strongest, more of the Playhouse’s history from the 1960s, ‘70s, and ‘80s could have been saved had preservation prevailed earlier. And Grovites deserve a larger theater, not another CocoWalk.
“They’re basically saying — we’re going to give her a face-lift but cut the body in half because the top and bottoms of our bodies are different. But people only really respect the face. They do that to create confusion,” said actor and playwright Carmen Pelaez, whose famous work “Rum & Coke” was staged at the Playhouse. “The cultural landmark — the history — is in the actual theater, not the entrance, office and apartments.”
But, as Regalado points out, it’s also economic reality that retail/commercial space pays the rent.
A small community theater with a park and paseo-style walkway that “opens the area to the West Grove,” as Regalado depicts it, doesn’t make up for the loss of a once grand theater.
“Going from 100% theater to 30% theater is not ‘restoration’ by any definition,” Pelaez said. “Taking down 70% of a landmarked building owned by somebody else is pure chicanery. Hopefully the state will stop them.”
Faith in a state run by Gov. Ron DeSantis?
I have none.
Plus, while all of the Playhouse’s walls embody theater history, the building’s aesthetics don’t help. Altered throughout the years and lacking architectural features that elevate the structure, there’s little to be saved, a fact preservationists deny.
They have reasons to be angry.
It’s sad to see another piece of our history on the way to disappearing to broken promises and backroom deals.
But the miss for full-on preservation occurred 17 years ago.
Judging by what now stands as possibility — and what remains a pipe dream — neither time nor political wherewithal is on conservation’s side.
Time to save what we can: the original little theater house that could.
