In the 1950s, Malcolm McLean developed a modular design that would simplify the loading and offloading of ships, boxing up goods for easier loading and unloading between trains, trucks and boats The standardization of cargo containers revolutionized the modern shipping industry. Today, though, an increasing number of the world’s 20,000,000+ containers are being adapted to new uses, transformed into homes and offices, schools, shops, stages and more.

Proponents of containerized architecture note that the units are generally inexpensive — for many shipping companies, it is easier to sell off unpacked modules than return them to points of origin. Containers are built to be robust and strong, resistant to weather and fire and able to convey heavy loads around the globe. They are also made to be stacked easily on top of one another, which can be useful in creating multistory cargotecture.

Aesthetically, painted metal containers evoke that ever-popular industrial look a lot of people seek out in converted factories with exposed materials. Container reuse can be sustainable, too, particularly when one considers the energy-intensive process of melting them down for recycling. Some container architecture projects take advantage of the mobile and modular nature of the cargo containers used to build them.

For those inclined toward do-it-yourself approaches, the proliferation of online guides offers a starting point to buying and building container homes. As more individuals and companies engage in creative reuses, standardized methods are evolving, too, for making modifications that meet building codes and streamlining processes like permitting and code compliance, together paving the way for future container-based projects.

Shipping container architecture, however, evokes strong reactions from skeptics as well. “The shipping container is to today’s avant-garde architecture what the pipe railing was to the early International Style,” writes design critic Theodore Grunewald, “an industrial objet trouvé; a totem fetishized more for its aesthetic qualities and poetic and symbolic associations than its practicality.” He cites Dr. Richard Williams, a professor of contemporary visual cultures, whose also has reservations: “They’re great for doing what they were designed to do, which is transporting stuff. A simple technology, they have helped facilitate global trade like no other. But they’re designed for things, not people. Dark, damp and airless, boiling in the summer and freezing in the winter, they’re hopeless living and working spaces.”

There is truth in these criticisms. Without significant modifications for controlling indoor climates, for instance, metal container shells make for poor insulators. In some cases, the answer is to more extensively retrofit them, though of course that adds time, cost and environmental impacts. It is worth keeping in mind that (like any design solution) containers will work (or not work) differently in different places. The standardization of containers and their ability to travel the world doesn’t mean that they provide equal architectural benefits around every port of call.

As with any material or building unit, there are going to be specific project, client and site needs and considerations. Individual containers come in standard sizes, which can be an advantage and a disadvantage depending on the desired program and layout requirements. The world is full of buildings made from unusual materials, including hay bales, tires, soda cans and beer bottles — availability and location play a role in where and how each of these works as well. In places where containers are cheap and the climate is ideal, adaptations can be easier and well worth doing.

A lot of container criticism is also aimed at more pie-in-the-sky ideas, like modular buildings with interchangeable parts. These more ambitious and concept-driven designs, including container skyscrapers and mobile city-to-city apartments, may or may not make it off the drawing board.

On the more practical side, though, ever more companies are evolving repeatable and modular solutions, including materials and methods of insulation, plumbing and electrical wiring specifically designed to work with container structures. Such solutions can make it easier to assemble and outfit cargotecture much more quickly than one might erect a non-prefab alternative. In construction, speed and prefabrication is helpful in reducing energy, time and labor inputs.

Meanwhile, municipal authorities and commercial construction firms recognizing these benefits continue to build large cargo container projects, including emergency shelters as well as group homes, community centers, industrial parks and office complexes. To an extent, the cycle is self-reinforcing as well: as more projects get completed, it becomes easier and more efficient for other container architects and DIY builders to start similar projects of their own.

From Seattle to New York City, Minneapolis to Dallas, boxy apartment and condo buildings sporting bland facades, metallic or colored cladding and a generally flat aesthetic seem to dominate new urban developments these days. Surprisingly similar in style from one place to the next, they have been dubbed works of “developer chic” or “fast-casual architecture” and branded blandmarks or LoMo (Low Modern), generally by those critical of their appearance. Some of their look is a byproduct of “value engineering,” a stripping away of decorative flourishes for the sake of saving a few dollars (the bane of many artistic architects) but there is more to the story.

As with virtually any architecture, costs do naturally play a role as well in shaping these structures — ornate brickwork may look beautiful, but even as a decorative facade layer the material adds loads of weight and a lot of expense to a cheaper wood-framed building.  As for the stylistic convergence more broadly, much of this traces to economic and other factors that are essentially the same across cities in America and otherwise: high demand for affordable housing that has to meet a similar set of safety and other code requirements.

In many cities, housing is in short supply and a lot of area is zoned for single-family residential, forcing developers to fit as much housing as they can into whatever plots are left available. Where they do get built, these structures face restrictions often derived from international building codes, calling for formulaic approaches (for instance: a concrete base floor with five wooden floors on top) resulting in a roughly similar size and shape. Facades with portions that are recessed or pushed out are common features, too, again usually the product of local ordinances and design review boards that demand physical variety from facades.

To some critics, these cookie-cutter creations represent an aesthetic crisis. To others, they seem like harbingers of gentrification. As any urbanist knows, though, a lack of affordable housing is a serious and pervasive problem neither caused nor solved by architects as such. Architecture critic Kate Wagner looks at the situation pragmatically, arguing that “affordable mid and high-rise towers are the most effective way to house the greatest number of people on the smallest parcel of land, something that’s desperately needed in places like San Francisco, where the value of land is so high.”

For those who would point to the much-discussed failures of 20th-century mass-housing attempts, she writes: “Modernist public housing was not the failure of architecture it was the failure of people—through racial prejudices, misguided and poorly thought out policies, ugly politics, and economic greed, people caused the public housing of the past to fail.” Additionally, a lot of lessons learned from that era are incorporated into even the most boring of boxy apartments, including mixed-use programs that activate areas and bring in more than just residents.

More broadly, there is a case to be made that what was once more of an art has become something of a science, whatever one’s opinion of the effects. Architects have always been in the business of balancing aesthetics and pragmatics, form and function, but increasingly their work is constrained by outside forces, including but not limited to client budgets, safety considerations and municipal rules.

Over the long term, the sometimes-shoddy construction materials and methods of this currently trending typology may be the seeds of its undoing. It’s possible these will be looked back on as a mistake. Maybe, though, the same thing will happen here that has with other approaches and styles over architectural history: people will come to appreciate the beauty and functionality in what currently seems mundane if not abhorrent. In the meantime, architects can only do so much — it’s up to cities and their citizens to accept reality or rethink entrenched paradigms and consider the merits of changing zoning limitations, restrictive codes and perhaps also the benchmarks by which we judge architecture to be good or bad.

The casting call is coming from inside the house, and these real-life horror movie houses achieved infamy as on-location sets for some memorable film shoots.

Amityville Horror House

The so-called Amityville Horror House can be found at 108 (formerly 112) Ocean Avenue in Amityville, NY. Producers of the 1979 film sought permission to shoot on location at the actual house where Ronald DeFeo Jr shot and killed 6 members of his family in 1974, but were denied. Instead, a house in Toms River, NJ was altered to resemble the three-story Dutch Colonial home, right down to the distinctive “pumpkin eyes” attic windows. Ironically, the house on Ocean Avenue itself has been altered and no longer sports the quarter-round windows. (images via austinpomer and Encouraging Quotes)

Poltergeist House

This house at 4267 Roxbury St. in Simi Valley, CA is where the 1982 horror film Poltergeist was filmed. Unlike the movie home, this house did NOT implode into some sort of supernatural black hole. The photo above was taken 35 years after filming completed and not a whole lot has changed other than the extensive brickwork in the front yard. One would hope the masonry wasn’t sourced from any abandoned cemeteries. (image via Jack Stephens)

Silence of the Lambs House

Also known as Buffalo Bill’s house, this rambling three-story Victorian home in the Village of Layton, Fayette County, PA featured prominently in the 1991 shock horror thriller The Silence of the Lambs. The home was put on the market by its owners in 2016 but, to quote Trib Live, the sale was going “torturously slowly”. Not for the obvious reason, mind you, but likely due to the 4-bedroom house only having one bathroom. Now THAT’s what we call horrible! (image via Paul McCarthy)

Next Page - Click Below to Read More:
Surreal Estate 7 Real Life Horror Movie Houses

Envisioned for the coastal town of Limassol in Cyprus, a wild apartment tower concept has round swimming pools sprouting almost organically from the facade on all sides. Developed by the French firm Hamonic + Masson, the Limassol Tower grants every unit in the building its own private pool.

Clusters of platforms and sun shades at ground level continue the pattern, so that from above, the complex looks like a colony of spores or mushrooms (or maybe a juggling act of dinner plates that’s dangerously close to crashing to the ground?)

“The volume’s transparency means unobstructed sea views are maximized. A sliding glass door is the only element separating living areas from the balconies, meaning the feeling of being outside is possible simply by opening the window. On the ground floor a regal entrance opens the doors to a unique living experience.”

“We seek to enhance quality of living by offering a range of amenities: an underground fitness zone illuminated by natural sunlight, an art gallery on the ground floor and a premium spa on the first floor, all with independent entrances. Wellbeing and luxury combine to create an exclusive living experience.”

The architects say they wanted to capture the “natural splendor” of the environment with their design. Rising about 180 feet into the air, the building features 19 luxury apartments, some with views of the sea.

Few people would argue with the allure of having your very own private swimming pool just outside your door, but one wonders how the engineering of this structure would actually play out. Is this a realistic concept that could actually be built, or yet another fantasy project that just doesn’t translate into real life? Feel free to chime in if you know. It’s certainly an interesting departure from the standard seaside apartment building, at least.

From luxury penthouses to sky-high secret slums, urban rooftop architecture is like a hidden world of its own, often invisible from street level. Most of us go about our daily lives in the city never knowing what exists right above our heads. In Bangkok, architecture firm WARchitect has completed a new example: an exclusive modern getaway that takes full advantage of panoramic views and a lack of prying eyes with lots of glass walls.

“The Skyscape Rooftop House” is a residence designed for the owner of a 5-story apartment building who decided he wanted to make use of the building’s empty rooftop, long used for nothing more than some water tanks. Because it’s less than half of the size of many of the skyscrapers around it, it still feels within the scale of its surroundings, but clears the rooftops of most of its neighbors.

The architects say they wanted to avoid an obvious contrast between the house and the apartment below, so they designed it so it can’t be seen from public roads (which does kind of make you wonder what the rest of the building looks like doesn’t it?)

“Our idea was not to make this house feel like a building, but to free it from form,” they say. “We wanted it to be just a borderless box that emerges out of nowhere in the sky, as if the thickness of the wall and roof were non-existent, but still able to make holes in the ceiling to install curtains, air conditioners, and embed lights.”

“Our intention was to give an illusion to onlookers that the entire ceiling was in the same straight line even though we featured a drop ceiling and a slope that was intentionally used to make the wall and ceiling look thin. These techniques may not be new in architecture. However, with this rooftop house, it is more special since a short distance between the main structure and the exterior helps disguise the techniques we used.”

Because the owner lives alone and doesn’t often host guests, the architects decided they might as well allow him to enjoy the views from virtually every room in the house, including the bathroom. These glassed-in spaces are separated from each other by external courtyards. The interiors are all clad in Balau wood planks the owner already had on hand, many featuring flaws like cracks, saw marks and gnarls, to add color, character and warmth to the overall effect, balancing the look of the concrete surface.