Remembering my first bellydance show

I walked into the long dressing room above the stage. All was colour and sparkle. Lightbulbs glowed around mirrors, glitter eyeshadow spilled across tables, sequinned bras hung from the backs of chairs. Half dressed, but full to the brim with uncontrollable excitement and fear, my girls primped and preened and yelped with laughter.

They turned and looked at me. And all talked at once. None of them had ever done anything like this before. The lightbulbs! The mirrors! The costumes! “Look Charlotte! Look! Look!!” I looked. And saw a room of excited women about to embark on something most people are truly terrified of - public performance.  But more than that, what I saw was a room full of women who were comfortable in their own skins.

Someone had brought along a bottle of vodka, someone else a phial of Bach Flower Rescue Remedy. And so, between them, they came up with what I still think is the perfect cocktail for pre-show nerves - Vodka and Rescue Remedy!

I had my own fears but mine were different from theirs. I knew we hadn’t managed to sell many tickets. We had lots of promises but little hard cash. I wasn’t worried about the money - the small Women’s Institute Hall hadn’t cost that much to hire. But I was worried about the atmosphere in the hall and, most of all, the disappointment for the girls if, after months of hard work, they came out on stage to find themselves performing to only a few people.

Two weeks earlier I had sat in the hall all alone and imagined rows and rows of seats facing the stage. In my imagination I saw twenty people huddled in coats. Sitting, chilly and miserable in the two front rows as my girls desperately tried to entertain them with their shimmies and eights and hip drops.

So I had determined to do something about the atmosphere at least. I decided to set the room out with round tables, cabaret-style, reasoning that it would make the hall seem fuller and the audience more relaxed. I bought candles and nuts and olives, Lea and Heather talked their husbands into running a bar.

The day before the show I had arrived in the hall to find a small group of my girls hard at work, carrying swathes of chiffon to make drapes for the back stage wall. An elderly man I’d never seen before was painting a beautiful oriental-shaped window looking out onto stars and minarets. “Who’s he?” I asked. “We don’t know! We just found him here and Shelley flirted with him like mad until he offered to paint some scenery for us.”

On the day of the show itself we rehearsed on stage until the last minute. Paul worked the sound, my nephew Alasdair the lighting. The bar was being prepared, the tables set. At 7pm I lit the candles, gave Paul and Alasdair a hug, then said an urgent internal prayer, before climbing the rickety stairs up to the dressing room.

And now we were close to the moment for me to go down to the stage and confront my own fears. Like many people I have a fear of failure. It’s mostly a fear of being shown up as a fool for thinking I can do something. And, like most people I also have an internal critic. Mine sits on my right shoulder and spends a lot of time pointing out my many shortcomings. That critic knows that one of my greatest fears is of publicly being seen to fail. It never ever actually stops me from doing anything, but whenever I push myself, I know that fear and doubt will be my constant companions.

The girls were excitedly buzzing around, squeezing into costumes, sharing makeup, posing for photographs, sneaking another Vodka snifter. Thrilled to be there, telling me how wonderful everything was. But inside my head I was as low as I could possibly be. Knowing that no-one was going to turn up. Wondering what on earth I was doing trying to put on a show with fifteen women who had never been on stage before and who had been bellydancing for less than a year. Knowing that I really wasn’t up to the job and never had been.

And then the sound of feet running up the stairs, a frantic knocking on the door.  Paul’s voice. “Can I come in?” A quick look round, everyone decent? I opened the door.

Paul burst into the room. “The hall’s full! We’re having to pass chairs over heads and tell people just to find anywhere they can to sit! You’re meant to be on in five minutes and they’re still queuing down the High Street! You’ve got a hit on your hands girls!!”

The excitement rose several notches. And as my fear abated, theirs lifted. “Oh my God, we’re going to go out on stage in front of hundreds of people!!”

I turned round to them, told them they were wonderful. They were my girls and they were gorgeous. Everyone would love them, they were going to be fabulous! And at that moment someone sprayed glitter up into the air. The girls looked upwards. And glitter rained gently down onto their glowing faces.

I don’t remember much of the actual show. But Shelley remembers standing in the wings waiting to go on stage and seeing a line of girls in the wings opposite; their costumes and excitement mirroring hers. I remember them all sitting around on the stage, playing finger cymbals as one by one they got up to dance short solo numbers within a bigger group dance.  I remember Louisa, blonde and dressed to kill in very little, burning up the stage as she danced a dramatic drum solo. 

And I remember Chantal. Not the Chantel who now teaches at Hipsinc. No, this first Chantal was the quietest, the shyest of all my students. A young woman with a dark beehive, milk white skin and dark eyes. Who hardly spoke a word in class but whom I had noticed as time had gone on and realised was a lovely dancer. I had asked her if she would dance a solo and very quietly she had agreed. I had taught her a gentle, fluid veil solo and now she danced. Softly, with reserve, but with such tenderness and beauty that every man in that hall fell in love with her.

I know the bar ran out of alcohol and the guys had to run out and buy more during the second half. And I know how many men made a point of saying to Paul that every single woman in that show was so beautiful. Which was when I realised that men don’t expect us to be supermodels. They love us for being women, with all our lovely soft flesh and our lumps and bumps and our imperfections.

I remember the applause from the audience that seemed to go on forever. And the wonderful bouquet of flowers they presented me with at the end of the show. I remember seeing the vicar in the audience, cheering his head off. And Chantal being dragged off into the night by her boyfriend; a wonderful Mona Lisa smile on her face, a look of lust on his. And I remember Lea calling out: “come on girls, let’s go and raise some more money - we’ll charge them a quid a shimmy!!” And seeing them in amongst the audience, laughing and shimmying and rattling the collection tins. As the bar ran out of alcohol once again and the audience refused to go home.

And finally I remember standing at the back of the hall, watching all the laughter and mayhem and joy. And thinking to myself. “This would make an amazing film.”

Heather and Chantel - two remarkable women

This has been a happy and optimistic week. Full of positive signs for the future for two amazing, strong women who are central to my story.

On Tuesday I got a text from Heather. Croydon has agreed to finance cyber-surgery on her brain tumour (see previous post).  She's had to live through weeks of waiting to find out if funding would be approved and I couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her - to know that a decision on her life was being made around a committee table. But now she has a date for the surgery and it's just two weeks away.  There's no guarantee it will work, but it's another stage in her fight, another opportunity to cheat the death sentence she has faced for five years now.

For the first few years of her terminal cancer diagnosis I would devise new bellydance challenges for Heather to focus on. A duet, a solo, a semi-professional booking. Anything for her to look forward to and work towards. And now there's something unbelievably exciting to stay alive for. To walk up the red carpet at a world premiere. To sit in the darkness and laugh and weep alongside hundreds of others for whom her story is fresh and new. To see that story writ large on the big screen; beautiful, funny, heartbreaking.

The seemingly slow progress on the film (and all those in the know say it's moving remarkably fast) clashes horribly with each new danger to Heather. I think to myself: "Can she last another two years? Three?" I so want her to be alive to see it. I can't bear the thought of the film ending with a dedication to her memory. So I push and worry and send fervent prayers, in the hope that one day I'll sit in a dark cinema with her, holding her hand. Marvelling.

Holding my other hand will be Chantel. Beautiful, talented, hardworking Chantel - the first of my students to go professional and the girl I think of as my daughter. With the looks of a supermodel, the work ethic of a captain of industry and a voice to shatter glass at a hundred paces there's no-one quite like her.

Chantel has battled enormous adversity in her life. And her story is a beautiful and inspiring one. A tale of childhood suffering, of the hazards of adult love. And ultimately a tale of redemption through dance.

Her terrible taste in men has been legendary amongst her friends. But seven months ago she met a wonderful man. Thoughtful, caring and utterly gorgeous, he loves her with a passion. And on her birthday a few days ago he proposed. When she broke the news to me, when she showed me the beautiful diamond solitaire he had given her, I wept. I'm weeping now as I write this. Because nobody deserves love and happiness more than Chantel.

I had given up hope that she would find someone who could give her the support and the love that she gives others. She had given up hope too - had forsworn men, not trusting her own judgement. And then suddenly he arrived. Stable, loving, handsome and strong.

Cinderella has found her Prince. Love has triumphed. The story has a happy ending.

A film of my life story!! How did I get to this point?

I promised to answer any questions about the film in this blog and last week Manon Claus from the Netherlands asked how much involvement I would have in the making of the film and whether or not I would have any control over the finished product. I thought the answer would give me an opportunity to explain a bit about what happened in the run up to the present day. How did I actually get to the stage of having a Hollywood film company want to make a film of my life story?

Well, the story is based on a large body of writing I’ve done over the past ten years. My husband Paul, and Andro, a very dear friend of ours who is a writer, always loved the stories I would tell them of my students and bellydance friends. They found them inspiring, funny and uplifting. Sometimes they found them heartbreaking. They nagged me for years to write the stories down.

I had always believed that the tale of teaching the ladies in my tiny Kentish village to bellydance would make an amazing film, and I’ve worried away for years about how I might make it happen. Writing the stories down would at least give me something to work from in the future, so I followed their advice. I kept the stories private – only showing them to Paul and Andro, who were always supportive and encouraging.

Two years ago a local sculptor who had seen my first-ever show in our little local town, introduced me to an independent film producer, who agreed that the story would indeed make an amazing film. The sculptor put together a small production team (which included me and the producer) and we started to work together. 

In the first meeting the other members of the team were very excited and, in their enthusiasm, started to make up all sorts of fanciful stories about me and my students. I came home seriously concerned that the story would go off on a crazy tangent, so Paul suggested I take a few weeks off teaching and write down everything that had happened to me – from the first moment I saw a bellydancer in 1981, right up to the present day. It was long, hard work, but at the end of the process I had a 13,000 word document which told my story and that of my students in my own words. I copyrighted it, signed it, sealed it and posted it to myself by recorded delivery (to give me a confirmed, dated record of my story).

I then sent a copy off to the producer (alongside the essays I had written) who loved it and said there was enough material in there for more than one film and that it would also make an amazing West End show. Everyone was terribly excited and convinced they had a potential hit on their hands, but as the months went by I became increasingly unhappy. I found the other members of the team overbearing and often felt bullied (not an easy thing to do to me!) 

The original idea was that the producer would introduce us to a film company to make the film, but it soon became clear that the team members wanted to do everything themselves – casting, choosing the director, raising the finance, even undertaking the advertising and publicity. I felt that they were all playing at being film makers and I just couldn’t see the project ever actually seeing the light of day. I was increasingly convinced that, even if it did get made, it would disappear without trace. So, when the writer we hired to write the screenplay had to pull out at the last minute, I decided to take matters into my own hands. 

A film script has two stages. A story outline – called a treatment, and a working script. I took it upon myself to write the treatment and on holiday in Turkey last July I did just that. And that was when the magic started to happen (see blog post here)

I want to explain what happened next at a later date, when I can name the film company (it’s a beautiful, magical sequence of events) so I won’t go into any detail here. But just to say, I ended up with my story being taken on by one of Hollywood’s biggest and most famous film studios.

And here is where the answer to Manon’s question comes in. The first team was very collaborative and democratic (albeit overbearing at times). Everyone was going to have an equal stake in the production company, any profits would be shared between us and we would all have a say in the script, choice of director, casting, everything.  

Now that I’m signing with a big studio I have far less say in the process. I don’t mind that too much. My attitude is, these guys make hit movies for a living - they know what works and what audiences will pay to go and watch. However, what they don’t know is the bellydance world. They don’t know how to go about choosing music and they don’t know where to buy bellydance costumes. They don’t know sha’abi from saidi, Bella from Eman or a hipdrop from a camel! Which is where I will come in.

My initial role will be twofold. As the story is based on my life and that of my students the writer will need to spend a lot of time with me in person and by phone and email. She’ll be coming to my classes, spending time in my village and meeting the people who fill my life. Of course, she will need to fictionalise certain things (this is a feature film, not a documentary) so some characters will undoubtedly be composites and some stories will be wholly or partly made up. And I really don’t want to interfere in that process – as I said earlier, they are the professionals. Of course, if there is something that is just plain wrong then I’ll say so. But I won’t have final say on the storyline. And neither do I want it.

Likewise, the studio chose the writer and the producer. I wasn’t involved in that decision, although I am thrilled with the choices. Together with the producer, they will choose the director and the cast. I’m sure if I have a strong desire for a certain actress to play me or a central character, I can put that view forward and it will be considered, but I certainly won’t have the right to demand anything. Locations and so on will be chosen by the director.

If and when we get to the point of filming (and, with a lot of luck and a fair wind, it might be this time next year) I’ve been promised I’ll be retained to do the choreography, teach the actresses to bellydance and advise on music and costuming. Those are the elements where I believe I can really bring something to the table. But as for the rest of it, I have to be prepared to sit back and let the professionals take over. 

I don’t know how hard that will be until I’m going through the process. I’m sure there will be many private tears shed on Paul’s shoulder. But as long as the final result is a great success and gives me, my team and the world of bellydance an exciting time and a higher profile in the future then I’ll be very happy.

The film - what happens next?

Gosh it's been a whirlwind two weeks! Of course it's nothing to what real celebrities go through, but it's been exciting, exhausting and unbelievably good for my ego

Firstly, I was overwhelmed by the wonderful messages of support from people once I had announced the news of the film. I'd been pretty scared about doing it - I didn't really know what to expect - but I really hadn't imagined I'd be the recipient of such generosity of spirit. It was incredibly heartwarming. I had so many posts on my Facebook message board, private messages, emails and of course comments on this blog. All were supportive, congratulatory and very, very kind. Thank you everyone!

Then every day last week was spent in interviews with TV, radio and national press. And this was a week that should have been completely taken up with preparation for my big student show on Saturday! I'm good at juggling but I tell you, there were a lot of balls up there! Here's a link to a BBC TV news film about the story and here's a lovely piece in the Sunday Express. 

But now the student show is over (and was wonderful!) so I have time to get back to writing. And I thought you might like to know a bit more about where things are and what happens next as far as the film is concerned. Of course there are lots of things that have to be confidential, so I'm going to concentrate on stuff that is in the public domain or is standard industry practice.

How long will it take?

A film takes years to make - my brother, who works in the film industry told me to expect it to take up to ten years!! But because I'm working with a big studio it will hopefully be much quicker. This one has actually been in progress since November last year and if everything goes really quickly, it might be in cinemas two years from now. 

Two years may sound like a long time, but when you think of the amount of work that is involved: writing and agreeing a script, finding the right director, casting it, finding locations, putting together all the film crew, costuming, etc etc etc. And of course the studio has to work around the busy schedules of A-list actors and directors who are not all going to be available at the same time, and certainly not at the drop of a hat.

Filming itself typically takes around ten to twelve weeks. And even when that is done, there’s the long, gutty job of editing and post production - which takes about nine months.

Where are we now?

We now have a writer in place – a BAFTA nominated writer who is very much in demand right now. And, quite magically, it turns out she’s a bellydancer! Nobody had known this in advance,  but she’s been bellydancing for ten years and loves it. She regularly goes to festivals such as JoY and has taken workshops with several of my friends. She came down to our show on Saturday (and loved it) and will start work on the script in the next few weeks. One of my concerns was how well I would be able to communicate the way bellydancing can change women’s lives, but of course she totally understands – she’s experienced it herself. And she doesn’t come loaded down with pre-conceptions or misunderstandings about our dance.

We also have a famous award winning producer on board who, once again, is a woman. She will be responsible for putting the team together, for making sure the film is true to its conception, that it comes in within budget and generally keeping everything on track. She’s produced some of the biggest blockbusters of recent years so it’s incredibly exciting that she wants to do my story! 

A British production

The studio executive who ‘discovered’ me is deeply committed to this being a British film. British films are a distinct genre within the industry – wonderful films such as The Full Monty,  Calendar Girls, Bend It Like Beckham and The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. When the story went out to writers to pitch for it, the American studio executives put forward several Hollywood writers, but my guy resisted because they wanted to "Hollywood-ise" the story. We all want real women with real curves and a few years on the clock to be represented, as well as younger ones of course.

We're all aiming for this film to be heartwarming and inspirational with crackling dialogue. We want you to laugh and cry along with the real women depicted in the film – most of whom are still Hipsinc students and teachers. And of course there will be great music,  great dancing and fabulous costumes!  

What’s not to love?

If you have any questions you'd like me to answer in this blog, leave a comment and I'll try to answer (subject to commercial confidentiality of course!) 

Here it comes! The secret I've been dying to tell everyone!

So, last night I finally went public. I had an interview lined up with the local paper today and had been given permission to tell them what was happening. I really didn't want my friends and bellydance colleagues to find out from the press before I told them myself, so last night at London's Bellydance Trophies competition I said the words I've been dying to say for two years now...

"In the next few days I will be signing a contract with a major Hollywood film studio who will be making a film based on my life story!"

Yes. Really!

I can't quite believe it myself, although I've had a long time to get used to the idea. The plan is that it will be a classic British film, telling the story of me and my students, and the classes I used to run in my tiny village in Kent. They are billing it as the next Calendar Girls, but edgier. And of course with lots of bellydancing!

If the film is a success, then they will make a West End show of it. A West End bellydance show! How amazing is that??

We are hoping to have some of the great British actresses starring in the film, so hopefully I'll be teaching some of my favourite actresses to bellydance some day soon! And I really hope I get the chance to choreograph the dancing in the film too - they've certainly promised I will.

I hope I'll be able to tell the story of how it all happened in this blog sometime, but basically this is what my Project Lift Off is all about. When they started to talk about a West End show, I realised that bellydance isn't geared up for the West End stage - our dance was developed for small scale environments like restaurants and nightclubs. The big stage needs bigger movements because tiny vibration shimmies and lovely internalized mayas will be lost across a big auditorium. We need our work to be seen all the way back in the upper circle!

And if the stage show does indeed get commissioned, we need to be ready with lots of amazing bellydancers! Capable of doing anything that a choreographer wants to throw at them! And if we are to dance night after night on a big stage, we need tough dance training - to make sure we are strong, fit and flexible. We need to do the sort of dance conditioning that other dance forms do, but that has tended to get missed in bellydance.

I've got at least three years to get UK dancers prepared for what I hope will be an unbelievably exciting opportunity. Something that will put bellydance on the map. Something that will hopefully raise the profile of bellydance internationally. And something that could be a major milestone in the history of bellydance.

Whatever happens, it should be one amazingly exciting journey!!

If you want to find out more about Project Lift Off, I explain a bit about it on my website here. If you want to join in, the next two courses start on Sunday - details here. One is a four week choreography course, the other is based on combinations so you can just try a class out without committing to a full course.

I'll tell the story of how it all happened very soon. It has all been quite magical - for everyone involved.

I also want to say a massive 'thank you' to my students and a few very special friends, who have known about this story for a while, but didn't tell! Thank you for keeping my secret. It meant a lot to me to be able to confide in you when I was just bursting to tell the world but couldn't!

Today I'm starting to write a book.

I’ve been a closet writer for around two years now.  Typing away at secret projects that quite magically have resulted in a contract due from the States today for me to sign. And hopefully transform my life.

The contract isn’t for a book, but within the contract is provision for a book. A book of my life in bellydance. Of my lovely girls and of the adventures we’ve had along the way.

A writer friend told me that the best time to write is first thing in the morning, before the brain starts worrying away at the mundane tasks of the day. I’m not an early riser by nature, but I discovered he was right. As a result, for large chunks of the past two years I’ve woken and got straight out of bed and to the computer. Not stopping to shower, not stopping to dress. All I do is grab a coffee and power up the Mac.

I don’t understand why, but I love writing. I don’t know what it is about it, why it makes me so happy. After all, isn’t  it reminiscent of school? Isn’t it terribly solitary? Aren’t there an awful lot of grammatical rocks to stumble over? But for some reason writing gives me enormous pleasure and I’ve never faced the thing writers fear most of all – a blank mind when faced with a blank page. I just get stuck in. 

And what could possibly be more wonderful than what I’m doing right now? Sitting in my sun dress, at a shady table in my beautiful garden in Kent. The early morning sun is shining, a bumble bee is foraging in the flowers at my feet and the birds are singing their hearts out.

One of the best times I wrote was on holiday in Turkey last summer. I had taken it upon myself to write something that was really important to me and I decided I needed a clear head to do it. We had a holiday booked and it seemed the perfect opportunity – away from the demands of running a school and an annual festival. 

So, every morning I would leave Paul snoozing in bed and walk through the gardens of our tiny hotel and down to the beach. There I would settle into a large beachside lounger and, with a pot of Turkish coffee by my side and my computer on my lap, I would write the morning away. 

It was a protected beach - loggerhead turtles were laying their eggs there that very week. So it was quiet and peaceful. No music, no beach hawkers, no motorboats. Just the sound of the waves and the chirping of the newly hatched chicks that roamed the hotel grounds with their mothers.

Maybe it was all that new life – the baby turtles, the golden chicks – or maybe there was just an air of magic in the place.  But the piece I wrote there took on a life of its own and, within a month of that holiday, a handsome young man walked across a dance floor and spoke the words that were to change my life.

But that’s a story for another day…