And we’re pretty close to it, having come a fair way up the hill. From here, we can see all the way to downtown. Which is actually visible today, under the watercolor smog! How ’bout that.
So as you might’ve guessed, Rob and I are at Griffith Observatory, awaiting sunset so we can have a look around after dark. Originally opened in 1935, the observatory is dedicated to making astronomy accessible to the public, but the building is an attraction in its own right, with its commanding views of the entire LA basin and distinctive Art Deco architecture that can be seen for miles around. On the outside it looks the same as it did seventy-five years ago, but in fact it underwent extensive renovations in 2002—including excavation for a new basement level that required the main building be lifted in one piece on hydraulics—and reopened in 2006.
As for the astronomy part, all’s I know is that there’s a rabbit in the stars but we came too early in the year to see him. Stellar planning, Rob.
Now, while it’s a given in this town that any movie association whatsoever has to be commemorated in some fashion, a lot of things have been filmed here over the decades, from The Phantom Empire to Transformers and who knows what to come. But maybe the most iconic was Rebel Without A Cause, and thus the decidedly nonastronomical James Dean monument here. How goes, Jimmy? People are still writing songs about you fifty-five years later. And Rob avoids the 46 like the plague whenever we go up north.
Heading inside, the first thing you see is...one of these. A Foucault pendulum, which illustrates the rotation of the earth by swinging in different directions depending on the hour. On TV, these things can be used to locate time-traveling islands, but in real life they just knock over pegs at regular intervals, which is...a little anticlimactic in comparison.
Fortunately, there’s something more interesting directly overhead, around the pendulum’s suspension point: Hugo Ballin’s restored ceiling mural, which features images of the gods for which the planets are named—in the lower right corner, you can see Saturn about to devour his children, and above him is Mercury in flight—as well as the signs of the Zodiac. In the lower half of that inner ring you can see the ram, the bull, the twins, the crab, the lion, and Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra. Very nice.
Over in the west rotunda are a series of star-related exhibits, with emphasis on our very own sun. Some of them only operate during daylight hours; this coelostat, for instance, simply gives an as-is live feed of the sun as it makes its way across the sky.
Sure, it’s not much to look at now, but imagine watching a major eclipse on this thing.
Also open during the day is the camera obscura room, which projects a 360° view of the city from a rotating periscope up top. It’s like I’m flying over LA...well, panning over it, at least.
Down the hall are a couple of models of the observatory, one a cutaway that shows the building’s different levels and then this one, which gives the lay of the surrounding land in Griffith Park.
I love scale models. They’re strangely empowering for someone who has to live in a world dominated by a larger species. It’s like, I AM THE BUNNYGOD. BEHAVE DOWN THERE OR I’LL GIVE THE SAN ANDREAS A HEALTHY KICK.
Then again, humans are hardly larger than rabbits on a cosmic level, as the east rotunda—dedicated to the history, science, and tools of observation—reminds us. We still use optical telescopes, of course, but modern study of the universe is aided considerably by the tracking of electromagnetic radiation—visible light and its six spectral siblings, from radio waves to gamma rays. No instructions on how to use the latter to turn yourself into the Incredible Hulk here, though.
Yeah, I looked.
Oh, har har—Rob snapped one of me on the infrared monitor while I was looking at the EM exhibit. Looks like my nose and paws are a bit cold, but nothing a good toddy wouldn’t fix.
To get from the upstairs level to the new basement, we head down the corridor housing the Cosmic Connection, which portrays the “sparkling ribbon of time” from the Big Bang to the present with a 150-foot timeline studded with some 2,200 bits of donated jewelry, all celestial in nature—stars, suns, moons, and whatnot. Nothing too choice, but I suppose no woman’s giving up the good pieces.
Then in the basement itself—or the “Depths of Space,” it’s called—we have scale models of the planets mounted on the mezzanine. Let’s see, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune...no Pluto? I guess I’m old-fashioned.
Wait, here it is—that cherry tomato-size bit at the end of the rod there. It does kind of make you wanna demote it, doesn’t it?
Oh, and see that big backdrop on the far wall? That’s the Big Picture, a digitally blown-up scan of the universe that contains approximately two million stars, galaxies, and quasars in one continuous image, presented on 3,000 square feet of ceramic paneling. But the real kicker is that this mammoth view is actually produced from only the tiniest sliver of night sky, 2 degrees wide by 15 long—the amount of area covered by holding up a finger about one foot from your face.
...as demonstrated by this strategically placed statue of Albert Einstein down on the lower level. And yes, that’s his index finger. Funny as it would be to have Einstein flipping off the entire universe.
Anyway, underneath each of the planet models is a station with various factoids (the planet’s mass, temperature range, composition, etc.) as well as a floor panel that gauges what you’d weigh there. So on Jupiter, I’d weigh in at...just over a pound. Oof. Looks like I’m hitting the salad bar instead of the buffet tonight!
And while the four moons of Jupiter that Galileo discovered were just the tip of that particular ammonia iceberg—dozens more have been found since 1609—we obviously only have the one. But it naturally warrants its own station, back up on the mezzanine.
Moon rock? Oh wow!
With a little time left to kill before it’s fully dark, Rob and I hit both of Griffith’s theaters next. The Leonard Nimoy Event Horizon Theater is a lecture hall that features regular free screenings of a documentary about the observatory hosted by Nimoy himself, but the marquee shows are in the Samuel Oschin Planetarium, with its dome screen and fancy-schmancy digital projector. You can kick back in the comfy seats and go flying through the universe while the movies play overhead.
Ooh. I’m not usually prone to motion sickness, but that last plunge through the galaxy might’ve been the tipping point. You run on ahead—I’ll catch up...momentarily. Urk.
Okay, fresh air helps! And now it’s finally dark, so we can go up to the roof and take another look at downtown now, awake with a million lights of its own, all twinkling in the heat haze of an unexpectedly balmy November evening. Pretty exquisite, if I do say so myself.
So it’s time to go—suddenly I’m in the mood for Holst—but not without one last look at the sky through one of the many smaller telescopes set up along the rooftop. Put in a quarter, point it upwards, and see what you can see.
Well, what do you know—stars.
