Not Quite "Fame" - Studying Performance Arts in London
Is one too old at thirty-four to study Performing Arts? Montrealer Lisa Dery finds out that her fellow students in London don’t seem to think so...
by Lisa Dery
Ancient ornate buildings with spires; Dining rooms with long wooden tables and stained glass windows; huge libraries decorated with renaissance paintings, and stocked with endless rows of musty books; eloquent professors dressed in gowns, speaking passionately with posh accents while students hang on to their every word; and, of course, cosy student common-rooms where highly stimulating intellectual conversations take place. This is what comes to mind when North Americans think of studying in England.
I set out bright and early for my first day of classes at the City Literary Institute of London. What better way to start the day than by soaking up the beauty of the College and its attractive surroundings before starting my class? I knew that the City Lit was located in the artsy Covent Garden area – home of the Royal Opera House -, which made the experience all the more exciting. Armed with my trusted A to Z guide to London streets, I followed what seemed to be the most straightforward route from the tube station. The street I was looking for was off High Holborn road, which made me think of High tea, which in turn made me think of the Queen. I felt that I was about to enter British High society. Breathing in the fumes of the ubiquitous black cabs, noisy double-decker buses, and fast moving cars, I made my way determinedly to the prestigious establishment where I was to be educated. Strangely, though, the map kept leading me to a back alley. Other than a couple of snoozing panhandlers, an abandoned dilapidated building, and a tattoo parlour, this place was as forgotten and depressing as a Ste-Catherine street parking lot after 4:00a.m. I couldn’t see anything that resembled grand British architecture. Then the front doors of the derelict building suddenly flew opened, and a group of middle-aged men and women came rushing out, chattering and gesticulating animatedly to each other. I felt as though I had just stepped into the middle of the running with the bulls in Pamplona. I hurriedly stepped aside to avoid being trampled underfoot. When the throng of people had passed, I looked above the shabby doors and noticed a sign. My knees began to feel weak as I read what was inscribed: “The City Lit”. Feeling light-headed, I leaned on the wall to steady myself and took a deep breath.
Having recovered from the shock, I decided to save judgement until I had seen the inside of the College. The tiny reception area, complete with a warn-out carpet, and beaten-up chairs, was almost entirely filled with a crowd of lively mentally challenged people. This was my first real insight into the community of the College. Don’t get me wrong, I really LIKE mentally challenged people, but I had hoped that my auditions might have been successful enough to secure me a place in a, how should I put this, well… a non-mentally challenged school.
Fortunately, the City Lit also offers classes to non-mentally challenged people. Remembering this, I set off to my first class.
Now it may seem a little weird to some of you imagining a 34 year-old woman taking ballet, but be honest, who amongst you hasn’t long harboured the secret desire to dress up in pink tights and ballet shoes? It felt like an opportunity to indulge in one of my childhood fantasies. My fellow classmates and I filed into the dance studio. It was complete with slippery hardwood floors, reveal-every-bulge mirrors, leg railings high enough to dangle from, and an overpowering aroma of perspiration still lingering from the previous class. I stood around nervously waiting for the class to begin. The person at the piano played a major chord - the signal for the proceedings to commence.
I’ve always loved to dance, but some of the movements are difficult. Why is it that in ballet, as soon as you fix one body part, another goes wrong? The instructor assertively reminds us, “Bottoms tucked in, shoulders down, stomachs in, I said BOTTOMS IN …” It Might sound simple, but you try sucking in your stomach without poking out your bottom. Fellow student Ethel is helping me out. My feelings of inadequacy when I see how fluidly she dances are further compounded by the fact that Ethel has to be at least twice my age. “Don’t worry love, it took me a while to grasp that step, I’ve been doing this for over 60 years.” Ethel is one of the strongest dancers in the class, and is much more poised than the younger pupils. Under her tutelage, I’m definitely starting to improve. Maybe one day I’ll dance as gracefully as she does. I do hope to achieve this level before I hit my seventies though.
Posh senior citizens, oddballs, eccentrics, struggling artists, actors who are “between roles”, wacky Polish women, and fun-loving Brazilians are just a few of the characters I meet every day in my classes. The City Lit is heavily subsidized by the British government, which makes it a melting pot of people from numerous cultures, ages, and socio-economic backgrounds. In fact, many of the twenty to forty year olds enrolled here are on government benefits, and follow courses to improve their employability. Many have been out of work for years. The objective is to improve their skill set, which will boost their chances in the competitive job market. As keen job seekers, they naturally study music, dance, and theatre. Why waste time training to become a health worker or plumber when there are clearly so many more opportunities in Performing Arts?
I happen to be one of several “Americans” studying here. I say American because that is how I am perceived by most. Indeed most Brits (not to mention Americans, Australians, South Africans, Eastern Europeans, Spaniards, Italians, and Bosnians) have difficulty telling the difference between an American accent and a Canadian one, but then heck, so do I. The reality is that Canadians living in the UK constantly have to clarify where they’re from. And, once the truth is out, a look of mild panic unfailingly replaces the initial look of excitement on the other party’s face, as they now feel obligated to think of something interesting to say about Canada. They were gearing up for a gritty debate about George Bush and the US foreign policy, but now find themselves frantically trying to think of any intelligent comments that don’t involve polar bears, big mountains, or Eskimos.
I feel that specifying that I am from Quebec gives me “edge”. It makes me sound rebellious, unpredictable - dangerous almost.
I am sure that I am the ONLY Quebecer studying at the College, quite possibly the only Quebecer who has EVER studied there. You see, the City Lit is not exactly the most prestigious College in the UK. The name doesn’t quite roll off the tongue, like Oxford or Cambridge. But it is in fact the largest part-time course College in the city, and has been offering courses for over 85 years. My situation in being a Canadian studying here makes me, I admit it, somewhat exotic (in a Norwegian sort of way). But my being a Quebecer studying here, well THAT makes me quite a novelty (especially for those who have actually heard of Quebec).
“Quebec, that’s where they speak French!” is the usual reaction I get from the average somewhat-educated-but-not-so-well-travelled-twenty-something student at the College. In contrast though, the wealthy-retired-Oxbridge-educated-I’m-taking-courses-to-meet-people-and-explore-new-ideas-and-I-visited-Expo67 clientele of students’ reactions tend to be: “Quebec, that’s where they DON’T speak proper French…”
I completed my high school, CEGEP and University education all in French in Quebec (not to mention a bout of study in Bordeaux, France). I bite my tongue when Albert, a cultured sixty-something student, thoughtfully suggests I take a French course before my weekend trip to Paris. “A short course will help you learn the key basics of REAL French” he says, pleased with his idea. I sent him home with a shiner…Maybe Quebecers do have a dangerous edge after all.
Anyway, my success with the demi-plié and the grand battement has given me a newfound confidence, despite the fact that most of us in the dance studio look rather like drunken flamingos attempting to fly. My next class, “American tap”, is sure to be a blast. Ethel would feel right at home in this class, as the majority of the students are over seventy. Apart from a rather bewildered looking Chinese girl, who attends the first class but is then never seen again, I am actually the baby here. Many of the men and women have been taking tap dancing for years just for the fun of it! I find this return to study later in life to be inspiring. Some of the old lads are actually pretty good – they are obviously aiming for that Fred Astaire quality. They’ll make a Ginger Rogers out of me yet. I find out that many of the American Tap students get together on weekends and attend barn dances – which consist of live bands playing English folk, Scottish or Irish music and, of course, dancing - country dancing that is, complete with a proper caller to name the steps. I’ve just created myself an instant social life. Barn dancing with British senior citizens: I don’t know about you but I can feel a future article coming on.
Too old to study dance at 34? I don’t think Ethel, Albert, Edith, or Harold would agree.
The City Lit has since moved to a new location in a brand new building, with state of the art facilities. The City Lit offers over 3000 part-time courses for adults in Central London, including courses in Performing Arts, Music, Visual Arts, Humanities, Languages, Psychology, Walking Tours of London, etc. It is a great place to learn, and meet people.
City Lit
Tel.: 020 7492 2735
Keeley Street,
Covent Garden
London
WC2B 4BA
www.citylit.ac.uk