In 1955, the new Riviera held considerable novelty value. Merely by remaining erect, it confounded skeptics who predicted that the sands of Las Vegas could never bear the weight of its unbelievable nine stories. Furthermore, its style, derived in theory from the French Côte d'Azur, seemed both exotic and romantic - even if in practice the decor owed more to the Florida resorts already run by its Miami backers.
Any attempt at creating a Mediterranean ambience having long been abandoned, the Riviera today touts for custom with one of the Strip's most exuberantly garish facades. The towering curved wall that faces south toward the Stardust consists in its entirety of a multilayered mirror, across the parallel planes of which swirl extravagant neon patterns of stars, stripes and curlicues. After that, the interior comes as a disappointment; while the Riviera claims to devote more floor space to gambling than any of its rivals, the casino area into which you're plunged straight off the Strip is relentlessly mundane. Immediately across from Circus Circus , and with its own sidewalk entrance, it even has a separate arcade known as Nickel Town , devoted exclusively to nickel slots and cheap snacks. Much further back, behind the whole casino caboodle, you come to the hotel lobby and the Riviera 's own convention center, which is now the basis of its prosperity.
Ever since the Riviera began, it has stuck to the old formula of enticing in gamblers with traditional semi-sexy entertainment. When it first opened, it set new records by paying Liberace $50,000 per week - by no coincidence, it went briefly broke within three months - and it still has four showrooms in nightly operation.
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