As civic spectacles go, Olafur Eliasson’s New York City Waterfalls don’t quite deliver the awesomeness promised by the renderings that have been circulating since—well, since seemingly forever. But then, the same could be said of any number of recent—and more permanent—additions to the skyline (Times building, anyone?).

As for how they do as artworks, from most vantage points, the scaffolding and risers used to create the Waterfalls are far too visible to allow the project to resolve into anything truly sublime, though that is intentional on Eliasson’s part; his brand of showmanship depends on revealing the man behind the curtain. Unfortunately, deconstruction on this scale just doesn’t fly: Instead of a critique of the “experience industry,” as Eliasson once described his approach, we get a feat of hydrological engineering that’s more dry than wet.

More than anything else, however, the Waterfalls are an unintentional reminder that once upon a time, the city would routinely witness all manner of weird and wonderful things that seemed to spontaneously transpire—think for instance of Philippe Petit walking the tightrope between the Twin Towers. Nowadays, such events, when they do happen, are ordered from the top down.