The latest edition of “Architizer: The World’s Best Architecture” — a stunning, hardbound book celebrating the most inspiring contemporary architecture from around the globe — is now available. Order your copy today.  

At the end of 2024, I had the opportunity to watch a series and a film — both released around the same time by sheer coincidence — that explored the beginning and end of Maria Callas’ life. The film Maria, featuring Angelina Jolie as the renowned Greek American opera singer, depicted the final week of her life in Paris. Meanwhile, Maria: The Unknown Callas, the first Greek series to participate in the Berlinale, focused on her early years in Athens during World War II.

Looking beyond “Maria,” I was thoroughly intrigued by the two opposing backdrops present in both productions. The film emanated a sense of timelessness, while the series a sense of urgency; the film was slow and measured, while the series was fast and chaotic. Both, however, revealed an architectural issue that is not immediately identifiable to the audience. Maria, set in 1977, was filmed mainly in Paris and Budapest, two cities meticulously preserved, as if they are frozen in time. On the other hand, Maria: The Unknown Callas uses 21^st century Athens as its primary filming location, which presents a significant challenge for the narrative, since the city bears little resemblance to its 1940s appearance.

Left: Fred Boissonnas, Athens 1920, marked as public domain, more details on Wikimedia Commons, Right: Jakub Ha?un, View from the Acropolis in Athens with the Lycabettus Hill, 20240531 1314 9659, CC BY 4.0

Unintentionally, the two productions open up a wider discussion on architectural preservation (or lack thereof) of cities, which undoubtedly plays a pivotal role in how authentic and immersive storytelling can be in film and television. Common societal attitudes would most likely reveal a strong preference in preserving cultural heritage, based primarily on memory and nostalgia. However, in reality, do cities have a responsibility to maintain their historical character or should the evolution of urban spaces prioritize modern needs?

In truth, Athenians ponder over the countless neoclassical building that were demolished during the interwar and WWII period, giving way afterwards to the erection of multistory buildings in order to accommodate the rapid urban expansion. However, what is less widely known is that, at that time, living in a “modern” apartment fulfilled basic needs such as running hot water and heating, amenities that didn’t exist in prewar residences. In other words, in the 1950s, living in a post-war Athenian apartment was a (functional) luxury.

Paris, often held as the gold standard of urban preservation, serves as an interesting counterpoint. Through strict preservation laws, the city has maintained much of its historical charm, allowing filmmakers to recreate the city’s past with remarkable accuracy. Yet this comes at a cost: rising property prices, limited housing development, and a city that at times feels more like a curated tourist destination than a lived-in space.

Charles Fichot creator QS:P170,Q18511841, Paris moderne. Les Tuileries, le Louvre, et la rue de Rivoli, vue prise du Jardin des Tuileries, marked as public domain, more details on Wikimedia Commons

This raises two questions: how do we decide what to preserve and what to modernize? And perhaps, more importantly, what is the public perception of cities? Should cities aim to be breathtaking backdrops, or should they be treated as living, adaptable organisms?

Impostor Cities, the Canadian Pavilion for the 17th Venice Architecture Biennale, presents a hybrid scenario. The project reveals how many Hollywood productions prefer Canadian locations to double for other places in a range of films: Toronto becomes Tokyo and Montreal and Vancouver often stand as Moscow and Paris. These cities are both fully functioning, physical locations as well as the backdrop for some of the most popular films and series in the industry.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Impostor Cities (@impostorcities)

Specifically, the Canadian pavilion was covered in scaffolding and wrapped in fabric, perceived as both a construction site and a green screen, i.e., as a changeable structure and a timeless setting. It allowed visitors to become immersed in film-famous Canadian architecture and cityscapes and in parallel, raising awareness regarding authentic architectural identity. By celebrating these protean metropolises, the pavilion challenged visitors to consider the type of city they want to inhabit (functional, adaptable and resilient; charming, picturesque and frozen) as well as blur elements of fact and fiction about cities that exist in the mindscape of nearly every global citizen.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Impostor Cities (@impostorcities)

For filmmakers and audiences alike, this tension between past and present offers a fascinating lens through which to examine the architectural identity of cities, both fictionally through the medium of film as well as through society’s perception. Just as the lives of individuals like Maria Callas are shaped by the eras and places they inhabit, the stories we tell are inextricably linked to the spaces in which they unfold. As we continue to build and rebuild our cities, we must ask ourselves: what stories do we want these spaces to tell and what type of attitude should we adopt regarding architectural preservation?

The latest edition of “Architizer: The World’s Best Architecture” — a stunning, hardbound book celebrating the most inspiring contemporary architecture from around the globe — is now available. Order your copy today.  

Featured Image: Top image generated by Architizer via Midjourney.

The post Preserve or Progress? What Can We Learn from Cinema’s Favorite City Backdrops appeared first on Journal.

Calling all architects, landscape architects and interior designers: Architizer's A+Awards allows firms of all sizes to showcase their practice and vie for the title of “World’s Best Architecture Firm.” Start an A+Firm Award Application today. 

You’re sure to have seen it — we all have. The person precariously perched to snap the perfect flat lay, their phone raised high like an offering to the gods of Instagram, capturing an overhead shot of a plate that’s stone cold. Glasses clinked repeatedly, not in celebration but for a fifth take, as diners choreograph their meals into moments of content. Whether you love it or hate it, it seems as though restaurant-goers are spending just as much time photographing their surroundings as actually enjoying their meals. The spectacle is now very much part of the experience, and with it, the visual appeal of restaurants has become more valuable than ever. Paired with intelligent social media marketing, a space that films and photographs well can be just as successful (at least in the short term) as one that has a flawless menu.

It’ll come as no surprise then that this emphasis on amplified visual appeal has brought about a change in restaurant design. As chefs and owners try to capture the crowds, offering something unique and unexpected in a time where no design is a new design, themed restaurants are back in a big way. No, we’re not talking about Hard Rock Cafe or Bubba Gump Shrimp. Today’s version is more immersive storytelling than plastic props. Spaces that take restaurant design to another level, combining visual narrative with culinary excellence. But as the genre takes hold, the question remains: are themed restaurants a valuable dining experience, or is it all just a carefully staged illusion? A gimmick for likes?

Manhattan Bar by Distillery Studio, Singapore | Photo by Ekyap

Themed restaurants are not a modern invention by any stretch of the imagination. Their roots can be traced back to the 19th century, particularly in Paris, in venues like the Café du Bagne. The restaurant was established in 1885 and featured decor that was inspired by prisons, offering its patrons a uniquely immersive and voyeuristic experience. By the late 19th and early 20th centuries, themed dining experiences flourished globally. In the United States, beefsteak dungeons became popular. Men put on butchers’ aprons and threw aside the illusion of civilization as they sat uncomfortably on boxes in dingy cellars, drinking beer and eating steaks without silverware or napkins. Popular venue Healys in New York was one such place. It had three rooms with varied themes: the Dungeon, the Jungle Room and the Log Cabin Room. The Log Cabin Room, probably the most civilized space of the three, was furnished with long tables and chairs and complete with tablecloths and napkins and while the guests ate, someone read aloud humorous fake telegrams to curate a theatrical dining experience.

Yet, if you’ve ever been to a successfully themed restaurant, you’ll know that it begins and ends with its design. Every element — from the lighting to the ceiling heights, even the table setting — has to support the story. Ultraviolet by Paul Pairet in Shanghai is a three-Michelin-starred restaurant that’s a masterclass in themed dining. The backdrop of the ten-person dining room isn’t static — it changes through carefully timed projections that bring each course to life. One dish might transport you to a serene ocean setting, while the next places you in a bustling cityscape. The experience doesn’t stop at visuals; every course is accompanied by sounds, music and scents that provide context to the flavors on the plate. The restaurant’s secret location adds another layer of intrigue, setting the tone for an evening designed to straddle the border of dining and performance art.

Tsukimi by Post Company, Manhattan, New York City, New York | Photo by Read McKendree

Not all themed spaces achieve this balance. Many fall into the trap of prioritizing style over substance, resulting in spaces that feel overly choreographed and devoid of interpretation. The danger lies in an over-reliance on control — when every detail feels so meticulously planned that there’s no room for the unexpected moments that make dining memorable. Great-themed restaurants succeed because they allow for a degree of unpredictability and opinion, a chance for the theme to evolve naturally and uniquely to each diner through interaction, conversation, or the environment itself. Without this, themed spaces risk becoming static — a set piece rather than a living, breathing experience. It’s the relationship between structure and spontaneity that separates a memorable restaurant from one that feels like a children’s party.

Themes in restaurants are not neutral. They tell stories about identity, culture and aspiration — not just of the space but also of its patrons. Consider the throngs of Art Deco-inspired bars and restaurants, with their tiny cocktails, jewel tones and geometric motifs. Appealing to a contemporary longing for glamour, stability, and craftsmanship. But nostalgia can be a double-edged sword. While it evokes emotion, it can also veer into kitsch, reducing histories to surface-level aesthetics and raising questions about the legitimacy of the design style and its worth. Some might argue that to replicate it is to cheapen it, while others see it as an opportunity to bring a style and a history to a new audience who previously might not have had access to it.

A big consideration comes in the form of cultural appropriation; many themed restaurants borrow from global cultures, and so the question of authenticity becomes unavoidable. Some succeed in honoring the traditions they represent. Take Tsukimi, for instance — a restaurant that demonstrates how cultural themes can be celebrated with sophistication and authenticity. Named after the Japanese tradition of moon viewing, the restaurant designed by Studio Tack reflects the poetic essence of this practice with subtle yet deliberate nods to its inspiration: crescent-shaped archways, circular mirrors, and warm lighting reminiscent of moonlight. Cultural storytelling is embedded throughout the menu and interior design — the glazed counter that mimics the reflection of the moon on water is special indeed. Tsukimi creates an immersive experience that feels thoughtful and deeply rooted in its cultural origins rather than simply decorative.

Tin Building by Jean-Georges with L’Observatoire International, New York City, New York | Photo by Nicole Franzen

But for every Tsukimi, there’s another that treats cultural motifs as props. When not approached sensitively, spaces that take on this challenge can be hollow, soulless, and can wander into insulting very quickly. These designs commodify cultural symbols without understanding or respecting their deeper meanings, creating experiences that lack cultural awareness.

Mostly, the downfall of a themed restaurant is a failure to connect their culinary offerings with their design. A restaurant with a coastal theme serving generic fusion cuisine or a saloon bar offering sushi not only creates a visual disconnect but also undermines the believability of the experience. Often, the failure runs deeper than mismatched aesthetics too. The most successful restaurants don’t just match their menus to their decor. A seafood restaurant using scalloped tiles is a bit obvious for today’s design-savvy diner. Building an emotional connection with patrons is more valuable and lasting. This could mean creating a sense of place, respecting local heritage, nostalgia, or fashioning complete escapism. The rise of speakeasies reflects this trend, too. These directions feel more authentic rather than contrived. When a themed restaurant fails to deliver, it feels off, leaving diners with the impression that the interior design is simply a costume, not a fully realized concept.

Themed restaurants walk a fine line between storytelling and spectacle. When executed with care, they have the power to transport and educate diners, creating spaces that elevate the act of eating into something extraordinary. But when themes are reduced to superficial aesthetics, they risk becoming little more than gimmicks that undermine both the design and the culinary experience.

Calling all architects, landscape architects and interior designers: Architizer's A+Awards allows firms of all sizes to showcase their practice and vie for the title of “World’s Best Architecture Firm.” Start an A+Firm Award Application today. 

The post Appetite for Illusion: Are Themed Restaurants Gourmet or Gimmick? appeared first on Journal.

Architizer's 13th A+Awards features a suite of sustainability-focused categories recognizing designers that are building a greener industry — and a better future. Start your entry to receive global recognition for your work!

Mumbai is a city of contrasts: ancient yet avant-garde, prosperous yet poverty-stricken, swarming yet often serene. Unlike many other cities that are strictly dissected by class and creed, Mumbai is a blend from one street to the next, with land being far more important than location. The resulting architectural diversity, characterized by dense polarity, is captivating.

The 19th century brought laborers to then Bombay’s flourishing docks and textile mills. An influx of people from all over the continent saw the city bursting at its seams, and make-shift neighborhoods were quickly erected to house the workers while long-term solutions were conceived in the form of “chawls.” Chawls are tenement buildings that are seemingly simple, utilitarian blocks densely packed along narrow lanes. These innovative buildings revolutionized communities in Mumbai, not only sheltering families under challenging conditions but also becoming a design testbed for creative architectural solutions, many of which continue to be replicated in community architecture to this day.

Today, a century later, Mumbai has one of the most unequal distributions of land in the world, with about 60 percent of the city’s population living in temporary structures that are built on about 8 percent of the total urban area. More than 20 million people live there — a number that continues to grow. The city’s pressing issue of density, which currently stands at approximately 83,660 people per square mile, urgently needs to be addressed, and it would seem that the once imaginative chawls will be the first to go. Conversations have hence intensified about whether a quintessential piece of Mumbai’s identity is about to be relegated to history.

Udaykumar PR, Lohar Chawl,LTRoad,Mumbai – panoramio (1), CC BY 3.0

The chawls that emerged in the decades after the plague of 1896 were prompted by necessity. The Bombay Improvement Trust was formed to address overcrowding and public health crises, and it helped shape policies that led to quick, functional housing solutions. Mill owners and private investors soon adapted these guidelines to create multi-level buildings linked by shared corridors, communal lavatories and narrow balconies. While most early chawls had minimal decorative flourishes, many still exhibited thoughtful considerations. Materials such as brick, stone and wood permitted cross-ventilation in a climate notorious for high humidity. Sloping roofs deflected the monsoon rains that pummel the city from June to October, and covered walkways provided shaded pockets of interaction.

Living space was often cramped, so daily life spilled out onto these semi-public zones. Residents found themselves cooking in stairwells, sewing in corridors or sleeping on balconies. These close-quarters encounters served as a constant thread connecting people who arrived from vastly different backgrounds. In many ways, the chawls were vertical villages in which personal privacy was scant, but social ties were strong. The enforced mingling seeded a culture of interdependence, bridging faith, language and class in a city whose population would eventually mushroom beyond all expectations.

For observers of modern architecture, the chawls offer a window into grassroots design strategies. Architects frequently laud the extensive balconies and external corridors for enhancing airflow and creating shaded thresholds — early predecessors to the brise-soleil or louvered façades seen in contemporary architecture. Ground-floor storefronts, common in many chawls, set a precedent for mixed-use formats that urban planners now champion as a way to nurture vibrant street life. Even the open-air corridors and shared terraces that appear in many sustainable housing developments echo longstanding chawl features.

The World Towers by Pei Cobb Freed & Partners Architects, Mumbai, India | Image by Pei Cobb Freed & Partners Architects LLP

Yet their significance was not limited to architectural characteristics. Social historians point to the chawls’ integral role in shaping Mumbai’s unique culture. The strict limits on personal space are frequently cited as catalysts for collective love affair with cinema that is so prevalent in the city. Old photos of mid-century movie theaters, packed with chawl dwellers eager to escape claustrophobic rooms, reveal just how important the big screen became; Bollywood boomed thanks to the communities looking for respite.

As the city’s industrial fortunes shifted — spurred partly by the Great Bombay Textile Strike of 1982 and the gradual collapse of many mills — the chawls’ fate also changed course. Industrial labor migration slowed, land values soared and rent controls kept many tenants paying negligible monthly sums. These factors combined to deter basic maintenance. Timber beams rotted, plumbing systems leaked and exteriors showed deep cracks While some residents managed to renovate individual properties, broader structural concerns became too costly for landlords bound to archaic rent regulations.

In recent years, the state government has advocated for large-scale redevelopment, eyeing the potential for high-rise towers on land that is among the world’s most expensive. Residents, for their part, stand to gain larger apartments and updated amenities (at least in theory). Critics, however, see troubling precedents. Other “slum rehabilitation” and tenement-replacement initiatives in Mumbai have often delivered subpar construction, missed deadlines or saddled residents with hefty upkeep fees. Even if new apartments come with more floor space, high maintenance bills can dislodge longtime tenants accustomed to paying a fraction of that cost. The delicate balance of preserving affordable housing in a prime location, critics warn, may be lost in a push for profit.

World One by Pei Cobb Freed & Partners Architects, Mumbai, India 

It is often noted that the disappearance of cheaper urban housing can hollow out a city’s social fabric by forcing lower-income groups to relocate to remote suburbs. In the past, chawls provided a platform for what might be called everyday collisions: a teacher might live beside a dockworker, or a small shop owner might share a balcony with a mill mechanic. That adjacency — chaotic, multifaceted and surprisingly functional — often led to shared customs, new dialects and an informal support network that cut across class lines. Proponents of preservation argue that the new towers, built behind gates and managed by private security, risk eroding that communal dynamic.

Of course, it is easy to view chawls through a purely romantic lens, ignoring the very real health and structural hazards. By modern standards, cramped living areas, limited privacy and aging infrastructures are less than ideal. Many chawls fail to accommodate basic contemporary needs like car parking, broadband wiring or in-unit sanitary facilities. Retrofitting them can be an expensive gamble, making redevelopment appealing to both residents (who hope for better living conditions) and developers (who see prime real estate). The resulting tension — between heritage and progress, between intangible cultural identity and tangible economic gain — is hardly unique to Mumbai, but it plays out with particular intensity in a city that famously churns out extremes of wealth and poverty side by side.

Rupa Renaissance by Access Architects, Mumbai, India

As it stands, few details can confirm whether the proposed towers will truly integrate the lessons and characteristics of the chawls. Government announcements typically focus on the number of floors, total square footage or projected costs. Meanwhile, original tenants navigate lengthy bureaucratic processes to secure fair relocation terms and fear the day they must move out. Until the new projects are completed, skepticism remains justified.

In many ways, the chawls embody Mumbai’s defining characteristics: resilience, improvisation and a capacity to build communities within tight constraints. They may be perceived as antiquated, decaying and at odds with modern family structures. Still, they have left an undeniable mark on architectural thinking about passive climate control, efficient land use and socially oriented design. Whether that legacy will reemerge in the high-rises that replace them is yet to be seen.

Architizer's 13th A+Awards features a suite of sustainability-focused categories recognizing designers that are building a greener industry — and a better future. Start your entry to receive global recognition for your work!

Top image: Udaykumar PR, Lohar Chawl, Kalbadevi, Mumbai, Maharashtra, India – panoramio (1), CC BY 3.0

The post Mumbai’s Chawls: Why India’s Once Innovative Housing Solution Could Soon Disappear appeared first on Journal.