Gothic Revival Churches of Montreal and Ottawa

Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica, Ottawa, west facade. (all photos by me)

I’ve always admired Gothic Revival architecture, as well as its antecedent, the Gothic style. The rich architectural heritage of Montreal, Quebec City, and Ottawa includes many examples of the style. Of these, three churches are especially notable: Basilique Notre Dame de Montreal and St. Patrick’s Basilica in Montreal, and Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica in Ottawa. I am not a religious person, but I certainly found visiting these instances of Gothic Revival architecture to be emotionally stirring experiences. The sense of awe and reverence each of the trio evokes transcends doctrine, canon, or faith.

The Gothic Revival style, with its soaring heights, intricate stonework, and meticulous attention to detail, offers much to admire. In large part, its appeal lies in its ambition—to lift the human spirit, to rouse a sense of wonder. A characteristic design strategy is to draw the eye upward, toward the heavens. The use of light as a divine presence is another, with the didactic imagery of the colorful stained-glass windows augmenting the church liturgy. Furthermore, Gothic Revival’s hierarchical scaling, wherein patterns of decreasing size nest within self-similar features, define points of geometrical and functional focus. The effect is fractal-like, with symmetries populating scales of decreasing size. The levels of detail and their perceptible mathematical harmonies cohere into emotionally fulfilling compositions. 

Basilique Notre Dame de Montreal, west facade

Basilique Notre Dame de Montreal, nave.

The interior of Basilique Notre Dame de Montreal, bathed in a serene blue and gold palette, is nothing short of breathtaking. The starry ceiling replicates the night sky, offering a glimpse of the infinite contained within the bounds of a finite, human-made space. The ornate details, from the intricate wood carvings to the luminous stained-glass windows, speak to an era when no detail was too small to be perfected. The space prompts a sense of quiet reflection, an appreciation for the dedication and labor it took to create such an inspiring environment. Interestingly, the stained-glass windows do not depict biblical scenes, but rather scenes from the religious history of Montreal.(1) 

St. Patrick's Basilica, east facade.

St. Patrick's Basilica, nave.

St. Patrick’s Basilica is smaller and more intimate. Its Gothic Revival features—pointed arches, flying buttresses, and delicate tracery—may be less grandiose than those of Basilique Notre Dame, but they are no less impressive. The subtle green and gold tones that decorate the interior pay homage to Montreal’s Irish community, giving the church a unique cultural resonance rooted in both the city’s history and the broader legacy of Gothic Revival architecture. I enjoyed the music of the pipe organ during my visit to St. Patrick’s, the notes of which filled the church with sound.(2) 

Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica, nave.

Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica.

Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica offered me yet another take on the Gothic Revival aesthetic. The oldest and largest church in Ottawa, the basilica is an iconic landmark, its two silvery spires piercing the sky and easily identifiable from afar. The brightly painted interior is very impressive, my favorite ecclesiastical space during my travels. Again, I was reminded of the power of architecture to create moments of reflection, even for those of us who do not share the religious beliefs the building represents.(3) 

The vast display of craftsmanship and artistry in each of these churches is breathtaking. I was extremely impressed by the elaborately carved tracery of the altarpieces and reredos in all three, the depth and vibrancy of which is enhanced by gilding and painting. Every detail, from the pointed arches to the smallest carvings, carries meaning. The use of repeating symbols like the cross, fleur-de-lis, and biblical imagery serves to reinforce their religious purpose. This thematic consistency creates a unified experience for worshippers, with every aspect of the architecture contributing to their sacred character. 

Basilique Notre Dame de Montreal, composite column.

Basilique Notre Dame de Montreal, St. Patrick’s Basilica, and Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica resonate strongly with me, despite my lack of religiosity. They stand for something larger than faith itself—they embody human ambition, creativity, and the desire to create lasting beauty. The Gothic Revival style inspires a sense of awe and reverence that rises above dogma. These buildings are more than just places of worship; they are monuments to the human spirit’s ability to create something that stands the test of time. 

In an era where so much of our built environment is disposable or utilitarian, the churches I visited serve as reminders of what we are capable of when we aspire to more than the ordinary. They challenge us to think about what we leave behind—about how our architectural choices can inspire future generations. Whether or not one adheres to the doctrines these churches uphold, there is no denying the power of their presence. They are, in every sense, sacred spaces—not only in the religious sense, but also in the artistic and human sense. And that is why they resonate with me. 

(1)  Basilique Notre Dame de Montreal was designed by James O’Donnell, with primary construction taking place between 1824 and 1829.

(2)  St. Patrick’s Basilica was designed by P.L. Morin and Father Felix Martin. The first mass was celebrated in the church in 1847. 

(3)  Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica was initially designed in a Neo-Classical idiom by Antoine Robillard and Father John Francis Cannon but was subsequently redesigned as a Gothic Revival church by Father Pierre-Adrien Telmon. Initial construction occurred between 1841 and 1843.

Megalopolis

Megalopolis movie poster. 

My wife and I went to see the movie Megalopolis this weekend. Despite what most charitably can be described as “mixed” reviews, I could not miss it. After all, the central character, portrayed by Adam Driver, is a visionary architect. Produced, written, and directed by the legendary Francis Ford Coppola, I found Megalopolis at once ambitiously epic and fantastically confounding. Reportedly many years in the making and not without its controversy, there is plenty about the film to dislike, but also much I found to admire.

In a nutshell (and without giving too much away), Megalopolis is a fantasy/drama set in a futuristic New York City, reimagined as New Rome. The film follows Cesar Catilina (Adam Driver), Chairman of the Design Authority of New Rome, who dreams of rebuilding the city into a utopian society using a magical bio-adaptive material called Megalon (more on that in a bit), for which he received a Nobel Prize as its inventor. Cesar’s ambitions put him at odds with the corrupt Mayor Franklyn Cicero, played by Giancarlo Esposito, who represents the old guard resistant to change. The narrative explores themes of power, ambition, and the clash between old systems and new visions, further complicated by Cesar’s romantic involvement with the mayor’s daughter, Julia, played by Nathalie Emmanuel.

Other members of the impressive cast include Aubrey Plaza, Shia LaBeouf, Jon Voight, Jason Schwartzman, Talia Shire, Grace VanderWaal, Laurence Fishburne, Kathryn Hunter, Dustin Hoffman, and Chloe Fineman.

In the words of one reviewer, Megalopolis is “unabashedly, absurdly theatrical, with boldly unnatural dialogue and performances, [and] ostentatious imagery.”  It is full of broad, expressive gestures—a supernatural fable. The acting is exaggerated, with Aubrey Plaza, Shia LaBeouf, and Jon Voight delivering especially over-the-top performances. Like a Shakespearean play, the film delves into the complexity of human emotions and moral dilemmas, including love, the intoxication of power, the depth of betrayal, and the existential forces guiding human life, whether it’s destiny, fate, or individual choice. The Shakespearean allusions are manifestly literal, to the point where Cesar recites Hamlet’s “To be or not to be” soliloquy in its entirety.

Several philosophical themes provide depth to the storyline. One of the central themes is the conflict between progress and tradition. Cesar embodies the drive for innovation and a utopian future, while Cicero stands for the preservation of the status quo. This dynamic reflects broader societal debates about the costs and benefits of progress. Additionally, the film portrays a generational power struggle, highlighting how older generations, represented by Cicero and other established figures, hold onto power and influence, often at the expense of younger, more progressive voices like Cesar.

While a visionary, the character of Cesar Catilina is not entirely sympathetic. He is undeniably ego-driven and megalomaniacal. His relentless pursuit of his vision blinds him to the ethical implications of his actions. Conversely, Cicero, despite his corruption, appears relatable. His resistance to change and preservation of the status quo reflect a human and understandable fear of the unknown, making his character more nuanced.

Some critics have likened Megalopolis to The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, and I can see the parallels. Both works feature architects as central figures who are uncompromising in their visions and face significant opposition from established powers. Cesar’s character, much like Howard Roark in The Fountainhead, is driven by a singular vision and a refusal to conform, which can come across as both admirable and troubling. However, while The Fountainhead champions individualism and Objectivism, Megalopolis seems to critique the potential dangers of unchecked ambition and the ethical complexities of pursuing utopian ideals.

Cesar’s ability to stop time is a significant plot device (never fully explained) that symbolizes his visionary capabilities and the extent of his ambition. This ability is not just a fantastical element but a metaphor for his desire to control and reshape the world around him. It allows him to manipulate events and create opportunities that would otherwise be impossible, underscoring the film’s exploration of power and ambition. Similarly, Megalon, the magical material Cesar invents, is essential to the plot and serves multiple symbolic purposes. It signifies the technological and creative breakthroughs necessary for Cesar’s utopian dream.

Notably, Neri Oxman (the Israeli American designer and academic known for her experiments with generative design and the study of material properties including both mechanical and biological processes) served as the film’s “architectural and scientific advisor.” The work of Oxman and her collaborators informed the concept of Megalon and the futuristically organic look of Megalopolis as triumphantly realized by Cesar. She even briefly appears in the movie in a cameo role.

Visually, Megalopolis is a bit of a mess. I understand that Coppola’s intent was to eschew realism and ensure its reading as an allegorical fable, with surrealistic imagery used as stand-ins for deeper or layered meanings. That said, I often found the affected dialogue, visual style, and costuming distracting, and much of the CGI annoyingly crude, almost to the point that I question whether that was what Coppola wanted.  

On balance, what did I think of Megalopolis?

I truly did like Coppola’s bold vision and the film’s philosophical undertones. I appreciate work that conveys a thought-provoking message entertainingly. I do know others criticize Megalopolis for being overstuffed and lacking coherence. The film is undeniably polarizing. I know that many found the movie disjointed and hard to understand. And I do think it is overly ambitious in scope; there’s only so much you can pack into 138 minutes of run time. Nevertheless, it is that ambition and Coppola’s unconventional execution that appeals to me.

I want movies that transcend the ordinary and engage deeply with universal human experiences. I want to be challenged to think beyond my immediate reality, offering me fresh perspectives on life, existence, and the human condition. By tackling timeless themes like love, mortality, power, and identity in an innovative and thought-provoking way, such work prompts introspection, inspires awe, and often sparks conversations that resonate across time and cultures. I want movies that stretch the boundaries of creativity and intellect, ones that invite audiences to explore profound questions about themselves and the world. I think Megalopolis does this, or at least deserves credit for trying to.

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If you’re interested in seeing Megalopolis yourself, I recommend doing so soon. It’s been a flop at the box office, reportedly grossing only $7.5 million worldwide as of this weekend (against a production budget of $136 million), so it won’t be long before it is pulled from theaters and relegated only to digital video releases. 

Moshe Safdie: Utopian Ideals vs. Contemporary Practice

The Great Hall of the National Gallery of Canada (my photo).

I thoroughly enjoyed my recent trip to Montreal, Quebec City, and Ottawa, having not previously visited any of these cities. All three are historically rich, presenting ample and fascinating evidence of their beginnings as French or British colonial settlements. While I admired the distinctive urban morphology and many landmark buildings (some dating back as far as the early 17th century) each city can boast, some of the more prominent recent developments attracted me as well. Of these, the projects designed by Israeli Canadian architect and urban planner Moshe Safdie stand out.    

Moshe Safdie’s architectural career presents a fascinating blend of utopian ambition, humanistic principles, and the inevitable compromises that arise from large-scale projects in a globalized world. His work, from the visionary Habitat '67 in Montreal to the iconic Marina Bay Sands Resort in Singapore, reflects both the ideals he established early in his career and the evolving demands of contemporary architecture.

I aimed to visit some of Safdie’s notable works during my trip—or at least that was my goal. I brought my well-worn copy of Safdie’s 1982 book Form & Purpose to (re)read during downtime at the airport and on the plane. I wanted to revisit Safdie’s critique of present-day architecture, particularly his call for a return to human-centered, environmentally responsive design. As he states in the book, “. . . when it comes to design—the design of our environment, cities, buildings, houses, utensils, clothes, furniture, cars, and planes—there is one overriding test: Is it done with a deep sense of commitment to people, a commitment in the broadest sense to man in all his complexities—his desires, hopes, fears, and, above all, his well-being? It is a surprisingly simple test.” This perspective remains deeply relevant in discussions about architecture today. I hoped to apply this test to the Safdie projects I wanted to see.

Habitat 67 (photo by Parcours riverain - Ville de Montréal from Canada, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons)

One of my targets was Habitat '67, the modular housing project that first brought a precociously young Safdie international acclaim. Unfortunately, my time constraints and the project’s relative inaccessibility precluded seeing it up close. Built for the 1967 World’s Fair (Expo 67), Habitat '67 (an adaptation of his thesis project while an undergraduate at McGill University) emerged during a time of social and political upheaval. Safdie envisioned an inclusive community, reflecting the optimism of the era while addressing the challenges of urban density. However, critics called attention to its shortcomings, pointing out that despite its ambitious intentions, the project is isolated from the urban fabric it aimed to enhance, revealing the complexities of translating visionary concepts into practical, livable solutions. I fully agree on this point.

National Gallery of Canada (my photo)

One of the National Gallery of Canda's top floor rooms (my photo).

While in Ottawa, I visited the National Gallery of Canada, one of Safdie’s most celebrated projects. Completed in 1988, the building resonated with me on many levels. The extensive use of glass, particularly in the Grand Hall, floods the space with natural light and creates a profound sense of openness. Safdie’s design emphasizes transparency, allowing the surrounding landscape to frame the architecture itself and fostering a connection between the building and its environment. This alignment with Safdie’s belief that architecture should serve both human needs and the natural world struck a chord with me.

The National Gallery stands as an exemplary representation of Safdie’s principles. It avoids the pitfalls of excessive symbolism or aesthetic novelty that he critiques in Form & Purpose, instead offering clarity of form, light, and cultural sensitivity. The massive building is “of” Ottawa, fitting in while punctuating the cityscape in a way not unlike the capital city’s other landmarks. The building encourages public engagement, blending truly grand, monumental spaces with more intimate areas that prevent overwhelming visitors. The project is an example where Safdie’s utopian vision seems fully realized, merging functionality, beauty, and environmental responsiveness into a coherent whole.

John G. Diefenbaker Building. I struggled to find a satisfactory perspective from which to take a photograph. This shot, taken from a vantage I did not have access to, is by JustSomePics, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons.

I also visited Safdie’s expansion of the John G. Diefenbaker Building in Ottawa. This project sparked controversy during its design and construction, particularly due to disagreements between Safdie and the City of Ottawa regarding both design and cost. The friction during its development reflects the compromises architects often face when tackling complex public projects. The Diefenbaker Building is a thus a balance between ambition and practicality, and perhaps belies Safdie’s claims of working without arrogance.

The tension between his utopian ideals and the demands of a global, commercialized architectural landscape have marked Safdie’s career. His early work aimed to create architecture that responded to both human and environmental needs. Habitat '67 sought to humanize urban housing by offering privacy, green spaces, and individuality in a dense environment. Yet, as with many utopian projects, economic and logistical challenges complicated efforts to implement such a vision on a broader scale. Habitat’s cost and complexity have made replication difficult, and while it remains an architectural landmark, its inaccessibility and lack of integration with Montreal’s urban fabric are problematic.

Marina Bay Sands, Singapore (photo by Someformofhuman, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons)

Safdie’s later work increasingly reflects the commercial realities of modern architecture. Projects like Marina Bay Sands in Singapore primarily serve as luxury developments aimed at global tourism. Although these designs (the Jewel Changi Airport, also in Singapore, is another example) remain visually stunning and innovative, they prioritize commercial appeal and iconic status over the social idealism that characterized Safdie’s initial work.

Despite this shift, Safdie’s commitment to human-scale design and environmental responsiveness shines through many of his projects. The National Gallery of Canada thoroughly impressed me. It exemplifies Safdie’s belief that architecture should serve the community and its cultural context while maintaining a connection to nature. It stands as a monument to his early ideals, offering a coherent blend of beauty, functionality, and public engagement.

Habitat '67 challenged conventions of urban living. The National Gallery of Canada demonstrates how humanist and environmentalist principles can apply to architecture on a grand scale. At the same time, the challenges and compromises of more recent projects, like Marina Bay Sands, illustrate the complexities architects face in balancing visionary ideals with the realities of contemporary practice. The work of Moshe Safdie speaks to his enduring belief in the potential of architecture to shape society for the better.

Architecture and Identity

Aerial view of Parliament Hill, Ottawa (photo by tsaiproject from Canada - Parliament Hill from a Hot Air Balloon, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada, Y2K, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=80214317)

I’m writing this from Ottawa, Canada, the last stop on a trip that has also taken me to Montreal and Quebec City. As a Canadian who has lived in the U.S. on and off since I was 21 (I’m now 65), I’ve often found myself reflecting on the differences between the two countries—especially since so many people, particularly those who have not lived in both, see them as essentially the same. While Canada and the U.S. share a common border, a language, and many cultural similarities, their fundamental distinctions lie in their political histories, social values, and approaches to governance. Being in Ottawa has me thinking again about these contrasts, particularly as they’re expressed through architecture. Specifically, the Gothic Revival style of Canada’s Parliament Buildings stands in stark contrast to the Neoclassical design of the U.S. Capitol Building. What does this contrast reveal about each nation’s unique history and identity?

The Gothic Revival architecture of Canada’s Parliament Buildings in Ottawa is a significant marker of national identity, even as its meaning has evolved over time.(1) The Gothic Revival style reflected Canada’s status as a British dominion, aligning with architectural trends across the British Empire and symbolizing continuity with Britain’s political and cultural heritage. In contrast to the Neoclassical architecture of the U.S. Capitol, which celebrates ideals of democracy and republicanism rooted in ancient Greece and Rome, Canada’s Gothic Revival style conveyed values of tradition, order, and a constitutional monarchy—a system that balanced democratic governance with a respect for historical continuity. 

U. S. Capitol Building, east front (photo by Senate Democrats, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons)

While the Neoclassical style might have suggested a desire for a break from monarchical rule or a shift toward republicanism, the Gothic Revival style affirmed Canada’s unique path as a country that evolved within the framework of the British Commonwealth. This architectural choice helped differentiate Canada from the United States, which had already employed Neoclassical design to emphasize its revolutionary break from Britain. By embracing Gothic Revival, Canada signaled its commitment to a distinct political culture, one that favored gradual evolution over radical change. 

Today, this architectural distinction continues to be relevant, underscoring the differences in national identity and political culture between Canada and its southern neighbor. The Gothic style of the Parliament Buildings serves as a physical reminder of Canada's separate path, reflecting its evolution from a colony to a sovereign nation with its own democratic traditions. The buildings’ pointed arches, ribbed vaults, and intricate detailing evoke a sense of history and permanence, reinforcing a collective identity rooted in a shared past while also symbolizing Canada’s values of stability, continuity, and inclusivity. 

The Gothic Revival style has also taken on broader, more contemporary meanings. While originally chosen to emphasize Canada’s ties to Britain, the style now represents the nation’s unique democratic heritage, independent of its colonial associations. The Parliament Buildings have become a symbol of Canadian sovereignty, multiculturalism, and the country's commitment to its own democratic principles. They also serve as a backdrop for political life and public debate, embodying the openness and inclusivity that are central to Canada’s identity. 

The Centre Block in the process of restoration (my photo).

Canada’s approach to preserving and modernizing the Parliament Buildings further reflects its current values. The current restoration project(2) balances the need to maintain heritage and historical integrity with a commitment to accessibility and sustainability, mirroring the country’s broader goals of environmental stewardship and inclusivity. These efforts demonstrate a respect for the past while embracing progress, ensuring that the Parliament Buildings remain relevant to future generations. 

The distinctive Gothic Revival architecture also plays a crucial role in national pride and cultural identity. As one of Canada’s most iconic landmarks, the Parliament Buildings are instantly recognizable and prominently featured in national imagery, tourism, and public consciousness. Their unique architectural style not only sets Canada apart from other nations but also celebrates its diversity and its status as a bilingual, multicultural country where diverse voices are represented. 

Ultimately, the choice of Gothic Revival architecture continues to reinforce Canada’s distinct path in the world. Unlike the revolutionary origins of the United States, Canada’s nationhood was shaped by negotiation, compromise, and a gradual evolution toward independence. The Parliament Buildings embody this balanced approach, an avatar for a country that honors its heritage while looking toward the future. They are a testament to Canada’s historical continuity, its political evolution, and its commitment to both tradition and democratic values, creating a bridge between the past and the present that continues to shape the country’s unique place in the world.

(1) The original Canadian Parliament Buildings in Ottawa were designed by the British architect Thomas Fuller and his partner Chilion Jones. Their design, completed in the Gothic Revival style, was chosen through a competition held in 1859. Unfortunately, the original buildings were destroyed by fire in 1916. The current Parliament Buildings, completed in the 1920s, were rebuilt based on Fuller and Jones's designs but with some modifications to modernize the structure while preserving its original Gothic Revival aesthetic.

The timing of the construction was strategic, as the buildings were designed to represent the newly formed Confederation and its aspirations. By the time Canada was officially a confederated nation in 1867, the Parliament Buildings were already well underway, helping to establish Ottawa as the political capital of the new Dominion. The buildings' completion and the formal establishment of Confederation were closely aligned, symbolizing the nation's emerging identity and governance. 

(2) Unfortunately, the main Parliament Building (the Centre Block) is closed for rehabilitation during my visit. The West Block is serving as the temporary seat of the House of Commons, which I was able to tour.

Design :: Resilience - The 2024 University of Oregon Reynolds Symposium

October 18-19, 2024 

Oregon State Treasury Building (photo by Tom Hahn).

The 2024 Reynolds Symposium will bring together a diverse group of designers, academics, researchers, public servants, and others to explore resilience in the face of shifting ecologies, communities, and climate disruptions. 

This event will feature keynote speakers, panel discussions, and an interactive design activity focused on resilience. Attendees will also have opportunities to network with presenters and peers during extended breaks. A highlight of the symposium includes an optional tour of the Oregon State Treasury’s new U.S. Resiliency Council (USRC) Platinum-rated headquarters in Salem. 

The discussions will address the immediate challenges posed by storms, wildfires, and earthquakes, alongside the broader, long-term impacts of climate change on water, food systems, and migration. The symposium will delve into how professionals in architecture, landscape, and interior design can shape environments that not only withstand these challenges but also foster thriving communities. 

Key topics include real-world examples and strategies for resilient design at various scales, from neighborhood resource hubs that strengthen social ties to urban infrastructure that maintains critical services. The symposium will also explore the relationship between resilience and sustainability, examining whether these two concepts are complementary or distinct. 

Dynamic and interactive sessions will allow participants to engage deeply with these ideas through exhibitions, workshops, and panel discussions led by experts in the field. Attendees can earn up to 8 AIA LU/HSW continuing education credits. 

Attend the symposium October 18-19, 2024 and leave ready to help shape the future of resilient design. 

Organizing Committee 

• Tom Hahn, UO Career Instructor, Architecture 
• John Reynolds, UO Professor Emeritus, Architecture 
• Alison Kwok, UO Professor, Architecture 
• Nicholas Rajkovich, Associate Professor, University at Buffalo 
• Maria Coronado Cabrera, UO PhD Candidate, Architecture 
• Lindsay Ahmed, BARCH & Sophia Blatnik, MARCH, UO student coordinators 

Symposium Sponsors

• UO Architecture Reynolds Endowment 
• UO Architecture Davis Family Fund 
• AIA Oregon 

Registration Information

Early-bird registration closes Monday, September 16. The registration includes all sessions, keynotes, panel discussions, the building tour, and meals. Up to 8 AIA LU/HSW credits are available. There will be no live streaming of the event. 

REGISTER NOW through Eventbrite: click Link: HERE