BlackBook Magazine

In a city with little tradition, four dining and partying treasures of grand Old Hollywood and the rocking Sunset Strip—Trader Vic’s, Whisky Bar, Hamburger Hamlet, and Morton’s—get facelifts or have already faced death. What’s a Scorpion-drinking, chair-in-pool-throwing, Oscar-toting, burger-loving Angeleno to do?

Vanity Fair’s Oscar party at Morton’s, Los Angeles, March 24, 2002

Morton’s, the Robertson outpost that has hosted Vanity Fair’s Oscar party since 1994, closed in December, making way for the West Coast branch of the private club Soho House. The British are coming, and the party of parties is moving to Craft. Beverly Drive’s Hamburger Hamlet, once the place to go to on an early-bird Sunday night for great burgers at the bar while pretending to watch sports—actually listening in on movie directors of the “auteur” era bitch about special effects taking over true-blue acting—is history too. It’s now an H&M.

Trader Vic’s, the Polynesian-themed bar and restaurant that served lavishly garnished drinks to the Rat Pack and Ronnie Reagan since 1955, inside the fabled Beverly Hilton, is now a downscaled vestige of its former self. It closed “for renovations” last April and reopened as a sort of pool scene to compete with places like the trendy Mondrian’s Sky Bar pickup emporium on Sunset.

And the Sunset Marquis’ Whisky Bar— where rock stars and celebrities came to get hammered and high, later checking into one of their poolside rooms or hilly private bungalows—quietly changed its face and name. It’s now called Bar 1200, and the famous occupants’ faces like Ozzy, Alice Cooper, U2, The Who, and ZZ Top can be seen more in memorabilia on the walls than the real McCoys (or Kiedises) on the floor. It’s part of a multimillion-dollar renovation of the entire hotel and villa compound, which is now spreading with its underground garage and Mediterranean Revival villas all the way up to Sunset Boulevard from the sleepy cul-de-sac of North Alta Loma Road. Well, most of their old clientele, like the Chili Peppers and Nirvana, are either sober or dead (and there is a major private recording studio awaiting them if they reanimate).

Such goes the “progress” in the city of L.A., now following Manhattan’s suit, as it so often has, by letting great legends take the wrecking ball or get revamped to death. To be fair, in New York, some of the losses were not intentional. For instance, Chumley’s, the old watering hole to literary lions, simply caved in. Its return is unforeseeable.

David Byrne, of the Talking Heads, March 1980 at the Sunset Marquis Hotel in Hollywood.

But the one thing that was admirable about the nightlife topography of Los Angeles was that it somehow clung to its treasures from the 1950s and onward better than its East Coast brother.

The most dramatic of these losses is Trader Vic’s, which has spurred newspaper editorials and first-person essays from its old fan base. There was even a sort of “death-watch” countdown, as Swingers-types and ancient imbibers of Mai Tais and nibblers of pupu platters made their last calls as the hourglass ran out of Palm Springs sand. When we contacted the Hilton’s publicity agency, they refused to provide archival photos of its heyday, hoping we would accentuate the positive new changes. Who knows why they really cared. It’s part of a $500-million expansion of the existing hotel complex, which will be replaced by a new Waldorf-Astoria and two condo buildings anyway.

You’ll still see a “Scarlett” or a “Sandra” making her way there for a private Hollywood party, but Dean Martin is surely rolling over in his grave. Or on a bender in Heaven.

Alternately, the best of these landmark changes appears to be the Sunset Marquis renovation scheduled for completion this spring. We’ve stayed in one of the done-over, two-story villas, overlooking the old waterfall-equipped swimming pool, and it’s exactly the kind of place you’d expect well-heeled business VIPs and Madonna to want to hole up in for weeks. Its wet bar is nearly the size of 1200, which takes its name from the Marquis’ street address. (Brad Pitt enjoyed it fine, too.) Bono, Mick, and Steven Tyler don’t seem too non-plussed by the jackhammers, or the subtle décor. And one old-school luxury remains in the former Whisky Bar space: its outdoor smoking garden. Once the last-call drop-in of choice for Slash, Axl, Mötley Crüe, and Johnny Depp, the intimate zone is “Paradise City” for Marlboro Red and American Spirit lovers, who include record executives and their disheveled clients, still taking meetings in the dark and noise to score the elusive record deal.

As for Hamburger Hamlet, we’ll head over to the Bar Marmont for its ex-Spotted Pig chef’s version. Or upgrade to the “Dabney Coleman” steak at Dan Tana’s. And Vanity Fair’s move to Craft? We’ll have to wait and see if we’re invited to appraise the scene come February 24th.