I’m a sucker for good quotes. I know. It’s not healthy. But I just can’t help myself.
- vinny
(Source: purns, via improvobsession)
Thu, Jan. 26, 8pm — Les Enfants de Moliere
Les Enfants de Molière s’inspirent de la grande comédie française lors de chacune de leur impro. Intemporelle, ils se caractérisent entre autre par leur style d’interprétation, leur verve ainsi que le nom qu’il donne à leurs personnages! Vêtus de noir et de blanc, les Enfants de Molière entrent sur scène suivis de l’air du canon de Pachelbel. Francais, $7
Fri, Jan. 27, 8pm — Smackdown - Competitive Improv
The Friday main event. 2 teams compete for the audience’s favour and the Smackdown trophy. Fodor’s says, “Their Friday night Smackdowns, where the audience determines the winner, are definitely good for a laugh.” $8 or $5 with a pass.
Sat, Jan. 28, 8pm — Way The Hell Off Broadway
Way The Hell Off Broadway is not your grandmother’s Broadway musical, suckas!
Under the live musical direction of John Gilbert, players Dan Jeannotte, Kirsten Rasmussen and Bryan Walsh whip up scenes, make up songs, and create a mini-musical you would never ever see on Broadway. $8 or $5 with a pass.
Just… Just so right.
- vinny
Lights Out: Don’t panic: Everything’s connected.
Rick Andrews is a teacher and performer at The Magnet Theater in New York City. He teaches and performs around the country with The Magnet Theater TourCo, with ensemble Brick, and his duo, The Cascade.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about two words we hear a lot when improvising: “Fear” and “Trust”.
Fear
One of the biggest hurdles in becoming a good improviser is our fear. Fear and threat are pretty good motivators for all kinds of things. Simple, physical tasks respond super well to fear. If I wanted you to move a bunch of boxes across the room, I could easily get you to move them faster if I made you afraid by, say, threatening you with a whip.
Creativity, however, doesn’t respond well to fear. If I gave you a pen and paper and told you to “write a beautiful poem,” threatening you with a whip if it wasn’t beautiful enough probably wouldn’t lead you to write a better poem. It’ll actually probably lead you to write a worse one. There’s a whole bunch of pretty solid research to back this up.
This is because when we’re being creative, we need to be able to take risks, to make choices that reflect our personal voice, desire, and discovery; we need to be all-around mentally unencumbered by anything other than the creative process. Improv is a creative process, and as a spontaneous one, and one that we tend to do in front of other people in scary situations, it’s pretty susceptible to fear.
This fear makes us worse improvisers. It leads us to say and do things we don’t want to say because we think they’ll get a laugh, or the audience wants to hear them, or they’re the “right” things to say and do. We threaten ourselves with laughter, or rather, lack of laughter. As improvisers, we often hold an imaginary whip over our heads when improvising. Sometimes scenes feel like a sprint to get the first laugh, as if were the scene to go on for 30 seconds with no one laughing, the audience would simply stand up in unison, give you the finger, and leave.
Trust
To become a great improviser, I think it’s essential that we conquer this fear in some way. The way we do this is by having trust; we put trust in our scene partners, our team, the audience, and ourselves. We trust that they will help us, make us look good, look out for us, etc; we trust that they will help us avoid the things we are afraid of. The comfort afforded by the trust allows us to be our most creative selves.
When we first begin improvising, we trust specific, singular individuals on a kind of “prove-it-to-me” basis. If we get up there and do a scene with Michael, and Michael seems nice enough and Yes And-ed me and didn’t throw me under the bus, then pretty soon, I’ll trust Michael.
Then, if the classroom or team environment affords it, improvisers might extend that trust to a whole group of people, e.g. “I feel pretty comfy, more or less, with everyone in the class/team. No matter who I do a scene with, they’ll have my back.” This allows us to step out into a scene without fear, because we know that whoever joins us, we trust them. This isn’t always the case, but it’s wonderful when it happens.
Next, after improvisers do and watch enough shows, they begin trusting based on observation, e.g. “I saw Jermaine do that scene, he seemed pretty supportive/good/funny; I trust him.” At this point you might be stepping out with people you’ve never personally played with but still can find the freedom to be creative.
A little more, and improvisers start to trust the process of improvisation itself. When you see quality players come together and jam, they’re more or less putting faith in the process of improvisation, of Yes And, listening, heightening, etc. “I’ve never played with Tito or seen Tito but, oh well, let’s go do the improv thing and I bet a scene will happen.”
This is closely followed by trust in yourself as a capable improviser. This is great because it means you can confidently improvise with anyone at all, novice or expert, without feeling afraid or stifled. At Magnet in New York we have these great shows called “Mixers” where anyone can sign up and do a scene. New folks who’ve never done improv before are often paired with experienced house team members. From the experienced player’s point of view, they have no idea who this person is or if they’re any good. In fact, they probably have evidence that the person isn’t very good, since most everybody isn’t very good the first time they do improv. And yet, these scenes are almost always fun and funny. It’s not even like the experienced player is “carrying” the scene. They simply trust themselves, trust that if they keep YesAnding and listening, that a scene will happen, and that they’ll be able to find some fun.
All this trust is so that we can overcome this fear; we trust that these bad things won’t happen. However, for the most part, the worst thing that is going to happen to you because of a bad improv scene is that a bunch of people won’t think that you are very funny. And at the end of the day, that’s not so bad. No one dies, no one gets hurt or sick, everyone who cares about you still loves you, etc. Even for those who make or hope to make their livelihoods off of improv or comedy, one bad scene or show won’t ruin that. Whenever I’m feeling strangely nervous before a show, I try to remind myself of that. It’s not perfect, but it helps.
At the end of the day, there’s probably some combination of a few, many, or all of these things going on when we “trust” in improv. And the more you’re able to face down that fear, trust yourself and others, the better an improviser you’re going to be.
Previous guests: Kristen Schier, Andy Eninger, Jeroen Van Dyck, Remy Bertrand, Caspar Shjelbred, Sean Michaels, Kareem Badr, RobYn Slade, Ian Parizot, Rachel Klein, Dave Morris, Alex Wlasenko, From the old blog
Let’s take a moment to think about some of the improv wisdom we’ve all heard a million times before:
“Play to the height of your intelligence.”
“Don’t think.”
“Follow your instincts.”
“Play smart.”
“Don’t get in your head.”
“Check your impulses.”
Taken together, this advice…
I caught some footage of Marc chopping down a tree.
- vinny
Really like that list at the top.
- vinny
This is a series in which I ask great improv teachers to write down their thoughts on teaching improv. We start with Chris Gethard, who was the second person to ever run the UCBT-NY school after Kevin Mullaney.
Gethard wrote the first full curriculum for the school, taught dozens and dozens of very popular classes at all levels and also coached some of the best teams to ever develop at the theater. For a majority of the people who have considered themselves UCB performers in the last 10 years, Chris has been one of their prominent coaches/teachers.
He also has a new book out, A Bad Idea I’m About To Do, which you could check out.
Q: What are common notes you give to students?
Gethard: Here are pretty much all the notes and speeches I give, all the lines I draw in the sand. Honestly, I think if anyone reads all these they don’t even need to take a class with me:
- Chill the fuck out.
Thu, Jan. 19, 8pm — Open Stage
Exciting, Experimental and Cheap!
Come be part of the experiment as performers try out new ideas for the first time on stage!
ONLY $4!!! fb event
Fri, Jan. 20, 8pm — Smackdown - Competitive Improv
The Friday main event. 2 teams compete for the audience’s favour and the Smackdown trophy. Fodor’s says, “Their Friday night Smackdowns, where the audience determines the winner, are definitely good for a laugh.” $8 or $5 with a pass.
Kristen Schier has a B.F.A. in Theater Arts from the University of the Arts and has been working in Philadelphia Pennsylvania as a professional actor, improviser and teacher for many years. She is the Artistic Director of The Philly N Crowd, which a short form improv ensemble. Kristen also teaches, directs and performs at the Philly Improv Theater. Kristen has studied clowning intensively with Giovanni Fusetti. She has also studied improv briefly at The Second City and at the Annoyance in Chicago, Illinois. She has taken workshops and classes with such improv notables as Michael Gelman, Scott Adsit, Christina Gausas, Armando Diaz, Jonathan Pitts, Jill Bernard, Asaf Ronen, Mick Napier, Susan Messing, Tara DeFrancisco, Joe Bill and Mark Sutton, as well as various members of the UCB and Magnet Theaters in New York City.
What to Do After a Bad Show
If you have been improvising for a while you have probably had your share of good, bad, and, hopefully, great shows. We all want a majority of our shows to be effortless and brilliant. What happens when – well, … when … they … aren’t?
When you have the good fortune of experiencing a great show there is little left to do besides bask in the glory of it. Enjoy it as much as you are able because you will never do it again. Sure, you might do an equally amazing show but you can never do that show again. You will have to keep finding new ways of being marvelous - such is the ephemeral nature of improvisation.
However, when you or your improv troupe have a bad show (and trust me, we have all had them) it can be harder to know how to push through that terrible sinking feeling, and make it a positive learning experience. Most of us just go on making excuses, beating ourselves up, and sadly, not learning from our mistakes.
Here are some things to think about the next time you or your team have a show that didn’t quite go the way you would have liked:
Say thanks to the people who tell you “Great show!” afterward. This may be hard to do, since every fiber of your ego is screaming “I am better than that show, I swear”. I know that this was the one show your Aunt Mable was able to come to, and that if she had only seen the last show - which went so much better - she would have been truly floored. It does not matter. Your Aunt said it was a great show. She probably meant it. Say thank you.
Don’t discount the fact that the audience may have enjoyed the show much more than you were able to gather from onstage. Every audience has different comedic tastes, and ways of expressing their enjoyment of a show. Some audiences are quiet appreciators. At the end of every show bow like you have just done the most brilliant piece of work you have ever performed. You never know, someone may have thought it was wonderful, even if that someone wasn’t you.
I know you. You have great taste and high standards. This leaves you with a great sense of dissatisfaction when your work does not live up to those standards. Remember however, that what you thought was a terrible show may have truly delighted your audience, and after all, isn’t it them you aim to please?
Even if your Aunt did not mean what she said when she told you “Great show!”, she still came out to see you perform, and that is something to be thankful for. Say thank you. You can talk about how disappointing the show was later with someone you trust, and make all the excuses you need to. For now, smile and say thanks. Saying thank you is professional and looks way classier than someone apologizing for daring to create.
I have heard it uttered by those more experienced than me that one thing good shows and bad shows have in common is that they are both over. Sometimes it helps to remember that you never have to do that terrible show again, especially if you take the time to really learn from the experience. Relax. You will find a million other ways to be terrible. Remember Sturgeon’s Law that “90% of everything is crap”. You were bound to have a bad show sooner or later. Did you really think you had nothing left to learn, or that you were finally beyond ever having to do a horrible show again? Then I think maybe you are playing it too safe. You are not risking enough. You had better go sky diving to get scared again. Accept the possibility of failure. Daring to fail is akin to daring to be successful. Both are scary and both are a lot to live up to. If you don’t fail big you will never succeed big either. You will be safe and small.
Embrace your failure, but don’t cling to it, unless you want it to define you. Look at it plainly and don’t give it too much power over you. It can only truly be “failure” anyway if you don’t learn from it. Otherwise, you have gained knowledge, and that is a victory. Allow the show to be over. Put it to bed and start fresh tomorrow.
Chances are you put a lot of pressure on yourself for this show to be good. You wanted this show to be your defining moment. This will be, you told yourself, the show that gets you discovered by Lorne Michaels or any other person you might be trying to impress. Chances are that is why you buckled.
When you perform for a while you get the opportunity to grow over time and develop consistency. One show does not, should not, define you, good or bad. If you allow one show be that important you have diminished yourself, your work, and the art form.
Take the notes you are given from your director. Don’t talk back. Take them. I mean it, just shush and take your notes. Good.
I will here posit the virtues of having a director or coach for your improv ensemble. It can be hard to take a truly objective look at what might have gone awry from inside of it. Get a director for your team who does not perform with you, if at all possible, and have them give notes. A good director will be an invaluable resource for growth.
If you do not have a director, but you can still point to something definable you can do to improve on after a bad show, other than “I was in my head,” be cheered! You have found something to actively work towards! However, do not allow yourself to wallow in a general “I suck” mood. Without an identifiable goal to work towards, this kind of mood is not helpful, and nearly impossible to grow from.
You cannot change the show that happened. Go ahead. Try. See? Can’t do it. It is this futile attempt at control that may have gotten you in the situation of having had a bad show to begin with.
Sometimes your effort to blame the bad show on something is really just an effort to a find false sense of control over what happened. If you could only find out what went wrong you could stop it from ever happening again, right? Wrong.
You don’t have control over how a show goes. Ever. I mean, isn’t that what is so frighteningly wonderful about improv to begin with? You cannot determine what happens - you can only accept and support. Sure, there are best practices when improvising, but even they are only guidelines. Sometimes what a show needs most is everything you have been told not to do in your improv 101 class. The undeniable heart of improv is uncertainty.
There are so many factors that can influence the outcome of a show. Think about it. There are soo, soo many - few of which you can control. The space, the audience … soo many. Trust me, the list is long.
Understand, that I am not handing you excuses for why your show was bad. A good performer can intuit these factors and adjust to them. A good ensemble or performer can win over an outright hostile audience in a mere instant. I have seen this done.
I am, however, suggesting that you may have done everything right, or you may have done everything wrong, but the bottom line is that you do not have complete control over any of it.
Improv is a collaborative art form. Even if you are a solo performer you have to acknowledge an audience’s role in your performance. You cannot take full credit for everything that goes well, and you cannot take full blame for everything that goes wrong. Otherwise improv would be a formulaic science and we could read a book about how to do it right, and be done. Completely boring. In fact, the closest we might get to science is the erratic alchemy that is the chemical reaction between performer(s) and audience, composed of mostly mysterious elements. The sooner you learn that you cannot control everything that happens is the moment you are freed from worry and you open yourself up to the possibility of great failure, and by extension, great success.
Ironically, when you relinquish responsibility for everything that happens on stage you take more ownership over what you can control – which is simply how you respond. You can choose to refuse or to accept. When you take more ownership over your response you are likely to realize you have the opportunity to find fun in any situation. The terrible offers from your scene partner, or from yourself, with a healthy dose of humility, become fuel for brilliance, rather than judgment. When you are having fun you are probably fun to watch, which means you are probably having one of those rare things performers call a great show.
Enjoy the opportunity to play and be careful not to trade it for a pile of worry, judgment and fear. When it is over, let it go. Remember only that you are brave, and human.
Previous guests: Andy Eninger, Jeroen Van Dyck, Remy Bertrand, Caspar Shjelbred, Sean Michaels, Kareem Badr, RobYn Slade, Ian Parizot, Rachel Klein, Dave Morris, Alex Wlasenko, From the old blog
I’d love to see Montreal’s web-sketch community develop. Fun stuff like this is always welcome.
- vinny
