Backstage at the Rialto

>> How a wealthy Greek maverick flouted the law, gave conservationists and politicians the finger and saved the Rialto Theatre anyway

by PHILIP PREVILLE

Last Sunday's "Save the Rialto" rally was supposed to be a routine demonstration, but things took a bizarre turn when George Ioannou, the Rialto's manager and right-hand man to theatre owner Elias Kalogeras, insisted on taking his turn at the microphone.

At first, organizers refused his request. Ioannou was visibly upset: after all, here were a bunch of people giving speeches right in front of his building, lecturing to the customers in his cafe; surely he had the right to speak. Eventually, the rally's organizers relented, and let Ioannou speak "in a spirit of dialogue."

The dialogue lasted about 10 seconds. Ioannou first thanked everyone for their concern, then immediately began attacking local city councillor Helen Fotopulos, calling the demonstration "a political rally to benefit her popularity."

That's when organizers turned the microphone off. Ioannou wouldn't stop. "I don't need the microphone!" he shouted. "We have restored the Rialto completely! We've spent $4 million of our own money to do it!"

"Show us! Show us!" demonstrators shouted back.

"We'll be inviting the media inside next week! And you'll all see when it opens! We care about our building, too!"

The Mirror took Ioannou up on his invitation, and can report that the theatre, first built in 1912 and first recognized as a heritage site in 1988, is being restored according to provincial government specifications. Intricate plaster mouldings, heavily damaged over the years, are being reconstructed to the last detail. The paintings and seats in the balcony are being cleaned, and everything will be repainted in the theatre's original colour scheme. A new floor has been installed at ground level, but it is fully removable and reversible, as per the province's demand.

When the work is completed, the Rialto will be a stunning multi-purpose venue: nightclub, live venue, reception hall and theatre. Says Collette Proulx, spokesperson for Quebec's culture department: "There are people who go around yelling about how the Rialto is being destroyed, but it's just not true."

Still, that doesn't make the Rialto's management team a bunch of angels. Both provincial and municipal officials characterize Ioannou and Kalogeras as mavericks determined to bring their building back to life--even if they have to break the law to do it.



Permits, schmermits

For Kalogeras, the final straw came last February when a burst pipe resulted in yet more water damage. Kalogeras, a wealthy Montreal shipping magnate who speaks little English or French, has owned the Rialto for the last 17 years--and, he insists, lost money almost every year. He's tried to renovate in the past; each time, he ran into a maze of government red tape, not to mention a myriad of community groups and heritage associations.

So this time, they decided not to bother with permits. "We had to act fast," insists Ioannou. "The building was crumbling right before our eyes. If we had gone through official channels, we'd still be waiting. And if we hadn't done the work without the permits, not even God could have saved the Rialto."

By moving faster than the bureaucrats, Ioannou also forced them to play a constant game of catch-up. Worried about what was going on inside, the Quebec government sent in an architect, Gerald Savoie, to keep an eye on things. Savoie would give Ioannou and Kalogeras "strong suggestions"; they would comply. "Mr. Savoie even told them to tear down some of their repairs and start over again, and they did it," says Proulx. "They always put up a fight, but they always do the work."

And they pay for it, too. Most of the restorations could have been paid for through government grants. But by moving ahead without government approval, they've had to pay for everything out of their own pocket. Officials concur that Ioannou's $4 million figure is a fair estimate.

The overall price tag also explains why Kalogeras and Ioannou didn't care about their permits. City officials have fined them twice this summer--once for $224, once for $404. "They know all our inspectors on a first-name basis," says Francois Lemay of Montreal's permits and inspections bureau. "We try to force them into following the rules, but they'd rather just pay the fines."

If both levels of government are frustrated with the way they've have been operating, why don't they try to shut him down? "They've made it clear they'd keep working on the building even while we were in court," says Proulx. "And if we took him to court, he'd never let our architect inside. At least this way, we get to exert some influence over how the work is done."



Not over yet

The restored Rialto should open by December 1999, but Kalogeras and Ioannou may yet get burned by their wild-west style. Everybody knows they're building a nightclub, even though current zoning regulations forbid them from doing so. "There's no guarantee that the city will change the zoning regulations," says Lemay. "They have to conduct noise tests, they have to have enough bathrooms, there's all kinds of things we still don't know."

And there are people who will fight that zoning change to the end. "I've watched Metropolis deteriorate since it became a dance bar," says Janet McKinnon of the Historic Theatres' Trust, a preservationist lobby group. "People bang up against the plaster work, the humidity causes damage. It's always preferable to turn these old theatres into community cultural centres."

Ioannou remains cocky. His renovations include a state-of-the-art ventilation and air-conditioning system which should take care of any humidity problems. As far as he's concerned, there's no problem that can't be solved. "I'll get my zoning change," he says with a smile.

Local councillor Fotopulos continues to demand that the city purchase the Rialto, but at this point no one's interested in selling. Kalogeras and Ioannou have rolled their dice with the building they insist they love. As a privately owned, 40,000-square-foot building, they say they have to attract customers from outside the neighbourhood to survive and turning the Rialto into a multipurpose club space was their only viable option. As Ioannou points out, it's their money and their risk; if it doesn't work out, a fully restored Rialto will still be standing.

One person involved with the project, who asked not to be named, put it this way: "Turning a building of this stature into a nightclub is a vulgar thing to do. But it's being done right, and at least the building will come alive again."