I was here yesterday. The proof is on Facebook, so it must be true. I felt cynical until I was actually standing in the driveway that leads up to the house, and thanks in no small measure to the people I was with, the experience was illuminating.
But: and there's usually a "but" on this blog, because there can be no description without contradiction, I was unsettled by several things I experienced there. My wife articulated the big problem of the central stair/entry hall--it's a confined space that isn't effectively mediated by the sculptural quality of the stair. Because Gropius crafted an efficient circulation area and emphasized barriers over views and consequently, you simply don't know that you've arrived at the house after you go in the front door.
In terms of exterior form and materials, the house lives up to its modernist reputation. The floor plan--and most aspects of the interior proportions--are typical of houses from that era. There is no "free plan" to speak of. The dwelling is a series of compartments, with doors between served and servant spaces (quite literally, given the constant necessity of a live-in maid). I thought the daughter had a better bedroom than the parents.
From the outside, the rear of the house is much more interesting than the front. My guess is that the most important legacy of the house in terms of residential design is the modular kitchen cabinets and appliances.
The impact of the house on commercial architecture has been profound beyond measure. How many students of the GSD, who went on to practice in the great heyday of modernism, smoked cigarettes and sipped cocktails in the living room, watching the dying light of early November washing over the fields and trees of New England?
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