The Chi-Connection

I don't think I need to tell you this Chicago is at the very least, one of the undisputed, reigning champions for improv. This isn't to discount what's going on in various other ports of call – every city I've visited has at least a couple of people doing great, challenging work – but I think everyone can agree that Chicago is the epicenter of what's going on. Now I'm an outed, unabashed Chicago-phile, and a lot of people may think that's just a strange knee-jerk reaction to this mecca of improvisation. This is not the case however, and my reasons for loving Chicago improv is also the reason that I love a lot of other place's improvs, but also one of the reasons that San Diego has been a troubling, frustrating city to do improv in.

Now a little background: when I was in Chi-town doing improv, I was also going to grad school at the same time. These two educations I was receiving simultaneously is, hyperbole aside, probably the single most important thing that has ever happened to me in my life. What was great about both of those schools is that while we did focus on specifics needed in each basic education, both had teachers that encouraged and espoused critical, independent thinking. It is not merely enough to teach students what is now – we must also teach them how to find the next what is. In grad school, emphasis was placed on analyzing problems and errors in judgment, or science, or ethics (or sometimes all three) and thinking about what they mean in the bigger picture, and my improv education taught analysis, creativity, self-reliance (and how to intersect all three). What I got out of the combined experience was the capacity to reason independently. I've found this exceedingly important as I remember a lesson my high school science teacher taught: there are two types of people who will not excel in this world, those who can't follow instructions, and those who can only follow instructions.

San Diego has been a tremendously frustrating city because the majority of the improvisers “in power” have no interest in innovation, and actively discourage other improvisers from independent work. An actual lesson that one of these teachers gave: some people try to continue doing improv outside of the theater after completing workshops, but no one ever finds any success, so don't even bother trying.

(While we're on this subject, two actual things I have been castigated and admonished for: “doing other projects”, and “motivating and inspiring players” (direct quotes). The first is because that theater doesn't endorse anyone else doing anything not within its own walls, and because they don't trust players who may have questionable allegiances, whatever that means (and also because you're trading on the implied authority of the first theater in other projects). The second is because, as it was explained to me, when I started doing longform in the SD, I motivated and inspired a lot of these previously shortform only improvisers into wanting to do more longform. That however came at a cost, as those players were now skipping regular rehearsals and showing up for shows tired due to conflicting interests with their other projects. Neither of these things are made up, because no one could make up that kind of logic.)

Now if a particular theater wants to run itself like the KGB, stamping out perceived enemies of the state who just want to do more improv, there's not much anyone can do to stop them, but I can still object to the attitude they take, especially towards younger, newer improvisers. This kind of discouraging, negative, and selfish view towards the craft stifles creativity, originality, and invention, not to mention breeding bitterness and animosity. As teachers, we have an obligation to encourage and engender improvisers to find and embrace the cutting edge. Teachers in Chi/LA/NY don't take a “go away, this is mine” mentality, they understand that the craft is more important than the individual (and also if you're good, you don't need to be defensive) but also that the next generation of improvisers are the ones who will solve the next piece of the puzzle. Try new things, see what works and what doesn't, build on what's been previously discovered, and add your contribution to the growing archive of knowledge – that's what science has done, and that's what most improvisers have done too.

If we are not teaching and – dare I say – inspiring and motivating our students and fellow players into pursuing more work, we are doing a grave disservice to them, not just as improvisers, but as teachers and human beings too. We are gravely failing our charges by not promoting independent work. Self-reliance and independence are noble character traits, not criminal trespasses.

(And to the teacher and coach who told me to not bother trying, the group I started just celebrated it's fourth year.)

Improv and Thank you

I taught an improv class for a YMCA teenage program last week, and this week I have a very nice thank you letter from them.

The Four Teachers

Last week, I started directing my very own group for the first time. I have taught a few (read: two) workshops in the past, and even refer to myself as a Co-Director of a troupe for a period of time, but I don’t feel that I have given a single improviser any advice that has actually helped them improvise better. I was nervous and excited about my first ever class, with a bunch of relatively inexperienced improvisers, all looking to me for advice. Would I give good, insightful advice, like I had seen so many people that I admire capable of doing? And more importantly, what kind of teacher would I be? As my fellow Monkeys in Hattiesburg can attest, I was a bit of a taskmaster when it came to practices. (Hell, I’m being polite. I was a downright dick when it came to tardiness.)

It was about then that I started trying to think about all the teachers and coaches I have had through the years and tried to figure out what they do that I like. And me being the kind of guy who loves to analyze and define, I started categorizing them. Thus, I created my methodology of the Four Faces of Improv (Teaching). I imagine it being laid out in a box, with a type at each corner, and cross lines inside the square. These aren’t hard and fast rules by any means, and in fact a number of teachers sort of straddled two corners, and I assume that varying degrees of hybridization between each corner gives us all the different kinds of teachers we have.

Artistic: This is the kind of teacher (and nay, improviser) that believes that Meisner and Stanislavski make the cornerstone of any improviser. To them, improv is but an extension of acting that all of improv must be approached treating it like, well, art. They hold high regard to the great craft (and will often go out of their way to call it a “craft”). Generally, most scenes done under their tutelage are not necessarily funny, but they are real. Artistics favor things like depth and meaning over entertaining. Required reading: “Impro” by Johnstone, or any book that when you read the word “actor”, you imagine the writer pronouncing it with very round vowel sounds.

Shamanistic: This is the kind of improviser that insists that everyone stretch for twenty minutes prior to practice in the dark, with shoes off and soothing music playing. This improviser is very insistent on things being organic, and that everyone strive for deep levels of interpersonal communication, usually by improvisers “connecting” by staring into each others eyes for long periods before starting scenes. Required reading: Hard to say. The particularly deft ones in this category have read “The Inner Game of Tennis” and the “Zen of Archery” (which, I must admit, I have read both), but all of them usually talk of Buddhist philosophy, emotional openness, etc.

Analytical: After fifty years of improv, we understand the mechanics of what’s going on fairly well now (at least well enough for a search of “improv” on Amazon.com to turn up just shy of 500 results), and the analytical is the master of breaking down improv into the gears and springs that make it up. These are the minds that came up with The Rules that are now quoted nearly everywhere, under the belief that under enough torture, a scene with confess to almost anything. That’s not to say that’s bad, because the analyticals are the ones critically thinking and writing about improv. Required reading: “Improvise” by Napier for sure, but the analyticals are the ones who own every improv book they can get their hands on.

Fun: These people don’t really want to worry about anything in an improv scene (and really, aren’t they better off that way?), and instead are really only concerned about entertaining the other people in the group. They value teamwork, creativity, spontaneity, and having a good time. These improvisers almost always come from a short-form background (or no previous experience), and just like doing this because it’s interesting and entertaining, and they like making people laugh. Basically, a “funnie” leaps headfirst into the melee, and doesn’t look back until everyone’s at the bar having a beer after the show. Required reading: “Truth in Comedy” by Close, Halpern, and Johnson, and usually nothing else.

Sure, I may have categorized the whole thing, but half the fun is finding out what particular combination of these four elements you have. What kind of teacher am I? It’s perhaps too early to tell, but you may as well just go ahead and ask my Monkeys; they probably have a better idea than I do.

Oh, and I note to Hattiesburg improvisers: I was late for the first practice.