École Nationale de Cirque
3 reviews 8181 Ave du Cirque, Montreal, Quebec +1 514-982-0859 www.ecolenationaledecirque.ca suggest an edit
20 October 2023 21:48
I am currently enrolled in the teacher training program here, and my absolute favourite thing about it is my mentor Sylvain. I know a few other people who got mentors that are not nearly as good, but my experience has been absolutely amazing. If you’re into improving your coaching of hand to hand/standing acrobatics and you are lucky enough to learn from him I would highly recommend this program!
26 June 2023 19:00
My girlfriend attended the advanced teacher training course. We are running an aerial studio for several years now. We are welcoming approximately a thousand students in our studio each month to teach them different aerial disciplines such as silks, hoops, straps, rope, hammock. From what I’ve seen the course ecole is offering it’s not worth the money. The school neither has the skill set nor the resources to run a program like that, at least they are not allocating their resources accordingly. Teachers are lacking didactic skills. Staff in general has a very narrow horizon of experience when it comes to teaching on a recreational level. They basically only know how to teach athletes. Teachers know little to nothing about how things are running in other countries. Expertise outsight acrobatics non existent e.g. Business or law (liability etc.). They take little care of the participants and when confronted with criticism they are just deflecting. No interest to improve their program by learning from feedback loops. The whole group was rather disappointed. In the end you are basically paying for the reknown name on the certificate so you have something to brag about. A shame really.
19 December 2018 20:56
Last night, I was sitting in the ancient Marche Bonsecours and looking through my options. I noticed that the show, Passengers, started not at Eight but Seven-Thirty. I noticed a few tickets remained at the theater on Rue Jarry. Not until I booked a ride share did I realize I was destined for a night at the National Circus School. I knew I was just going to make the curtain and had no idea that a ticket awaited to be purchased. "Perfect", I thought. The conditions were exact.
I had to get out of the rideshare early because cars had lined up onto Jarry for parking. The school has a weak connection to the superb transpo system. So I ran around the cylindrical building and beelined for the billeterie, the box office. Although the show was virtually sold out, one good ticket remained for my purchase.
Needless to say, the show made rail travel seem so much more exotic than it has become, exhibiting great acts of juggling, contortionist hijinks and all the circus arts, all in the context of eight men and women on a train trip to anywhere. The tight rope act nailed me emotionally, brought tears to my eyes, a small feat, but still tears unexpected. A tableau depicted a young man sleeping on the rails, the same man walking tight rope as the tight rope apparatus moved. The men and women writhed underneath him as he tried more and more daring stunts. And bam, I got it. Grandfather Edward Jacob rode the rails across the Upper Peninsula, traveling for work. Paying fare would take away from savings, and why would you pay if a bracket hung under the rail cars where a person could hang? As a folk musician in Syracuse made clear while introducing a Guthrie song on riding the rails, when one rode the rails under the box cars, one didn't sleep. To fall asleep meant falling off and certain death. One had to wait hours to take care of personal needs, too. So if I were to offer notes to the production, going next to Moscow, the man on the tableau should hang upside down, maybe with a grim look on his face and three days of scruff on his chin.
The Master of Ceremonies invited us to continue our celebration in the bistro and the circus cascades afterward. He meant no lip service. People really did loiter, invited loiterers, enjoyed picnics at the tall round tables. The cast lounged, finally, on the settees. The bistro stayed full even as a staff cleaned the floor in the main hall and the gift shop closed.
Maybe in Montreal politeness becomes a kind of superpower. I turned to my right and asked a young man if I could offer him a drink. He accepted, but said, "I am only on the technical crew"! He was looking forward to Christmas when the show goes dark for three whole nights.
I found a table to drink a Rousse, a red biere that has become my go to biere. The fellow who ordered the IPA on my tab would not stand for me to drink alone and invited me to his table where the sound man, the light tech and their team chatted shop talk in French. Just techs my foot! My new friend handled the ropes behind the scene, allowing the performers to fly. The lights and sound tripped on a mere hand clap or less! After a few good pulls, all switched to English in order to figure me out. I did my best but, I really wanted the team to switch back to French again.
The team deserves another round for sharing their stoke with an American bloke!
I had to get out of the rideshare early because cars had lined up onto Jarry for parking. The school has a weak connection to the superb transpo system. So I ran around the cylindrical building and beelined for the billeterie, the box office. Although the show was virtually sold out, one good ticket remained for my purchase.
Needless to say, the show made rail travel seem so much more exotic than it has become, exhibiting great acts of juggling, contortionist hijinks and all the circus arts, all in the context of eight men and women on a train trip to anywhere. The tight rope act nailed me emotionally, brought tears to my eyes, a small feat, but still tears unexpected. A tableau depicted a young man sleeping on the rails, the same man walking tight rope as the tight rope apparatus moved. The men and women writhed underneath him as he tried more and more daring stunts. And bam, I got it. Grandfather Edward Jacob rode the rails across the Upper Peninsula, traveling for work. Paying fare would take away from savings, and why would you pay if a bracket hung under the rail cars where a person could hang? As a folk musician in Syracuse made clear while introducing a Guthrie song on riding the rails, when one rode the rails under the box cars, one didn't sleep. To fall asleep meant falling off and certain death. One had to wait hours to take care of personal needs, too. So if I were to offer notes to the production, going next to Moscow, the man on the tableau should hang upside down, maybe with a grim look on his face and three days of scruff on his chin.
The Master of Ceremonies invited us to continue our celebration in the bistro and the circus cascades afterward. He meant no lip service. People really did loiter, invited loiterers, enjoyed picnics at the tall round tables. The cast lounged, finally, on the settees. The bistro stayed full even as a staff cleaned the floor in the main hall and the gift shop closed.
Maybe in Montreal politeness becomes a kind of superpower. I turned to my right and asked a young man if I could offer him a drink. He accepted, but said, "I am only on the technical crew"! He was looking forward to Christmas when the show goes dark for three whole nights.
I found a table to drink a Rousse, a red biere that has become my go to biere. The fellow who ordered the IPA on my tab would not stand for me to drink alone and invited me to his table where the sound man, the light tech and their team chatted shop talk in French. Just techs my foot! My new friend handled the ropes behind the scene, allowing the performers to fly. The lights and sound tripped on a mere hand clap or less! After a few good pulls, all switched to English in order to figure me out. I did my best but, I really wanted the team to switch back to French again.
The team deserves another round for sharing their stoke with an American bloke!