Volume 114, Issue 15 | Monday, February 10, 2025 | mcgilldaily.com seductive since 1911
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On the Other Side of the Chatbot
n award-winning photograph is revealed to be AI-generated. An Oscar-nominated film is under flak for using generative AI in its making. More and more students are turning to intelligent chatbots like ChatGPT to complete assignments for them.
In recent years, generative AI has wormed itself into every aspect of our lives. This fusion has been two-sided: as OpenAI and other Big Tech companies continue to train their large language models (LLMs) on data collected from their user base, we have also been gradually integrating generative AI into our daily routines.
This parasitic relationship has progressed to the point where we find ourselves on the verge of being unable to separate human from machine. You can post a piece of artwork online and DALL-E could intake that piece and produce an imitation for a different user the next day. The production team behind The Brutalist used AI tools to intensify the Hungarian accents of its actors, as well as to generate drawings and buildings within the film. Among students at all levels, chatbots like ChatGPT have grown in use and, in some cases, have become directly involved in academics. Egregiously, AI has infiltrated even the most intimate human interactions, with online dating platforms now crawling with scammers disguised behind stolen avatars and honey-tongued chatbots.
Recent years have proven that the dangers of artificial intelligence are not restricted to stolen artist credit, academic dishonesty, and catfished date-seekers. Globally, the AI revolution has sent shockwaves rocketing through environmental and sociopolitical spheres.
Artificial intelligence has a well-hidden but significant ecological footprint. Most models of generative AI, such as OpenAI’s flagship ChatGPT-4o, require large volumes of computing power in order to operate.
This exorbitant use of computing power consumes substantial quantities of electricity. On average, having ChatGPT answer a query uses up to ten times as much electricity as the corresponding Google search. Goldman Sachs predicts that “data center power demand will grow 160 per cent by 2030,” contributing to a third of all new American electricity demand from 2022 to 2030. Additionally, these data centers require large quantities of water to cool down. A University of California Riverside study found that entering as little as ten queries into ChatGPT will make a data centre consume roughly half a litre of water.
These numbers grow once the scale of generative AI’s user base is taken into account. A 2023 report by the United States Department of Energy revealed that across America, data centers consumed 66 billion litres of water annually, over three times as much water than the 21.2 billion litres consumed in 2014. This comes as climate change fuels droughts, wildfires, and extreme temperatures across the world — in California, for instance, where Silicon Valley and many of Big Tech’s data centers are located.
In the sociopolitical dimension, AI has entrenched itself as a tool for disseminating disinformation and serving authoritarian and imperial agendas. According to researchers from Google, Duke University, and multiple fact-checking organizations, AI-generated or -manipulated images have rapidly grown in frequency to become one of the most prominent forms of false information today. Even credible organizations have resorted to such means: Amnesty International came under fire in 2021 after publishing AI-generated photos as “evidence” of police brutality in Colombia. Similarly, law enforcement agencies have begun consulting AI in criminal investigations
without regard for personal privacy. For instance, both Canadian and American law enforcement have used AI facial recognition to identify suspects, as reported by the WashingtonPostand the CBC
Most worrying of all is the militarization of AI. The genocide in Gaza could be considered the first true AI-powered war, with the Israeli military employing artificial intelligence on an industrial scale to identify and kill Palestinians. Publically, the IDF has admitted to using an AI targeting system called Habsora (“The Gospel”) to “produce targets at a fast pace” among buildings and structures supposedly used by Palestinian militants. Aviv Kochavi, former head of the IDF, has boasted about the Israeli military intelligence’s “Matrix-like capabilities,” with these systems reportedly first finding use in Israel’s May 2021 bombing campaign on Gaza.
An investigation by +972 Magazine and Local Call revealed that the IDF also deployed additional systems called “Lavender” and “Where’s Daddy” during the Gaza genocide. Officially, Lavender was designed to “mark all suspected operatives in the military wings of Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ), including low-ranking ones, as potential bombing targets.” Little to no follow-up was given to Lavender’s targets, with military officials treating each of the AI’s outputs “as if it were a human decision.” Up to 37,000 Palestinians could have been directly targeted in such a manner, with the IDF authorizing the AI to permit “15 or 20 civilians” to be killed for every “junior operative,” and “more than 100 civilians in the assassination of a single commander.” Afterward, “Where’s Daddy” was used to identify whenever targets selected by Lavender had entered their family homes, in order to kill the entire family in a single airstrike. These abominations are powered by the very tech companies that bring us our AI chatbots. The Israeli armed forces rely on Microsoft for IT services, with this dependence deepening significantly since late 2023. Microsoft cloud platform Azure is used by military intelligence agencies such the infamous Unit 8200, attributed as the developer of Lavender. OpenAI tools like ChatGPT “accounted for a quarter of the military’s consumption of machine learning tools provided by Microsoft” at one point in 2024. This follows in the footsteps of OpenAI’s removal of its restrictions on military use of ChatGPT in January of last year. At this rate, AI-powered systems are poised to become the literal conveyor belts in the butcher houses of imperial wars.
Here at McGill, though, none of these horrors seem to have settled in. The university has recently touted a “secure version of Microsoft Copilot” specifically tailored for academic use, complete with a handy MyCourses module for students to learn how to use the generative AI “safely, productively, and responsibly.” The very same Microsoft that has been offering its services to a bloodthirsty apartheid state. The very same GPT trained on our user data so that it can be used by Israel to murder Palestinians.
What safety, we ask, when police agencies chip away at our fundamental rights in their AI-powered investigations? What productivity, when Big Tech companies gobble up resources and personal data in their artificial intelligence frenzies? What responsibility, when AI systems have fuelled the first televised genocide in history?
On the other side of the chatbot is not just a machine, but an equally soulless imperial system that perpetuates cycles of inequality, oppression, and violence. It is more critical than ever to reject this dystopian reality, and latch onto what makes us human: our creativity, our diversity, and our empathy.
Montreal Celebrates Lunar New Year
Downtown festivities usher in the Year of the Snake
Adair Nelson News Editor
January 29 saw the first new moon of 2025, marking the beginning of Lunar New Year and ringing in the Year of the Snake. The 15-day celebration, ending on the first full moon on February 12, is full of festivities and rich in tradition: symbolizing new opportunities, welcoming prosperity, and reminding us of the importance of family. From Mile End to Old Port, Montreal’s Asian communities have organized festivities across the island to celebrate this year’s new beginning.
For many Asian Montrealers, Lunar New Year is a way to celebrate their heritage. The festivities keep Asian culture alive in Montreal and exhibit their contributions to the city’s rich cultural fabric.
Celebrations kicked off on January 29 with a festival in Montreal’s Chinatown. Despite low temperatures, attendees braved the cold to witness a performance by members of The Montreal Chan Lions Dance Club in Sun-Yat Sen Park. Amidst the snow, dancers performed the lion dance to the pound of drums, kicking off Lunar New Year with a symbolic usheringin of prosperity and good luck.
The largest celebration to bring in the Year of the Snake took place over Saturday, February 1, and Sunday, February 2. Described as one of the most important annual events for Montreal’s Chinatown, the Lunar New Year festival brought over 30 community organizations together — highlighting the strength and unity of Montreal’s East Asian communities.
The weekend’s main event took place on Saturday, February 1, with a parade organized down RenéLévesque Boulevard. Coordinated by the City of Montreal, the MURAL festival team, and the Asian Night
Market, Montreal’s Lunar New Year parade is one of Canada’s largest. Hundreds of onlookers gathered in Chinatown to celebrate the holiday, witnessing events including the lion dance, the dragon dance, and waist drum performances by local Chinese dance and performance collectives.
Art installations by local artists –giant lanterns, inflatable snakes, and sparkling archways – decorated the neighbourhood. From 11:00am to 5:00pm, spectators and performers alike embodied the optimistic spirit of Lunar New Year in a festive display of cultural expression.
Winston Chan, an organizing member of the Montreal Lunar New Year Festival Committee, stated in an interview with CityNews that the parade “gave a soul back to Chinatown” in bringing communities together to celebrate a year of wisdom, prosperity, and innovation. Over 30 community organizations were present at the event, partnering to enrich the celebration.
Festivities lasted throughout the weekend. Sunday brought more dance performances, as well as music and martial arts.
Large crowds livened Chinatown amidst the cold of winter, bringing renewed waves of foot traffic to local restaurants and businesses.
This year’s Lunar New Year holds a special significance to Montreal’s Vietnamese community, as they commemorate 50 years since the arrival of Vietnamese refugees in Canada through a celebration of resilience and cultural identity. After the end of the Vietnam War, Canada accepted nearly 200,000 refugees between 1975 and 1990, mainly Vietnamese citizens whose lives had been uprooted and jeopardized in the wake of the US-driven civil war.
Many of these initial immigrants settled in the Montreal region
beginning in the mid-1970s. While Canada provided support to East Asian refugees, community was essential in rebuilding and keeping Vietnamese culture alive.
Montreal’s Vietnamese community celebrated Lunar New Year with the Têt Festival on January 19. Charles Nguyen, spokesperson of the Vietnamese Community in Canada-Montreal region, shared in an interview with CityNews that the celebration embodies what it means to be Vietnamese in Canada: being with family and friends, to “come together and celebrate over a great meal, reflect on the past year, and wish each other good luck.” The event featured musical performances, cultural dances, and lots of food, as well as expositions on the rich
Auden Akinc | Visuals Contributor
history of Vietnamese communities in Quebec.
McGill student organizations have also scheduled festivities throughout the duration of the holiday. McGill’s Vietnamese Student Association celebrated Têt on Saturday, February 1 in the SSMU ballroom. The event was full of traditional Vietnamese art and entertainment, as well as delicious food. The event was a chance to celebrate Lunar New Year with students of diverse backgrounds and interests, coming together for an afternoon of community and culture. Students celebrated on Thursday, February 6 at the Lunar New Year Festival presented by The McGill Chinese Students’ Society (MCSS), McGill’s Malaysian and Singaporean Students’ Association
The CAQ’s Bill 84 Integration or alienation?
(MASSA), McGill Taiwanese Student Association (MTSA), McGill Koreans’ Educational and Cultural Association (MECA), Hong Kong Student Network McGill (HKSN), and the Concordia Canadian Asian Society (CCAS). Activities included games from across cultures, artmaking workshops, and music and dance performances, supplemented by a wide array of food and desserts. As Lunar New Year comes to a close, we can remain optimistic about the Year of the Snake and all that it will bring. Through celebrations of culture and community, Montreal’s Asian communities continue to show us Lunar New Year’s importance. The Daily wishes you all a safe new year full of luck, wisdom, and transformation!
Nika Nikento News Contributor
On January 30, the Coalition Avenir Quebec put forward Bill 84 which intends to establish a new integration model of newcomers to Quebec society, with the goal of prioritizing the preservation of Quebec culture, values and language.
This bill would require an amendment to the Quebec Charter of Rights and Freedoms, with the goal of moving the province away from Canada’s multicultural model towards an interculturalist one. As opposed to the federal multicultural model, which, according to Roberge, does not encourage enough unity under one
national identity, Quebec would turn towards a model which is more in line with Quebec’s distinct culture and provincial identity.
With a significant emphasis on the integration of newcomers, this bill will focus on promoting values such as gender equality, secularism, and civil law traditions as “vector[s] for social cohesion.” Immigration, Francization and Integration Minister, JeanFrançois Roberge, has criticized the federally-endorsed multiculturalist model for creating conditions amenable to cultural “ghettos,” that is a society divided into groups that are “not interested” in values of the Quebec society. The goal of the bill is therefore to create a cohesive society with a unifying set
of cultural and social values.
Roberge stated that this bill would enact “mechanisms to ensure” the “moral duty” of newcomers to integrate and adhere to Quebec culture.
That said, what these mechanisms will be, how cultural adherence will be determined, according to what standards, and by whom, all remain questions to which Roberge cannot yet provide an answer.
One example he provided as to the enforcement of this bill would be the removal of the annual funding granted to organizations and cultural events if they do not adhere to the principles established by the bill. Events that, in his proposal, would continue
to benefit from this funding would be those that are open to different ethnicities, and feature artists who would perform “well-known Quebec songs.” He remarked that Quebec culture is “more than just poutine.”
This bill comes at a time when the CAQ is not only lagging behind in polls, but also at a time when the very resources that help the integration of immigrants, like Francization programs, have been downsized, leaving many newcomers without the possibility of learning French. The same can be said of the measures meant to encourage contact with Quebec culture. For instance, free museum entry on the first Sunday of every month has been discontinued.
The Quebec Community Groups Network (QCGN) has expressed its concern over the vagueness of the bill, while The National Council of Canadian Muslims has stated that the bill is a “troubling piece of legislation that is designed to force minorities to conform to a very narrow vision of Quebec culture.” It remains to be seen how this proposed bill will fare in the upcoming months. Already it has been subject to great skepticism and criticism as to its viability and vagueness – especially regarding the manner in which it will be enforced. Roberge stated that it is too soon to share precise details, since his priority is to first pass the bill.
Situationships and the End of Labels
How McGill students navigate love without commitment
Lisa Banti News Contributor
It’s a Friday night at Gerts.
The music is loud, drinks are cheap, and the air is thick with the kind of excitement that only comes when midterms are finally over. Two friends sit across from each other, one gripping a pint of beer like it holds the answer to all of life’s problems. “So … are you guys, like, together?” one of them asks. A beat of silence follows, then a deep inhale — the kind that signals the arrival of a carefully worded, noncommittal response:
“I mean … we hang out a lot. We text every day. We’ve met each other’s friends. But I wouldn’t say we’re dating.”
What does that even mean?
In 2025, defining a relationship isn’t as simple as it used to be — especially among university students. Instead, more and more students are finding themselves in “situationships” — romantic connections that don’t quite fit into a traditional relationship but aren’t casual enough to be considered nothing. This inbetween state, where expectations are unclear and labels are avoided, has become a defining feature of Gen Z’s dating culture.
But is this shift simply a reflection of changing values, or are students becoming emotionally exhausted by contemporary life’s constant uncertainty?
What is a situationship?
The word itself is a modern invention, but the concept is nothing new. A situationship is essentially a romantic or sexual relationship that lacks clear labels, expectations, or commitments. It exists in the grey area between friendship and official partnership — something that feels like a relationship, but doesn’t come with the same level of commitment. Unlike the classic “talking stage,” which is supposed to progress into something more, situationships can stretch on indefinitely, existing in a state of perpetual emotional limbo.
Pop culture has played a major role in normalizing this dating trend. Songs by artists like Olivia Rodrigo, SZA, and Taylor Swift capture the frustrations of undefined relationships, while TikTok trends embrace “It’s Not That Deep” culture, where
emotional detachment is framed as empowering. Meanwhile, dating apps like Hinge and Tinder have made it easier than ever to keep swiping for the next best option, reinforcing the idea that commitment is unnecessary when new people are always within reach. As a result, situationships have become less of an anomaly and more of an expected reality in university dating culture.
Why are situationships so common at McGill?
For many students, the lack of clear labels isn’t necessarily a bad thing — it’s a way to maintain flexibility without feeling tied down. University is a time of intense academic and personal growth, and committing to a relationship can feel like an added pressure rather than a source of support. Some students view relationships as a distraction, something that might interfere with their studies, social lives, or post-graduation plans. Others worry that defining a relationship too early could ruin the natural flow of things, leading them to keep things ambiguous for as long as possible.
Another major factor is hookup culture and the rise of casual dating. While McGill isn’t as party-driven as some other universities, the “no-stringsattached” attitude still influences how students approach romance.
The convenience of dating apps makes it easy to meet people, but it also fosters a paradox of choice — why settle down when there are always more options?
Ghosting, slow fades, and mixed signals have become common, reinforcing a culture where uncertainty is the norm.
But while situationships offer freedom and flexibility, they can also leave people feeling emotionally drained. Some students, however, say they work — as long as both people know what to expect. One student explained that they were currently in a situationship, describing how it allowed them to balance connection and independence.
“We’ve been seeing each other on and off for a few months. It’s nice because I don’t have time for a relationship but still crave intimacy and connection. It works because we have the same expectations for our situation, so we are able to enjoy each
other’s presence while knowing that there’s no commitment — for now.”
Still, not everyone is convinced that situationships are worth the trouble. For some, they’re just a form of self-inflicted heartbreak waiting to happen.
“I’m in a situationship right now,” one student shared. “I know we like each other, but every time I bring up defining things, they get weird about it. So I just pretend I don’t care, but honestly, it sucks.”
The emotional toll: is this actually what students want?
At first glance, situationships might seem like an easy, lowrisk alternative to traditional relationships. But many students admit that the lack of commitment creates more stress than it relieves. One student reflected on their personal experience, saying:
“My experience with situationships has been one of precarity. I find that they never end well. You go into them knowing that you might get hurt, but take the risk anyway, in the hopes that maybe it might become something more serious.”
Psychologists have found that ambiguity in relationships can lead to increased anxiety, as people are left constantly secondguessing where they stand. The fear of seeming “too needy” or “too intense” prevents many students from expressing their true
Nikhila Shanker | Visuals Editor
feelings, resulting in a dynamic where no one is fully honest, but everyone is emotionally invested.
This emotional limbo can be exhausting. Students in situationships often act like they’re in relationships. They go on dates, text constantly, and rely on each other for emotional support — but they don’t receive the security that comes with commitment. This can lead to confusion, jealousy, and even heartbreak; especially when one person inevitably wants more than the other is willing to give.
Some students describe it as a slow, inevitable disappointment, where they try to convince themselves they’re okay with casual dating, only to realize too late that they wanted something more.
One student put it more bluntly: “Don’t do them. Unless you’re super bored and heartbroken.”
The future of love at McGill: a shift back to relationships?
Despite the prevalence of situationships, there are signs that Gen Z is slowly moving back toward more serious relationships. Studies show that, following the pandemic, young people are tired of casual flings, with many craving deeper emotional connections. The exhaustion of constantly navigating undefined relationships has led some students to reject hookup culture in favor of something more meaningful.
Maybe the reality is somewhere in between. Love isn’t disappearing — it’s just being rewritten.
At McGill, this shift is visible in the growing frustration that students express with situationships. Some are actively choosing to avoid them altogether, prioritizing emotional clarity over fleeting excitement. Others are still engaging in them, but with a critical awareness of their limitations. “I used to think situationships were fun,” a student admitted. “Now, I just think they’re a waste of time. If someone isn’t sure about me, I don’t want to waste my energy trying to convince them.”
So, is the end of labels here to stay, or is it just a phase? Maybe the reality is somewhere in between. Love isn’t disappearing — it’s just being rewritten. The way McGill students approach dating today might be different from previous generations, but at the core of it all, people still want the same things: connection, honesty, and the certainty that they matter to someone else.
“David Lynch, 2008” by Gabriel Marchi. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 License at https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/.
How Does David Lynch Film a Dream?
Two perspectives on the director’s passing
Sukey Ptashnik, Eren Atac Features Contributors
Sukey Ptashnik: David Lynch, an enigmatic filmmaker, died on January 15, 2025. David Lynch’s passing was not only a huge loss for his many fans, but also for actors and film industry people who worked with him. Numerous well-known actors have expressed their grief over this loss on social media, sharing how David Lynch impacted their lives personally and talking about his unique character. Kyle MacLachlan wrote in an Instagram post: “I will miss my dear friend. He has made my world – all of our worlds – both wonderful and strange.” Kyle MacLachlan starred in a number of David Lynch roles, including that of Agent Dale Cooper on Twin Peaks (1990-1991) and Paul Atreides in Dune (1984), to name a couple. Strangeness and ambiguity aren’t the only constants within Lynch’s work. There is also a strong sense of loyalty between the director, cast, and crew. Kyle MacLachlan, Sheryl Lee, Jack Nance, Naomi Watts are just a few of the actors who consistently appear in his films. The lovely messages online
from actors and collaborators are very telling of Lynch’s character, as is their apparent eagerness to work with him in multiple projects. He was special to fans and to those within the industry.
In my interview with Chris Alexander, a fellow filmmaker and artist, he had much to say about David Lynch: who he was as a person, as well as the unique artistry of his work. We covered several of Lynch’s films – those that seemed to have the biggest impact on Alexander – including The Elephant Man (1980), Blue Velvet (1986), W ild at Heart (1990), Eraserhead (1977), as well as his hit TV series, Twin Peaks. Alexander pointed out that Lynch often incorporated aspects of reality into his work while depicting them in strange and ambiguous ways (referring to Eraserhead): “Here we have this insane movie … at its core about fatherhood and the anxieties surrounding fatherhood presented in such a fucking insane way.” When asked about how Lynch left his mark on the industry itself, Alexander stated, “I think he has managed to affect the film industry, change the way so many people watch movies, receive movies. He is an artist
to his heart. When he was not making movies, he was making furniture, or painting pictures, or releasing records. He had to create. But everything he did was incredibly singular. He never sold out. He always made stipulations to sugar-coat his
“In a world where we are taught to fear – where our instincts are to avoid things that are different, foreign, and weird – Lynch strived to embrace it.
weirdness for the mainstream, but he never bent.” Like many gifted artists, Lynch had a compulsion to create and never worried about catering to anyone if it meant changing his style and not remaining
true to himself. This was a huge part of his appeal. “He was always true to himself. He never wavered from who he was as an artist. And yet he managed again to change the system from within, to affect the mainstream, and never, ever sold out to the suits.”
Alexander further talked about the intricacies that set Lynch aside from other experimental directors: “To watch Lynch’s movies, sometimes it bypasses the intellect and goes right to the guts. You feel it. You viscerally respond to it. And a lot of it has to do with elemental imagery.” Lynch was known for his over-the-top creative choices that oftentimes were grotesque with seemingly no rhyme or reason. His use of music was fascinating. It could seem contradictory even; for instance, the girl with the ethereal voice juxtaposed by the gritty Twin Peaks biker bar. And yet, it worked. Alexander further discussed how Lynch’s death personally impacted him as an artist: “It’s almost like an eraser of your past because everything you grew up with, the magic in your life, starts to deplete, and you have to really train yourself to look elsewhere for the magic. But
with Lynch’s passing, it really felt different than many of the great artists and thinkers we know.” Lynch’s unique style and artistry genuinely reflected his character. He didn’t just love to create – he absolutely had to, and he did it in a true, real way. In a world where we are taught to fear – where our instincts are to avoid things that are different, foreign, and weird –Lynch strived to embrace it. He was a man with an open mind and heart who was not afraid to show it. David Lynch was a true artist who left a lasting mark on the film industry and on many individuals. He was weird, and we love him for it.
Eren
Atac: My first experience with a David Lynch film was the nightmarish Eraserhead, his 1977 feature-length debut. Attempts at explaining this film’s plot are famously futile – more important is the feeling it evokes. For me, it was pure disorientation. I was lost; I didn’t know what was happening, what to think, or how to feel. I felt like I had been led down several tangled,
unmarked paths, each leading to an indescribable somewhere.
Lynch’s films are all like that. They bring you into the dark; they try to show you what you can’t see. Inevitably, they lose you. And yet, once the credits roll, you feel a shift towards clarity. Through a descent into the unknown, you become immersed in your unique sense of being. That is the essence of a dream. Wading in the muddled corners of consciousness, those other places our waking selves don’t get to see. When you wake from a dream, you simultaneously experience the return to one self and the loss of another. That is, we trade one self for another every time we wake up. Lynch embraced that fear: he wanted to show us the other place. He wanted us to dream.
When I think of dreams put to screen, I think of Mulholland Drive (2001). It follows aspiring actress Betty Elms (Naomi Watts) and mysterious amnesiac Rita (Laura Harring) as they try to find their way in an unfamiliar Los Angeles. Numerous disjointed vignettes point to some hidden truth that is never entirely revealed, ultimately prodding at the insidious underbelly of America’s entertainment industry. Betty gets off the plane alongside a friendly elderly couple who welcome her to Los Angeles and assure her of imminent success in her acting pursuits. After she leaves them, the film jumps to a scene of them in a limousine… smiling. Not casually smiling as you’d imagine, but intently, silently grinning as they stare into the distance. This is one of many scenes that warp a familiar situation just enough for deep unrest to permeate. Something is slightly awry, like in a dream. The whole film feels fuzzy, like how your eyes are out of focus moments after waking up.
This quality envelopes Mulholland Drive . It lends it an unreality that serves both absurd humour and cosmic horror. Like any dream, Mulholland Drive is fluent in both of these languages. It oscillates between them, containing some of the funniest and most terrifying moments I’ve seen in a film. The dichotomy of absurdism and horror is a common theme in Lynch’s works, and he often uses it to make us question reality.
The 1990s murder mystery show Twin Peaks is perhaps David Lynch’s most famous work. Like Mulholland Drive, it uses a harsh juxtaposition of humour and horror to expose the terrifying realities we live with but do not acknowledge. The show begins after the isolated mountain town of Twin Peaks
is shaken by the death of homecoming queen and local sweetheart Laura Palmer. Idiosyncratic FBI agent Dale Cooper is assigned to the case, and his investigation uncovers supernatural truths. Both tonally and stylistically scattered, Twin Peaks contains extreme moments of psychological horror and violence mixed in with a (by-design) cheesy teen soap opera. The use of horror to punctuate the moments of whimsy provides a glimpse into the show’s ultimate goal: to expose the lie of the American dream.
On the surface, Twin Peaks is an idyllic mountain paradise straight from a postcard. However, once the layers are peeled back, the disgusting undergrowth of American life reveals itself. This is accentuated by Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (1992), a prequel film that depicts the tragic events that led
“That is, we trade one self for another every time we wake up. Lynch embraced that fear: he wanted to show us the other place. He wanted us to dream. ”
to Laura’s death. It is an unabashedly scathing critique of idealistic America; the once-picturesque town of Twin Peaks is reduced to a desolate wasteland of parking lots, trailer parks, and suburban sprawl. This reflects the experience of Laura, who was ultimately failed by the cookie-cutter American experience. These themes are explored throughout Lynch’s work, including films like Blue Velvet and Eraserhead , which examine the horror beneath mundanity.
Beyond surreal horror, David Lynch was also capable of realistic and highly compassionate films. The Elephant Man captures this side of him better than any other work. The film is a biopic of Joseph “John” Merrick, a man who lived in 19th-century London and suffered from severe physical deformities due to an unknown
medical condition. Merrick was exhibited in a freak show as “The Elephant Man” until he met an esteemed doctor and was housed permanently at the London Hospital. The Elephant Man forgoes Lynch’s signature surrealism, instead opting to tell a humanistic story of a gentle soul who endured immense mistreatment and pain. It captures both extremes of human suffering and compassion as John Merrick learns what it means to be known, to be loved, and to have your heart be full. The Elephant Man is a testament to Lynch’s versatility as a filmmaker. He knew brutality and compassion, imminent realities, and indescribable dreams. He understood every extreme and portrayed them with respect for the inevitable humanity at the core. He had a way of realizing distilled ideas on the screen like no one else.
In his book Catching the Big Fish (2006), he wrote: “I believe that if you sit quietly, like you’re fishing, you will catch ideas. The real, you know, beautiful, big ones swim kinda deep down there so you
have to be very quiet, and you know, wait for them to come along… So, you get an idea and it is like a seed. And in your mind the idea is seen and felt and it explodes like it’s got electricity and light connected to it. And it has all the images and the feeling. And it’s like in an instant you know the idea, in an instant…”
David Lynch passed away on January 15, 2025. He was 78 years old.
His age, debilitating emphysema, and relative inactivity over the past seven years had marked an evident slowdown in his career, but his death shook me nonetheless. To me and many other fans, David Lynch was a myth – a cloudy form like smoke. But the haze eventually drifts away, and we inevitably wake from our dreams. That’s how I process David Lynch’s death. His being has dissipated into the atmosphere and gone somewhere we can’t know. As his Twin Peaks co-creator Mark Frost said, “The man from another place has gone home.”
“To me and many other fans, David Lynch was a myth – a cloudy form like smoke. But the haze eventually drifts away, and we inevitably wake from our dreams. ”
An Interview with Aquil Virani: McGill Daily Illustrator to Artist for Peace Award Winner
How Virani’s latest work, The Memoir Project, says we all have a story
Clark Features Contributor
Earlier this week, I interviewed McGill alumnus and visual artist Aquil Virani over the phone. A decade earlier, Virani had been “escorted out” of the same spot by a security guard who claimed that painting was a “misuse of the library.” He’d been working on his exhibition Copycat, which is now on display in the Leacock building.
Since graduating with a degree in Marketing and Philosophy in 2012, Virani has had exhibitions in Galerie Mile End, Centre Culturel Islamique de Québec, the Art Gallery of Ontario, the Royal Ontario Museum, as well as several online exhibitions. His most recent work, The Memoir Project, is a series of 34 book covers designed using the public’s responses to the prompt: “What would the title of your imaginary memoir be?”
The following interview
has been shortened and edited for clarity.
Amelia H. Clark for The McGill Daily (MD): My first question is, do you have any favorite titles and covers?
Aquil Virani (AV): That’s a little bit like choosing between your children, but the one that stands out to me was, Oops: A Memoir, just because it’s such a short title and it’s vague enough that it could mean a lot of things, and yet it has so much character.
I did, in fact, choose one for myself, which I wouldn’t say mine was my favorite, but I did choose a title for myself that was Aquil Verani: Drawing, Connections. That’s part of the fun of the project and what makes it interesting is that each of the titles are interesting, both in terms of what people choose to depict about themselves, to share about themselves, and just the different ways you can go about it right. You could do a funny one, or you could do, like a really descriptive, very telling one,
short or long. And so you know that that was very fun in terms of gathering the titles, one of the most fun parts of the process.
MD: One question I would have is why did you direct this question to the public instead of friends or family?
AV: I was interested in responses from the public in general to kind of imply that we all have a story, no matter who we are. So in asking anyone “what would the title of your memoir be?” you’re kind of implying that everyone has a story, not just my friends and family. That is, whoever would see that question has a story worth telling. I don’t think just my friends have interesting stories. I think everyone does.
MD: McGill isn’t really known for its visual arts programs, and yet it does produce graduates like you who succeed as working visual artists. When you were at McGill, what was your creative outlet?
AV: Both visual art and graphic design. There are pros and cons that I constantly think about
whether or not I should have gone to art school, but I really appreciated being at McGill because of a few reasons. Number one is the people you meet, right? The people I met in my years at McGill I wouldn’t have met if I went to art school. Both the specific people, of course, but also the diversity of different intellects, different subject areas, and so on.
You know, I had friends in Engineering, in Arts, in Science and so on, which I don’t think happens as much at art school. The other thing is that being in an environment like McGill is very stimulating in a certain way, and because there aren’t a lot of visual artists or graphic designers around compared to art school, you’re given a lot of latitude to experiment and try stuff in an environment where there’s not so much pressure because there’s a million other artists all better than you, right? There’s kind of a freedom and a latitude given, because it’s not an art school,
“ You’re
given a lot of latitude to experiment and try stuff in an environment where there’s not so much pressure because there’s a million other artists all better than you.
”
right? So I actually think that helped me a lot in looking back.
MD: You still have a bunch of artwork in McGill right now, including your exhibition
Amelia
Courtesy of Aquil Virani
Copycat, which I believe you made when you were a student?
AV: Correct! I did two exhibitions as a McGill student. The first one was pronounced “mind fuck”, spelled M, I, N, D, S, C, U, K, and it was in the art lounge in the basement of Leacock. Because I couldn’t find
glad I did it,” or to look at work I did and say “That is actually still in line with work I’m making 10 years later.” There’s work that is participatory, or that integrated public participation, and that’s the work I’m still doing. So it’s cool to look back and feel, even as, you know, an 86 year old, I’ll
“ I was good at math and sciences as a kid and in high school, but I always had this sense that being an artist will make me the happiest, regardless of what that lifestyle implies financially. I told myself as an undergrad, I’d rather be sure about happiness and make the money work, then be sure about the money and make the happiness work. ”
any other solo art show done by a McGill student in my research, I marketed it as the first ever solo art show at McGill. Looking back, I wouldn’t do that now, but back then I thought that was a fun idea, and I made sure to not spell the F, C, U, K, so I wouldn’t be in trouble by McGill administration putting posters up.
And then there was Copycat, which was more actually in line with the work I have continued to do, that is to say participatory or collaborative artwork that, in a way, integrates or empowers participation.
MD: The work you did at McGill; What did it mean to you then, and what does it mean to you now?
AV: I’m very lucky and privileged to still be a practicing visual artist. And part of that gratitude I have is to be able to look back at work I made and see one of two things; It’s like, “Oh, that was really early experimental stuff I don’t do anymore, but I’m
still be interested in that since it’s kind of baked into the cake of my personality; and maybe that’s why I was interested in it then and why I’m still interested in it now.
MD: Have you always kind of had that sense, even when you were a kid?
AV: I grew up in Surrey, it’s like the Brampton of Vancouver. And so, a large majority of my friends were Punjabi, that is to say, either sikh or not sikh, so it’s a very particular upbringing because it’s a lot of second generation kids, right? Our parents came here to Canada, and now we’re growing up watching hockey and playing street hockey, and our parents don’t understand why we’re watching hockey, but they’re happy for us, you know, even though they don’t get it.
MD: And were your parents encouraging of your art?
AV: Oh, on the whole I would say yes. I think there was a bit of pressure to become a lawyer
like, “Oh, I’m still on track.” It’s a different feeling. It’s like I’ve reached the midway point of the trail, as opposed to earlier on when you’re like, “Where’s the trail? I haven’t seen anyone. I think I’m alone. It’s getting darker, and my flashlight is out, and I’m a little scared that I’m not even on the trail.” Whereas now because I’ve lived through those years it’s like, “Oh, I’m still on the trail.” So, it’s a little less nerve wracking these days.
MD : Did your experience at McGill shape the artist you are today?
dynamics at play.
MD: I completely agree with what you mean about the vibe at the McGill Daily and the other student papers. It’s really nice to just be around other people who are as into it as you are.
or to become an actuary. I was good at math and sciences as a kid and in high school, but I always had this sense that being an artist will make me the happiest, regardless of what that lifestyle implies financially. I told myself as an undergrad, I’d rather be sure about happiness and make the money work, then be sure about the money and make the happiness work.
MD: I think that’s totally the only direction to go, and especially telling considering things have worked out very well. I saw that you’ve won quite a few awards. How does it feel to receive such recognition for your work?
AV : I’m filled with gratitude at any kind of external validation of my work. Basically it’s an organization saying, “we like what you’re doing, keep going.” That’s how I see it. It’s sort of like institutional cheerleading, almost. And in line with those awards and with getting older and becoming a bit more assured in what you’re doing, the meaning of awards morph or change a little bit. Like when you’re on a hike and you see markers on a tree, a pink ribbon. When you’re younger you see the markers on the trees, and you’re like, “Oh, I’m on track.” Whereas, as you get older, it’s
AV: Okay, two quick answers, and then maybe a longer one. Number one, definitely yes. My years at McGill were formative in the development of my personality and my political values. They were formative in the friends I made. Attending McGill, for me, was like going to class with a bunch of people who are smarter than you no matter what, and so you’re just there to make such good friends with just about everyone who’s smarter than you. That’s very formative; both in terms of getting to know different people with different backgrounds and different life experiences, and I think it’s humbling. I think personally higher education humbles people because you’re like “I am in this context where I am a student by definition, that means I have something to learn from others, not only profs, but TAs, not only TAs, but other students,” right? You’re in a learning mindset which breeds humility,
The other thing I’ll say when I talk about my politicization is that I illustrated for the McGill Daily. When I think back to my days with the McGill Daily, it was not only really nice to be around a bunch of other illustrators, and engaged with the world around you in the way that being a student journalist or being interested in the news does is.
But, I also think that I learned a lot in discussions with friends about how everything is political, and about the different power
AV: Totally, I learned Photoshop from working at the Daily and so when you talk about formative years it’s like, how would I become an artist and graphic designer if I didn’t initially learn the basics of Photoshop as a Daily illustrator? That’s scary to think about. Maybe I’d have become a textile artist or something. Whatever time I wasn’t spending at the Daily I actually would join the crocheting club and get really into that.
There’s something, and I’m not gonna toot the horn of student journalists because I’m biased, but there’s something about wanting to learn about the world around you, and making other people’s problems your problems, that I think engaging with the news does. Reading the news and caring about what’s happening in the world forces you, in a way, to be a citizen in the world and help shape the world you want to see.
“ Reading the news and caring about what’s happening in the world forces you, in a way, to be a citizen in the world and help shape the world you want to see. ”
Courtesy of Aquil Virani
Courtesy of Aquil Virani
Isabella Lim Culture Contributor
In case you aren’t aware, that’s not what MILF actually means.
The actual acronym alludes to something much more sinister.
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 TheGuardianand 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].”
Man I Love Films (MILFs)
Do we love MILFs, or just the idea 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 TheNewYorker 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 Pulitzerwinning 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 EverywhereAllAtOnce(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). TheSubstance (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.
Book Reviews
The House of Mirth by Edith Walton
Maya Law Culture Contributor
Our Book Review column is where anyone can submit a review of what they’re reading, past, present, or future.
“ And in the silence there passed between them the word which made all clear.”
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, upand-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.
Deep Cuts
Have you heard these sweet, sweet tunes?
Mia Duddy-Hayashibara Culture Contributor
Welcome to Deep Cuts, a column that focuses on bringing you underground sounds that you’ve never heard before.
“Me & You” - Carlton & The Shoes Carlton & The Shoes are early lovers rock and reggae legends from Jamaica. In the 70’s, lead singer Carlton Manning travelled to London to work with “The Crown Prince of Reggae,” Dennis Brown. Their music undoubtedly influenced the lovers rock wave in 90’s London. Songs from the album Love Me Forever first gained success in the late ‘60s but are making a comeback again in vinyl DJs’ crates. “Me & You” is an especially sweet song. It is perfectly laid back, making for an easy listen!
“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 selftitled 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.
Bharatanatyam and Community
Introducing the Natya Collective
Aishwarya Heran, Arushi Mukherji, Abi Maria Thomas Culture Contributors
In the spring of 2024, the Natya Collective was founded by a group of students who wanted to create a space to celebrate Bharatanatyam. Bharatanatyam is a widely practiced dance form that originated in Tamil Nadu. It is not just a practice, but a means of artistic expression, cultural connection, and self-discovery. The Natya Collective began as a place where people could learn, explore, and engage with Bharatanatyam together, and it quickly expanded to connect with the greater Montreal community. Through partnerships with local organizations such as Param des Arts (montrealparam. ca) the South Asian Women’s Community Center (sawcc-ccfsa. ca), and Teesri Duniya Theatre Company (teesriduniyatheatre. com), the collective aims to make Bharatanatyam more accessible and inclusive. Whether through weekly dance workshops, performance viewings, discussion circles, or teaching, the Natya Collective works to provide opportunities for dancers to explore Bharatanatyam, Kathak, Odissi, and other classical South Asian styles in ways that feel meaningful to them. Moving forward, the collective hopes to continue growing, strengthen its community, and expand its mission of celebrating the beauty and depth of Bharatanatyam with more people. 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 (navatman.org).
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.
Photo courtesy of @natyacollective
Attention All Theatre Kids and Beyond
You’re in Good Company with AUTS
Natalie Dumonceaux Culture Contributor
Iwill admit: walking into McLennan Library listening to Stephen Sondheim last week in preparation for the Arts Undergraduate Theatre Society’s (AUTS) production of Company, I felt slightly embarrassed. Amid a crowd of well-dressed Arts students as I made my way to the elevator, the theatre kid inside of me was ashamed to admit how satisfying I found the over-enunciated consonants and exaggerated vibrato of the original cast recording blasting through my headphones.
Later that night, stepping into the stunning venue of Théâtre Plaza in Little Italy where Company was hosting its run, I suddenly felt the shy theatre junkie hiding away inside of me only hours earlier break out of her shell. With a completely sold-out theatre, a live band, and a charming bright red couch set centre-stage, I knew I was in for all of my wildest theatrical expectations to be met. And met they were. The show featured some incredible McGillian talent, from the actors, to the band, to the production team. These students especially stood out to me, being that Company is a musical so vocally challenging, requiring quick comedic timing paired with the most hilariously charming story line.
For those unfamiliar with the show, Company follows protagonist Robert (played by Frank Willer), a 35-year-old bachelor questioning his life through vignettes of his tried-andfailed relationships, as well as the lives of his married couple friends. Willer, a U0 student at McGill, absolutely nailed the mid-life crisis shtick as someone nearly 20 years his character’s junior. Company first saw the Broadway stage in 1970, being ahead of its time in tackling the trials and tribulations of then-abnormal middle-aged and deliberately unmarried lifestyles. While on the one hand, it may seem strange to envision a stage full of late-teens to early-twenties playing thirty-somethings in a show written fifty years ago, I think the show was incredibly well-chosen. Its themes and ideas continue to remain hauntingly relevant to contemporary dating culture. Ever felt suddenly left behind
Luxe Palmer | Visuals Contributor
as all of your friends start to get in relationships, seemingly all at once?
Ever felt defeated after one too many bad Hinge dates and became convinced that the love of your life maybe just isn’t out there? Frustrated and over, perhaps, the very idea of relationships all together? You’re not alone, for these are the very same emotions Robert grapples with throughout the story. And as this show will tell you, relationships, just like being single, come with their own set of challenges.
One performance that I felt captured these themes especially well was Marta’s (Jessica O’Gorman) song, “Another Hundred People,” towards the end of Act One. Not only did O’Gorman’s stunning vocal performance leave my jaw on the floor, I also couldn’t help but freeze when I heard the lyrics “Did you get my message? ‘Cause I looked in vain / Can we see each other Tuesday if it doesn’t rain? / Look, I’ll call you in the morning or my service will explain.” Listening to this, I thought about just how many people in the audience had spoken or been on the receiving end of those very words.
To follow this song was another stand-out performance, Amy’s (Miranda De Luca) rendition of the song “Getting Married Today.” Despite what the title might suggest, the song consisted of four straight minutes (and approximately 400 million words) of the cold-footed bride-to-be explaining in excruciating detail all the reasons why she is not, in fact, getting married today. Once again, I thought the ever-familiar experience of feeling insecure and nervous about long-term romantic commitment was perfectly portrayed. Leaving the theatre reciting the lyrics back in my head, I found comfort in knowing that we all have a little Amy inside of us — though few of us have the articulation skills of De Luca to verbalize it so quickly.
While the performers on stage gave me more than enough material to fill an entire article, I simply can’t keep myself from including how impressed I was with the musicians in the band. I was especially captivated by the keys player, Jeremy Green, who somehow
failed to miss a single note playing one-handed while using the other to flawlessly conduct the rest of the band. Had it not been for their placement atop stage right of the set, I would have assumed AUTS was using professional tracks. This brings me to my final highlight of the show, which was the creative and impactful use of stage space. Théâtre Plaza, while being a gorgeously aesthetic theatre, also poses some challenges for musical theater performances — namely for its lack of a backstage. Fortunately, director Anna Brosowsky and associate director Sam Snyders utilized these perhaps less-than-ideal stage circumstances to the show’s advantage.
The actors approached the stage through the audience. Notably, the protagonist Robert came in all alone through to stage right, while his married friends followed in from the opposite side of the stage — visually illustrating Robert’s isolation from the beginning. Furthermore, no actor actually left the stage for the whole of the performance. Instead, the characters stayed seated along the back of the stage, silently watching as scenes from Robert’s life played out before them. I thought this was a rather ingenuous touch in the context of Company, visually demonstrating this constant feeling Robert has of all eyes being on him: the world watching and waiting for him to finally settle down into a relationship. It made me feel like even I, as an audience member, was in on this bit. Besides, I’m sure it was well-appreciated by the performers to not have to run to and from the green room at every cue.
Devoted theatre kid or not, I believe that AUTS’ production of Company was one terrifyingly pertinent (and wildly entertaining) to all. The next time I find myself feeling bashful about the Sondheim blaring in my headphones, I’ll remind myself the very thing I was reminded the night of the show: we theatre kids really aren’t all that different from anyone else, though the cast of Company proved that these universal experiences are much more fun to express through song.
Fine Words and Buttered Parsnips
Love Like a Crespin
Luxe Palmer Copy Editor
Welcome to Fine Words and Buttered Parsnips , a column of meandering culinary sensibilities, investigating the world of food and fare from a plethora of perspectives.
My childhood tastes like tortillas with butter. One of my first memories is my grandmother — Grandmas, née Crespin — kneading flour and shortening together to make her homemade tortillas. I would sit on the counter and perform my duties as ballroller, though I mostly ate the raw dough when she wasn’t looking. She would then cook the flattened dough on a castiron skillet, flipping them with her bare hands like only Hispanic grandmothers can. In exchange for a beso on the cheek, she would feed me a steaming tortilla smothered with half-melted butter. When you leave a Crespin household, your arms will inevitably be laden with food. As you make the hourlong 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 tinfoilwrapped packages of tortillas, deli containers of green chile, last night’s leftovers, or if nothing else, a sleeve of Ritz crackers. If you leave emptyhanded, 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 from scratch 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. In my elementary years, 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 crosscultural 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.
Eva Mariott-Fabre | Visuals Editor
Istarted my year by reading The Autobiography of Malcolm X, written collaboratively with Alex Haley. While I was reading, one quote stuck with me:
“Who taught you to hate yourself from the top of your head to the soles of your feet? Who taught you to hate your own kind? Who taught you to hate the race that you belong to, so much so that you don’t want to be around each other?”
As a woman of colour, although not Black, this sentence truly resonated with me.
I was born and raised in Lebanon, and moved to Montreal in 2015. For the longest time, I was not proud of my heritage. At 18 years old, I felt the need to separate myself from the Lebanese community as best I could.
I would get angry when someone pointed out my slight accent when I spoke English. For some reason, I was adamant on rejecting my Lebanese identity — even around other Arabs. If I heard anyone speaking Arabic, I would run the other way to avoid my accent slipping, and “exposing” myself as “one of them.”
I always described myself as “anti-racist.” Yet, I was racist towards my own kind. However, the longer I stayed away from the Arab community, the more I became an outsider to other cultures.
Working at restaurants, customers would ask for my name. When I would give it to them, their smiles would change into grimaces, right before asking: “Christian Arab or Muslim Arab?”
Working at call centres, I would answer the phone to an angry client. When my name
My voluminous, frizzy, curly hair; my big brown eyes; my olive skin; my loud, boisterous laugh — all the parts of me that were deemed “uncivilized” became the best things about me.
would be uttered, it was met with a deafening silence — a silence that visible minorities, or anyone with an “ethnic” name, know all too well.
People I thought were my friends would use the term “not like us” behind my back, because I wasn’t of the same ethnicity as them.
In my naive and idealistic brain, I believed all cultures were the same. I believed myself to be accepting of all races, and all humans. So why was I ashamed of my own?
Then October 7, 2023 changed everything.
While the history of the Palestinian plight did not begin on that day, the winds of change began to blow in my own life from then. I do not mean in terms of advocating for a free Palestine, which is something I’ve always believed in. But October 7 was the slap in the face I needed to obliterate every ounce of self-hatred I had. The aftermath of the AlAqsa Flood, to be more precise, encouraged me to be protective of the culture I so desperately tried to separate myself from.
A specific event after October 7 pushed me over the edge. I was riding the metro on my way to work, FaceTiming with my mother who still lives in Lebanon. The metro car was nearly empty, with most people wearing headphones and minding their business. No one cared that I was having a conversation in Arabic with my mother — except for one lady,
Love Your Culture, Love
Deconstructing internal cultural hate
Racism doesn’t base itself on facts, but on prejudice — something acquired from adamantly refusing to understand people for who they are, not what we believe them to be.
who tapped me on the shoulder and said in French, “Can you speak that language somewhere else?”
I was speechless. My mother’s face fell as my lips started to quiver, trying to find a rebuttal, but I couldn’t.
A lump formed in my throat. I wanted to disappear.
That day, the people-pleasing veil of remaining in the “good Arab” category, where my mother tongue wasn’t seen as violent, and I wasn’t seen as a “terrorist,” was finally lifted. I didn’t care anymore about how I came across. Racism doesn’t base itself on facts, but on prejudice — something acquired from adamantly refusing to understand people for who they are, not what we believe them to be. I embraced the accent when I spoke in English or French. I stopped laughing at the racist bomb jokes affiliated with the Middle East. The community I ran away from began calling out to me, and I leaned into my
heritage even more. And then the most beautiful thing happened.
Falling in love with my culture led to me loving myself in ways I had never experienced before. Things I tried to tame at 18, I let flow naturally at 26 and 27. My voluminous, frizzy, curly hair; my big brown eyes; my olive skin; my loud, boisterous laugh — all the parts of me that were deemed “uncivilized” became the best things about me. My culture is not without its faults. It is not perfect, and its people are flawed. But that’s the beauty of it all — with all its flaws, and with all its challenges, if I were given the choice to be anything in the world, I would still choose to be Lebanese.
Youmna El Halabi Commentary Editor
My Four-Hour Long Crush
Reflecting on relationships in today’s dwindling
“crush economy”
Erandy
Rogel Commentary Contributor
We have to stop whatever we’re doing because I can’t do casual,” said Ben, my friend with whom I had been hooking up with for the past four months.
I was taken aback. Nothing about our situation seemed complicated. We were longdistance friends who happened to hook up whenever we were in the same city. No dreadful “situationship.” Nothing overwhelming, at least to me. It started to sink in that this was the end of what I’d found to be a rather enjoyable tryst.
“Do you want to hook up one last time?” I asked, internally devastated.
Afterwards, Ben walked me to work. We hugged as we went our separate ways – I cherished every second, hanging on for a few moments longer than our usual goodbyes. I was crushed.
I didn’t understand what went wrong. We seemed to have a good thing going on. Ben and I had been friends for a little over a year. Our affair started when he kissed me at a music festival, which led to a longer make-out session. While I found it funny, sources told me Ben had found it stressful.
We hooked up later during Thanksgiving weekend. I remember flirting with Ben all night, only to be met with little reciprocation. I was upset, frustrated and felt rejected. After all, he had kissed me first.
It was only at the end of the night that Ben seemed to get over his internal conflict — and that’s when it really began.
We saw each other periodically, but rarely talked in between. I guess it felt awkward to try to change our dynamic. He had just moved to Toronto; I was in Montreal. We couldn’t hang out regularly anymore, and we rarely texted. In hindsight, maybe I was too scared to get closer to him. Maybe I knew that I would catch feelings.
As I spiralled in the moments after our goodbye, I began to wonder why I was so devastated. Was I not a fun, casual hookup? Even worse, was I so gutted by this loss because I… had a crush on Ben? Had I had feelings all along?
I began to rewind and realized it had been a minute since I last had a proper crush, with my last crush being my math tutor in the
Nikhila Shanker | Visuals Editor
hilarious. I had expected further heartbreak, pain, and sorrow if things hadn’t gone my way. I didn’t want to go home and bang my head against the wall to forget his existence. In fact, I felt grateful for it. And then I realized: this was the first time in my life I had ever told anyone that I liked them.
Though I hadn’t experienced a crush in a long time, thanks to the current dismal “crush economy,” this brief experience reminded me of the unique thrill that comes with liking someone. The butterflies, the “what-ifs,” and even the heartache are all a beautiful part of being human.
After all, love isn’t a conquest, and nothing truly belongs to us. All we can do is appreciate the connections we’ve had and the lessons they teach us.
fall of 2023. It’s no secret that the “crush economy” has been low.
Soon I was feeling that familiar rush of euphoria I hadn’t felt in a really long time. I was excited, flustered, and eager.
Soon I was feeling that familiar rush of euphoria I hadn’t felt in a really long time. I was excited, flustered, and eager. Suddenly, Ben was the perfect man for me and no one else could compare.
In an instant, it seemed like he was one of the most nuanced, intelligent, sexy, and soulful people I had ever met. But then the harshness of my reality set in. After all, what was there to be eager about if Ben had just broken off our relationship? My heart was shattered.
Amidst my heartbreak, I began to scramble for a solution. What could I possibly do to keep him in my life? That’s when I realized I had to tell him — and the nausea set in. Should I wait to tell him in person? No, that wouldn’t be for another month. I had to tell him right then and there.
So, I decided to send him a text: “I think there might be some feelings I’ve been suppressing, and I think I really like you...”
I was ready to throw up at any second. In retrospect, writing that line made me feel irredeemably tacky.
I sent it. Then I waited.
Waiting for a text back is quite possibly one of the worst
feelings of all time. I felt dread, adrenaline, and a weird sense of giddiness. I began to fantasize about what it would mean if Ben liked me back. After all, there was already a mutual attraction between us. What if when he said he didn’t want to be casual, he actually meant he wanted to be exclusive? Would he want to be my boyfriend? I’m aware I was leaping when I should’ve at most tip-toed. My God, my crush had led me to reach a point of lunacy.
“...I think I just see you as a friend, but I admit the circumstances and the distance led me to never really consider anything else, so I’m sorry about that,” he wrote back.
I felt it then: the beautiful feeling of release. Truly, Ben’s reply felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Not only was I immediately okay with it, I also felt relieved. As I analyzed my feelings, I found this sense of relief to be both refreshingly depressing and surprisingly
In the end, I highly recommend telling someone you like them — it’s a liberating act of honesty. As adults, it’s no longer cute (or sustainable) to silently destroy ourselves over the fear of rejection. Handling romantic rejection well means embracing the vulnerability of putting your feelings out there, accepting outcomes beyond your control, and finding gratitude in the growth that comes from the experience. With this newfound wisdom, I can only hope Ben and I have a strong enough foundation to continue our friendship. After all, love isn’t a conquest, and nothing truly belongs to us. All we can do is appreciate the connections we’ve had and the lessons they teach us.
After reflecting on my experience, I absent-mindedly checked the time. It was 4:53 p.m. Ben and I had left my apartment at 1:00 p.m. My crush had only lasted four hours.
Just sharing a meal together!
Looking at someone and knowing that they’re going to do amazing things some day
Sharing favourite songs and making each other Pinterest boards!
Doing mundane activities together
When you’re walking with someone, and you realize you want to keep walking with them for the rest of your life
When they know exactly what you need, even if you don’t say anything
Looking at a person and being able to have an entire conversation without saying a word.
When someone remembers a small detail that you mentioned once!
Coming home after being away for a long time
When you’re cooking and you make sure to salt it to their preference, even if you’re not sure they’ll be having some
Simul loqui latine
Eva Marriott-Fabre | Visuals Editor
Enseigner au Nunavut, c’est l’occasion d’inspirer ses élèves tant en classe que lors d’activités parascolaires. Chaque école nunavoise est unique et diversifiée, ce qui permet à tous les enseignantes et les enseignants de faire partie intégrante de la collectivité.
Un rôle significatif dans la vie des élèves
Des expériences tout à fait uniques
Des possibilités d’épanouissement professionnel
L’expérience d’une culture solide et dynamique
45 écoles et plus de 10 000 élèves
Salaires et avantages sociaux exceptionnels
Aide au déménagement et logement
subventionné
Diversité de postes en éducation à pourvoir
Teaching in Nunavut provides opportunities to inspire students, whether it’s through classroom instruction or afterschool activities. Each school in Nunavut is unique and diverse, making teachers an integral part of their community.
Meaningful impact on students' lives
Unique community experiences
Opportunities for professional growth
Experience a strong & vibrant culture
45 schools & 10,000+ students
Great salaries & benefits
Relocation assistance & subsidized
housing
Variety of educator positions
