Sexe Machine (Montreal)

1. Overview

When Sexe Machine appears in the newspapers in the summer of 1971, the tone is set immediately. Long before its effective opening, articles announce a discotheque “like nothing ever seen before in Canada,” built around an explicitly erotic décor, an integrated sex bar, and a stated mission to “defuse” nudity. A piece in Photo-Journal describes a “complete pornographic gadget” imagined by the alliance between an experienced entrepreneur, Gilles Archambault, and a well-known artist, the caricaturist Robert Lapalme. ^1,3,8

From the beginning, public communication also emphasizes the project’s structurally experimental nature. Sexe Machine is not described as just another new club, but as the first unit of a future chain, set to expand across multiple cities in Quebec and Canada, in the manner of a commercial network. A widely discussed profile titled “Les Sexe-Machine… comme les Dairy Queen” dwells on this parallel with franchise culture: here, sex is conceived as a conceptual product, rolled out through a series of recognizable “units.” ²

The exact opening timeline illustrates the tension between project and realization. Announced for 15 July 1971, the discotheque is finally inaugurated at the end of October — the press attributing the delay to the décor. A Télé-Radiomonde article fixes the opening at 25 October 1971, while several retrospective texts mention an opening “in November.” ^4,5,10

1.1. Key chronological markers

• 15 July 1971 — opening date announced in the press, presented as the first club that will “exploit sex.”¹
• 25 October 1971 — effective opening according to Télé-Radiomonde (delay attributed to décor complexity).⁴
• November 1971 — opening “in November” recalled in several retrospective texts.⁵¹⁰
• Mid-January 1972 — reopening after changes to the décor and concept; intention to make it the meeting place for “classy night owls.”^5,6
• 1974 — major English-language feature stories (Montreal Star, Vancouver Sun, Globe and Mail) that fix the image of Sexe Machine as “the biggest dirty joke in town” and the first topless bar in the country.^12,16,18
• 31 December 1976 — fifteen-year retrospective of Gilles Archambault’s discotheques, with a reminder of the opening of Sex-Machine and the evolution of its format.¹⁰
• 4 November 1978 — night-time fire deemed suspect; the end of the venue, then under renovation.²⁰

The English-language press, for its part, quickly takes an interest in the phenomenon. In an article titled “Discotheques dead? Somebody forgot to bury them,” The Gazette cites Sexe Machine as proof that the discotheque model is far from dead: an underground Crescent venue whose décor is so spectacular that it alone justifies the trip. ¹³ A few years later, an extensive feature in the Montreal Star would describe the venue as “the biggest dirty joke in town,” not in a disparaging sense but to underscore that everything here is designed as a game. ¹⁶

2. The site, the premises, and the décor — Crescent as a stage

Sexe Machine is located at 1469 Crescent Street, an artery that, in the 1960s–1970s, becomes a symbol of downtown nightlife. An article in Montréal-matin recalls that the premises previously housed the first Mousse-Spacthèque, then Eve-Club, placing the new discotheque in a lineage of experimental venues that had already helped redefine Montreal’s night. ⁶

The décor, designed by Robert Lapalme, draws attention well before the doors open. In summer 1971 coverage, there is talk of a “phallic” ceiling, organic foam shapes, cushions, and padded volumes. Photo-Journal emphasizes that Sex-Machine is not simply a room decorated with paintings, but a tactile environment where walls, banquettes, and columns become points of contact, play, and staging. ^1,3

A La Presse article from February 1972 describes the place as an example of “discreet, commercial, artistic eroticism.” The author sees there a form of compromise: sex is present as both theme and décor, without yet tipping into extreme exhibitionism, and the staging of the body is conceived as a slow-burn spectacle, stretching over the course of the evening rather than as a string of individual “numbers.” The foam cushions and volumes, the dim light, and the music all contribute to this gradual dramaturgy. ^7,8

English- and French-language columns converge on one point: the Crescent venue is first and foremost a visual shock. Murals inspired by religious iconography, diverted into a more playful register, coexist with motifs described as openly “sexual.” Some articles speak of a “living landscape” to describe the ceiling above the bar, where padded shapes seem to move with the lighting; others stress that this visual overload is itself a way of deflating seriousness and shifting into a register of joke. ^7,16

“Sexe Machine on Crescent Street, the latest of Archambault’s ‘creations,’ is cited as an example of a discotheque where décor, lighting, and staging are completely devoted to playful provocation, in perfect continuity with Montreal’s Quiet Revolution of the night.”

3. Format, rituals, and sociabilities — “the biggest joke” in town

In a long feature in the Montreal Star in December 1974, Sexe Machine is described as “the biggest dirty joke in town.” The expression is misleading: far from designating a “sleazy” place, it is used to characterize an experience entirely built on a register of play. The article follows a visitor throughout the evening, from the entrance door to the last hours at the bar, and shows how each element — décor, staff, music, rituals — contributes to building a narrative. ¹⁶

The same feature emphasizes the role of the staff in this dramaturgy. The waitresses, often referred to by first name — Mimi becoming the most famous figure — are described as characters. Certain sources, notably a national-scale article, refer to Sex-Machine as the “first topless bar in Canada” and mention Mimi’s notoriety, said to be greater than that of most bar employees in the country. ¹⁸ Service is thus not merely an intermediary between customer and drink: it is integrated into the device, as part of the show.

Descriptions consistently present the venue not as a place for frenetic dancing, but as a kind of night-time theatre. The music, initially rooted in the discotheque tradition, gradually shifts towards a more disco / dance-pop repertoire in the mid-1970s, but is often described as a backdrop compared with the visual force of the space. There is a dance floor, but articles focus more on conversations, exchanged glances, and movement between tables and bar. ^7,16

“I don’t just sell drinks. I sell an atmosphere. Sexe Machine is made so that people have fun, that they laugh, and that they remember their evening.”

The formula is all the more striking in that the press describes the median age of the clientele as relatively high. A 1976 Photo-Journal piece places the majority of regulars between 35 and 40, and notes that the venue attracts “people who have already seen a lot” and who are seeking as much a story to tell as immediate excitement. ^10,18

4. Archambault, Lapalme, and the chain logic

4.1. From La Licorne to Sex-Machine

In several articles, Gilles Archambault is described as the Montreal “inventor” of discotheques. La Licorne, opened in 1962 in a boiler room on Mackay Street, is presented as the first commercial discotheque in North America and as the starting point of a network of brands: Baroque, Crash, Empereur, Mousse-Spacthèques, Eve-Club, etc. ^9,15 A 1970 profile even calls him the “Onassis of discotheques.”

Sex-Machine fits at the end of this chain as a kind of culmination. A retrospective piece in Photo-Journal, published on 31 December 1976, notes that “in November 1971, Gilles Archambault opened his famous Sex-Machine with its very erotic décor,” after fifteen years of experimentation. ¹⁰

4.2. The alliance with Robert Lapalme

The meeting between Archambault and artist Robert Lapalme is one of the project’s keys. In a Petit journal article from February 1972, the décor is described as the result of this “union of the financier Archambault with the artist Lapalme,” giving rise to a room entirely designed in foam-cushions, a “porous” surface that offers both physical support and visual provocation. ⁸

“Sexe Machine on Crescent Street is the first in a series. Like Dairy Queen, there will soon be locations in Quebec City, Trois-Rivières, and Ottawa. It’s the Lapalme-Archambault formula: foam, cushions, eroticism that makes you laugh and, above all, that doesn’t take itself seriously.”

4.3. Export to Europe

A few months after opening, the venue is already being considered as an exportable model. In February 1972, Le Petit journal reports that Archambault and Lapalme are leaving for Europe to present the formula to potential partners on the Côte d’Azur, in Brussels, London, Geneva, or Rome. The article notes that “Europe fell for the project before the province of Quebec did,” reinforcing the idea that Sex-Machine is perceived as a transnational concept rather than a purely local one. ⁸

4.4. A philosophy of the night

In a long profile published in a Vancouver daily in 1974, Archambault sets out his vision of night and memory. He states that “life is made of memories,” and that his line of work is to “create memories every day.” The journalist reports that he often repeats “The night is young,” a favorite phrase encapsulating the notion that real subjective time begins when the masks come off. ¹²

“Sexe Machine is made so that people have fun. People come here and they laugh. They enjoy themselves. They are happy when they come. (…) Your life is made of your memories. I create memories every day.”

4.5. Sex-Machine in Robert Lapalme’s trajectory

For Robert Lapalme, Sex-Machine marks a remarkable shift in his work. Known for his political cartoons and interventions in public space (murals, posters, metropolitan décor), he here enters the field of the discotheque as a total environment. Articles from 1971–1972 underscore the singularity of this move: rather than delivering a series of images hung on the walls, Lapalme designs an immersive décor in which volumes, ceilings, columns, and banquettes form a kind of “inhabitable caricature.”

The vocabulary used by the press — foam, cushions, “phallic” ceiling, pornographic gadget — recalls the codes of visual satire that characterize his work. But transposed into a nighttime environment, these elements become tools of sociability: they structure how customers move, direct gazes, and modulate the distance between bodies. Sex-Machine thus appears as a moment when Lapalme’s practice directly intersects with the history of nightlife cultures, exporting the aesthetics of caricature into the language of discotheque décor.

5. Perceptions, controversies, and moral discourse

From the moment it is announced, Sex-Machine arouses both concern and curiosity. A Photo-Journal article from June 1971 already evokes the possible intervention of religious authorities, suggesting that a “Monseigneur” might publicly denounce the project. The same text emphasizes the programmatic nature of the venue: it would not merely be a place of consumption, but a device aiming to “destroy Quebecers’ sexual shame” by confronting them with a décor that no other club would dare display. ¹

A few years later, the tone shifts in certain papers. In 1977, a column in Le Devoir offers a more critical reading, arguing that Sex-Machine contributed to the commercialization of sex and to transforming nudity into a promotional hook for a well-off clientele. The piece notes that the introduction of fully nude waitresses, two years after the opening, marked a turning point: the venue crossed a threshold that brought it closer to a erotic club than to an experimental discotheque. ¹¹

This interpretation is nonetheless nuanced by other sources, which stress the fundamentally playful nature of the device. In several interviews, Archambault says his goal is not to shock but to make people laugh, to unsettle without aggression. English-language articles in particular highlight the coexistence of a highly charged décor and an atmosphere described as relatively “good-natured,” despite the fantasies projected onto the sign by those who never set foot inside. ^12,16,18

6. End of the cycle, fire, and memory

By the late 1970s, Sex-Machine seems to have lost part of its aura of novelty. The press mentions the venue less often, while other forms of nighttime entertainment — show bars, more conventional discotheques, rock concert halls — move to the forefront. A Montréal-matin article from November 1978 notes that the discotheque is then under renovation, with a reopening planned in the months ahead. ²⁰

During the night of 3–4 November 1978, a fire ravages the Crescent premises. According to early reports, it is possibly of criminal origin. The newspaper describes the event as the destruction of “one of the oldest discotheques in the metropolitan area.” The venue, already closed at the time of the fire, would never reopen. ²⁰

In the 1980s, Sex-Machine resurfaces mainly in nostalgic columns. A Gazette article from 1988, devoted to downtown’s lost “landmarks,” mentions it alongside other emblematic venues such as the Rainbow or certain vanished major cabarets. The piece recalls that mid-1970s tourist guides already recommended the discotheque as an unmissable curiosity, while describing it in hindsight as a typical example of a spectacular concept aimed at tourists. ¹⁹

Beyond judgments, Sexe Machine now occupies a singular place in the history of Montreal’s nightlife cultures. By extending the logics inaugurated by La Licorne and combining them with a heavily staged décor, a philosophy of participation, and a franchisable chain imaginary, it illustrates the way downtown, in the early 1970s, integrated a generation of venues in which the boundaries between entertainment, provocation, and tourism, between laughter, embarrassment, and spectacle, were constantly being renegotiated.

In Gilles Archambault’s trajectory, Sex-Machine thus forms, together with La Licorne, Le Crash, the Mousse-Spacthèques, and other brands, a coherent ensemble of “formulas” that deeply marked Montreal’s nightlife at the turn of the 1960s–1970s.