American Pie versus Technology, Part 2

(This is part 2 in a series - part one can be found in the archives over there (->) in November of 2010.)

The other characters suffer similar fates – Oz and Heather twice attempt phone sex in the sequel, and fail miserably both times. Oz in fact suffers an early embarrassment when he attempts to bed a “college girl” in Pie, this time a car serving as the modern chariot for his unavoidable failure. The sexual conquests of Chuck Sherman (whose alleged encounter with a woman starts the plot) are eventually unraveled over a speaker system at the school prom. (On a non-technology point, I would like to point out that Sherman suffers for a perceived slight that is in no way under his control; when leaving the morning following his assumed de-flowering, Sherman only says “It was just my time. It was just my time”. In fact, it is the four friends who make the logic jump that he has lost his virginity, a rumor that comes back to get him in the end. Granted, he does put on a mature show for the friends now, but he never explicitly says he is no longer a virgin.) Sherman is in effect a walking paradigm of anti-technology – he is the most awkward and geekiest of all the characters, and he constantly refers to himself as the Shermanator, a reference to the futuristic robotic killing machine from the “Terminator” franchise. That he does eventually get Nadia in the sequel comes only after he has a self realization at the end party. Though his last lines still reference his robotic alter-ego, he now has achieved an understanding about his place with technology. That the four friends study Latin only furthers the argument, Latin being so old a language that it is now “dead” - no more advancement can occur for it.

Oz and Finch both in fact represent how the abandonment of tech leads to success. Oz wins Heather's heart (and arguably finds himself) by joining the Jazz Choir – an activity that uses absolutely no tools or equipment of any kind. Oz's big moment, has him shedding his modern trappings of his lacrosse gear, so he can go sing “Do you believe in magic?” with Heather; magic substituting quite perfectly as a romantic notion that eschews scientific, modern reasoning. Finch, similarly, unites with Stifler's Mom by discussing the finer points of Scotch Whiskey (itself representing sophistication and refinement – two things that often run counter to modern trappings and technobabble) in the first film, and then in the second through the use of “tantric sex” – Tantra having roots in the early centuries of the common era, well preceding the industrial revolution. Finch, of course, has a problem going to the bathroom in public restrooms, saying: “Have you seen the facilities at this school?” Finch here has anxiety likely due to a phobia of cleanliness (or a lack thereof), likely specifically due to germs. In fact, had science not developed to the point of knowing about microscopic germs, Finch might very well not have any fear at all (thanks, Science). His approach to losing his virginity is to pay Jessica to spread rumors about his sexual prowess, which in itself is not a modern device, but is an artificial life – effectively foreshadowing today's “Second Life” (2003) or “World of Warcraft” (2004). In the same metaphorical sense, Jim having sex with an apple pie in the original is again representative of the failure of trying intimacy with something other than a living, flesh and blood human being, the pie standing in for the sex dolls and Fleshlights that seem to permeate today. Jessica on the other hand seems only to enjoy the simple pleasures, it her personable social connections that allow Finch's rumors to spread, and her payment for the task is spent on a hip flask and earrings, delightfully simple trappings.

Jim's first, Michelle, is a walking paradigm of how good life can be when one eschews technology – she talks constantly about band camp, which we discover is in fact “90% sex ed”, which is further detailed in two ways – band camp is in actuality a camp – an isolated, woodsy setting which immediately brings to mind the idea of living as the animals did – in the wild. Additionally, since it is for band geeks – the only equipment available are band instruments, which have had few, if any technological advances made on them in over 100 years. Jim, in proving his love for Michelle (the realization coming in a lighthouse, which while being a romantic set piece, is also a form of navigational technology that has largely become obsolete in the age of GPS) does so in what is an embarrassing situation, (ineptly) playing trombone, but his success can be assured because he is wielding an instrument that is a pre-industrial revolution throwback (he's not even playing it well – he clearly doesn't even need good musicianship). His connection is additionally underscored by the soundtrack - “If I Could Be Like That”, by 3 Doors Down, whose title seems to yearn for a return to simpler, past times. (On the subject of music, it should be noted that the song that plays during Pie when the boys lose their respective virginities (Big Runga's “Sway”) contains the chorus lyrics “Say you'll stay/Don't come and go”. Taken in the analytical framework of an anti-technology stance, one can't help but draw a parallel to rapid march of technology, with what seems to be a new technological gizmo replacing the last every month. This might be a bit of a stretch, but is worth noting nonetheless.) In fact, if anything, the films seem to promote any simpler act as being one that is more fun, a point that is especially underlined in the second film, when the entire impetus for their renting a beach house to have one last memorable summer with all the friends.

The Scripted Theater

I recently did a scripted theater show, which is a switch, because I have previously not done a single scripted show since I played Kenickie in my junior high school's version of “Grease” (called, wait for it: “Greasy”). Let's face it: scripted theater folk look down on us improvisers, seeing what we do as some sort of gimmicky party trick, mostly because the rapid proliferation of a myriad of poorly done short form shows have flooded the market – Sturgeon's Law at work. Improvisers on the other hand, look at the snooty “actors” (with the last syllable rhyming with “bore”) with a pretentious slant. I've probably met an equal number of actors who think of improv as just one of many tools in their belts as I have improvisers who see the artform as being substantially different as scripted acting, both of which are equal to the number who just think of improv as a type of acting. But are they really that similar?

The first thing I've noticed, is that scripted folk work way harder, and way more than the improv folk. I started rehearsals late in the game (England!), mostly as a favor to a friend in the show, and rehearsed three times back to back in my first week, three hours a piece. I even missed a practice that week because of my other group, and the group had already done two previous weeks of practice, three days each, three hours per. One of the people I've met practices every night of the week for one of three different projects (I know, because I've asked her out, and she foolishly accepted, save for finding a single night that she's free). Conversely, every group I've ever been in has rehearsed one night a week, usually for two hours. My group in college tried in vain every semester to get even one additional practice, and found that we didn't have one single other day of the week we were all available. My group right now tried a second practice for about two months on a Saturday, which worked great until everybody kept trying to miss practice so that they could do other things with their Saturdays. I'm playing a gay wedding planner in this show, and it is a workout being that flamboyant for three hours. I only now realize how lazy I am as a performer, as are most of my comrades – we show up to practice and we're not feeling well, or even just a little out of it, and we can stumble through some scenes and it not be a train-wreck. This scripted work requires 100% all the time. (Although the lesson here is that improv probably requires 100% all the time too, we just manage to get away with it.) Who would have thought something pre-planned would require such in-the-momentitude.

The second, is ego. Or rather, the lack of group mind that we improvisers pride ourselves so much on. The idea of “the most important person on the stage is the other guy”, of treating all mistakes as intentional, etc, don't really exist in a traditional theater troupe. Everyone kind of works together, because that's required (and to be fair, most of the folks are pretty cool), there are a few standout divas that really set the standard (the same statement could probably be made for some improvisers as well). But more importantl is the egalitarian nature of problem solving, discovery, and creativity that we have in an improv group that doesn't really exist in the traditional group. The other thing I noted was a wary, leering nature that I seemed to be receiving from the cast, all up until I delivered my lines for the first time – apparently I did well, because I earned accolades from fellow cast members, but I certainly had to earn their respect by showing “what I could do”. I would argue that most improv groups I have been a part of, I have been more warmly welcomed before “proving” myself.

Now back to the central issue – are acting and improvising related enough to be considered father-daughter pairs, or are they more like third or forth cousins? There is definitely some overlap, and the two crafts can lend some useful things to each other, but at the same time, I think there's enough differences for them to both be considered two separate entities (don't worry, they're still both in the family of “performance art”). I've been improvising for seven years, and I wouldn't come close to trying to convince other people that I could act because I've done the other thing (to be fair, I do O.K., but not great). I also wouldn't say that any of the folks in my acting group could walk in to an improv scene and kill it right off the bat. It's not a good thing or a bad thing – it just is. They both require different skills. One of the guys in the group asked me what I've done before this, and I said that I've never done scripted work, just improv, and mostly longform. He stopped me before I could go any further, stating that he was a theater major and knew all about it already. I personally think I know some things after specializing in improv that a theater major wouldn't know, but then again, I'm not an actor.

Resolved

New Year's is a funny thing – tis the season for reflection, to paraphrase, and its around this time that everyone sets to reminiscing, remembering their top five things they did, movies they saw, trips they took et cetera, but it's also the time for looking ahead. And even though in reality there will be no difference between you when you woke up on December 31 and you when you wake up on January 1 (barring any body switching or magic spells, a la “Freaky Friday” or “13 Going on 30”, respectively), there does happen to at least feel like there is a certain finality or changing from the old into new involved. It's also at this time we make our resolutions lists, though for some reason, resolutions don't seem to be done as much any more as they used to. Resolutions, no matter how quickly we may cast them aside – most probably not past the first few weeks of January – are a useful tool. We like to think about who we are, and who we'd like to be, and our resolutions are a guide for reaching that goal.

“I resolve to go to the gym three times a week.” The problem is, we usually let up here and there (“Alright, I can't go three times this week, but I'll go two this week and four next week to make up for it”) and then we just drop them altogether (“Whatever, I can't go this month. I'll try again in February.”) Improv resolutions are no different (“I resolve to do some sort of mime work in every scene I'm in.”) It's good to make them, as it encourages us to work towards something, which in itself is probably one of the biggest sticking points most improvisers have that keeps us from moving forward. So this lesson obviously isn't about resolutions, because the best I could do is provide you some of mine, which won't help you, the reader out, save to find out where I think I am and where I think I want to go – instead, the lesson I want to impart is that resolutions don't have to be so absolute. New Year's is the holiday of resolutions, but we put a lot of burden on ourselves by making only day a year set aside for them. When we run into trouble in a few weeks, we abandon them altogether and just move on. If you make a resolution to get better – at whatever, improv or otherwise – I recommend this: if you miss your goal in a scene or forget or whatever, just note it, and resolve to do it next time. Just because you missed it once doesn't mean it's over, or to adapt a saying, improv isn't a destination, its a journey. Take some of the burden off yourself, think about what you'd like to improve on, and just keep at it. You might forget the first few times, but such is the nature of adapting a new habit (or breaking an old habit, which is even harder). This really just falls under the more general heading of making your resolutions more reasonable. The guy who wants to go the gym three times a week when previously he went none is in trouble, because that's a huge jump, and the bigger you make your goals, the more willing you have to be in giving yourself slack.

“I resolve to be more willing to take risks, both on stage and in life.”