Filmmakers like architects take a unique look at their environment. Do those who have the task of drawing up the plans of our homes or our gathering places allow themselves to be influenced by cinema? Do films represent a source of inspiration for them? In the series The Architecture Lesson, The duty goes to meet architects to talk about their profession, but through the filter of the seventh art.
Even if she has never studied in the field of architecture, it is difficult to find a more passionate ambassador than Sophie Gironnay to defend this profession, highlight the difficulties inherent to this profession and highlight its emblematic figures. It was therefore not surprising that the meeting with THE Duty either in the shadow of The ring (2022), last great legacy of the late landscape architect Claude Cormier, on the Place Ville Marie esplanade. She has admired his work for a long time and mentions some of his achievements during the discussion, including Light nature (2002), forest of 52 pink concrete trees installed at the Palais des congrès de Montréal. This former journalist specializing in architecture, who collaborated on Duty and to The Pressdecided to continue her mission as co-founding director of the Maison de l’architecture du Québec.
What is your relationship with cinema?
I would describe it as symbiotic, and have been since the age of 10. Before 1967, there was no television in the house, but since it appeared in my life, I can absorb between one and three hours of fiction a day. Only child of actor parents who worked evenings [Sophie Gironnay est la fille des artistes Jean Dalmain et Monique Leyrac]I was pretty free to watch pretty much anything I wanted, from westerns to Four hundred blows [1959]by François Truffaut, via The note [de Michelangelo Antonioni, 1961]. Later, as a student in Paris in the 1970s, I frequented arthouses a lot, where we could see the latest film by Federico Fellini, Ingmar Bergman or Luis Buñuel: a dream time!
Do you feel that cinema has transformed your view of architecture?
If so, it is unconsciously. I have always tried to talk about architects like film heroes, to make them characters, and above all to tell their struggles, those of Claude Cormier for example. In my opinion, a good film presents no separation between the built environment, the setting and the story, and talented filmmakers are those who know how to make us feel the life of a neighborhood, how the people live there. For example, when Cédric Klapisch observes Paris in Everyone is looking for their cat [1996], this is the Paris we love: real, touching, with flesh. We do not see large buildings, but a city full of work, faced with the scourge of renovations. Alain Tanner does the same thing with In the white city [1983] : he does not film the beautiful buildings and the beautiful cathedrals of Lisbon, he is very close to Bruno Ganz, he travels around the city with him.
I understand that you have a particular affection for Jacques Tati.
The cinema that I prefer is the one that offers satirical social criticism using the built environment. In this category, the masterpiece of masterpieces is My uncle [1958]. When I was very little, I found it hilarious, and when I saw it again at the age of 20, I cried like I have never cried watching a film. Tati talks about the loss of beautiful neighborhoods, of simple, human life, where children ran freely in the streets, doing stupid things in the middle of an organically built city. At the opposite end, the modernist villa where Mr. Hulot’s sister and brother-in-law live [Jacques Tati] represents a sanitized place that the filmmaker makes fun of: it is a criticism of technology, especially that which works half the time!
Is there a Quebec equivalent, and more contemporary, to My uncle?
In front Dark Ages [2007], by Denys Arcand, I screamed with joy: finally someone who shows exactly what I was trying to explain in my articles, and to denounce. When we see Marc Labrèche walking in the middle of a street populated by monster houses, without sidewalks, and who wonders what the hell he’s doing there, it illustrates everything I hate. And we feel the distress of human beings in this artificial world. Moreover, that he is in a relationship with a real estate agent [Sylvie Léonard], what a stroke of genius. At one point, they argue in their kitchen about the fact that they only eat frozen and reheated meals, all in the middle of this huge space with marble counters. Pieces of mountains are cut to meet the demand for marble in ever-larger kitchens in North America. And where no one cooks… This film is the best social criticism that talks about architecture.
Why do we see so few fiction films with an architect as the main character?
The profession of architect is complex, and it is political, because when we approach the field of construction, we come very close to power. In the first minutes of Hands on the city [1963], by Francesco Rosi, the whole problem is there: the promoter, brilliantly played by Rod Steiger, explains to his colleagues why Naples must develop in an agricultural land sector: a piece of land worth 300 lire could be worth 60,000 or 70,000 lira; just modify the urban plan and that’s it. This film about real estate speculation and corruption has unfortunately not aged; apart from some stricter regulations, we are up to our necks in this. I sincerely hope that Kevin Lambert’s novel, May our joy remain [Héliotrope, 2022]will become a television series: this is a story of architecture and urban development, so hurry up!
Regarding Montreal, would you say that its architecture is well served by cinema?
We dream of Rome, Venice or Barcelona, but Montreal can also make us dream. There are many places here with character, history and personality. No one gets tired of seeing Notre-Dame de Paris Cathedral in the cinema, it’s a cliché, but in the same way as the Olympic Stadium or Habitat 67. There are also plenty of new magnificent, contemporary buildings capable of generating tons of stories: the ETS Student House, the Saint-Michel Nord HLM, the Notre-Dame-de-Grâce cultural center, etc. To filmmakers, I would say: get out of your house and walk. This is how you discover a city. And if you’re looking for places of contemporary architecture, give me a call!
One of the most beautiful songs performed by your mother, Monique Leyrac, is entitled This is where I want to live. And you, which films would you like to live in?
It depends a lot on the periods of my life. At six years old, I dreamed of living in Snow White’s house [Blanche-Neige et les sept nains, de William Cottrell, David Hand et Wilfred Jackson, 1937]. At ten years old, I was impressed by Rex Harrison’s library in My Fair Lady [de George Cukor, 1964]. When I aspired to be an investigative journalist, I saw myself walking through the show’s newsroom Murphy Brown ! Subsequently, I had ambitions to be a writer, and I imagined myself occupying the office of Diane Keaton’s magnificent house in Something’s Gotta Give [de Nancy Meyers, 2003]. In an architectural magazine, those responsible for the sets of this film explained the meticulous care they took in choosing the smallest details, including the books in the library of Keaton’s office — which we don’t even see! Otherwise, like everyone else, I dream of these large French houses where families eat on the terrace, or of these immense Haussmann-style apartments where the characters in French films live all the time… even if they are poor like Job!