The old black and white photos of Fremont Street remind us that Glitter Gulch’s visual power came from its forest of vivid, vertical neon signs. They were signs that punched the sky. The Fremont Street Experience canopy turned the sky itself into a sign, uncorking Downtown’s inner id but erasing most of those old vertical neon signs, along with the architecture of the casinos themselves.
Except, that is, for the Plaza, which has been chilling, just beyond the canopy’s grasp, at the corner of Fremont and Main since 1971 — rather like that sly, card-playing wolf man, whose mural (courtesy of Brooklyn collective FAILE) adorns one side of the hotel. Designed by mid-century modern architecture firm Zick & Sharp, the Plaza creates a finely patinaed silhouette on the skyline, as well as terminating the view down the Fremont Street Experience.
Over the years the Plaza changed hands and names, but it remains the proper downtown cocktail — equal parts louche and sexy. Fortunately, the resort’s latest renovation, dubbed the Main Street Reimagination, has maintained the hotel’s charm.
What accounts for the Plaza’s enduring appeal? In part it’s the trio of massive murals; in part it’s the so-kitschy-they’re-cool burnished gold cubes adorning the facade of the erstwhile Greyhound Bus terminal. But the secret sauce of the Plaza’s design is its second-story “dome,” a jewel box cradled between the wings of the hotel’s Y-shaped layout, its bottom side covered in twinkling lights evoking a champagne nightcap.
The upgrades include a smoke- free gaming space designed for social media selfies and a rooftop patio adjacent to Oscar’s Steakhouse. Among the marquee changes is a splashy entrance for a new Pinkbox Doughnut shop, featuring a glittering 12-foot 3D pink donut. The renovation’s centerpiece is the 2,500-square-foot Carousel Bar — an outdoor, ground-level, circular bar underneath the dome that sports carousel horses and a 14-foot neon showgirl.
Such renovations may draw you into the Plaza, but smartly, they don’t upstage that dome, which exudes a tossed off, faded glamour that channels the Plaza — Vegas itself, really — at its best.