“How’s everyone doing tonight?” one of two hosts leaned into the mic, and the crowd cheered. Someone let out a loud “Woo!” masking the groans of those who exchanged deprecated chuckles about their mutual dislike of Valentine’s Day.

The hosts continued to explain the premise of the event. Jam for Justice, a non-profit organization run by McGill University students, supports local charities through music events. For its Piano and Punk event, Jam for Justice collaborated with Montreal’s Heart of the City Piano Program, which provides tuition-free piano lessons to at-risk students in inner-city elementary schools. The night was divided into two halves, intended to represent the duality of love: Heart of the City piano teachers performed gentle piano pieces for the first part of the evening, before Montreal-based punk rock bands — As Usual, Ruby Slipper, and Art Grey — took over for the second half.

In a written statement to the Daily, Holly Kohler, Vice President of Communications at Jam for Justice, explained the intention behind the evening’s theme. “We wanted to make sure we could make this often tiresome day something that everyone could enjoy, regardless of whether or not they are in a relationship. So with that in mind, we landed on Piano and Punk, which we felt would adequately capture the dichotomy of the Valentine’s Day experience.”
“However you’re feeling about Valentine’s Day today, we hope you enjoy the event!” the host continued, despite Valentine’s Day skeptics in the audience. A ripple of laughter moved through the room as students clapped.

As students continued to stream into the dimly lit bar, mellow piano music danced into the air. McGill student Sophia Ahern described the atmosphere as “homey” and the piano music as “chill.”
“The vibes are good!” she told the Daily.

The piano styles ranged in genre, from pop covers to Debussy. One pianist even performed an improv piece, alternating seamlessly between jazz and classical music. During a pop duet of John Legend’s “All of Me,” phone flashlights waved in unison as students waved their hands side to side. “What’s going on in that beautiful mind? I’m on your magical mystery ride…” the performers serenaded.
Despite the romantically branded music, performers insistently proclaimed that Valentine’s Day was for everyone, whether you are in a relationship or not. One singer dedicated her performance to her “besties” before launching into a heartfelt ballad.

For Helene Saleska, another McGill student, Jam for Justice’s event was a chance to spend quality time with her friends: “I think it’s really fun to celebrate love. I’m in a long-distance relationship, so for me, [Valentine’s Day] has become much more of a friend holiday than a romantic holiday.”
Fellow student Lia Graham agreed. “I’m here with my best friends, and I’m so glad to be here. I’d much rather be here on a day when we can all spend it together than if people had their [partners] here,” she told the Daily.

When the last notes of a Debussy piano piece faded out, tables were turned over and chairs set aside to make room for the dance floor. As attendees stood up from their seats, an energetic buzz reverberated through the room in anticipation of the punk performances to come.
“Gerts! How’s everyone doing?” Dylan Jacques, lead singer and bassist of the band As Usual, crooned into the mic. He was met with an excited roar, and as a wave of students filled the dance floor, the evening took a distinctive turn, changing tunes to suit the higher-energy punk music.
Jacques, a U3 student at McGill, reflected on his performance in an interview with the Daily. “Looking out during some of the songs and seeing people dancing and having fun and smiling — it’s very cool to be part of that experience.”

Vishwa Srinivasan, As Usual’s lead guitarist and U3 student at McGill, echoed his bandmate’s sentiments. “My favourite part of performing live is just how interactive it is, both between us as musicians and with the audience,” Srinivasan said to the Daily. “When you’re on stage, it’s a collective experience that everyone’s having.”

Although As Usual is not strictly a punk band — Srinivasan described them as “not bound by a genre” — they leaned into several angsty punk songs to fit the evening’s theme.

Audience member Joshua Farmer commented on the contrast between the piano and punk music, viewing it as a metaphor for the duality of love: “[It] shows that couples sometimes appear calm and mellow on the surface, but behind closed doors, it can be loud, chaotic, and messy,” he told the Daily. “It shows that relationships are real and raw.”

When asked about the duality of love, Axel Morton, an undergraduate student at Concordia University, paused. “I mean, that’s pretty deep,” he told the Daily with a chuckle. “I may or may not be in love right now. I’m still trying to figure that out.”

Morton told the Daily that love is often “taboo, but at the same time, everyone talks about love. Almost every song ever written was about love.” He added, “I think it’s important that we have this day to celebrate love.”

It is thus fitting that Jam for Justice’s Valentine’s Day event celebrated love through piano and punk — two genres that appear contradictory at first, but when paired together, embody the duality of love.

The post Love is Piano — Love is Punk appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Picture your hardest midterm. Now picture waking up one morning and realizing that said midterm, which you thought was a week away and thus hadn’t really studied for, was actually that morning – an hour before you woke up. You sprint to the exam hall and slide into your seat, panting, somehow freezing cold and burning hot at the same time. Your senses are in overdrive. Then, you look down and realize your midterm is written entirely in the Wingdings font, which seems to be legible to everybody except you. Oh, and you’re still in your pyjamas. And there’s only 30 minutes left to complete the exam.

From there, you’ve got a pretty good idea of how the events in One Of Them Days (2025) feel.

Hitting cinemas in mid-January with a bang, the Issa Rae-produced film injects nightmare-fuel scenarios like the one above with dazzling humour and charm. One Of Them Days features two best friends, Dreux (Keke Palmer) and Alyssa (Solána Rowe), and the obstacles they face in a race against the clock to avoid eviction after Alyssa’s boyfriend spends their rent money on a foregone T-shirt business. Solána Rowe, better known as SZA, makes her acting debut (though you’d never guess it) alongside the multi-talented veteran Keke Palmer. A ray of sunlight in the general malaise of winter, the duo’s impeccable comedic timing and hilarious dynamic make it easy to root for them as they stomp and stumble through their day.

Set in the heart of Los Angeles, Black culture is highlighted and celebrated in every facet of the film. Dreux and Alyssa live in Baldwin Village, a majority-Black working-class neighbourhood affectionately nicknamed “The Jungles.” Behind the film is an all-Black core team of directors, producers, and writers, guaranteeing an “authenticity” that underpins the film’s comedy and protects its cultural integrity. Ergo, One Of Them Days does more than just represent Black people – it ensures that Black people are not the butts of jokes but the ones making them, as well as the ones receiving credit for the laughter they elicit.

Up until recently, Black actresses in comedy played roles that made punchlines at the expense of their Blackness – perhaps the token best friend or the disempowered worker. Even as more and more Black women found prominence in the acting world, there remained a stark gap in comedies that spotlighted Black women and culture. One Of Them Days seeks to remedy this. The last buddy-comedy with two Black female protagonists was B*A*P*S (1997), which director Lawrence Lamont cites as one of the sources of his primary motivation: the pride he feels in seeing Black women in leading roles. As the first of its kind in close to 30 years, the box-office success of One Of Them Days sparks hope for widened avenues for Black actresses to showcase their comedic chops in cinema.

In a way, One Of Them Days is a gender-swapped version of Friday (1995), a cornerstone film in Black cinema that underlines not just the strife faced by Black communities but the joys shared amongst them, too. One Of Them Days pays tribute to its predecessor in many ways. The opening shot of a pair of sneakers hanging by their laces from a phone line in Friday becomes a central plot point in One Of Them Days, and both films feature the shenanigans of a pair of best friends (played by Ice Cube and Chris Tucker in Friday) over the course of a day-long mad dash against time.

Most importantly, like Friday, One Of Them Days is more than just a comedy. Beyond giving Black women the screen time they deserve, the film illuminates the harsh circumstances of Black neighbourhoods and communities in California. There, displacement is at a record high. The proliferation of development projects in Los Angeles has denied residents access to and gentrified various public spaces, infringing on already historically disenfranchised Black communities who have lived in the region since the 1940s. Moreover, skyrocketing real estate prices have forced many from their long-time homes, either into the growing urban sprawl on the outskirts of Los Angeles or onto the streets. Los Angeles had a homeless population of at least 75,000 in 2024, with this figure rising in tandem with the recent wildfires. Dreux and Alyssa’s fight to keep their apartment, while portrayed in a series of messy yet amusing events, is a sobering indictment of the very real issue of homelessness in California – and the desperation to avoid it.

In the same vein, One Of Them Days reawakens another classic comedy genre: the working-class comedy. Like Friday, One Of Them Days pokes fun at the struggles of the working class while simultaneously elevating them into public awareness. Amidst her and Alyssa’s haphazard attempts to make rent, Dreux contends with the anxiety of a make-or-break job interview; as well as a disastrously low credit score, which a clerk laughs uncontrollably and unabashedly at. While tonally humourous, these scenes engage the working-class majority in their relatability. More people can relate to self-doubt and instability than they can to the far-fetched plots that populate the comedy scene.

This, on top of its talented cast and stellar script, is perhaps what makes One Of Them Days so good. Its humour resonates with and reflects the realities of a demographic widely underrepresented in the glamour of Hollywood, reassuring them that they are not alone in their frustrations and upset. This solidarity extends beyond the screen: in an Instagram post, Lamont wished for One Of Them Days to “provide a moment of escape and joy when the time is right” for those affected by the destructive Los Angeles wildfires.

To those puzzled about how such a thematically serious film can be considered a comedy: fret not. While underscored by consequential Black issues, One Of Them Days highlights Black sisterhood and community through universal laugh-out-loud moments. The family-like bonds between the characters in The Jungles ameliorate seemingly insurmountable challenges, as seen in how the whole neighbourhood comes together to set up Alyssa’s last-minute art exhibition in the heart of the estate itself. While some of these portrayed solutions can feel contrived at times, the immense heart put into them is nevertheless unmistakable.

Back to the midterm at the start of the article. Let’s be real: you bomb it. Oh well. Anyway, there’s nothing you can do besides pick yourself up and tell yourself you’ll do better next time. Maybe grab a beer, or a Hot Cheeto Martini, the way Dreux and Alyssa do – whatever works to take the edge off. After all, it’s just one of them days.

The post Black Comedy for Dark Days appeared first on The McGill Daily.

When Star Wars first burst onto the screen in 1977, it was extraordinary. George Lucas crafted a thrilling tale of good versus evil, rich with unforgettable characters like Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, and Han Solo. Audiences were transported to a galaxy teeming with adventure and hope, where meaningful battles against tyranny came alive with the help of dazzling lightsabers and epic space dogfights. The original trilogy resonated deeply with moviegoers, blending heart and humanity that fans connected with profoundly. While the prequels maintained some of this spirit with Anakin Skywalker’s poignant journey, the franchise found itself in a rough patch post-Disney acquisition in 2012. The sequel trilogy faltered, with inconsistent writing and risky choices that disappointed fans, especially with Luke Skywalker’s portrayed legacy feeling like a betrayal. Attempts to reconcile these issues in The Rise of Skywalker (2019) only led to a muddled conclusion filled with plot holes. With the sheer over-saturation of Star Wars content, fans sensed a shift in the franchise from its formal galactic glory to what seemed like corporate clone wars. By focusing on quantity over quality, the franchise has lost its magic and faced criticism for placing diversity above storytelling.

At its peak, Pirates of the Caribbean delivered an intoxicating blend of high-stakes action, supernatural intrigue, and sharp humour. Gore Verbinski’s trilogy delivered iconic villains, epic naval battles, ghostly pirates, and a tragic romance entwined with themes of freedom and fate, all anchored by rich character arcs — especially Johnny Depp’s unpredictable, witty Captain Jack Sparrow. However, subsequent installments like On Stranger Tides (2011) and Dead Men Tell No Tales (2017) failed to capture the essence of the prior films, featuring weaker plots and lacklustre character dynamics. The grand scale of the trilogy had been traded for a generic treasure hunt. The characters lacked depth, Sparrow became a mere comic relief, and the new leads failed to resonate with audiences. The announcement of a female-led reboot without Johnny Depp further alienated fans, who saw it as disregarding the franchise’s core identity, reflecting Disney’s broader disconnect from audience expectations.

It is worth mentioning that Disney’s female-led reboot wasn’t criticized for featuring female pirates, but for erasing the franchise’s heart under the guise of progress and boldness. Audiences embrace strong female leads when they are flawed, relatable, and earn their victories. In contrast, recent attempts, like Rey from Star Wars and Captain Marvel from the MCU, have been criticized for lacking depth and meaningful struggles, making them feel overpowered and unrelatable. This issue extends to the MCU’s post-Endgame decline, with She-Hulk (2022) and The Marvels (2023) facing backlash for weak storytelling, forced humor, and hollow messages. The Eternals (2021) suffered from an overly serious tone, while Thor: Love and Thunder (2022) turned an epic hero into self-parody.

More broadly, the MCU now lacks direction. Unlike the Infinity Saga’s buildup to Thanos, the Multiverse Saga feels aimless, with scattered characters and no clear future. Without a strong central figure or unified team, the franchise struggles to keep audiences engaged.

Disney can revive its struggling franchises by taking notes from sequels that not only lived up to their predecessors but surpassed them — films like Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), The Dark Knight (2008), Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014), and Top Gun: Maverick (2022). These sequels didn’t just recycle old ideas; they expanded on the original themes, deepened character arcs, and raised the stakes in meaningful ways. Top Gun: Maverick showed its protagonist grappling with legacy and mentorship, while The Dark Knight deepened Batman’s moral struggles, introducing an unforgettable antagonist in the Joker who pushed Bruce Wayne to his limits. Meanwhile, Terminator 2 transformed Sarah Connor from a victim into a hardened warrior, and The Winter Soldier challenged Steve Rogers with ideological dilemmas that forced him to redefine his role as a hero. These sequels thrived by respecting audience intelligence, balancing nostalgia with innovation, and delivering strong emotional cores.

To revive excitement, the MCU must follow these same principles — crafting a strong, interconnected, and cohesive narrative with clear arcs and real stakes. Establishing a core team, like the Young Avengers, Fantastic Four, or X-Men, could restore purpose. More importantly, Marvel must embrace creative risks — darker, mature storytelling, as seen in Infinity War and The Winter Soldier, resonated deeply. By reducing oversaturation and prioritizing character-driven stories over CGI spectacles, the MCU can recapture its magic and once again inspire audiences.

Finally, Disney has a strong legacy of well-written female characters, not just in animated films but across its biggest franchises. Characters like Princess Leia, Elizabeth Swann, and Black Widow were all well-received because they had flaws and real growth arcs, rather than being reduced to mere symbols of empowerment that failed to resonate. Disney’s Princess Franchise had characters like Mulan — a regular girl who, through determination, intelligence, and resilience, grew into a warrior and earned her victories. It’s that level of depth, agency, and emotional complexity that inspired and fascinated audiences.

Disney has given us timeless stories, unforgettable heroes, and magical worlds that shaped generations, and by learning from past successes, Disney can return to its former glory, not just winning back old fans but captivating new ones. Here’s to hoping Disney rekindles the spark, bringing us back to the kind of storytelling that makes us laugh, cry, and believe in the impossible. The stage is set, and the audience is waiting — now let’s see the magic happen!

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The first two things I noticed after opening the nondescript door of Chez Greenberg (5159 Avenue du Parc) were Jake Greenberg himself behind the counter, donning his signature black glasses, and a jar of silver Hershey’s Kisses next to a childhood photo of Greenberg and his brother. 

The theme of “family first” carries itself throughout Chez Greenberg’s entire history. Beginning as a COVID project in May of 2020, Jake Greenberg took his father’s smoked salmon recipe and turned it into a booming online business – all with no prior experience in the food industry. Greenberg’s great-grandparents originally came to Canada from Poland, setting up Waxman’s Tuxedo Shop in 1927, where Greenberg worked before the pandemic. He named his viral salmon enterprise Zaidie’s, after his grandparents’ restaurant at the Rabiner’s Hotel in Sainte-Agathe. Once the world opened up, Zaidie’s put down roots in the Ripples Ice Cream shop on rue Jeanne-Mance, out of which they sold their now-iconic smoked salmon, bagel sandwiches, latkes, chowder, and cream cheese schmears. Why an ice cream shop, you may ask? The owner of Ripples, Richard Bernett, happened to be a former employee of the original Zaidie’s restaurant and opened up his space for Greenberg to share.

In 2022, however, Zaidie’s shuttered its (physical and online) doors. In his farewell Instagram post, Greenberg implied that the best was yet to come. This manifested three years later in the form of Chez Greenberg, a brick-and-mortar establishment and the new home of “Bubby’s” kitchen. The restaurant was announced in December 2024 and soft-opened in January. The menu began with Zaidie’s signature fare and is continually expanding, now including smoked salmon chowder, canned drinks, and a full espresso bar. Chez Greenberg is a joint venture alongside Daniel Feinglos of Agriculture du Coin, an aquaponics farm specializing in “urban hydroponic farming, fermentation, and mushroom cultivation,” that will eventually sell its products alongside Greenberg’s salmon and bagels.

As the establishment was founded upon the back of its infamous smoked salmon, it was my duty as a faithful reporter to order it. Alongside a cappuccino, I got their BLC (Bagel, Lox, Cream Cheese): a white sesame bagel schmeared with lemon cream cheese and layered with pink ribbons of lox, thick-cut tomatoes, fresh onions, a mountain of crispy fried potatoes, and a sprinkle of capers. They also offer a BLC Deluxe, which swaps the lemon cream cheese for smoked salmon cream cheese.

The bagel sandwich was, in a word, delightful. The bagel was dense, chewy, and toasted (regarding the controversy over toasting a bagel, I am all for it, contrary to popular opinion). The quality of this bagel was a high medium – not quite to the standard of one fresh out of Fairmount’s oven, but certainly no Tim Hornton’s (sorry, Tim). The crust was densely dotted with sesame seeds, adding a pronounced nuttiness. 

The eponymous smoked salmon was truly a delicacy. It was sliced razor-thin, with its edges crisped by the seasoning and the meat perfectly lean and supple. Many a lox is too shy in its fishy flavour; I have often been met with lox that tastes like nearly nothing. This salmon stands apart – the profile strikes a perfect balance, neither too pungently fishy, nor too lacklustre. Greenberg’s inherited smoked salmon recipe is, like all the best things, secret. All that is known is that it’s brined for 24 hours prior to smoking, then donned with a classified seasoning blend and lacquered with maple syrup (making it a thoroughly Canadian affair).

Atop the mille-feuille of fish lies bright, punchy white onions; slabs of tomatoes juicy enough to please Miracle Max; and crispy potato schmutz (latke scraps): all of which marry into a perfect union of textures and flavours. The potato trimmings add a rich caramelized note, while the lemon cream cheese cuts through in a tangy, zesty ray of herbs and sunshine. The restaurant makes “everything but the bagel by hand,” as Greenberg let me know (the bagel’s origins remain unknown). My singular critique would be to add a few more capers, but that may just be my particular affinity for the salty gems.

The cappuccino had a thick foam and was dusted with sweet chocolate powder. The dark-roast espresso kept its nuance of flavour (which is often lost the longer you roast the beans), and its profile balanced well with the sweetness of the chocolate. I will note that it could have been served a bit warmer.

On Instagram, Greenberg stated his intentions for Chez Greenberg as “the kind of place that feels like home, where you’re sitting at the kitchen table, warm and cozy, while your bubby or your mom is cooking up something made with love.” I can affirm that his ambitions have come through in every aspect. Aesthetically, the restaurant is the modern hipster’s paradise (a compliment). An open kitchen is bordered by bar seats where you can watch Adon, Leo, and the other chefs hand-make knishes and latkes. There are hydroponic towers to grow their herbs, scuffed wood floors and exposed ceilings, and a cheeky typewriter below the register. The playlist, decor, and merch curate the perfect point between kitschy nostalgia and something fresh. When he wasn’t working the cash register and espresso bar, Greenberg himself would often call back, “Everyone good?” or roam the floor, chatting up diners and bantering with his crew.

Chez Greenberg is a new kind of local. Built on the heritage of his ancestors, Jake Greenberg is building a space for the Mile End and the greater Montreal community to feel like home. His venture is defined by the strength of his supporters and would not be possible without the love they have for both his salmon and the man himself. I believe the best is yet to come from Bubby’s kitchen.

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Launched in 2020, TOPICALS was born with the mission of catering toward all skin tones and types, but with a special focus on people of colour. Mainstream skincare brands have overlooked the diverse requirements of black and brown skin, leaving an opening in the skincare market for Olowe to fill. Olowe, who has personally struggled with her skin insecurities, realized the lack of options that were available and relatable. The brand’s hero products – such as Faded, a treatment for hyperpigmentation – resonated with consumers seeking resolutions for their own skin insecurities. Unlike traditional brightening serums, which often contain harsh ingredients not suited for darker skin tones, Faded has the ability to gently reduce dark spots on melanin-rich skin, solidifying TOPICALS as the leader for inclusive skincare.

The rapid growth of the company can be largely attributed to its bold and atypical marketing. TOPICALS has relied on Gen Z-focused marketing, participating in meme culture and social media engagement to create a relatable brand. The company has mastered Gen Z marketing through TikTok and Instagram, which align with amusing trends and speak directly to Gen Z consumers. Specifically, their advertisement for the CLEARLY acne treatment sees people in an office with the acne solution applied to their skin, emphasizing the practicality of the product in everyday life. With products backed up by scientific evidence and internet engagement, the brand continuously moves toward increased sales. By maintaining a strong presence online, TOPICALS has become community-driven, speaking directly to young consumers. This online approach has proven to be highly effective, as products sell out quickly at launch.

TOPICALS is more than just a skincare brand. It has stationed itself as a brand concerned with mental health, empowerment, and self-love, focusing on making you comfortable in your own skin. Their slogan, “Who Cares? Looks Fade,” emphasizes the importance of embracing one’s natural beauty rather than obsessing over unrealistic beauty standards. The company acknowledges the emotional battle of chronic skin conditions by donating a portion of its profits to impactful mental health initiatives, supporting organizations that provide necessary resources for those struggling with mental health and body image. This combined approach of highlighting physical and psychological well-being fosters an identity of self-love and empowerment for those who struggle with skin insecurities.

With science-focused formulas, a strong digital presence, and overall focus on inclusivity, TOPICALS is set to reshape the beauty industry. By challenging beauty norms and advocating for diverse skin support, the brand has established itself as far more than a skincare company, but a catalyst for change in the beauty industry. TOPICALS continues to set standards for what beauty companies should represent, not only transforming skin but redefining Black beauty and confidence.

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The rise of the romcom empire is often attributed to 1989’s When Harry Met Sally, known as a classic to this day due to its status as the blueprint of the rom com genre. In turn, this sparked a public desire for more films of this type, and Hollywood invested accordingly in these kinds of big-budget romantic comedies throughout the 90s and 2000s. At the same time, the Hallmark Channel officially launched in the early 2000s, producing lower budget holiday films popular for their recycled plot lines, predictability, and cheesiness. Nevertheless, they remain appreciated, despite our mockery, for their heartwarming and happy endings.

However, in recent years, many argue rom coms have been declining in quality, and I believe Wattpad and social media to be influential factors.Wattpad’s launch in 2006 initially intended to provide access to ebooks through mobile devices, but the app’s popularity began to rise around 2011 when it gained one million users as it was paired with the invention of the iPhone. This allowed anyone to read, write, and publish stories in an instantly accessible manner. In 2014, many film channel companies began producing adaptations of Wattpad novels, turning them into series and movies.

Though these adaptations were appreciated at the start, this did not last very long. Reading and watching a film are two very different experiences, and perhaps adapting certain stories into visual media simply ruined the magical, distant quality of them. Maybe viewers realized how ridiculous some of these stories were, or felt like their representations on screen were trying too hard to push a reality that does not exist. On the other hand, reading and imagining your own world for the characters is more enticing, especially because as the reader you position yourself as the narrator/main character. Some examples of these are The Kissing Booth and After, for whom the audiences that enjoyed the books did not like the movies.

Even though these Wattpad films received a lot of backlash, one could argue that they are just like cheesy Hallmark movies: those who enjoy these films enjoy them for their nonsensical and asinine plots. And yet, Wattpad movies are not necessarily held to the same comforting, amusing regard as Hallmark movies are.

Alongside this, social media, and our phones in general, have weaseled their way into our idea of culture and social survival. With our unlimited access to other people’s lives and opinions, as well as streaming services and podcasts, we tend to be overexposed to everything at once. When there is immediate negative feedback on a film, there is naturally less incentive for audiences to go see it, and perhaps a decline in the enjoyment of such reused tropes and plotlines. The focus on “authenticity” and constant comparison brought forth by social media might also push audiences away from more classic tropes, as they portray unrealistic expectations of love and romance that people cannot relate to, making idealised rom com scenarios less digestible.

However, these Wattpad movies don’t constitute the whole of the rom com genre. In fact, there are many more recent romantic comedies that are good: Set It Up (2018), La La Land (2016), Crazy Rich Asians (2018), Palm Springs (2020), Plus One (2019), Rye Lane (2023), and the list goes on. How these films differ from Wattpad movies is that the characters have a personality aside from only seeking love, and the obstacles they encounter are convincing and relevant. The characters are complex, goal-driven, and authentic in their emotions and actions, both good and bad, and usually grow and change over the course of the movie. Furthermore, there is greater acknowledgement of the lack of diversity in romantic comedies, and it is important for such a strong genre to share stories from different perspectives that deviate from the heterosexual white ones. Therefore, can we really say rom coms are declining in quality? On one hand, yes, time and money are invested in romantic comedies bound for public backlash because of their bad plots, unlikable characters, etc (such as the After films). The rom com genre is not perceived as a ‘serious’ one, leaving less takers for such roles, and thus less good-quality romantic comedies. However, our cultural ideas of romance, gender roles, and love are ever changing. When we look back at some cult classic rom coms, despite our love for them, there are some questionable aspects: rigid ideas of what femininity and masculinity should look like, unrealistic beauty standards and expectations, offensive jokes, and white-centred perspectives.

I believe social media has ruined our idea of romance, and perhaps it will grow too difficult to relate to the light-hearted, glamorised love stories of the 90s and 2000s knowing that our generation does not really function this way and probably never will.

Although rom coms will always remain close to our hearts, it is interesting to see how much the genre has evolved and how much its significance grows parallel to our shifting ideas of culture and social media. From the cheesy romances to the more grounded ones, there will always be an appreciation for a sensitive, heartwarming love story.

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So, let’s focus on the writers who stood with Algeria, defended its people, and celebrated its culture. Algeria is the largest country in Africa, a land steeped in history and bursting with cultural richness. Its literary landscape reflects this diversity: blending Arabic, Berber, and French influences into a unique and powerful tapestry of voices. From the works of Assia Djebar, who vividly captured the struggles and triumphs of Algerian women, to Kateb Yacine, whose Nedjma is a cornerstone of modern Maghrebi literature, Algeria has no shortage of authors who deserve the spotlight. These writers don’t just write about Algeria: they write for it, giving a voice to its people and its soul.

Understanding Algerian literature is to understand Algeria itself — a nation marked by resilience, resistance, and an unyielding spirit. It’s a reminder that literature is more than just beautiful prose or philosophical musings; it is a tool for advocacy, for truth-telling, and for preserving identity.

Kateb Yacine – Nedjma

Nedjma by Kateb Yacine (1956) is a profound exploration of identity, colonialism, and resistance. The novel follows four young men — Lakhdar, Mustapha, Rachid, and Mourad — whose lives are intertwined with the enigmatic Nedjma, a woman symbolizing Algeria itself: beautiful, elusive, and deeply connected to the country’s history. Written in a fragmented, non-linear style, Nedjma mirrors the disrupted reality of colonial Algeria. Yacine weaves together myth, history, and personal trauma, reflecting the cultural and political struggles of his homeland. Rooted in Algerian oral traditions and Berber heritage, the novel also subverts French literary forms, using the colonizer’s language as a tool of resistance. More than a novel, Nedjma is a powerful statement on Algeria’s resilience and the enduring complexity of its identity, making it a masterpiece of postcolonial literature.

Assia Djebar – Women of Algiers in Their Apartment

Assia Djebar’s Women of Algiers in Their Apartment (1980) is a collection of short stories that vividly portrays the lives of Algerian women. Inspired by Eugène Delacroix’s famous painting of the same name, Djebar delves into their experiences of colonialism, war, and the aftermath of independence. The stories in the collection explore themes of oppression, resilience, and solidarity. Djebar portrays women who are not only survivors of colonial violence but also active participants in their country’s struggle for freedom. She highlights the intimate, often untold stories of their sacrifices, fears, and triumphs, challenging stereotypes of silence and submission. Through her innovative narrative style, Djebar blends personal memories, oral histories, and poetic language, crafting a deeply layered exploration of identity and resistance. Women of Algiers in Their Apartment is a poignant and powerful act of cultural and feminist resistance, offering a window into the inner lives of Algerian women and the complexities of their struggles. It remains a vital contribution to both Algerian and feminist literature.

Mouloud Feraoun – The Poor Man’s Son

Mouloud Feraoun’s The Poor Man’s Son (1950), is a semi-autobiographical novel that captures the struggles of growing up in a poor Kabyle family under French colonial rule in Algeria. Written with striking simplicity and honesty, the novel offers a poignant portrayal of rural life in the harsh mountainous regions of Kabylia. The story follows the protagonist, Fouroulou Menrad, as he navigates the challenges of poverty, tradition, and the limitations imposed by colonialism. Despite his difficult circumstances, Fouroulou dreams of education and personal growth, viewing knowledge as a path to self-liberation. His journey reflects Feraoun’s own life as a teacher and intellectual who remains deeply connected to his people. The novel goes beyond personal narrative to address broader themes of social inequality, cultural alienation, and the resilience of Algerian identity. Feraoun depicts the dignity and solidarity of the Kabyle community while subtly critiquing the colonial system that perpetuates their hardships. Published just a few years before the Algerian War of Independence, The Poor Man’s Son stands as a testament to the spirit of resistance and the enduring hope for a better future.

Mohammed Dib – The Algerian Trilogy

Mohammed Dib’s The Algerian Trilogy, composed of La Grande Maison (1952), L’Incendie (1954), and Le Métier à Tisser (1957), is a foundational work of Algerian literature that vividly portrays the struggles of ordinary Algerians under French colonial rule. The trilogy is a poignant and unflinching depiction of life in the working-class neighborhoods and rural areas of Algeria in the 1930s and 1940s. The trilogy follows the life of Omar, a young boy growing up in a poor family, as he witnesses the deep inequalities and hardships faced by his community. In La Grande Maison, Dib paints a bleak yet empathetic picture of poverty and resilience in a colonial society. L’Incendie shifts focus to the countryside, where tensions between colonial authorities and oppressed Algerian farmers rise, foreshadowing the coming revolution. Finally, in Le Métier à Tisser, the trilogy captures the struggles of laborers and the growing awareness of collective resistance against the colonial system. Dib’s narrative style blends realism with lyricism, drawing from Algerian oral traditions and weaving in rich descriptions of the landscapes and lives of his characters. His work is not just a chronicle of colonial oppression but also a celebration of Algerian culture and the indomitable spirit of its people. The trilogy is deeply political, offering a critique of colonial exploitation while highlighting the seeds of rebellion that would grow into the Algerian War of Independence. Mohammed Dib’s The Algerian Trilogy remains a cornerstone of postcolonial literature and a testament to the power of storytelling as resistance.

In exploring the works of Algeria’s literary giants, we uncover a rich tapestry of voices that speak to the nation’s struggles, triumphs, and enduring spirit. Their stories transcend mere fiction; they are acts of resistance, reflections of identity, and declarations of resilience in the face of oppression. Whether critiquing colonialism, exploring post-independence struggles, or confronting extremism and authoritarianism, these writers have given Algeria a literary voice that is as profound as it is vital. Algerian literature is a testament to the enduring human spirit and the power of storytelling to illuminate, resist, and inspire. Let us honor these writers for their invaluable contributions, ensuring their voices continue to resonate far beyond the borders of Algeria.

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My mind kept going back to that quote as I binge-watched the second season of Mo on Netflix.
Mo is an American comedy-drama television series that premiered on August 24, 2022 on Netflix, starring Mo Amer as the titular character, Mo (Mohammad) Najjar. The series is loosely based on Amer’s own life as a Palestinian refugee living in Houston, Texas.

In Season Two, Episode One, Mo is desperately trying to get a laissez-passer: a permit allowing him to get back into the US in order to make his court hearing. During his time in Mexico, Mo was selling falafel tacos from a cart – a fusion platter, combining his Palestinian and Levantine heritage with Mexican cuisine.

Fast forward a few episodes later, and Mo is back in the US, to find his Mexican ex-girlfriend is dating a new man. Not just any man, however, but an “Israeli” chef named Guy, who owns a “Middle Eastern restaurant.” Mo is livid: he cannot shake the feeling of betrayal. Not only is his ex dating another man, but she chose to be with someone whose identity is at the core of Mo’s suffering.

In another episode, Mo is sleeping over at his childhood friend Nick’s house. In search of a midnight snack, he opens the fridge, and to his horror, sees a takeout bag from Guy’s restaurant. And what does he find? There, wrapped in aluminum foil, were falafel tacos. Before knowing who Guy was, Mo had met him outside a housewarming party Guy was catering. While sharing a cigarette, he noticed the Middle Eastern food, and Mo shared that he had spent time in Mexico selling those tacos. Seeing his stolen invention in his best friend’s fridge drives Mo to the brink of insanity. Nick doesn’t understand his outburst and calls him overdramatic, blaming his anger on his jealousy.

This part made me angry. Partly because I have experienced similar dismissal from friends who did not share my cultural background, did not understand what it is like to have a colonial entity steal your culture and claim it as their own.

One of my favourite Lebanese dishes is called moghrabieh, a pearl couscous dish with chickpea, chicken, and chicken stock. The name moghrabieh is in reference to the Maghreb, as in Morocco, to give credit to where the platter’s rolled-up dough comes from. When I would describe it to people, their faces would express confusion first, before exclaiming proudly, “Oh! You mean Israeli couscous?!”

No. No, I do not. And whenever I would react to this statement, I would be met with the same dismissal as Mo. They would claim that Arabs are too sensitive about food (have you met Italians?), and it wasn’t that deep, considering the Levant shared the same type of food in different varieties.

Granted, people from the Levant do share the same food. But there is a difference between sharing and appropriating it. Slapping your name on it and saying we’re alike. Slowly and cunningly seeping into a culture that is not yours and calling it your own.

In the Levant, food isn’t just something you enjoy — it is a form of resistance.

Take the Palestinian maqluba, for example: in December 2017, Palestinian women would serve the national Palestinian dish to protestors in front of Al-Aqsa Mosque, in the Israeli-occupied East Jerusalem, during a demonstration against Donald Trump’s decision to move the US embassy to Jerusalem.

One of the women, Hanadi al-Halawani, said, “I made sure to serve maqluba to the young protesters as a way to underline that Jerusalem is the capital of Palestine, with all its people, food and culture.” The dish would then be called the “dish of spite” by both Palestinians and Israelis.

To some of us, food is recipes that stood the tests of time and oppression. It is our grandmother’s hands rolling the vine leaves. Our grandfathers picking out the olives from the trees. Our mothers’ hands mixing the parsley with the tomatoes and the onions. Our fathers standing on the grill, making sure the meat is cooked just right.

Because when your literal existence is being erased, everything you do is an act of resistance.

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“Last time I did the show is what made me fall in love with theater,” Quinsey said. “The audience will be transported to another world, although a lot of it takes place in the British parliament.”

Iolanthe originally opened in 1882 at the Savoy Theatre in London. It was the eighth collaborative work of Gilbert and Sullivan, the duo who’s also responsible for Princess Ida and The Pirates of Penzance. The comedic operetta follows Strephon (Matthew Erskine), a half-fairy, half-human man rising through the ranks of British parliament — going from a simple farmer to an even simpler chancellor. With a little magic from his fairy aunts and mother, Strephon is able to get any bill passed in his nondescript British city.

Despite this newfound political power, Strephon is miserable. Phyllis (Aniela Stanek), the girl of his — and the whole town’s — dreams, is contemplating several marriage proposals from his subordinates. In order to regain her sole admiration, Strephon must utilize both his manhood and his fairyhood to run both the parliament and the forest.

Due to asbestos issues in Moyse Hall, this production was performed at the Plaza Theatre. As a result, the orchestra, which usually performed in the pit, played alongside the actors on stage. This had to have been the best unintentional incorporation of the two most essential parts of musical theatre I’ve ever seen. Iolanthe was worth a watch purely to see the look of ecstasy on musical director, Noah Century, as he conducted the band.

“It’s extremely demanding and stressful while it’s happening, but then when we get to it being put together, and we’re performing it … everything sounds fantastic. It’s so worth it. It’s so perfect,” Century said, watching the orchestra rehearse on stage. “They sound amazing up there, and we haven’t even started.”

“Whimsical” was the word Century thought encapsulated Iolanthe. Like Quinsey, his directing process was tinged with deja-vu; in 2018 he’d performed this operetta as a pit musician, and was now acting as the musical director.

From the costumes, to the sets, to the performances, Iolanthe was certainly whimsical. The chancellors and the fairies were all elegantly and outlandish dressed, the “peers” (chancellors) wearing flowing velvet robes and the “peris” (fairies) flowery brown dresses. While some may imagine fairies as peaceful tree-hugging ditzes, the winged girls of Iolanthe live in a magical forest where the go-to penalty for crime is execution. Meanwhile, the nondescript British town their forest is located in follows the traditional British government structure, all under the control of the broken-hearted Lord Chancellor (Samuel Valentim-Gervais), who lies awake at night, teddy bear in hand, wondering why he’s been single for the last twenty-five years.

Iolanthe was, in a few words, “sublime,” and “wonderful,” and also “brilliant” according to lead actor Matthew Erskine. His performance, funnily enough, was also sublime, wonderful, and brilliant.
Magical character work and physical comedy intertwined in a hilarious and stage-stealing performance from Erskine, who played both a convincing fairy and parliamentarian. Iolanthe had some of the most creative and original comedy I’ve seen; the whole cast executed the satirical writing of Gilbert and Sullivan with complete dedication. Erskine and Stanek portrayed star-crossed lovers, separated by the former’s fairyness, with the overdramatic flare of Romeo and Juliet and the airy goofiness of a ‘90s romcom. Their chemistry was truly a treat to witness and something I’d be lucky to see again.

Iolanthe; or the Peer, and the Peri, was, in a word to me, “spirited.” The energy in the Plaza Theatre was unmatched, the performances were energetic and fun, and the plot was fantastical and comprehensive. All in all, it was a truly unique work that managed to make an audience laugh, and perhaps hope that forest fairies infiltrate the British parliament.

Editor’s Note (20/02/2025): In the original web and print version, the article stated that Michael Quinsey performed ensemble in his second year. Michael Quinsey actually performed in Iolanthe in his first year.

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When you leave a Crespin household, your arms will inevitably be laden with food. As you make the hour-long dance towards the door in a futile attempt to leave, waltzing between hugs and goodbyes and promises to bring over the succulent trimmings next week, you will find yourself carrying tinfoil-wrapped packages of tortillas, containers of green chile, last night’s leftovers, or if nothing else, a sleeve of Ritz crackers. If you leave empty-handed, we probably don’t like you, and if you refuse the food, we assume that we’ve done something to deeply offend you. The food says more about our love than the hugs do.

Family reunions are preceded by my (many) aunts and cousins crowding in the kitchen to form a tamale production line, while pots of posole bubble on the stove and pans of enchiladas crowd the oven. The recipes are less recipes and more oral histories of our ancestors. When you ask how to make green chile, Grandmas will tell you how her mother, Emma, would insist upon using New Mexican Hatch green chiles roasted by hand while tossing in a few spoonfuls of cumin or chunks of diced pork, measuring purely by instinct. When I eat my grandmother’s green chile, I am eating my great-grandmother Emma’s green chile – someone I never met, but accredit my entire existence to. I feel like I know her, if only through making her recipes.

The love language of food is carried by the other side of my family, too. My dad was the first person to teach me how to cook food to show someone you care. He would wake up early to cook us scrambled eggs for breakfast before school; after a long day’s work, he still comes home and cooks dinner for the family. He makes pancakes with a sourdough starter passed down in our family for generations and smoked brisket that takes hours to make. To take the time not only to feed, but nourish another with a carefully crafted meal – that is the ultimate act of love and care.

There is no language more universal than food. Cooking for those you love, communing over a meal, or simply sharing delivery pizza on your living room floor is the purest act of affection. Memories are formed in the passing of dishes over the Thanksgiving table, and in the passing down of family recipes. Relationships are built through shy first dates at coffee shops, wedding rehearsal dinners, and cakes baked for birthdays. The power of food lies in its ability to connect you in immediate one-on-one relationships and wider relationships to your culture, lineage, and ancestors across time and space.

In that way, food connects the world. It creates cross-cultural bonds; you can eat pho and, without speaking a word of Vietnamese, taste the history, heritage, and care passed down from generation to generation that wrote the recipe for the soup in your bowl. Food is a universal translator — not of words, but of feelings, memories, ideas, and stories. We may not share a spoken language, but the world shares the native tongue of food.

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What’s the first thing one thinks of when they think of a cougar? Perhaps the animal, but now more than ever, the personality associated with it: an older woman who engages in relations with younger men.

The term has its origins in female degradation. Coined here in Canada, it was first derogatorily used to refer to older women who hung out at bars to go home with whatever men lingered at the end of the night. Over time, it has become progressively more neutral, with the relationship between older women and younger men becoming popularized through celebrity couples like Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher, who were 43 and 28 years old, respectively, when they married (though they have since divorced).

Once the butt of the joke in media like American Pie (1999), or the perverted villain in films like May December (2023), the MILF character has been revamped in the last year or so – think A24’s recent box office hit Babygirl (2024) or The Idea Of You (2024), which became Amazon MGM’s No. 1 romcom debut of all time. According to articles from The Guardian and Vogue, these films turn prevalent cougar stereotypes on their heads by framing the film as a typical thriller or romcom, thereby removing the taboo imposed on them. This compels us to ponder the societal shifts in the perceptions of MILFs and the older woman-younger man relationship.

The transgressiveness of cougars is rooted in traditional values of sex as a purely biological process and sexuality as merely a means to facilitate it. Ergo, open sexual expression has historically been heavily frowned upon especially in women, no matter their age. Once women age “past their biological prime,” they are often thrust to the wayside. Meanwhile, men’s appeal seems to remain constant, if not rise as they age, construed as accruing maturity and experience. This hypocrisy is explored in The Idea Of You, where Anne Hathaway’s character laments her ex-husband divorcing her for a younger woman and the double standard between his perceived attractiveness increasing and hers decreasing “as if time were paced differently for each of [them].”

Cougar cinema upends this notion, rendering the older woman the central character of interest in both the relationship and the film – in other words, making her a MILF. This empowers women by illustrating how they are desirable, not in spite of, but because of their age. In a world where women juggle competing expectations of purity and promiscuity, the foregrounding of women’s beauty and sexuality de-stigmatizes and prompts conversations about them. Halina Reijn, the director of Babygirl, describes the film in interviews with The New Yorker and ELLE as a “role-playing […] fairy tale” that juxtaposes notions of women being “clean” and “virgin”, which Reijn (and most other women) grew up feeling the pressure to embody.

Moreover, considering MILF leads often already possess wealth and an established career, traditional gendered relations that give men financial power over women are challenged, reinforcing female independence. Nicole Kidman’s character in Babygirl is a high-flying CEO in a torrid affair with her intern (Harris Dickinson), and her character in A Family Affair (2024) is a Pulitzer-winning writer who finds herself attracted to her daughter’s celebrity boss (Zac Efron).

The positive impacts of these films extend beyond the screen. A study found that men represented 64 per cent of older characters in film – almost twice as many as women’s 33 per cent. Worse still, male characters were often active contributors to the plot, while women were more likely to be side characters. Cougar cinema is thus an option for older actresses to maintain their relevance in the film industry – symptomatic of the perennial issue of a lack of diverse film roles for older women, which dramatically shortens their career lifespans.

This is all well and good. However, this also provokes the question: to what extent is cougar cinema a truly transgressive representation of women?

It is true that in cougar cinema, the female lead is given more attention and influence in her characterization, script, role, and so on. Sure, she is no longer a damsel in distress whose life revolves around a man. However, her characterization as a MILF still leaves something to be desired. Despite being given more lines and screen time, women are ultimately still reduced to objects of sexual pleasure. Realistically, the focus on their sexuality does more than just facilitate post-viewing dialogue – it also creates shock value, which drives the film’s advertising. Therefore, it’s hard to say that audiences tune in for the films’ feminist messaging and not the virality and “scandal” of it all. The novelty that tinges portrayals of women’s sexuality intrinsically commodifies it, reversing its intended de-stigmatization.

Jess Carbino, a former sociology researcher for Tinder and Bumble, investigated this phenomenon. “Why do film and television need to portray women’s liberation and empowerment as involving something transgressive?” she asks. She raises a salient point: amidst the sizable portfolio of movies where older men find themselves through broody reflection or far-off journeys, why should women have to commit social faux-pas to be deemed interesting?

The belief that cougar cinema is the primary solution to a lack of diverse roles for older actresses is patronizing and diminishing of women’s complexities and multi-dimensionalities. This is not to say that the currently popular depiction of women’s sexuality is not important. However, there are many other avenues to explore that do not have to involve sex, which, while an important tenet, is not the only aspect worth examining about older women. For example, Michelle Yeoh’s character in the Oscar-winning Everything Everywhere All At Once (2022) not only allowed Yeoh to transcend her previous roles in Chinese action films, but also portrayed the emotional, personal journey of an older woman finding her way in the world (or multiple worlds – if you know you know). The Substance (2024), which won Demi Moore her first-ever acting award (a Golden Globe, go figure) surrealistically depicts the immense pressures older women feel in losing their perceived desirability and relevance. These are universal issues that deserve more screen time to be illuminated rather than sensationalized.

The commercial success of these films indicates that cougar cinema is likely here to stay. It is unconventional, sexy, and breathes new life into an age-old trope by giving it a modern, feminist reframing. Classic favourites like Anne Hathaway and Nicole Kidman lead its foray into the cultural zeitgeist. Overall, it marks a step towards greater representation for older women in film. However, it is imperative that we also comprehend the fine line between shifting the status quo and underpinning its foundations. MILFism might be what sells, but surely, we can still do better.

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The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton depicts the complicated relationship between class, wealth, and romance. Set in New York City during the Gilded Age, the novel follows Lily Bart, a 29-year-old woman of high class and poor finances, with no money to her name. Lily’s primary goal is to find and marry a man of means to cement her position in society and live comfortably. However, whenever she is put in a position to marry men that she claims are her ideal, she either flat-out refuses them or does something to inadvertently spoil her chances.

One candidate is Rosedale, an extremely wealthy, up-and-coming man. Being new money, he is not welcome in high society, yet he yearns to be a part of this exclusive class. In an attempt to break in, he proposes to Lily. Lily, believing she can do better, rejects him. The man who seems to truly pique her interest is Lawrence Selden. However, Selden does not fit Lily’s ideal vision of her future spouse. He is not very wealthy and wishes to remain detached from high society. Despite this, Lily and Selden are continually put in situations through which feelings for one another materialize and blossom.

Wharton comments on the fragility of both wealth and status, depicting the way in which both these factors are irrelevant and even contentious with the pursuit of happiness. Selden and Lily’s puzzling relationship keeps readers on their toes, prompting feelings of confusion and uncertainty. By drawing these emotions out of her readers, Wharton expresses her feelings on the triviality of high society, displaying that true happiness is not attained through wealth or status.

Placed into this setting, I found myself exploring the instability of high society. Seeing how each character’s decisions are so heavily restricted, despite their wealth and power, made me think about the imbalance of power and actual agency. Despite being the most “elite” class, they are still bound by responsibility and motives ulterior to pure joy when considering their personal relationships.

I was engrossed by the tension between Selden and Lily, with their love hindered only by material wealth. The moments when they realized their mutual feelings were fervently impassioned, with them both having an urgency to share with the other. Wharton inexplicitly defined these moments, describing them only as a word that suddenly struck each of them. Lily had “something she must tell Selden, some word she had found that should make life clear between them” and Selden “had found the word he meant to say to her, and it could not wait another moment to be said. It was strange that it had not come to his lips sooner — that he had let her pass from him the evening before without being able to speak it.”

As I read the novel, the thought of how much more attainable their love would be if they were of lower class lingered in my mind. They are suffering due to the circumstances of their birth, yet these circumstances are the status that others, like Rosedale, dream of. Here, Wharton expresses the contradiction of Lily and Selden’s respective societal power and how it restricts their agency.

By highlighting the love of Lily and Selden, impossible only due to their social responsibilities, Wharton makes iy clear that happiness is not guaranteed by wealth or status.

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The steady backbone of the Natya Collective is our Adavu Meetups. Organized in collaboration with Param des Arts, the Adavu Meetups create space for dancers at McGill and across Montreal to meet weekly and practice with community. After securing a space through the Teesri Duniya Theatre Company, dancers from McGill and the greater Montreal area joined together to practice for two hours each week.

The first meetup was held on September 9, and we have covered a wide variety of material since then. Every session begins with individual warm-ups followed by an hour spent on group-led adavus. Adavus, in Bharatanatyam, are sets of basic steps that form the foundation of Bharatanatyam. We felt it important to return to foundational skills when creating a space for collective practice. The final hour is dedicated to learning; we covered the Alarippu (“flowering bud”), an introductory dance piece, as well as a couple of short footwork intensive pieces. Second semester has brought us new opportunities to expand the Adavu Meetups: this winter, the Natya Collective is excited to introduce monthly showcases. On the last meetup of each month, after covering warm-ups and adavus, the second half of practice is dedicated to watching one of our dancers perform. A big challenge for students and dancers alike when coming to a new city — as many students at McGill do — is finding the space to perform. We hope this new addition to our meetups will allow dancers to gain performance experience as they engage in community through art.

Recently, the Natya Collective has worked to connect McGill students with the greater Montreal community. Through an initiative organized in collaboration with the South Asian Women’s Community Center (SAWCC) and their South Asian Youth Collective (@say_collective on Instagram), the Natya Collective provides free dance classes for those using the center’s services and beyond. Dance classes, especially for forms deemed “classical,” are often inaccessible, and this initiative aims to make dance approachable and equitable. Through Bharatanatyam classes taught by student volunteers, the Natya Collective gives McGill students opportunities to contribute to their communities and gain teaching experience.

With a team of 12 student teachers and the guidance of established Montreal-based artists, the collective created a curriculum on the basics of Bharatanatyam, including basic dance steps, hand gestures, and facial expressions. Dance classes are hosted at Brique par Brique Community Center in the Parc Ex neighbourhood and reach a variety of communities. After hosting two successful workshops for beginners free of cost, the Natya Collective is expanding the project by bringing dance classes to multiple age groups at the SAWCC. We are now hosting a free six-week workshop, starting on February 15, engaging more student teachers, developing our curriculum, and reaching further communities.

Outside of the dance studio, the Natya Collective fosters deep connections among its members through Media Meet-Ups, a discussion space dedicated to dance history, its portrayal in media, and the social dynamics that have shaped its practice in the past and continue today. Dancers begin their dance journey for different reasons and explore their connection to the art form in various ways, which shape their unique relationships with it. These meet-ups provide a space for discourse, critical thinking, and knowledge-sharing, an essential part of engaging with a centuries-old tradition deeply intertwined with social and cultural dynamics. Topics like colonialism, casteism, musical theory, and philosophical influences are explored through podcasts, articles, and documentaries, allowing members to learn and reflect together. Since regular dance classes rarely have time to dive into these discussions, the meet-ups help fill that gap, offering a way for dancers to not only move but also engage intellectually and emotionally with the art form. More than just a space for learning, these gatherings unite dancers through shared curiosity, dialogue, and a deep love for dance.

The Natya Collective is excited about many upcoming projects, including a showcase in April spotlighting Bharatanatyam dancers at McGill. Through a small showcase, we plan to present five performers in a variety of solo and group pieces. Through this performance, the Natya Collective works to honour the passion McGill Bharatanatyam dancers have for dance and provide a stage for people to share their work with their communities while honing their performance skills. Stay tuned with our Instagram and Facebook group for more details about this exciting event.

For those interested in learning more about the Bharatanatyam, there are a plethora of resources, both online and Montreal-specific, to help you get started. The Natya Collective recommends the works of Nrithya Pillai — a dancer, dance composer, singer, writer, speaker, and dance instructor — who is a critical voice against casteism in the contemporary dance world; she is passionate about sharing both her hereditary practice and the history of Bharatnatyam (@nrithyapillai on Instagram). For those hoping to start dancing, we suggest the Navatman School, based in New York, which offers online Bharatanatyam classes to increase accessibility to learners from all around. Looking locally, Param des Arts is a non-profit dance organization that offers in-person events in Montreal. It provides a wonderful opportunity for artists, enthusiasts, volunteers, and students to get involved here on the island.

Stay connected with the Natya Collective! Find us on Instagram at @natyacollective and join our
Facebook group.

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“Fresh 2 Death” – Schwey
The grooviest band that ever graced Vancouver’s music scene, Schwey! Although they disbanded in 2022, they were known to play the warmest shows in the nicest parks of East Vancouver. “Fresh 2 Death” closes off their self-titled debut album on the sweetest note. The springy bass line drives the song while the retro keys steer it. They’ll make you “dance with the flow, wherever you go!” The record is best enjoyed front-to-back in an ambiently lit room.

“Sassy Stick Boy” – Godcaster
Brooklyn-based art-punk band Godcaster invented their incomparable sound from scratch. High-pitched vocals, flute and xylophone doubling, and imagery-heavy lyrics create a surprisingly dreamy atmosphere. Singer Judson Kolk must have been the first person in the universe to utter the words “Holographic matchstick marination” in one sentence – but it works! For an even stranger version, check out the live recording on their YouTube channel.

“Eating Hearts” – Toxe
Toxe is the project of Swedish producer and member of STAYCORE Collective Tove Agelii. This song comes from her newest album released in 2024, TOXE2. Her soft, almost whispery vocals in Swedish, paired with powerful club beats and an occasional harp riff make for a unique listening experience. The lyrics translate to, “You and I, it feels so good. Ask me, ask me, ask me to be yours.” How fitting for this season!

“Bigger Than An Ocean” – Go Sailor
Cuddlecore legend Rose Melberg has a perfect formula for indie-pop love songs and this song is no exception to it. Unlike the songs she wrote with Tiger Trap, Melberg tones down her riot-grrrl angst, instead honing into her “Softie” side. There’s no wonder one of their songs was used in the soundtrack of teen rom-com But I’m A Cheerleader!. Melberg’s voice is objectively the colour pink, even if you don’t have synesthesia. Listen to “Bigger Than An Ocean” while writing a letter to a loved one! It is guaranteed to somehow make your handwriting cuter.

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