I Hate Improv Class Part II

So improv class has been going well, I’ve now survived week three without completely screwing something up, and now that I’ve gotten to know some of the people a little better, the tension has definitely eased. I should add that I kept my head down and didn’t mention that I had already taken improv class until week two, and then only when the teacher specifically asked “Has anyone taken any improv classes before?” Better still, only three people, including the teacher, knew what that meant.

But, I’ve spent more time thinking about how much I hate improv class. Last August, I went to meeting in D.C. with some people that I’ve done improv with for a while, some of whom I met only shortly after I started. Our group has been trying to get in the habit of meeting once a year, mostly for fellowship, but also to exchange notes and what we’ve learned, or been experimenting with. When I arrived (late, the weather in Chicago kept me grounded for an additional hour or so), I was treated as an old friend, even though some of these people I’ve never met before and the rest I’ve only met two, maybe three times. Yet, when it came time for the late night “jam” session, I sat in the audience, drinking a beer. Why? If you read my last article, this should come as no surprise: fear. I was the only member who had taken a “real” Chicago improv class (at the time, I had completed the program, and was in the last leg of my 5B shows). Bad improv here would be even worse; for some reason I now felt I was representing all of Chicago to these people.

I realized what I hate about these jam sessions, and workshops, and everything else. Even though improv is a team sport (a point hammered home by my teacher in the first week of my new improv classes), it is still at its heart, a performance art, and hence an activity where we are judged for our skill. Every improviser is compared to every other improviser. In Chicago, every team is judged against the near impossible standard of “T.J. and Dave”. Back in Mississippi, my college group went to a weekend gathering of a bunch of college troupes and we compared ourselves to the best of those. In improv classes, we compare ourselves to the best in the class. Bill Arnett wrote in his blog that there are three phases to an improviser’s development, the second of which is where we do medicore improv because we are trying to emulate improvisers we consider to be good. In Chicago, it’s even worse than other places; I remember during some of the closing weeks of our 5B shows, everybody got very ancy and tense. Why? Because at the last show, the ominously named Harold Commission sends representatives to the shows to evaluate performers and decide who gets to be on Harold teams. Bear in mind, no one even gets paid to do Harold shows!

Now, I know that improv is a team sport. But, I would argue that one of the most stressful parts of improv is that because it is so team sport-y, the heat is on even more to contribute and be a team player. No one wants to be the guy who the group doesn’t invite back because he can’t hold his own. Team sport or not, the fact is we are always still trying to prove ourselves to our fellow improvisers. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with trying to continuously improve our art, but there is danger to be had in trying so hard so that people will think we’re good. It may not always be easy when we’re doing an audition with seven people we’ve never met, but if we’re not having fun, then what the hell is the point of it all?

So from now on, this will be my mantra, and I encourage you to use it too:

“Fuck it, let’s have some fun.”