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, Le Devoir meets architects to talk about their profession, but through the filter of the seventh art.
He has signed imposing projects, such as Habitations Sainte-Germaine-Cousin, in Pointe-aux-Trembles, or more modest projects such as the premises of the Cactus organization, in downtown Montreal, or those of Chic Resto Pop , in the district of Mercier–Hochelaga-Maisonneuve. Regardless of their scale, architect Antonin Labossière lets himself be guided as much by his inspiration as by his values of equity and social justice. This graduate of the School of Architecture of the University of Montreal and the National Institute for Scientific Research in Urban Studies has been associated with the firm Rayside Labossière since 2011. A native and lover of Montreal, the architect is currently working to an ambitious project to recycle MR-63 metro cars, while working on the design of the Canada Pavilion for the Universal Expo in Osaka, Japan, in 2025.
What is your relationship with cinema? Are you a big movie buff or a casual viewer?
I would rather say bulimic. I love cinema, always curious to know more about new films in theaters. On the other hand, with three young children, let’s just say that I have calmed down a lot! But whenever I can, I go to the cinema, which means I travel. As far as I’m concerned, seeing a film on television means watching television. At another time, I also saw a lot of plays as well as contemporary dance shows, but at one point, I had to make choices.
Would you say that cinema inspired you to become an architect or that cinema inspires your view of architecture?
Cinema did not influence my desire to become an architect, but it is the art form that most influences my practice. I have never been a director, but I remain deeply convinced that this profession is very similar to that of an architect, and for many reasons. They must both have a global vision of what they wish to accomplish, and surround themselves with competent, talented people to achieve it; In either case, this is not always possible. Regardless of the circumstances, we must remain positive and unifying, while being able to redirect a project to achieve our ultimate objective. Which, by the way, is not necessarily the attainment of beauty. Indeed, the aim of the work of the architect, like the filmmaker, is not to be aesthetically perfect, but to achieve something touching, moving. And they must do so by being able to transcend the technique and the material with which they work.
Another similarity between the two professions: the budgets to respect! Directors and architects alike often complain of not having the means to achieve their ambitions and their dreams.
Film producers and architects’ clients impose their parameters. In addition, the place where we shoot or where we build imposes others. There is also the municipality which tells us how the ground floor of a building must be arranged. Not to mention the light, the physical environment of the area, the presence or absence of nature. In the district where we are at the moment, the Cité Angus project was part of a place with a great industrial past, and where we find many brick buildings. At the same time, as the housing complex was built on vacant land, it left room for more experimentation.
It seems to me that the figure of the architect is quite often absent in cinema. Do you make the same observation?
No way ! I can name many Quebec films where we see architect characters: The secret lives of happy people (2006), by Stéphane Lapointe, We are the others (2017), by Jean-François Asselin, What are we doing here? (2014), by Julie Hivon, and of course The reign of beauty (2014), by Denys Arcand. In I’m in (1997), not only does Claude Fournier present the character of an architect (played by Roy Dupuis), but he uses the house of architect Jacques Rousseau, located on the Plateau Mont-Royal, an icon of the architectural revolution in Montreal. The subject of the film is very debatable, but Fournier still had the audacity to film in this residence.
Speaking of Montreal, do you find that the filmmakers capture its architectural singularity well?
Again, several examples come to mind. I think about The High Cost of Living (2010), by Deborah Chow, or at Endorphin (2015), by André Turpin. But if I had to choose films that were very successful in this regard, I would immediately take Borderline (2008), by Lyne Charlebois, and Heart in hand (1998), by Charles Binamé. These films demonstrate a true understanding of “Montréality”, and present a perfect match between the characters and their environment. This is also why I love the architecture of alleys, old sheds, rusty things. All this inspires me, and it is the opposite of this perpetual call for luxury: life is not there, and it is not there that I find meaning in what I do as an architect. Considering architecture as the manufacture of things that are too perfect, too polished, means forgetting the human beings who will inhabit it. For example, everyone wants marble. Is it really beautiful? The short answer: no!
Wim Wenders cannot be blamed for using this flashy approach in his presentation of Tokyo in Perfect Days (2023).
I always try to see behind what was filmed. Are we in a cool or bad neighborhood? How is the intimacy of the characters presented? Following a man cleaning public toilets in Tokyo, what a wonderful idea! They are all beautiful and fascinating, perfectly illustrating a society’s relationship with cleanliness and civic-mindedness. I would love to be asked to design ones like these, but I think someone would say to me: “Make something effective that cleans itself”!
When you talk about the intimacy of the characters, do you believe that their personality is revealed a lot in the cinema in the apartments or houses they live in?
The first time I realized, instinctively, the importance between a place and a character, it was through the first films of the series Tales for everyoneEspecially Bach and Bottine (1986), by André Melançon. I could talk to you about it for hours! When I think of the home of Raymond Legault’s character, of the shed where Mahée Paiement’s character installs animals, I see modest spaces, but which demonstrate all the power of Tales for everyone, and that of cinema: the power of identification. These are places that resemble ours. Cinema of course calls for something grandiose, and architects often dream of designing projects larger than life, but deep down, we also work a lot in the intimate sphere.
Is this why you like designing social housing projects?
People believe that, in essence, social housing must be modest, repetitive and blend in. However, what the people who live there want is pride! These buildings must fit into the places where they are, not reproduced identically everywhere. Hence the importance of diversity. It is for this reason that the 1960s were an exceptional architectural period, not only in Montreal, but throughout Quebec, such as in Saguenay–Lac-Saint-Jean with all these modern churches. Let’s think for example of the importance of the brutalist movement: good luck to the architect who would like to create a brutalist-inspired building today. It seems that architecture has become not an art, but a public service, reduced to its utilitarian function with its same square blocks of condos. One of the great strengths of cinema is the variety of genres it offers. It should be the same thing in architecture.