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.