I originally wanted to write a column
about “improv coach pet peeves” (which is a topic I may still
write about later), but everyone I talked to pretty much gave the
same general answer as the biggest irritation in coaching a group –
a flightiness, or lack of commitment to a group. Now one of the
reasons that I'm hesitant to write about what makes coaches upset is
that it's not a very “nice” topic, one that may put improvisers
in a defensive or upsetting space in regards to the team/coach
relationship, but I have noticed that that same pet peeve is actually
quite common among team-mates and not just from coaches or directors,
which makes me think it's something that bothers all improvisers, be
it your peers or otherwise.
I was listening to an “Improv
Obsession” podcast recently with Jimmy Carrane (who also hosts the
“Improv Nerd” podcast and wrote “Improvising Better”) and the
interview turned at length to the state of commitment when it comes
to teams. The issue is the “over-commitment” of players to many
teams, to the point where they may be doing improv multiple days a
week, sometimes multiple times a day. The issue comes from an
over-extension to multiple groups and a dilution of the time spent
doing non-improv to inspire scenes. Jimmy invokes the venerable UCB
as an example of a team that made the decision to move to New York as
a team, and constantly renew their commitment to each other and the
work their team was doing, generally really doubling down on their
own work, and mourns the fact that he doesn't see another team
capable of reaching those heights. I see a lot of passion in my
fellow improvisers, folks who drive four hours on a weekday to watch
improv in LA, who buy every book, take every workshop, people who I'm
not even sure have real jobs, but I have to agree that while our
passion is enormous, it's also a little crazy. We love improv
something fierce for sure, but if improv was a woman, we don't marry
that girl, we instead try to impetuously pick up every single woman
we see.
Any discussion of commitment when it
comes to an extracurricular activity is always couched in a very
delicate territory. For nearly all improvisers, the player is making
a balance between improv and other elements in their life such as
family, work, and health, and those things generally do (and
necessarily should) remain a higher priority. As such, conversations
about it can be touchy in some cases, but it should also be noted
that what we're talking about here is less about “can someone make
time for improv” and more about “why is our attention so
divided”. (Although I do notice that groups tend to be more
accommodating to those who can't seem to find time over those that
take their improv pursuits seriously. Let's meditate on that.) I
find however, that those two elements are quite intertwined – two
sides of the same coin. They all boil down to the fact that there
are so many hours in the day (and in our lives), so how do we
prioritize? And more importantly, why can't we settle down?
- We'll start with a fairly non-toxic idea, and that is that improvisers have fairly broad interests, and we may need multiple groups to fulfill some of those needs. For example, not every improviser is into improv musical stuff, so some players need that team as an outlet that others won't. Conversely, people in an improv musical group probably just want to do musicals, and may not be the best fit for some slow, two person mono-scenes (not to mention cast size constraints). So very simply, having a couple of groups to have different ways of working the muscles doesn't seem so bad, akin to using different equipment at the gym.
- The most obvious reason to me is a relatively new term “Fear of Missing Out” (FOMO), and its a fairly new idea – the product of being overly connected with Facebook and Twitter and the fact that generally the only things posted are good news. As a result, it can leave a feeling that everyone is always having a better time than you. (If you hadn't heard the term before but have experienced it, doesn't having a name for it make it feel less “bad”?) I do think that a lurking sense of FOMO makes improvisers feel that they need to do everything, because they don't want to miss out on some great playing opportunity. Related to this is a “don't put all your eggs in one basket” mentality. A lot of players I know wouldn't commit to one group, because they don't want to invest everything if there's a possibility it won't work out. Together they reflect the same issue: it's easier to live a life of disappointment (in that you may never have a successful team) than to risk it on a single bet. Unfortunately, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy: the less likely team members invest in their group, the more likely the group won't succeed.
- There's also an issue with vulnerability – it's no surprise to anyone at this point that more meaningful scene work requires a degree of acting, which requires a degree of vulnerability. A raw, tapping of the emotion is needed to create something more than “Five Things”. The high bar we aim for when we shoot for “improvised theater” requires brutal honesty. Now, we're aware of that, and that it's necessary, but we're attempting to shortcut the process. Instead of opening ourselves up in one place and really baring ourselves to one group of people, we diversify our investment in multiple groups, thinking that we won't have to reveal so much of ourselves (which is scary) while still increasing our skill.
- In this “golden age of improv”, one would think that a lot of people take the craft very seriously, but this is not always the case. Sure there are those who view improv as just a hobby – a fun thing to do every once in a while, and not one to relentlessly strive for. And it is easy for those people to get swept up in the jet-wash of more passionate players. But even among people who seem to indicate strongly that they are interested and enthusiastic players, I find players who don't seem to think that rehearsals are important. Improv is intoxicatingly deceptive in its simplicity – it can seem so easy to do, but is exceedingly challenging to do well. If you have players that won't acknowledge that, then those same players will constantly put other activities over practices (and sometimes shows, if those shows are seen as less urgent). One other thing is at play here, and that is the issue of pay. I think we all realize that you don't make money doing improv, very few do; we do improv because we love to do it, and we are always in relentless pursuit of the craft. Nonetheless, I (quite recently) had a player who claimed that because we weren't paying her, we were a low priority. Unfortunate. A passion and an attitude of cheerful service can't be taught and if players don't have it, we just have to keep lighting the way and hope they find it.
- We all want roughly the same thing out of improv, be it to be the next Bill Murray or Chris Farley, get on SNL or movies, or become the next TJ & Dave, it all boils down to wanting to become comedic actors, and ones that hopefully get paid for what they do, or at the very least respected for their accomplishments. I think that is a powerful motivator, we know what the objective is, and we want to get there already. We have a goal, and we are always desperately scratching at that objective. This is endemic to our culture here in the U.S., where we have over-glorified the idea of “busy”. We canonize the productive, and especially those who are productive at an early age. As a result, we don't enjoy the ride of learning (and living), we just grumble that we haven't reached the finish line already. And resultingly, and not surprisingly, the effect is that we have a tendency to sell each other out at any moment for individual gain. A show or group comes along that has more clout, and players jump ship in an instant in the constant pursuit of fame or notoriety.
- That people are kind of scattered shouldn't be a surprise; look for example at Netflix. This great tool has revolutionized and epitomized modern media consumption (of course the DVR in general trail-blazed, but Netflix did a plus one to that idea by adding a library of shows as well). You miss a TV show, no worries, you can watch it whenever you want – even shows that you missed multiple seasons of can be easily caught up on whenever its convenient (hello sick day). This has materially changed the way shows are built as a result, and exactly how that's changed is (unfortunately) outside the scope of this essay, but suffice it to say, it's unlikely a show like Mad Men would have survived in an age of having to be home at a certain time in front of the TV set to catch it (I still remember having to program a VCR for my mother if we were going to be out of the house when “Buffy” was on). This is, of course, great, and I don't think anyone would want to return to those days, but it is undeniably changed the way we view everything. We don't make hard appointments for things anymore, and we've evolved into a culture of people that is easily distracted, and can't be bothered to commit to even a TV show unless we can watch it whenever we want – where we can gorge on twenty episodes in a day and then not watch it again for a month. The mere fact that we try to meet every week seems to reduce the urgency of presence, we trade into the idea that we can catch up whenever. The idea of “we practice every week so I can miss this one” very obviously mis-underestimates the craft – a pilot wouldn't say “I fly the plane from Chicago to Denver every week, so I'll let my co-pilot do everything this time and I'll phone it in”, so why should we?
- One of the assumptions that Mr. Carrane makes about commitment is that the UCB gang were all friends, and I think that is an important distinction against modern groups. We all have fairly lofty goals (see #5), and a lot of times I think we approach achieving them from a fairly cut-throat approach. We don't necessarily make participation choices from the viewpoint of “what will be fun” or “what do I want to do”, but more from the perspective of “what will have the most prestige” or “what will give me the most recognition”. We do multiple groups because we want more networking or notoriety (a status of “omnipresence”, a kind of esteem by way of ubiquity), and we don't commit hard to groups because we approach improv like a business or a task to be conquered, and not like the UCB folk did, which is as friends with a mutual goal. I see over and over again teams filled with casual acquaintances, and I don't think a new revolution in improv can start without that.
I wouldn't want to begrudge someone the
opportunity to do lots of improv, because practice will make you a
better player, but at the same time we need to be aware of the
consequences and effects our choices make. If we treat improv like a
series of drunken bar hookups, we shouldn't be surprised at the
ultimate community product.
I was taught that a good rule of thumb
for selecting team-mates is to find people you “wouldn't mind being
stuck in an elevator with”, but that rule tends to overlook the
commitment issues it seems that a lot of people are encountering.
Differing and conflicting levels of commitment from players will
un-erringly result in disagreement, conflict, and disappointment.
Knowing that you can count on your fellows and that everyone is
equally invested in the end product is obviously central to success.
I think a better rule of thumb is to pick people you “would happily
go into an elevator with knowing you're going to be stuck together”.
And knowing that no matter how long you're in the elevator together,
you are, at the very least, in it together.
