At the same time, the Sixth Street Viaduct has proven to be as dysfunctional as it is beautiful. Since the span was so large, a shortcut was taken: water from beneath the bridge—that’s most likely why the access tunnel now familiar to filmmakers was built—was used to mix the structure’s concrete. The result was a building material with a high alkali content; that led to an alkali-silica reaction that cracked and crumbled the bridge’s undercarriage. Over the years, the bridge was patched, often with heavy, metal plates, which further weighed the span down. By the early 2000s, the California Department of Transportation had estimated that the viaduct had a 70 percent chance of collapsing during the next major earthquake.

In the end, the bridge had to be replaced. Even preservationists agreed. “We are very sad to acknowledge that the 1932 Sixth Street Viaduct cannot be saved,” the Los Angeles Conservancy said in a news release. “Despite years of research and consultation with experts worldwide, the Conservancy and others could not find a way to halt or reverse the alkali-silica reaction that is slowly destroying the bridge.”

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On a Saturday night in early October, Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti threw a sort of farewell party for the viaduct. The idea was to close the bridge, put up a gigantic movie screen, and show Grease. One last hurrah. I understand the choice behind that particular film, but there were other choices that probably show the bridge in a more realistic light. Those include Repo Man, in which the bridge’s gritty glory is captured in an encounter between Emilio Estevez, Harry Dean Stanton, and the “Rodriguez Brothers,” the film’s “gypsy dildo punks.”

There’s no official listing of every scene ever shot on or under the viaduct. Tim Kirk, a local film producer, suggests that 1952’s Without Warning, about a serial killer who hunts down and murders women who resemble his estranged wife, dumping their bodies beneath the bridge, was one of the earliest. There’s also Roadblock, a 1951 noir featuring a corrupt insurance agent and a seductive blonde; the former meets his demise under the span.

History helps explain the 1932 structure’s first two decades of relative anonymity—or at least, non-notoriety. In the earliest pictures of the bridge—during and right after its construction—what’s most notable is that the Los Angeles River, beneath, is free-flowing, devoid of concrete. The river was often dry even in that era, but when winter rains hit, it was capable of great destruction, leaving its banks and devastating communities.

As the city grew and industrialized, such floods became more and more deadly. Finally, after a 1939 flood that swept away homes and houses along the river’s banks, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers transformed the river into what Joe Linton, author of Down by the Los Angeles River, describes as a “freeway for water.” Today, nearly all of the waterway’s 51 miles are lined with concrete. When it rains, that water rushes toward the ocean—wasting millions of gallons of fresh water, but also effectively ending the floods that so devastated the city.