Our definitive history of Montreal's Rialto Theatre

If you walk north on Parc Avenue past Bernard, you’ll see it: columns, cornices, and a flicker of gold leaf catching the light—if you don't see its marquee lighting up the night first, anyway. All of this is foreshadowing how the Rialto Theatre has the power to stop you in your tracks.

Built nearly a century ago to mimic the Paris Opera, it’s less a building and more a stage set that’s somehow survived decades of urban reinvention, commercial failure, and civic apathy. It has, improbably, become one of Montreal’s most beloved cultural landmarks.

One of the finest theatres in history

Designed in 1923 by architect Joseph-Raoul Gariépy, the Rialto was never just another neighbourhood movie house. Its Beaux-Arts exterior, rendered in artificial stone by Canadian Benedict Stone Ltd., gave way to an interior dripping in neo-Baroque excess: painted silk panels, gilded mouldings, an illuminated stained-glass dome. Emmanuel Briffa, Montreal’s most prolific theatre decorator—responsible for over 200 cinema interiors across North America—called it one of his finest. He wasn’t wrong.

When it opened on December 27, 1924, the Rialto was the latest jewel in United Amusement’s crown. It boasted 1,174 seats, a grand lobby finished in real marble, and programming built for the silent film era. The inaugural evening was a full production: a house pianist, Eugene Maynard, was joined by five other musicians including the famed Willie Eckstein, drawing music lovers from across the continent. This was not just entertainment—it was an experience, a destination.

Originally, the theatre wasn’t limited to movies. Its design included ground-level retail spaces, a dance hall, a billiards room in the basement, and even a rooftop garden. These features made the Rialto not only grand but forward-thinking—a multi-use cultural hub long before the term existed.

It was right at home on Parc Avenue, which in the 1920s was a thriving commercial artery, one that mirrored the diversity of its neighbourhood. Over the years, the Rialto’s audience changed with the city: Jewish families, Greek immigrants, later a blend of artists, activists, and students who shaped Mile End’s identity.

As demographics shifted, so too did the Rialto’s purpose.

Becoming a building on the brink

As bright as they can burn, even empires flicker: The coming decades saw a slow erosion of Montreal’s once-mighty theatre scene. Television chipped away at moviegoing habits. By the late 1960s, the Rialto had become a Greek cinema, catering to the local diaspora with dubbed features and community screenings. That pivot kept the doors open, but not forever.

In 1983, the theatre was sold to developer Elias Kalogeras, who had a different vision entirely: demolish the interior, replace it with a high-end shopping mall. He called it L’Atrium du Parc. Preservationists called it blasphemy.

Groups like Sauvons Montréal and the Comité des citoyens du Mile End rallied to the cause. Politicians like Helen Fotopulos, alongside artists such as playwright Pan Bouyoucas, fought to protect the space. The city stepped in to classify the building as a protected heritage site in 1988, followed by the Quebec government in 1990 and the federal government in 1993. Three layers of recognition. Three lifelines for a building on the brink.

Still, the Rialto struggled to find purpose. Throughout the late ’80s and ’90s, it functioned sporadically as a repertory cinema and concert venue. Dance companies like La La La Human Steps used the upper floors as rehearsal space. But one failed concept followed another. A nightclub permit for a proposed Rex Club was approved in 2001, but the liquor license never came through. A restaurant opened and closed. By 2007, the building was largely empty—its grandeur intact, but its future uncertain.

There were also stories—whispers from technicians and performers about unexplained noises and flickering lights. Some swore they’d seen silhouettes in the wings or heard piano music with no source. The Rialto gained a quiet reputation as one of Montreal’s most haunted places, adding to its legend.

Whether or not you believe in ghosts, there’s no denying the building holds a kind of charged presence.

Less renovation, more resurrection

That future arrived in 2010, in the form of Ezio Carosielli. A longtime admirer of the building, Carosielli had watched the Rialto decline for decades. When it came up for sale, he and his wife, Luisa Sassano, made the leap. What followed was less a renovation and more a resurrection. The stained-glass dome, long obscured by false ceilings, was restored to its original glow. Gilded mouldings were repaired. The original sound booth, asbestos curtain mechanism, and leaded-glass windows were preserved. Even the ghost stories remained.

The restoration wasn’t just cosmetic. Carosielli reimagined the Rialto as a multi-purpose venue that could serve both public and private functions. Weddings, benefit concerts, film shoots, and dance performances now unfold beneath the dome. Candlelight concerts, which pair classical music with atmospheric lighting, regularly sell out. And the balcony? Fitted with 450 new seats and revived as a prime listening perch.

While Ezio spearheaded the restoration, it was very much a family project. His wife, Luisa Sassano, managed logistics and planning, and their daughter Andria Carosielli has since taken the reins. Under her leadership, the Rialto has embraced its hybrid identity—not just a theatre, but a space where old grandeur meets new energy. She continues to guide the vision, ensuring the Rialto remains relevant without sacrificing its soul.

In 2012, the family expanded with the purchase of the St-James Theatre, a former CIBC headquarters on rue Saint-Jacques with its own tangled history—including having sold Titanic tickets in the early 1900s. Then came the Cartier Theatre in 2018, a restored former church near the Jacques Cartier Bridge. All three venues now operate under the Carosielli Group, helmed by Andria. Each space has its own story, but all share a guiding principle: preservation through use.

Still got it

What makes the Rialto different from so many other theatres of its era—Loew’s, the Seville, the York—is that it was saved not by a government grant or cultural institution, but by a family. Their business model is pragmatic: lease the space, host events, reinvest in maintenance. No subsidies or gimmicks, just the belief that a beautiful space can support itself, if given the chance.

That philosophy earned them the "Redonner Vie" Award in 2019 from the City of Montreal, Héritage Montréal, and the Ministry of Culture and Communications. But it’s the public that really reaffirms the value of the place. Ask anyone who’s attended a show there.

Step inside today and you’ll still find the grandeur: the marble staircases, the Tiffany finishes, the domed ceiling bathed in warm amber light. You’ll also find something rarer—a crowd. People from all walks of life drawn in not by nostalgia, but by experience. Students, artists, expats, old Mile-Enders and new Outremont families all under the same roof, watching something unfold in real time.

And for all the city’s notorious blind spots around heritage preservation, the Rialto endures. It's living monument to an era when theatres were cathedrals, and spectacle was sacred.