Attending the opera might seem like an unlikely Saturday night activity for a McGill student. But if you’re looking for a taste of culture and are ready to take a trip back to Montreal’s 19th century high-society nightlife, then you just may want to buy yourself a ticket to Opéra de Montréal’s lively production if Die Fledermaus by Johann Baptist Strauss.

This whimsical operetta, traditionally set in Vienna, now takes place in 1890s Montreal. Resonating with national pride, the first ever entirely Quebecois cast dazzles in front of a glorious backdrop of the Mount Royal cross, shining through a living room window in the elegant home of socialite—and main character—Gabriel Eisenstein (Marc Hervieux).

As the show commences, a cackling, fiendish man named Falke (Dominique Côté) expresses his desire for revenge on Gabriel. Gabriel, the year before, had abandoned Falke after a wild costume party. Falke, still embarrassed about being left on the streets in his bat costume (hence the title Die Fledermaus, German for The Bat) assumes the role of puppeteer as he weaves an intricate and vengeful—albeit hilarious—web designed to humiliate his dear friend. Before long, he sweeps up Gabriel’s wife, Rosaline (Caroline Bleu), and their flighty but lovable housemaid, Adèle (Marianne Lambert) into his waltzing scheme.

This tumultuous comedy introduces an eclectic cast of characters: a bumbling, legally blind lawyer; an apathetic, effeminate prince; a sex-crazed music teacher; a comically intoxicated jailer; a few exotic dancers; and a cross-dressing cousin. By Act III, you’ll be in stitches, astounded at the madness that has unfolded in front of you. The champagne flows freely, and eventually, everybody ends up in jail, still waltzing away to Strauss’ bounding melodies.

The enchanting talent in the production is undeniable. Much of the cast is internationally renowned, and all members have built extensive careers in opera and theatre throughout Quebec and Canada.

As important as the actors are, the foundation for their brilliance is the boisterous, captivating music that sails up from the orchestra pit. Johann Baptist Strauss, one of the world’s greatest Romantic composers, is known as “The Waltz King,” and deservingly so. The three-beat cycle complements the smooth, flourishing tones of the vocalists, and makes you want to tap your feet from the moment the overture starts to the last note of the finale. The Viennese-style rhythm encapsulates a timeless joy.  In fact, the choreography sneaks in a surprise piece modern flair with a quick, tasteful dance reference to “Gangnam Style.”

As operas go, Die Fledermaus is not only digestible, but will leave you craving more. The majestic opera house at Place des Arts serves as a change of pace for a Saturday night; the opera is a cultural destination that all McGill students should experience

Die Fledermaus runs January 26, 29, and 31, and February 2 at Salle Wilfrid-Pelletier, Place des Arts. Student tickets $30 when purchasing two shows or more.

When we get on the topic of Montreal, Matt winces.

“Do people just not get us there?”

We’re discussing Matt & Kim’s last Montreal appearance, a show that Matt remembers had a painfully low turnout. Immediately, however, he regains his characteristic ebullience.

“We were looking for a chance to get back there and do it again. I’m expecting, or hoping, that this show will be awesome, that [Montreal]’s back on our map. We’re not scared!” he laughs.

Prior to forming the keyboard/drum powerhouse that is Matt & Kim, Matt Johnson and Kim Schifino met while studying at New York’s Pratt Institute. Immediately, they got along. (Kim initially had a crush on Matt; the Tribune infers that this crush has been reciprocated, since the musical duo are now a couple.)

“We’re one and the same in a lot of ways. I’ve played with bands with five guys in the past, and everyone’s got a different idea of what a song should sound like. You compromise so much that it’s watered down and loses focus. I have a very difficult time compromising, and so does Kim—luckily we’re on the same page and [we] make a lot of the same decisions.”

The two got on so well, in fact, that the band came out of their relationship, rather than vice versa.

“She didn’t play drums, I didn’t play keyboard, but we did other stuff; we had similar interests in art, and we worked well together,” Matt reminisces. “It almost seems [that] before you find a bunch of musicians who are good at their techniques and put them together, you should find people you’re good with.”

Seven years later, Matt & Kim have made a name for themselves through both their exuberant live shows, and indie-pop singles like “Cameras,” “Daylight,” and most recently, “Let’s Go.” While their fourth album, Lightning, contains their trademark catchy hooks and effusive, thumping tracks, the sound is less slick than their past two releases.

“I consider Lightning to be both the most mature, and the most immature album we’ve ever made. We made the [second] album in my parents’ house, in the bedroom I grew up in, my old skateboarding posters still on the wall. It was just unfiltered Matt & Kim because we didn’t have any producers, or engineers…. Then with the [third] album, we went in with a producer, and different studios—I think three or four different studios—and in the end, we [loved] that album. But some of the humanity was taken out, because of people who knew what they were doing, as opposed to me and Kim, who have no fucking clue what we were doing,” Matt laughs.

“We decided that we should go back to having no clue what we’re doing, so we went back and made the Lightning album.”

With Lightning garnering an enthusiastic response from critics and fans, Matt & Kim are about to embark on another whirlwind tour. Whatever Montreal’s reception—and if their recent shows are any indication, it will be overwhelmingly positive—the two are happy to be on the road together.

“Any relationship I’ve [had] in the past, it’d be a bloodbath right now,” Matt jokes. “No one should be able to work together and be in a relationship together. I feel really lucky that we are.”

Matt & Kim perform with Passion Pit on Feb. 15 at The Metropolis (1909, Ave. des Montreal). Admission $40.15.

America, despite its violent early emancipation from its colonial overlords, has always harboured a deep-seated, almost shameful Anglophilia. This is perhaps most evident in the cultural sphere, where only the audacity of the American would allow him to appropriate that most revered of all English literary titans, William Shakespeare. West Side Story, one of the more successful efforts at such appropriation, transplants the star-crossed passion of Romeo and Juliet from the opulence of Verona to the blue-collar grit of ‘60s New York City. The Arts Undergraduate Theatre Society (AUTS)’s rendition of this classic is mostly faithful and acceptably competent, with a few flashes of strength and talent.

Whereas conflict in Romeo and Juliet stems from aristocratic feuds, West Side Story traces its problems to ethnic tension. The irony is that the solution proposed here—the stick-and-carrot combo of assimilation and ‘the American dream’—is decidedly less universally palatable than the authors may care to admit.

The Sharks are a Puerto Rican gang, the Jets, Caucasian; the latter accuses the former of moving in to take ‘their territory’; repeated skirmishes between the two sides have not served as a valve to release pent-up pressure, so much as to incubate it. Caught in the middle are the lovers Tony and Maria, each from an opposing side of the ethnic divide.

Given this context, it is unsurprising that the musical brims with heightened passions. Yet, AUTS’ cast is too often too limp, overcome with lethargy. This is particularly true in large ensembles, and during the first act, where the lack of energy makes for noticeable problems in synchronicity. To director and choreographer Rebecca Pearl’s credit, it can be deduced from her dynamic blocking and vigorous choreography that the intention of the production is no pulled punches, a choice of force over subtlety—yet the cast lacks the necessary momentum to follow through on this promise.

Christopher Stevens-Brown’s Tony maintains a curiously stooping posture, with short, staccato cadence that seems like an attempt to channel Jesse Eisenberg. Stevens-Brown’s speaking voice is a stark contrast to his singing, which glows with richness, despite being occasionally challenged in the upper registers. As Maria, Piper Ainsworth is likewise stronger in her vocals than in her characterizations, though she does find compelling dimensions to the role in the second act. Unfortunately, the lack of chemistry between the two is a formidable stumbling block for much of the production.

The clear stars of the show are two of the prominent supporting characters, Anita (Vanessa Drusnitzer) and Riff (Ryan Kligman). Drusnitzer possesses no flaws—she is equally formidable and brilliant in her singing, dancing, and acting. For her nuanced portrayal, Drusnitzer is rewarded with a memorable, scene-stealing turn. Kligman similarly exudes personality, bringing to Riff a certain slick suaveness that this critic has not seen in previous renditions. Much of the reason why “Cool” is this production’s best song can be credited to Kligman. Another standout was Diesel (Ben Harris), who, in going beyond the confines of the script, breathes life into the character.

Michèle Robinson’s lighting design is wonderfully imaginative, with a boldness and deftness that compliments the production’s aspirations. The live orchestra was generally capable, making minimal errors, though the brass section was a cause of concern at times. As noted earlier, Pearl’s choreography—aided by Galen Macdonald’s unobtrusive and functional set design—is effective and sharp, which comes through even with imperfect execution. The performance attended also had sound errors too frequent to ignore; one hopes that this is a wrinkle that will be quickly smoothed over.

By the very end of the production, AUTS’ cast finds a powerful emotional chord to pluck, finally fulfilling the potential that is drizzled tantalizingly throughout the show. Alas, this discovery of strength comes far too late.

            The Arts Undergraduate Theatre Society’s production of West Side Story runs Jan. 31 to Feb. 2, 7:30 p.m. at Moyse Hall. Student tickets $15.