KC Improv Geek

How to enjoy an improv festival.

2010-09-09T19:49:00.000-07:00

I've run eight improv festivals and attended more than a dozen. Each one featured some combination of at least three of the following:

Working my ass off
Not sleeping
Drinking
Performance stress
Workshop exhaustion
Travel
Extreme extraversion
Not enjoying something as much as I might have otherwise because I was too tired, stressed or hung over

The last few years, though, I've discovered a few secrets to enjoying the whole thing—all from experience or observation. (But mostly from getting it wrong at least once.) My rules for having a blast at KCiF:

DO:

Plan your weekend. Know what you want out of the festival: entertainment? education? networking? fun? Know what shows you want to see and workshops you want to take, so you're not scrambling for tickets or registration at the last minute. Know what nights you need to skip the parties and get to bed early. Know what you'll wear, when and what you'll eat, and how you'll get where you're going. It all sounds so obvious...until you're trying to iron a pair of underpants dry 15 minutes before your call time.
Take care of your body. Have a water bottle and protein bar or some fruit with you at all times. Consume more than caffeine, beer, cigarettes and Altoids.
Get some sleep. Especially before classes and performances. Don't waste your workshop money because you show up on two hours of sleep. And for God's sake, make sure you're at your best for your show.
Listen. Listen in workshops (if you miss the instructions or argue theory or justify your performance, everyone will want to kill you). Listen when the stage managers are telling you where you should be at call and curtain time. Listen when those smart, funny people you just met are talking about something besides improv (instead of hoping they'll tell you how awesome you were or trying to draw them into a discussion about theory or your cool idea for a format).

DON'T:

Be a fame junkie. Those headliners from out of town? They're really, really nice people. Some like to network. Some don't, and just want to chill out with good friends they haven't seen in a while. Some don't come to after-parties. If they don't leave KC thinking you're the most awesome person on the planet, it is rarely personal. Rarely.
Ask the festival managers for favors. If the show is sold out, it's really sold out. (And they probably have all the help they need backstage, so that's not your ticket to a free show.) They've already published any discounts they can afford to offer. (The single coolest moment I ever had running a festival: I was stuck on the phones in our theater office trouble-shooting and taking reservations, and Fuzzy Gerdes came in not with a problem or a question or a request for favor, but with a box of treats from Napoleon Bakery. I almost cried.)
Worry about what you're missing. If you have to miss a party so you can get a good night's sleep before workshops, you'll survive. If you miss a show or a class because you have to save money for rent or medical bills, you'll live. If someone else is talking to the cool person you want to talk to and you're stuck talking to the person you don't want to talk to, see "listen," above.

Most of all, though (to quote my pal Heather, who'll be teaching "Camera Technique for Improv Actors" next week): Have fuckin' fun.

Community may be a lie. Except for the festival.

2010-09-06T19:49:00.000-07:00

So tonight on the phone, Jonathan Pitts said these words: "KC has a scene."

And you know what? Coming from him, I'm going to accept that.

There's evidence:

Several troupes have regular auditions and regular shows. If you like improv, you've got choices.
There are now three places to take classes: Roving Imp, Improv-Abilities and ComedyCity. Again, you've got choices.
KC folks are making it big. Sure, there's Paul Rudd and Rob Riggle—but they didn't improvise here. Jason Sudeikis and Corey & Mo and Eric Davis and Tim Mason did, at ComedyCity and Lighten Up.
Every weekend, you can see long-form. And many weekends, it's very decent long-form. By different groups.
This may seem like a little thing, but it feels big to me: At least a couple of Exit 16 alums are staying in KC, in part play with their friends, as part of our scene. Because it seems like fun.

Before we get all cocky, though, two things:

We have to get over this "if we build it, they will come" mentality. Because for the most part, our audiences are us—and there are not enough of us to fill houses or classes. We have to learn to market beyond Facebook invites and status updates. We have to be good enough performers that if strangers see a show, they're entertained enough to come back. We have to expect more people in our audiences than friends and family. If we only play for and with ourselves, it's masturbation. And that's not good for anyone but us.
A "growing scene" is not a "community." This is not a love-fest. To grow, we have to get better—and that means competition. Having standards. Making choices. Putting your troupes' best players in public shows and sending some back to class. Playing and partnering and producing shows with some folks, and saying "no thanks" to others. Realizing that the students have become the masters. Having to work harder to stay on top.

There is one time, and one place, where community matters—and it starts in a week. The KC Improv Festival is about all of us. Our troupes get to perform. Our players get to learn. And after it's over, we all get to drink beer together. If we fill houses and workshops, improvisers from other cities see that we're vital and relevant.

That doesn't matter to everyone.

But to some of us, it's a matter of pride. We want the Susan Messings and TJ Jagodowskis and Jonathan Pitts of the world to see we're good enough draw a crowd. We want them to know we care enough about the craft to take classes.

If you're one of those freaks, there's some stuff you can do this week:

Have you got friends who seem like maybe they might be interested in classes? Because they used to do theater? Tell them about workshops. (Mike Jimerson was one of those guys—he moves to Chicago this fall.) (So, see? We're not all that.)
Have you thought about taking classes, but aren't sure you need it or can afford it? Sign up. Because you do, and you might be able to swing it.
Do you know people who like to laugh? Tell them about the shows. Drop Jason's name. Or TJ's ("that Sonic dude" works). Make them understand they're missing something if they don't go.
Do you have a life? Put a poster up at work. Drop some fliers at your daily coffee stop. Tweet. Update your Facebook status. Send an e-mail. (Say something new every time—give your pals something they might be interested in.)

I stopped being one of the ones who worked my butt off to make the festival happen a couple of years ago...but I still have the bruises. This year's festival committee is working hard to bring something really cool to KC. They could use our help. (And later, our thanks.)

Because it's still a growing scene. We've got a ways to go.

2 steps to improvising better in 2 weeks, part 2

2010-09-06T12:38:00.000-07:00

So you haven't signed up for KCiF classes yet? OK. Maybe you're still trying to figure out which ones to take. Or if it's really worth it. Or if you can keep the thermostat set high enough and sacrifice enough beer to afford it. Whatever.

Some of the classes with kick-ass instructors have already sold out, but most of them are still open. What do you want?

Just getting started? Second City instructor Jonathan Pitts, Chicago favorites Damage Control and KCiF Director Tim Marks are all teaching basic classes. Get up in there.

Improve your scenework? Two-person scenes are the chewy nougat of any improv show—short form, long form, whatever. Even solo shows require two-person scenes. And there are plenty of chances to make yours better:

Whole Body Listening with Jonathan Pitts: Working with two-person scenes, discover that true listening is a holistic activity requiring constant engagement in your body, brain, heart, and spirit of play. (Be there for your partner. Really, really be there.)
Major League Improv I & II with Damage Control: Scenic games and playful exercises to strengthen the improvisers' practical skills like listening, memory, and awareness to help players heighten, explore and enjoy scenes. (Even better: It's two sessions in a row. That counts as an intensive, and means you'll come out of it with a deeper understanding of what they taught.)
Two's Company with Jokyr and Jesster: Learn how to commit to a scene when no one's there to bail you out. Trust in yourself and be your own back line with character switches, pivots, solo starts, and monologues. (Contemplating a duo show? This is your class.)

Improve your ensemble work? If you've got more than two people in your troupe and perform on a stage bigger than 4'x4', you're probably not taking advantage of the space or your troupe. Group Pretty with Susan Messing will rock your world and change the way you think about movement in an improv show.

Improve your youtube videos? Want to enter a 24-hour film fest? Or put funny stuff online in hopes of going viral? Or make video promos for your group? Camera Technique for the Improv Actor with Chris and Heather Lutkin is your chance to learn how to think like a filmmaker. Learn some basic techniques that will make you look like you know what you're doing.

Go here now to register.

Two steps to being a better improviser in just two weeks.

2010-09-05T20:45:00.000-07:00

Specifically, these two weeks. At the KC Improv Festival. Here's how:

Take classes. Yeah, yeah, yeah. They cost money...but there's not a good improviser on the planet who hasn't given up a few nights of beer (or a utility bill) (hey, I never said I have a lifetime of responsible choices behind me) to take classes.
See shows. As many as you can. If you're performing in the fest, you even get a discount (thanks, I-A). See different troupes, different approaches to scenes, different formats. Think about what works and what doesn't.

There. It's that easy. And yet, I'm not shutting up.

I have Strong Feelings about festival workshops. Here are some, from a while back:

How I Take Festival Classes: An Approach Developed Over 19 Years: I'm long past the days of instructor/theory collecting. When I started, I was shooting for variety: I signed up for workshops with as many instructors from as many schools and cities as possible to see what techniques clicked. Three-hour samplers are great for exposing you to the main principles of a school of thought. Now I want maximum feedback, so I tend to either take multiple classes with single instructor or repeat classes with someone I've worked with before. The benefits:
You get more information about that instructor's theory, because their classes usually give you different pieces of the same puzzle.
You get better feedback, either because the instructors watch you longer and gets a sense of your fall-backs and patterns, or because they get more comfortable with you and can be more direct.
There's no way you're going to get good at a technique by doing it one time in one workshop—that's why improv classes are usually 6-8 weeks long. Ever do yoga? You do the same poses over and over, going deeper, feeling stronger, becoming more aware of how different muscles move. Same with improv exercises.

(That, by the way, is why I'm signed up to study with Susan Messing and TJ Jagodowski.)

See y'all there.

One message. ONE.

2010-08-08T19:07:00.001-07:00

Here's a conversation my team at work—and every group of advertising creatives on the planet, probably—has at least once a week:

CREATIVE TEAM:
You're asking for a lot of information to go into this ad/mailer/e-mail/etc.
What's the most important message?

CLIENT:
All of them.

No. No, no, no. The answer to "what's the single most important thing" cannot be plural.

Why? The other thing I hear at least once a week is "nobody reads the copy" (yeah, thanks for that validation of my career choice). We have very, very little time to get people's attention—we have to hook 'em right from the start.

Same thing when we promote improv shows, theaters, workshops, etc. We rely on free-to-cheap marketing tools—Facebook invites, show posters, e-mails, press releases, etc.—but that doesn't mean the rules for big-money marketing don't apply. In any marketing tool, you get one main message, and everything else is there to support that one message.

That message might be:

Your troupe name, if you're talking to people who want to know specifically when your next show is.
Improv comedy show/festival/event, or some version of that, if you're talking to a general audience of people who want to see comedy.
Something that makes you sound good, like a review blurb ("Brilliantly funny!"), kudos ("Best Comedy Group 2010") or a super-short description of what you do ("improvised musical").
The famous person (or even the well-known-to-the-target-audience person) in the show.
The other specific thing that makes this show cool, if it's not one of those four things. It might be that you're family friendly or supporting a cause or playing in a certain location for one night only. But it is the thing that makes this show worth seeing.

If you don't have much space, the rest of your copy should let your audience know when and where the show is and how to make reservations. If you have a little bit more space, you can provide more detail—but it should be more support for what makes the show cool.

Here's what doesn't work:

Confusing names of things—shows, formats, etc.—that don't make immediate sense to the audience.
Information-free witty or catchy phrases or taglines that don't provide a reason to come see the show (besides, of course, our extreme cleverness/adorableness/quirkiness/geekiness).
Complex messages that require them to think too hard or make a decision more complicated than "that's interesting."
Layers of show names, producer names, troupe names and taglines.

We might even have to tweak the message slightly for different audiences—general audiences vs. troupe fans, for example—which means keeping the primary message even simpler. Fleeting individual impressions can work together to create the burning desire to attend an event...but only if you can remember what the event is.

Who's on top?

2010-08-08T17:08:00.000-07:00

Friday night, I was lucky enough to be part of an extremely fun show: a KCXRC production featuring Spite, The Trip Fives, I-A and Babel Fish.

The best things about it? Four confident, experienced, talented, mutually respectful groups were excited to be in the same show—and had absolutely no ego about running order.

As more shows (Thunderdome, KCXRC, Roving Imp, KCiF, Comedy on the Square) throw two or more troupes up on stage in the same night, the same question keeps coming up: What's the running order?

And suddenly there's talk of hierarchy. Who's the best? The most popular? The most experienced? And in whose eyes—the audiences', the producer's or the improvisers'?

If you see enough local improv, you know who the reliable groups are—and the kind of shows you can count on them to do. You know who kills nearly every time...puts up solid scenes even on an off-night...has at least one player good enough to make even a weak set worth watching...features up-and-comers doing increasingly strong stuff...can experiment and still entertain. And with a few exceptions, local improvisers have a pretty good idea of how they compare to other players and groups.

One thing we all have in common? I haven't met a single improviser who enjoys being told where they are in the pecking order—whether it's low or high—particularly by anyone else in the improv community. It's one thing to hear, "You're up first." It's another to be told, "You're opening for _______."

Yeah, there's some ego there. But it's also about the source and the motivation. Just like getting a face full of unsolicited feedback, being "rated" by another improviser just seems to rub us the wrong way. Every troupe in a show has an equally important part to play, and the implication that you're less because you're first...not helpful.

Because here's the thing: Creating a strong running order for a show has zero to do with putting the "weakest" troupe first and the "strongest" troupe last. What really matters:

What time the show starts
What time the show ends
How many troupes and breaks there will be
How the energy of the show builds
What each troupe's approach, content and format will be
How the forms complement each other and flow from one to the next
How the audience's patience, energy level and understanding of the work will change as the show goes on
Who the audience is coming to see—if it's anyone in particular
And every now and then some random stuff, like "this troupe has another gig across town later that night" or "a member of this troupe is pregnant/sick/elderly and won't survive a late set"

So before every show, producers should know:

How many will be in the cast
If we're intimately familiar with the players and their styles, who is in the cast
Exactly what the form will be
And maybe how they'll be promoting the show

It's this stuff that should help us, as producers, feel less self-conscious about telling groups what the running order is going to be.

Square One

2010-07-20T20:42:00.000-07:00

It never hurts to go back to where you started.

In April, Spite performed at the Chicago Improv Festival with coaching from Nick Johne. Just two weeks later, Exit 16 workshopped with Tim Mason at Second City.

In both, the teachers focused on saying "yes."

Which is the first thing you learn to do as an improviser. The thing that makes collaboration possible. And the thing that attracted me to this art form and the people in it in the first place.

And something I'd almost completely forgotten how to do.

I never thought "yes" was unnecessary...but the number of ways I've discovered over the last 20 years of saying "no" is staggering. From outright conflict to the subtlest of "buts," I can work a "no" like nobody's business.

And until Nick and Tim pointed it out, I hadn't really noticed.

Nick told Spite to "have yes in your bones." But my favorite way he put it was in his charge for us to be "complicit"...to find the mischievousness in our scenes with each other...to get away with things together...to play.

Though I have the summer off from Exit 16, I've been doing a lot of coaching. I'm working with The Trip Fives, who are so very easy because they got used to me directing a dozen years ago when they were young and malleable. And Men of Unfounded Arrogance, even easier because it's a bunch of Exit 16 Exes who are only months, in some cases, beyond the days I wielded actual authority, and in front of whom I can swear freely now, which makes them even more fun.

These troupes give me a shot at redemption: a chance to teach "yes" again, with more focus and discipline. It's interesting to watch them play with it like a new toy—and that tells me I've strayed too far from improv's roots.

I'm also coaching an Improv Thunderdome team. I've known one of its members since he was in high school, coached another in a trio, and barely worked with other two. I'm not their director. I'm not forming or shaping them—I'm nudging. So I'm saying "yes" to what they do as much as I'm pushing them to say "yes" to each other.

Then there's work. Where more often than not the thing I feel in my bones is resistance. Holding my ground, managing expectations, disaster-proofing, waving caution flags. So much of what I think and do is about deflection.

So I want to start another experiment. To say yes. At the very least, to the idea of something. To acknowledge, agree, accept. Wholeheartedly. On stage and off.

In improv, the next part is "and." Which I'll get to. Once "yes" is in my bones.

Update and world-crossing thoughts.

2010-03-24T18:43:00.000-07:00

First, the update: I run my first 5K, with the ladies of Spite and our pal, Daryl, on Saturday. I'll be pretty surprised if I can run the whole thing, and totally OK with it if I walk part. Peggy has convinced me I'll recover enough to do an hour of strength training later that afternoon and a Spite show at the Fishtank and an Omega Directive show at the Imp that night. The next day? Usher at church, followed by a 1 hour swimming lesson.

And a long fucking nap.

Anyway, two improv-related thoughts for this week.

Kickball is an awesome warmup. I'm feeling all athletic and fit and energetic lately, so the idea of wasting a few hours of glorious, sunny daylight Tuesday night was unthinkable. I am ready, at any moment, to play kickball—so I whipped out the ball and bases and forced the kids to play 30 minutes before rehearsal. I pitched, leaving them 5 people to cover the outfield. It was a muddy, goofy blast.
Writing is not improv. As much as I'm tempted to apply improv rules to everything in my life (I'd look up the link from last year when I tried to actually do that, but I don't feel like it), every now and then it's nice to get a reminder that it just doesn't work. Especially when it comes to the two things I do more than anything else. This post (a memo from David Mamet to writers of The Unit) has been circulating in the last couple of days (funny, 'cause the memo's old). Some stuff works for improv (i.e. "ANY TIME TWO CHARACTERS ARE TALKING ABOUT A THIRD, THE SCENE IS A CROCK OF SHIT."). But the point he makes over and over doesn't: "*FIGURE IT OUT*." Improv rules (hints, guidelines, teachings, whatever we call them) have been developed over time to compensate for the things improvisers can't do in creating entertainment. As writers, we have endless do-overs—first drafts should never see the light of day. As improvisers, we're creating our first and final drafts at once. The standards are lowerbecause the work only exists in the moment. (Which is part of the reason improv doesn't always translate well to video. Not only do you lose the energy of creating on the spot, capturing it means holding it to the same standards as any other writing or performing.)

So. Yeah, well, that's it. Have to go to bed so I can wake up and work out. Which is what's taking over my life, kinda, in a good way. In a few weeks, I start incorporating strength, yoga, cycling, running and swimming into a weekly schedule. I have a feeling I'll miss what rehearsing feels like. A lot.

Explaining the quiet.

2010-03-15T19:38:00.001-07:00

I have social media ADD.

Part of my real-world job is paying attention to different ways people market, and it totally works with my "let's-try-this-let's-try-this-let's-try-this" attention span.

So I was tweeting a lot for Spite for a while. I'm maintaining that, but have switched to a weight-loss blog, because my ass has been stuck at the same basic size for way too long.

Also, I'm kinda sick of hearing myself talk. So I'm just taking a little break. Maybe a week, maybe a month...maybe just until I have something to say.

Week in review.

2010-03-11T20:09:00.000-08:00

I can't wait for Sunday. Seriously. The part of me that craves my own company (well, you know, and the cats) and control over my schedule is so very, very ready for a completely unscheduled day.

It's not that I haven't had fun this week. I have. Or I wouldn't do this stuff. But I also feel like I've turned into the big bionic version of me, in a way, and I'm doing the things that feed me but send me into self-parody at the same time. The play by play:

The thing that makes coaching the Trip Fives so freaking delightful is that I've known (and taught) 4/5ths of them since they were babies, and the 5th is Megan, who is pure fun. So watching them and coming up with new toys for them to play with feels easy and natural. And, because they're sofaking good, it pushes my teacher/director buttons, challenging me to come up with something—anything!—to do that will challenge them and help them grow. They're some of the strongest players in KC, and completely open to the idea that they could be even better. Which is why they're so great.
Exit 16 rehearsal was mostly just the boys Tuesday night. And they...tested me. I had a small hissy fit because they were taking things so NOT seriously, but eventually they came around, and it was a decent rehearsal. Spring is different. Spring is burnout. Spring is "just play and keep them entertained" time.
Tantrum rehearsed with KMBC's Johnny Rowlands on Wednesday, and he's just...fun. Fun storyteller, fun person, fun energy, fun fun fun. He's a little afraid of improv, which is nuts—because as someone points out, he FLIES A HELICOPTER AND REPORTS NEWS AT THE SAME TIME.
Exit 16 and the Cardinals Jesters played their monthly show at the Corbin tonight. It was...fine. Right now, some members of Exit 16 play 3 shows a month—which, unless you're at ComedyCity, is a lot. I wonder what it's like for them. Is every show still a rush? Are they bored? Has it become an obligation? I should ask.

Tomorrow, Tantrum improvises with Johnny. Saturday, Timmy has his last show. Sunday, I don't want to fucking think about improv.

A little random blah-de-blah.

2010-03-07T15:42:00.000-08:00

A few show updates:

Spite played around with a different format—the improvisers' fave Living Room—just to switch things up on Friday night at the Imp. It was fun to do something different—and nice to have the conversations to pull themes from.
I swung by the Fishtank to catch the first set at KC Crossroads Comedy: Some Technical Difficulties doing their take on the Living Room. They had some really nice scenes in their set—a few really sophisticated set-ups, especially considering their ages. It's interesting to watch the Exit 16 kids playing in front of adult crowds (and audiences made up of folks who don't know them). Taking any improv troupe outside their home theater/audience pushes them in new directions.
Monday night, Jared has invited me to the Trip Fives rehearsal to take them through some Viewpointsy stuff I learned from David Razowsky. It's Tim Lemke's last rehearsal, prior to his final show, so I'm looking forward to one last chance to tell him what to do.
Exit 16 and the Cardinals Jesters play together this Thursday at the Corbin. That's turning out to be a fun little show—two sets by two student improv troupes. They complement each other nicely, and it's great to see what Clay and Drew (two former Exit 16ers) are doing as directors of the William Jewell troupe.
Tantrum gets to play with KMBC's Johnny Rowlands this coming Friday, and I can't wait. Tantrum's last show together was a blast—and Johnny's stories should be fun to play with. We've got a bunch of new monologists coming up, including Hallmark pals Sergio and Emily and Stacey.

So...ummmm...busy week.

The other thing I'm trying to cram in is working out. I've been giving myself one day off a week, which I probably shouldn't be—I have, thus far, been unwilling to give up fun stuff (good food, good beer, decent wine). I've got a few major incentives to get into better shape:

March: Running in the Rock the Parkway 5K with the Spite girls.
April: The Chicago Improv Festival, where Spite will be an apprentice team.
May: Josh & Kim's wedding. In Mexico. Where a swimsuit in front of people I know is bound to happen.
June: A family beach trip. Where, again: Swimsuit. Ack.

I don't just feel better when I'm in good shape—I play better. I'm more physical, more confident—and not tugging at my clothes or worrying about back fat.

Oh, the badness...

2010-03-03T21:18:00.000-08:00

And I'm not talkin' about Sarah Palin on Leno.

Though that was bad. From the clips I saw. On the Daily Show.

Because I AM NOT CONTRIBUTING TO LENO'S AUDIENCE, PEOPLE.

I'm talkin' about the bad that has been me on stage. I'm going through that phase in my Growth As An Improviser. The one that hits every now and then, when you are capable of doing NOTHING RIGHT. When the badness sucks any potential goodness from a scene, because you are so powerfully bad that no good can exist around you. You (and by you, I mean I) become the Black Hole Of Suck, pulling anything that has even the SPARK OF POTENTIAL to be good like light into the ultimate darkness.

I'm not being self-deprecating here. I'm not looking for pity or compliments or assurance that I'm not that bad. I don't need those things. Because I've got 20 years of improv experience, have seen hundreds of brilliant and good and bad and fucking wretched shows, and have spent hours training with some of the best teachers in the country. So I know two things are true:

1. I recognize bad when I see it and when I play it, and when I call what I've been doing bad, you will not argue me out of it.
2. It's a phase, and I'll get over it. Probably before my next show.

So we're cool.

Do we really care who's making us laugh?

2010-02-22T19:26:00.000-08:00

Improv is still, for the most part, full of dudes.

Want evidence? Based on the photos of ensembles for the Chicago Improv Festival, there are 6 all-female groups and 22 all-male groups. Of the coed troupes with photos, 22 had more guys, 11 had even numbers, and 3 had more chicks—pictured, anyway.

Saturday at the Fishtank, the first two troupes—Not A Great Gorilla and Babel Fish—were all dudes. Spite is all chicks.

I'm not on a soapbox about this anymore—I've even gotten to the point where I find the "are women as funny as men?" debate tiresome. (The answer is "yes." Next.) You see more girls in the improv world these days. Hell, Exit 16 had more girls than guys last year, and usually runs even. Girls today don't seem to have the funny socialized out of them like we tended to (unless some asshole is sneaking advice like "laugh at his jokes—even if they're not funny" to them, too).

What I find interesting now is the way we sell it. Spite and Olive Juice (featuring funny improvisers who happen to have boobs from Roving Imp) are getting ready to do a show together, and we're marketing it as a "girlie show." Spite calls ourselves "an all-chick improv à trois."

What I'm wondering: Is that a gimmick? Is it passè? The comedy equivalent of luring people in to see a bearded lady? Are we limiting ourselves to being compared only to other female groups, taking ourselves out of the running of just being a good, funny troupe?

About the kick-ass improvisers in Children of a Lesser God, the Chicago Reader said, "Despite competition from Sirens, Children of a Lesser God is the best all-female improv group in Chicago."

Somehow, I doubt Sirens are this troupe's only competition—or that the women of Sirens compare themselves only to Children of a Lesser God.

Guys don't (usually) refer to themselves as "all male troupes." And I know that when we watched Babel Fish on stage Saturday, none of us thought, "They're not like us."

We saw other improvisers, kicking ass, and it made us want to kick ass, too.

A terrific end to a long week.

2010-02-19T19:23:00.001-08:00

Ever have one of those weeks where you're bone tired and grouchy and don't feel like doing anything but you have to?

Yeah. That.

But some good stuff has happened, too—mainly in the realm of Spite.

We worked out with Keith Curtis for the first time as our coach/director, and we heart him hard.
We had a terrific photo shoot with the absolutely wonderful Ben Pieper, along with my pal Jeff Shumway, who's a crazy talented creative director, and our makeover stylist, Daryl Forkell, who made us feel confident and pretty. And Dennis, who fetched us things.
We got a great writeup on KC Free Press, thanks in part to Nikki's kick-ass press release (a version of this one) and partly to Ben's kick-ass photo.
We hit the 300 mark on Twitter. Sure, some are spambots. But a good number of them are happy, funny people we're having a great time chatting with.
We got the official word that we'll be performing at the Chicago Improv Festival. We applied as an apprentice team—which means 9 hours with an acclaimed teacher/director who will direct our festival show, networking opportunities, parties and a ridiculous amount of support and nurturing. It's exactly the boost we've been craving as we try to take our work to the next level.

So, yeah. It feels really, really good. Kinda because we've been working really hard, and it's starting to pay off. But a lot because I feel incredibly blessed to get to play with people I dig as much as I do Nikki and Megan.

The bare minimum: Promoting your improv show

2010-02-19T17:23:00.000-08:00

Getting press is hard. On any given weekend, you're up against hundreds of other arts events—many with more compelling stories, bigger stars, better budgets, more urgency, or something else that bumps them up to the top of a reporter's hit list.

But there are some basic places you're practically guaranteed to appear in, if you make minimal effort and fill in the blanks with the right stuff. The lowest of the low-hanging fruit:

Calendar listings
Facebook invites

Calendar listings

Find all the places you want to appear. KC has a gazillion online entertainment calendars—you can decide how many actually matter to you, and where you hit the point of diminishing returns because you're spending hours entering listings into sites that your target audience doesn't read. For improv, here's a good start: the Star, Ink, the Pitch, KCFreePress, PresentMagazine and KC Stage.
Name your event. If your name doesn't say "this is improv comedy," you might want to fluff it up a little. Even by just adding "improv" to the name.
Write a short blurb. If you're extra lucky, the publication will give you room to describe your event. But they won't give you much. Here's what the Pitch uses for Tantrum:
Improv comedy group Tantrum invites a different local personality to every show to tell true stories based on audience suggestions. Then the seven- member troupe spins them into a series of spontaneous scenes. It's not super-exciting, but it says what we do.
Pay attention to deadlines. Most publications want your info at least two weeks in advance.
Submit your stuff. Some have forms, others ask you to e-mail. Go do it.

NOTE: If you're playing in a multi-troupe show, the producers will typically submit calendar listings for the whole show—so you don't have to, and maybe shouldn't. It's confusing to have more than one entry for a comedy show in calendar listings. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't promote your troupe; see "press releases," below.

Facebook invites

Figure out where to send it from. Three main options: A group page, a fan page or a personal account. A group page lets you invite everyone in the group by e-mail with one click; a fan page only lets you send updates; your personal account requires that you click names one by one.
Grab the reader. You've got three main tools to get people's attention
—Title: Something straightforward—your name, and maybe the location, will probably do it. Or use the event title, if you've got one.
—Tagline: A few words to describe the event in more detail.
—Photo: Something attention-grabbing that adds information to your title and tagline.
Close the deal. Use the description to tell your potential audience something they don't know—specifically, why they should come see your show. Who's in it? Why will it be cool? What can they expect? How much is it? Assume the invite will travel outside the group you send it to—what would you say to a stranger to make him buy a ticket?
Invite everyone. This is why I prefer group events: You can click "invite members" and Facebook does—then lets you follow up whenever you'd like to.

NOTE: If you're playing in a multi-troupe show, find out what your producer wants before you set up an event. Some are happy if you send out your own invites; others prefer you to use theirs. At the VERY LEAST, use the producer's basic information and get the reservation line right.

ANOTHER NOTE: If you are a high school or college troupe, these rules don't apply. Everyone you're inviting knows you, and you can be as wacky or freaky or whimsical and vague as you'd like. As long as people know it's you, they'll come.

******

OK. So now the public at least has a chance of finding out you've got a show. Want to make headlines? You'll need three things—and sometimes, it just takes one of them:

A great hook. What's the story? And not just the one you, or two other people in improv land find interesting. Even better, what's the thing that makes you worth covering not just for any show, but RIGHT NOW?
A compelling press release. The KC Star's press release site has great tips for writing one. This isn't the time to be artsy—it's the time to be informative. Give reporters what they want, and they might just write about you.
A killer photo. Improv groups, as a rule, have crappy promotional photos. Sorry...I've seen and sent out dozens of them, and it's just true. Tantrum and Spite have worked with photographers who got us great, highly usable stuff. Clint Sears' shots have appeared in every local paper. And I'm guessing Ben Pieper's new shots of Spite (above) bumped us from a simple preview to the lead spot on the site home page and a capsule on the Arts top page. (What the photos that get picked up the most have in common? Interesting composition, tight shots of faces and a story or emotion.)

Of course, a lot more goes into getting covered...or not. But doing the basics allows you to sleep soundly at night, knowing you've done everything within your power to get the word out.

We have to follow WHAT?!?

2010-02-11T19:24:00.000-08:00

Tantrum is back at the Westport Coffeehouse Friday night at 8pm. Our monologist is the fabulous Kim Carrington, aka fianceé of Josh, aka Kimmi Tassel of Massive Tassel, an amazing belly dance troupe.

Not only will Kim be telling stories for Tantrum—and those of you who know her know she's slyly funny and hilariously honest and incredibly charming and generally awesome—but she'll be performing with the the other Tassels.

You know how chicks dig guys with a sense of humor? Guys dig chicks who can do this.

Google Superbowl ad = your awesome longform show.

2010-02-09T19:38:00.000-08:00

Google's Superbowl ad was GORGEOUS. From the simple, blinking cursor at the start...to the graceful combination of product demo and benefits...to the smart, engaging storytelling...

Really, really nice work. My vote for the only truly compelling commercial of the night. And as Advertising Age put it, "During and after the game, the spot was widely discussed, tweeted, blogged-about and re-posted on all manner of digital water coolers from Twitter to Facebook to LinkedIn."

But in the same article, they pointed out that consumers didn't notice or love it. What they loved? Betty White getting tackled. A guy in a shock collar.

Marketing geeks can love the beautiful work Google does all day long...but unless consumers notice it, it doesn't work.

TRANSITION GOES HERE.

Improv geeks can love amazing long form all night long...but unless consumers get it, it doesn't matter.

Industry insiders fall in love with the stuff that challenges us and makes us happy.

The Google ad incorporates the stuff we copywriters love (simple storytelling and a copy-only ad BWA HA HA) with the stuff the budget guys love (seriously...screen captures?) with the stuff marketing strategists love (product demos and benefits).

Longform incorporates the stuff improvisers love: scenes, relationships and characters in their purest form.

But the audience goes for the gimmick. In marketing, it's slapstick. In improv, it's Da Doo Run Run or any mime and gibberish guessing game.

So we're left shooting for the middle ground. The place where we keep our self-respect and feel like we're doing our best work—but where the audience will meet us and laugh (or cry) with us.

In other words, let's face it...we're all shooting for the Budweiser Clydesdales commercial.

Well, THIS is new.

2010-02-08T19:28:00.000-08:00

It would be dishonest to say I enjoy running.

The dread of knowing I have to go to the gym...the claustrophobic, can't-catch-a-breath feeling...the discomfort of shoes bought without knowing how my feet work...the soreness between my shoulder blades from pumping my arms...the sweat...

Nope. Can't say I love it.

But.

BUT...

I could stare at the "see all runs" view on the Nike+ site all night. I love being able to show Peggy I've done cardio, like she's been bugging me to do for two years. And that moment where my feet go numb and I get goosebumps that start at my shins?

OK. I'm starting to get it.

But this whole cardio thing didn't make sense until I signed up for the Rock the Parkway 5K. And then the WIN for KC Triathlon. Now, all of a sudden, I'm working towards something. And all of a sudden, the regret attached to missing a workout (like I did tonight, to do taxes) isn't because I feel guilty about 'fessing up to my trainer. It's more because I missed a chance to help make sure I'll survive March 27 and July 31.

Which is kind of why I rehearse and take classes.

It's not that I want to connect working out to improvising (much)—in fact, part of what I'm trying to do is finding something completely different to spend my time doing. And it's too early to say I've found a new thing to throw myself into—I've got a ridiculously short attention span and a tendency to feel like I've discovered something no one else has ever felt in the history of feeling any time I try something new. (Though they don't say anything, I have a feeling my family finds this a particularly insufferable part of my personality.)

I don't run very far. And I've been pretty wimpy when it comes to kicking up the incline so far. Now I have cycling to add to it—and my first 30 minutes on a stationary bike was unimpressive, to say the least. Swimming? Ahhh...we'll get to that in a month or so.

It just feels really good to have so much room to grow stretching out ahead of me.

Surviving in a small improv community.

2010-02-02T19:45:00.000-08:00

There's a little book I like: Return to Civility. Its description:

This simple little book has a simple little theme, “Act the way you want the world to be.”

Based on the observation that perhaps the world could be a bit more polite, a bit kinder and a bit friendlier, John Sweeney and the folks at the Brave New Workshop Comedy Theatre have written Return to Civility, A Speed of Laughter Project. Containing 365 suggestions to help create a more civilized world, Return to Civility seeks to reclaim the appreciation once displayed for our fellow human beings, our selves, and our planet.

I like it enough to have given it as a Christmas gift this year—hoping people would leave it in bathrooms and on coffee tables so others would pick it up and read it. It features ideas like, "Park wisely and courteously" and "Wear clothing that respects and honors the situation."

It got me thinking there might be some equivalent thoughts for surviving in a small improv community. We're around each other a lot—and along with the mindblowingly creative rehearsals and ridiculously fun after-show gatherings, there's serious drama. The bigger we get, the more entwined the groups become, and the more some people succeed and others fail, the more likely it is we'll piss each other off.

So some thoughts, inspired by Return to Civility. I've screwed most of these up over and over in the last couple of decades. Still do.

Find at least one true, nice thing to say. Sometimes, saying something nice comes easily; many times, it doesn't. But look a little harder, and you'll find something real to compliment: energy, enthusiasm, a character choice, even just the tenacity to hang on in a tough show.

Stack the chairs. If you're going out to drink beer with a group after a show, take a few minutes to help them reset the theater. Everyone will make it to the bar faster, and together.

Watch other groups. Show up early or stick around after your set to watch the other troupes play. See a new troupe every so often. Revisit a new group after they've had a chance to grow.

Pass along what you've learned. Teach a class. Offer to lead a rehearsal for a group of newer improvisers. Share insights from a workshop over a beer.

Give someone a second chance. Players improve. Troupes grow. One or two sucky shows don't make players lost causes. Be open to the happy discovery that, really, they kick a little ass. (Audiences don't have to do this—so it's gracious when we do.)

Take a freakin' compliment. If someone says you did a great show, don't insult his taste by telling him it wasn't or doubt her integrity by assuming she's lying. Say thank you.

Keep your drama off the interwebs. Cryptic status updates after rehearsal...vague pronouns in your blog post about your last show...angry tweets about your scene partners...they might make you feel better in the moment. But in the long-run, they damage your fellow players and your relationships with them. And force your friends to take sides, which makes you the a-hole.

Know when it's about you. Not getting to do the projects or play with the people you want to? Ask someone smart—and objective—why he or she thinks it might be. There's a good chance you're getting in your own way.

And know when it's not about you. What we do is ensemble work. Pleas for attention and demands for credit rarely go over well. It's just as cool—cooler, even—to realize that you're standing on the shoulders of giants, and they're in your own troupe.

Buy a beer for a newbie (21 and over only). You might be a guru in someone's eyes. How great is that? If someone who's just discovering how much they love this wants to talk to you about it, hang out for a bit. It might remind you why you like it.

Ask for permission before you offer a critique. You're not necessarily doing people a favor by pointing out what they did wrong. Make sure they're in the right frame of mind or even interested in your point of view—and if they're not, hush.

* * * * *

I've tried to put these in a gracious, positive form, but just can't. Again, these are all things I continue to screw up over and over. So these are the don'ts...and we do them more than we mean to. Sometimes even revel in them. Yeah, it feels great in the moment...but these the things that make us assholes.

Don't blab things about a troupe you wouldn't feel comfortable saying to their director to his or her face. Sober. And in the same words.

Don't badmouth another player to make yourself look good. It is always, always, ALWAYS transparent, and will have the opposite of the effect you're shooting for.

Don't undermine your director. Not to other players, not to outside improvisers. If you don't agree with your troupe's leader, here are your choices:
—Shut up.
—Offer your opinion, then shut up.
—Leave the group.

Don't forget that everyone knows everyone. There's a damn good chance the player you're gossiping about is good friends with the person you're gossiping to. Or will be, someday. Plus, in a tiny community like this one, the chance you'll work together on a project is really good.

Don't drive home drunk from McCoy's or the Foundry. 1. The fact that you were drunk may mean you blurted something incredibly inappropriate. 2. There are improvisers close by. Someone will give you a ride or let you crash on the couch.

Last week and this one.

2010-01-31T19:18:00.000-08:00

Rambling about last week...

Spite stuff

After a fun rehearsal/planning session, we were really excited to get back on stage together again. The Roving Imp—as we knew it would—has the most welcoming vibe in the world. The One cast put on an amazing show; they're ensemble is seriously playful and smart, and they didn't miss anything. Our set felt a little...off. Odd. Whatever. We didn't feel as connected as we like to.

Nikki figured it out—we didn't make our standard pre-show promise/threat. So at the Fishtank for KCXRC, we made sure to cover that—and tried a short, Spolin-inspired warm-up that felt really, really good. The set was a fun one.

Also, at the Fishtank
Erik Johnson and I book-ended the January KCXRC schedule with beejay. The Saturday night show, once again, felt great. Our improv backgrounds are pretty different, but we agree that they complement each other. Not sure what's next for beejay—but these two shows have been a blast.

And we got to bring our Thunderdome gang, Team Number 9, back for one last show. Keith Curtis filled in for Steve, and we played another round of Freeze Tag. It was a fun, fluffy little set.

And out in Bonner Springs
Wednesday night was one of our last few rehearsals with Olive Juice before they compete in Thunderdome. We waited until this week to come up with a format, just to get a sense of the way Nifer, Julie and Chanté play with each other; the result mixes some iO, some Viewpoints and some Jill Bernard. They played around with some of the techniques we've worked in the Imp early show on Friday, and there was gleeful clapping. The girls are eff you en to work with—I'm really looking forward to the Olive Juice/Spite chick shows coming in March and April.

Omega Directive rehearsed Thursday for the first time in months. We're really simplifying our show structure; now it's just two different frameworks for scenes, and I love it. The only down-side: I screwed up my calendar, so I missed playing with them on Saturday. Next month, dammit.

Oh, and...
After two years of Peggy begging and pleading with me to do cardio, I finally started running. I missed a couple of days last week and took today off because my arms are so freaking sore I can barely lift them. Yes: My. ARMS. Apparently moving them back and forth when you run is part of what makes it such a good workout. Running 5K on Friday and 2 miles on Saturday—then throwing in some pretty hard-core upper body stuff in our small group on Saturday—did me in.

But it's back on the treadmill tomorrow—because Spite is running a 5K in March. WTF.

Coming this week
Exit 16 on Tuesday. Olive Juice on Wednesday. And a benefit for Haiti by KC Crossroads Comedy on Saturday. I'll be in the tech booth. The kids will be on stage with their alter-egos, Some Technical Difficulties.

There's no "I" in "improv"

2010-01-27T20:18:00.000-08:00

Some of the best improvisers I know have the tiniest egos.

In his Second City boot camp classes, Michael Gellman teaches you first to focus out. iO theory teaches you to treat others like geniuses and artists. Even Annoyance theory, which insists that you take care of yourself first, isn't encouraging ego—it encourages confidence, and making sure you contribute to the scene.

This was all reinforced recently, when I saw TJ & Dave in their new documentary "Trust Us, This Is All Made Up." (Which, I can tell you, you will get more out of every time you watch it.) They heap praise on each other, and can't believe their good fortune in performing with someone as talented as their scene partner.

Talk to anyone who's studied in Chicago, and they'll tell you it's the students and the improvisers clawing their way to the top who are the snotty assholes who won't talk to newbies. The experienced players—the ones you go there to watch or study with—are the kindest, most gracious ones.

It's kind of funny to watch improvisers thrown into Hollywood. Watch Tina Fey or Steve Carell or Jack McBrayer on an awards or talk show. The only time they show any ego is when they're in character.

Look at the leaders in our own community and you'll see the same thing. They're holding themselves to the highest standard—and they're their own harshest and most vocal critics when they don't reach it. They're modest to a fault—getting them to promote their own shows is like pulling teeth, because they hate the idea of bugging people to come watch them. Civilians are surprised to hear that the funniest improvisers are typically introverts—in both the usual understanding of the word (shy and self-conscious) and by the Myers-Briggs definition (being around others, especially as the center of attention, exhausts them).

Why do I find this so crazily appealing, or feel the need to write about it?

Maybe it's realizing the folks I have the most fun with are the ones who still, after all these years, are the most excited about learning new things. Or because I was lucky enough to spend the night hanging out with the ladies of Olive Juice at the Roving Imp—where generosity of spirit oozes out of the walls. Maybe it's because of my Christian upbringing (pride is one of the big sins). Or coming of age in the modest, self-deprecating Midwest.

Or maybe it's because I struggle with ego. You have to be confident enough to get on stage—but not so confident you irritate the fuck out of everyone around you. Bold enough to ask people to come see you—but not cocky enough that you take it for granted. Self-aware enough to know you have some talent—and to be realistic about how much (or how little).

It's a fine line, and not an easy one to walk.

Taking a ride

2010-01-25T20:00:00.000-08:00

Quickly, and briefly, before I forget it all:

At Spite rehearsal, after our usual malicious gossip and 1.5 bottles of wine, I imagine I wasn't the only one wondering how to make a graceful transition into doing scenes. We'd been talking about funky theater shit we loved doing, and it occurred to me I had a CD of Viola Spolin narrating a space walk.

So we did it.

What we learned:

In true soft focus, you can practically see behind yourself.
If you touch and allow yourself to be touched, or see and allow yourself to be seen, your awareness expands exponentially.
The chair on the left, though practically identical to the chair on the right, is much goofier.
You can see without really seeing, and we do it way too often.

As I've mentioned, part of the joy of playing with multiple troupes is discovering what I get out of each one. And I think maybe I'm realizing that it really is about discovering, not deciding. If I go into a project with expectations, they're rarely met; but if I just play, I'm likely to find something wonderful.

The Spite girls want to push ourselves to try new things (in fact, we came up with a list to inspire this year's promotions, and it may just involve a painful, well-documented trip to an esthetician). I think we realized tonight that we're all pretty cool with geeky, hard-core, abstract theater and improv exercises.

Can't wait to play this weekend. Two shows—one Friday at the Imp, and one Saturday at the Fishtank. Small, intimate spaces with friendly crowds. Should be just right for us.

Why I love Freeze Tag

2010-01-18T20:21:00.000-08:00

Team #9 decided to play our full set as a game of Freeze Tag at the most recent Thunderdome. We've gotten mixed reviews—from "I loved it" to "I can't believe you played Freeze Tag for 30 effing minutes" to "I wish you'd opened it up more so you could pursue some of the scenes further."

Playing Freeze Tag was a 180 from our set in the last round of Thunderdome—a stylized Twilight Zone-inspired piece. Steve set it up in hard-core ComedyCity mode—establishing that we'd play it as a rapid-fire one-liner game (they call it Body Freeze). We did a few rounds of one-liners, justifying the position and moving on, then kicked into longer, relationship-driven scenes.

Improvisers I have known give me relentless shit about my love of Freeze Tag. It kills me to see it played as a one-liner game—Freeze! Say something funny to justify the position! Barely move at all and freeze again! Repeat!—because if you play it right, it can get you completely out of your head and inspire great scenes with rich characters, emotional relationships and detailed object and environment work.

Here's how: Read up on Viewpoints.

The distance between you and your scene partner is your spacial relationship. It tells you your status...who you are to each other...what kind of tension exists in your relationship.
Your partner's position is her shape. It can tell you her emotion and her status and so much more. We usually name the activity—which is the least important piece of information of all. (Annoyance theory: How you do what you do is who you are.)
Your own shape can also inspire your gesture—and the start of what you're doing. Instead of naming your own activity right at the start, begin it. Figure out why you're doing it.

Ages ago, I saw a list of hack Freeze moves online. I can't find it now, but it included:

Dancing, martial arts and exercise
Teaching anyone to do anything
Super-gluing anything to anything
Quotes from TV, movies or other pop-culture references

In each of those, the scene is about what you're doing, not how or why you're doing it. Fine for a quick laugh—maaaabye—but not to build a scene.

Freeze Tag is a microcosm of all improv teaching. Freeze Tag can be used for good or evil. Freeze Tag can save your soul.

Aaaand we're back, with Michael Byars.

2010-01-13T19:40:00.000-08:00

Tantrum is back, after...wow. We've been off since EARLY NOVEMBER, people.

Friday's show should be fun.

Michael Byars, KCUR Morning Edition host (if you listen to KCUR, you know the time and temperature in his voice) and PresentMagazine.com music dude, joined us at rehearsal tonight to prep for the show (This Friday! At the Westport Coffeehouse! At 8pm!).

We get varying reactions to warmups by our guest monologists. Some find them even tougher than doing the show—others dive right in. Michael was a diver. He passed the Ball of Emotion. He sang backup in Musical Hot Spot. He got weird in the game Jill taught us.

We love him already.

We zipped through our piece, with him telling stories and us doing scenes. We were definitely playful—which is what I love best about Tantrum—even though in the run-through we didn't really hit any meaty scenes. So Pete ran us through some more focused scenework exercises at the end.

Every group I play with means something different to me. Tantrum was the first troupe I really felt like part of after Lighten Up/Funny Outfit. I love the group's energy and how such different people play off each other. I love that we can have radically different views about improv and life and the ways that makes us stronger. I love the close-to-even girl/guy ratio and the range of experiences we bring to the stage.

And right now, I love the fact that we get to play again this weekend.

P.S. Interesting thoughts from the creator of long form

2010-01-03T18:04:00.000-08:00

If you haven't already, download these notes from Del's classes and read them. Joey Novick—the guy who typed them up because his originals were faded—originally gave them to Marc and me. When we invited Del to a festival, Joey came, too...bringing things nicely full circle. In his intro, Joey talks about the piece they did. Joey has the Bible they used in the show; I have the one Del stole from his own room.

Anyway, I've skipped around some. You'll find this idea starting seven pages in:

If the mind is in the way, all we are going to get is ideas. ... So, if you use your insular, private wig to invent, concoct brand new solutions and responses, what's likely to happen? ... Thought, too much thought, is a ruiner.

Yeah, I over-think things off stage. But my goal is always to not over-think in scenes. Another thing I liked, from an article by a guy in Del's Committee workshops:

"I tell Close he has taught me much. He replied that I've still got so much to learn it's ridiculous to look back yet."

Specific exercises and techniques start on page 41.

Part II: Form following function...or, you know, not.

2010-01-03T11:19:00.000-08:00

Explanations, continued from this post about why I think troupes waste a lot of energy "creating" "new" "forms":

The audience doesn't care.

People who do things every day get bored way before the people who watch the things we do.

Want an example? Watch how quickly some companies switch advertising campaigns. You won't, of course, remember the companies that do it because their campaigns never sink in. Marketing departments get bored and agencies change teams or creative directors (or get bored) and they change out campaigns just as they're building awareness and maybe starting to work. Brands with patience and commitment—Nike, All State, McDonald's—actually create something memorable.

iO is known for the Harold. They play with other forms, of course—Del encouraged it—but their training still starts with Harold and you can see different teams perform it every week.

Same thing with Theatresports. And ComedySportz. They're all sought out for their signature forms.

They're not really new.

The first Harold was performed in 1967. A troupe could spend years simply exploring the forms that already exist.

But that's not exciting enough, so we rework an opening (or just leave it off), change out some edits, apply a genre and call it a new form.

There's nothing wrong with doing that, of course. But we're customizing—not inventing.

They're not really "forms."

I've heard Jill talk about this, and I agree. "Form" implies structure—some sort of organization or arrangement of elements or system created to serve a purpose. Tacking an an opening on a montage of scenes creates no more of a "structure" than putting a door frame in front of a pile of bricks creates a "house."

Last night during intermission at KC Crossroads Comedy's premiere, Erik asked Aron how Improv-Abilities came up with the approach to their set. Aron said they consider two things: what they're interested in doing as improvisers and what they want to accomplish with the piece.

That second thing is just as important as the first—but we don't always act like that's true.

We don't fully use all those techniques we're shuffling around.

At iO, students know the Harold inside out. They learn it, get frustrated with it, play around with it and understand it before they start fucking with it.

Do we spend enough time exploring different ways to pull themes and patterns out of stories and monologues or openings? If we don't, we've wasted content and time doing them in the first place.

Do we understand the pitfalls of narrative structures...how to avoid playwriting, different ways to initiate time dashes, varying approaches to the game of the scene?

Do we play enough as a team, exploring the different ways you can take advantage of a 2- or 3- or 7- or 12-person troupe?

Do we work on basic scenework...relationships, walk-ons/throughs, game moves, characters, emotions?

Or do we burn time and energy in rehearsals serving the development of a "form" that doesn't serve the improvisers or the audience?

*********

So...um...why does all this matter? To me, there are a few reasons: Respect for the craft. Knowledge = power. And, you know, why reinvent the wheel? To invent something new, it helps to know what already exists.

I warned at the beginning that some of this might sound judge-y. As I wrap it up, I want to reiterate that, though some of it is, it's aimed as much at me as anyone. I play regularly in four groups and coach one—along with some new and short-term projects—so I have lots of opportunities to either be a total hypocrite or try to make things better. Or to just decide "it is what it is" and enjoy whatever it is we've decided to do with our shows.

Part I: Form following function...or, you know, not.

2010-01-03T09:40:00.000-08:00

These next couple of entries, because they're observations filtered through opinion and experience, may come across as judge-y. They probably are. But it's not a mean-spirited judge-y. So a little context...

When Marc and I started Lighten Up in 1992, I had one year of experience with KC ComedySportz (now ComedyCity). I learned basic improv from the very talented Barry Schreier and by playing with folks like Corey Rittmaster and Rob Lawrence. I learned showmanship from Clancy Hathaway. We wanted more, and hooked into a relatively new Chicago improv scene to get it.

In 1993, Lighten Up was one of the few places outside of Chicago where anyone had heard of long-form—much less performed it. We took workshops from Del Close and Charna Halpern, and brought them and their students to our festivals to teach us more. They were about to publish Truth In Comedy, documenting their signature Harold, and iO—still under Del's artistic direction—was playing with Harold variations and new forms. (See here for early notes from Del's exploration of long-form—they're about all we had to work from until we saw a live performance.)

*******

For short-form players, it's games. You join or start a troupe, play a standard set list, and start craving something new or different...so you go to festivals, read books and search online for new games. Or you come up with different ones, invariably assuming you've created something brand new when, in fact, you've just "created" blind dubbing.

A couple of decades ago (Yep—writing that did make me feel old. Just checking.) most long-form players started with Harold. It was the long-form equivalent of Freeze (Freeze Tag, Body Freeze, whatever) or Conducted Story (Story, Story—DIE)...you just kind of assumed that anyone who knew improv knew Harold. In its most basic form, it's a pretty comprehensive training tool, too (this is a really good description):

Various openings (stop and go, invocation, pattern games) teach players to listen for and heighten patterns and themes.
Beats (sets of scenes) teach time jumps—you learn to uncover the narrative without forcing the story.
Games (group scenes) teach you how to support, heighten and discover as a group.
The Harold itself is a lesson in creating forms—each element serves a purpose in support of the whole.

But Harold isn't easy. Unless you've seen it, teaching it (as I found out with Lighten Up, and later with Exit 16) can be like handing someone a pile of car parts and a description of what a car does and saying "go."

So we're just as likely to start with montages—separate scenes or time jumps, held together by different edits. They're easy, they're fun...and they're not particularly challenging. Because of that, I think, we tend to pump a lot of energy into "creating" new "forms" to keep us from getting bored and in hopes of differentiating our work from other groups.

You know way back at the beginning where I said I might sound judge-y?

Here's why I think, for the most part, that most of the energy we put into new forms is wasted:

The audience doesn't care.
They're not really new.
They're not really "forms."
We don't fully use all those techniques we're shuffling around.

Further explanations next post, because this is, as usual, pushing TLDR limits.

********

I think I've finally hit on why I sometimes get impatient with the state of long-form in KC—and it's not just that "back in my day things were different." It's thrilling to see the community growing and developing, and I love playing with Tantrum, Spite, Omega Directive and beejay...but I just had a little wave of nostalgia for the "older group" in Lighten Up I learned all this with (in particular, Bob, Dan, Tim, Steve, Tracy, Julie, Paul, Carla, Guy and Jeff).

Between the Usenet group (alt.comedy.improvisation) and early yesand.com, discussions at early festivals (Big Stinkin' in Austin, ImprovStock in Athens and our own Spontaneous Combustion), and exploration with the folks in Lighten Up, I feel like I've already been through what KC is going through now. Like everyone else, I want something new and different.

2009: KC Improv in review

2009-12-31T18:06:00.000-08:00

It's been another great year for improv comedy in Kansas City. Our community continues to grow, bringing more troupes, stronger shows, bigger events and some really unwatchable crap. (Of course, that's just a side effect of increased content, and not what this is about.)

In no particular order, because I feel like writing them and without over-thinking things, here are my three lists of three things.

Three cool shows or events

ImpFest: A bunch of KC improvisers got a chance to experience the intimate space, the friendly crowds and the love of improv unique to the Roving Imp. Yes—if you're accustomed to driving no more than 15 minutes to get your fix, the location is a minus. But John's doing something very cool out there, and it's worth the trip.
Messing With A Friend at KCiF: If you ever get the chance to hang out in Chicago on a weeknight, you should see two shows: TJ & Dave and Messing With A Friend. The Improv-Abilities guys brought Susan Messing and her long-time friend and Annoyance co-conspirator Mark Sutton in for KCiF, and they put on the single best improvised performance KC audiences saw this year.
The Trip Fives: They've got a tight, well-trained, playful ensemble. They continue to grow, constantly trying out new things in rehearsal and on-stage. They're the best in KC right now (and not just because they got the most friends to vote for them).

Three things we need more of

Training: We've got a city full of players with not much beyond a festival workshop or two and a lot of on-the-job training (some good—some not so much). More experienced performers need to teach and more untrained performers need to study. Until that happens, we'll continue to reinforce bad habits and we won't grow. The Roving Imp's program is a start, but we need more.
Disciplined use of social media: Serious. Ly.
Audiences we aren't related to: Here's the secret to pulling big audiences for your improv show. Ready? Grow up in KC, keep your family from moving away and stay in touch with every friend you've ever made. Getting the word out isn't enough—we have to not only attract, but get repeat business from people outside of our circles of friends. ComedyCity has, so far, done the best job. (Their secret? Group sales and corporate business. Why sell four tickets at a time when you can sell 40—or 400?)

Three things to be excited about in 2010

More producers: Improvising is fun. Finding space to rehearse and play, promoting, managing ticket sales...that's the pain in the ass. Thanks to KC Crossroads Comedy, Roving Imp and Thunderdome, your troupe can focus on the work. (You still have to do some of the promoting, but Tom and John and Jared are doing the heavy listing.)
More coaches and directors: Sure, many troupes are still self-directed. But some of the city's younger improvisers are teaching college groups at William Jewell and JCCC. And experienced players are getting sucked in to coach start-ups. Something to remember on both sides: A coach doesn't have to be exponentially better than a team—objectivity and willingness to speak up about what's not working are more important than an encyclopedic knowledge of technique and exercises.
More arguments: On Facebook. In blog comments. And, rarely, in person. We're disagreeing with each other. We've got different groups, theories and approaches and people who feel passionately enough about them to throw down.

* * * * * *

Don't feel like shutting up yet. So, an addendum.

Three things I'm personally excited about in 2010

Doing an assload of shows: Spite has committed to two shows a month for the first part of the year. Tantrum is back at the Coffeehouse. Omega Directive is weirding out at the Imp. Beejay is an interesting experiment. And Team #9 is back in T-Dome. Yes, it means I'm a little busier than may be a great idea, but I love it. So.
Coaching in limited doses: Exit 16 is performing at the high school and the Corbin (which is making them strong in the Force), and (uncoached by me) as Some Technical Difficulties at KC Crossroads Comedy. Spite has banded together to coach T-Dome team Olive Juice, featuring Julie Robison, Nifer Honeycutt and Chanté Keller, all Imp regulars. They're all John-trained, which makes them fabulously easy to work with, and there's not an ego or an attitude in the bunch, which makes them delightful.
Getting serious about my health: I've started running. Yeah, it's indoors and on a treadmill. But running. (And, to quote Tim Lemke, with "no one chasing me, and nowhere to go.") I've been backsliding on the diet thing (though the exercise thing, thanks to Peggy, is non-negotiable), so it's time to refocus.

Way better than my high school reunions

2009-12-21T19:04:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow night is our annual Exit 16 alumni show.

We're doing one this year instead of two, for a few reasons. About the only thing I'll miss about not doing two is the chance to sort some things out in the first round. But I think narrowing it to one will make it more wecial.

Can't wait to see who makes it back. Now to figure out what the hell to do with all of them. Here are my current thoughts on some games that might show up:

FIRST HALF
Beastie Rap (a gazillion)
Dating game (1 host, 1 date, 3 bachelor/ettes)
Big/Little (3 on the little side, 3 +full cast on big)
Growing/Shrinking (5)
Typewriter (1 storyteller, 4 +full cast actors)
Scene switch (6-8 on each team)
Pan Left/Pan Right (6-8)

SECOND HALF
We typically do scene-based stuff that makes it easy to rotate through a group with a specific edit—so it feels long-formy, but it's doesn't get messy. Plus, the kids know the forms are squishy, so if a group scene happens, it happens.
Musical opening (current kids)
Gauntlet (group 1)
La Ronde (group 2)
Freeze Tag (group 3)

And then...
World's Worst (everybody)

Here we go...

* * * * *

As a follow-up on the branding discussion, which I'll get back to after Christmas: Having a LOT of fun tweeting for Spite—especially when Nikki & Megan join in. We've set some pretty aggressive goals and are meeting them. It'll be interesting to see if they pay off at showtime.

Spite's homework

2009-12-14T19:15:00.000-08:00

Nikki and Megan and I met tonight with a photo art director pal and the photographer who's going to shoot our new stuff. It seemed like a good excuse to get our brand personality work wrapped up—we wanted to be able to talk about who we are and what we needed in promo photos.

So based on the two posts about brand personality, here's what we've got (all of the definitions come from various web dictionaries, the links to which I forgot to copy down for attributions):

SPITE BRAND PERSONALITY

BALLSY
“You play like guys.” (Charley, Loaded Dice)
what it means
— Very tough and courageous, often recklessly or presumptuously so.
— sometimes vulgar : aggressively bold : gutsy, nervy
— Tough and courageous; having balls
what it looks and feels like
— No need to be modest, reserved or ladylike.
— Push boundaries, visually and verbally.

BODACIOUS
"Ted, you and I have witnessed many things, but nothing as bodacious as what just happened." (Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure)
“Look at them bodacious set of ta-tas.” (An Officer and a Gentleman)
what it means
— a combination of bold and audacious
— impressive, awesome, brave in action, remarkable, prodigious
— sexy, voluptuous
what it looks and feels like
— Bold choices, on stage and in promotional materials.
— Confidence in who we are and what we do.

MISCHIEVOUS
“I’m going to fuck with you.” (Spite, before shows)
“It’s nothing a few extra prayers on Sunday won’t fix.” (Trish’s Dad, after a show)
what it means
— irresponsibly playful
— maliciously or playfully annoying
— roguishly or slyly teasing, as a glance
— Causing mischief; troublesome, cheeky, badly behaved
what it looks and feels like
— Playful, silly—we never take ourselves too seriously.
— Occasionally a little mean-spirited—OK with making people a little uncomfortable.

TRUE
“You guys talk about your vaginas a lot.” (Teenaged improviser)
“I’m going to need someone to hold my head down…No, from the other side.” (Nikki, at a bratwurst-eating contest)
what it means
— consistent with fact or reality; not false
— Real; genuine.
— Faithful, as to a friend, vow, or cause; loyal.
— Sincerely felt or expressed; unfeigned.
what it looks and feels like
— All of the above qualities are rooted in reality. We’re not smutty for the sake of being smutty—we’re dealing with real life. It’s funny ‘cause it’s true.
— We’re true to who we are—we don’t censor ourselves or pretend to be what we’re not (which is why we haven’t played in heels and mini-skirts again, but used what we learned in our makeovers and made it our own).

The discussion with the photographer went great. We chatted for an hour or so about concepts—studio shots or location, costumes vs. wardrobe, scenarios vs. candid shots. The collaboration was great, and we landed on a direction we feel is a great example of "show, don't tell." With the photos we're shooting for (pun intended) we won't need words to describe some elements of our personality—the pictures will speak for us.

We're not going to say more about our direction yet. But if you follow us on Twitter, you might be able to figure it out.

Some people just get it

2009-12-12T09:49:00.000-08:00

Last night was good.

First, I got to see Clay and Drew, a couple of former Exit 16ers and two of the Scriptease guys, direct their first improv show up at William Jewell. The Cardinals Jesters are a bunch of really talented kids who've never improvised before, and together they put up a fun, fast-paced, solid show. The game that really blew me away was Audience Nightmare—playful, smart, risky and really theme-inspired. Awesome. Can't wait to see what else they do...they'll play with us at the Corbin in January, and are doing some shows at the Fishtank, I think.

Then it was out to Czar Bar to see Capybara, featuring three more former Exit 16ers. They're getting great press, strong reviews and good gigs, and seem to be having a lot of fun while they're doing it.

Every now and then, I get a chance to talk to band folks about marketing their groups. Alan Scherstuhl believes improvisers should present themselves more like rock stars and less like debate teams, and he's right.

Last night, I ended up chatting with Mark Harrison, who does most of the booking and promo for Capybara. He's got great instincts, and talked a lot about one of the most important parts of marketing—authenticity. Spend some time on Capybara's blog or Facebook page or follow them on Twitter, and you'll see that the vibe they've created is playful, witty and absolutely genuine. (This Pitch interview gives you an idea of what it's like to sit down and talk to them.)

In brand personality work—even for improv groups and bands, and whether you sit down and work though a strategy, make it up as you go along, or just go with your gut—you've got to start with who you really are. If you try to manufacture an image that doesn't ring true, it just doesn't work.

(All this got me thinking about another word we need to add for Spite. More on that later.)

A quick reason not to skip 1b

2009-12-10T19:41:00.000-08:00

Somewhere between the Red X wine tasting to giggly pizza, Nikki and Dennis and Josh and Kim and I talked about this whole personality and identity thing, and something came up.

Part of the reason Step 1b is important is this: In good advertising and marketing, one of the rules is "show, don't tell."

I worked for a client one who wanted to communicate that their mortgage company was trustworthy. Great—but we're not going to put "trustworthy" or worse, "you can trust us" anywhere in the copy, because the more you say it, the less you look it. In my current job, we struggle whenever it's time to promote humor product, because you can't just say something is funny—you have to prove it.

The biggest challenge in transforming the words that describe your brand personality into creative direction that inspires your marketing is figuring out how to show, not tell.

Sure—Spite can describe their shows as ballsy, and there's might even be a time and a place it's appropriate to use the word. Even better, though, would be to communicate it in the way we do everything—the way we dress, the way we play, the way we blog, the way we Tweet, the way we design our posters. We can say it all we want, but for an audience, it's seeing that's believing. (Which is why we'll get to brand image—your audience's perception vs. your description.)

I sat in on a pal's rehearsal in Chicago one night when they were being coached by then-Annoyance player Scot Robinson (the group included kick-ass improvisers Debra Downing-Grosz and Rob Reese, among others). The cast was doing some pretty clever, verbal stuff, but it didn't sing. After one player said "I love you" to another, Scot told him to stop just saying it and prove it to her with his behavior instead. Suddenly things got much more interesting.

Because, like Annoyance instructors tell us, how you do what you do is who you are. It turns out it works in marketing, too.

Tangent: Knowing what works

2009-12-09T20:22:00.000-08:00

For the most part, this little series is about the creative strategy side of marketing. Which is linked to metrics—and absolutely depends on attention to results to work—but, ideally, is developed first and measured later.

But to address some of the comments, here are some ways you can find out if your improv marketing is working:

The easiest: Next time you have a show, have the host ask "How many of you have seen us before?" right at the beginning. Do a quick estimate—and check in with each other at intermission. What percentage of the crowd is repeat customers? Who's new?
The most specific: Answer your phone. When people make reservations, ask "How did you hear about us?" Write it down, and after a few shows, do the math and see what works best. Or ask when they buy tickets at the show.
Checking your promotions: If you offer discounts, make them trackable. Tell Facebook invitees to print their invite to get the deal (you can do the same with e-mails)...ask Twitter followers to use a secret word...mark your coupons by location. If you pay for an ad, GOOD HEAVENS MAKE SURE YOU CAN TRACK THE RESULTS. Include a coupon or a promo code, or you're throwing away money. Whenever you offer a discount, make sure you know where people find it, so you can focus more efforts there.
Audience surveys: Make up a short survey and send it to your Facebook group and email lists. Ask them where they get their info, when they want to hear from you, even what they like (or don't) about your shows. Writing surveys is an art—here are some tips for writing a good one.
Review your reservations. After every show, get the cast to read over your reservations list and check off anyone they know. Figure out how you reached them. Compare your reservations list to your Facebook invite RSVPS. And make sure you know how many walkups you had—bonus points for finding out how they heard about your show.
Compare apples to oranges. Know what changes you made, and try to connect them to differences in audiences. When Spite did their makeover show the audience was huge—based on applause, we know a lot of them followed the videos.

The internet makes measuring results easier than ever. There's no excuse for not knowing what works.

Let's get back to the kids for a minute.

2009-12-08T19:30:00.000-08:00

I've missed the kids.

Yeah, they had a show at the Corbin on Saturday (yes, the same Saturday as the Big 12 Championship—dude, I can juggle). Yes, they had a show at LHS two Tuesdays before that.

But rehearsals are different. Rehearsals are play. And even though 25% of the words out of my mouth are "can we please just have one conversation at a time" and "focus, guys!" and "shut UP," there's nothing more fulfilling than watching these smart, talented young improvisers discover how to do amazing work.

At the end of a work day like this one, I don't think I can be blamed for thinking, even kinda hoping, that maybe the winter warning would warn us off rehearsal—because at the end of a long day, sweat-pants and a big glass of wine sound really good. But the drive up and back—whether it's the regular 25-minute zip up I-35 or a 45-minute slog through big, fluffy, snow-blinding flakes—is always, always more than worth the trip.

Ed worked with the kids last week, teaching Viewpoints. So I haven't gotten to workshop with them for a few weeks in a row. I had a plan mapped out—we were going to work on starting scenes in the middle and powerful transitions. Instead, because they'd wanted to try it at the last show but weren't ready, we spent some time working on Conducted Rant (a great way to showcase smart, funny kids—once you convince them that being truthful is the funniest thing they can do).

The last part, though, was the best. Steven (an already-talented Junior who has shown unBELIEVABLE growth this year) brought his guitar and we started doing a little musical improv. Tonight, we just worked on a doo-wop opening.

The very first one they did gave me goosebumps. It brought out the best in all of them—it was just so...so...musical. Their voices blended. Each person added something totally unique. They were brave and bold and you could see in their faces that they knew it worked. We did the first one with just sounds, then made using words optional.

Here was the cool part. One of the kids missed pretty much the first two months of rehearsals because he plays soccer. I wasn't sure I could catch him up—he's missed so much of the bonding and lots of the teaching. He played his first show at the Corbin (where I'm a little easier on the rule-following) on Saturday, and totally held his own. Tonight, he showed the rest of the kids he's got something special—immediately free-form singing to the music, rhyming, making up his own lyrics.

If there's one thing cooler than watching kids grow, it's watching them learn to to trust. It's kind of...um...magical. The ride home tonight, detours and all, felt pretty short.

Branding an improv troupe: Part 1b

2009-12-07T15:32:00.000-08:00

This is the second part of BRAND PERSONALITY, IDENTITY AND IMAGE IN IMPROV: Or, to borrow a line from Joe Bill and the Annoyance, How you do what you do is who you are.

I know I said next we'd hit Question #2: Does your identity match your personality? But since I'm writing as I go, I reserve the right to course-correct. And before we answer that question, we need to figure out what it means to "match your personality."

Once you've clearly defined your troupe's personality—describing yourself as you would a person—what do you do with it?

The better defined your personality, the easier it is to evaluate the communication plan you create for your audience—from the way you use media (like e-mail, advertising, Facebook, Twitter, fliers, blogs, websites, etc.) to your promotion plans (events, discounts, "gimmicks") to the look and feel of your logo, publicity photos, posters, websites and other materials.

Because we're moving to brand identity after this, we'll talk about the look and feel thing here. "Look and feel," "style and voice," "design and editorial," creative strategy or direction, style guide...essentially, what we're working toward is "guidelines for creating posters, logos, websites, press releases, etc."

To get started, it's time to extrapolate. Blow out what the personality words mean to you, and you'll start articulate a clear and specific creative direction for your troupe. There are a bunch of different ways to approach this; here are two easy ones.

If...then. Starting with your personality words, describe the kind of things a person like that would do. Using an example from the Annoyance assumptions in the last post, what might you infer about people who sees themselves as "uncensored"? Think about negative and positive connotations.

They don't play by the rules of polite society.
They might be crude, inappropriate, vulgar, sexual, dangerous...or worse.
They don't worry about what people (especially authority figures) think.
They take risks—they don't hold back.

So, what look-and-feel choices might you make based on a description like this? (This next part isn't meant to be Annoyance-specific.)

Voice (how it sounds): Edgy. Even abrupt. And if people can't handle a little swearing, fuck 'em.
Design (how it looks): Colors that feel a bit off—maybe they're a little dark, or come dang close to clashing. Layouts with elements of surprise. Choices that break traditional design rules.
Photography: It might feel spontaneous, candid—maybe a little too candid.

See how that works?

What kind of _____ would you be? Sometimes its easier to start with established brands for creative cues—either ideas or clichés to avoid. With your personality words in mind, answer these questions (and make up more, if it helps):

If you were a car, what make and model would it be?
What band would play your theme song?
Who would direct the movie about your troupe's rise and fall?
What clothing designer would create your wardrobe?
What restaurant should cater your gigs?
What big brands share your personality traits?

(This is a great exercise to do with other members of your troupe—the discussion can help expose differences in opinion about who you are.)

Now you can talk about the brand choices the names in your answers have made. Here are some differences beween a MINI and a Ford Mustang, for example:

Mini speaks to consumer with a sense of friendly exclusivity ("We were small when everyone else was going big.")...Mustang dares you to drive it ("Thrill Machine, Pure and Simple.").
Photographs in the Mini gallery lead with studio shots designed to highlight its unique shape...the Mustang is shot in action, with lots of dust/exhaust/smoke billowing from behind.
Mini's web design is simple and clean; the voice is clever and familiar, with a bit of a wink. Mustang's website incorporates a sense of movement and speed; the voice is straightforward with a sense of urgency.

Now what?
All those details you've got now will help you describe what your promotional materials should look like if you really want to play up your personality. It can be helpful fill in the blanks for a basic creative strategy:

Personality words—and what they mean.
Voice (style, point of view, attitude, diction)
Style (layout, design elements, color palette, photography)
Other considerations (general ideas to explore, like "it should look more like a movie poster than a rock band flier")

You don't have to design or write anything at this stage—in fact, it's best to get the rules down first, then create. Why do it this way?

It pushes you further than you'd go on your own. Part of the creative process design and advertising firms go through is pushing themselves beyond the first, obvious idea. Opening your mind to the way other brands advertise—or taking your direction from the world outside of advertising—keeps you from settling for an idea just because it's convenient. Hey, we're improvisers. We can always
come up with another idea.
It keeps you objective. It's easy to fall in love with a photo, a layout, a color, a font. But the goal here is to create a meaningful, differentiated identity for your troupe—and a creative strategy based on brand personality will keep you honest. It doesn't matter if your friend took a cool photo of you if it doesn't live up to the image you're trying to create. Font tricks and Photoshop filters just get in the way if they fight against your personality.

OK, really coming up next: I'll work with Nikki and Megan, over e-mail, probably, to answer some of this stuff for the case study. Then we'll go to Question #2: Does your identity match your personality? with an analysis of our current work.

Come on. Play with us.

Branding an improv troupe: Part 1

2009-12-06T17:25:00.001-08:00

Here's an experiment: See if the techniques major brands use to differentiate themselves—even when they've become commodities or there aren't extreme differences between competitors—can work for a local improv troupe.

I started thinking about it after this exchange in the comments on a blog post this summer. As our community grows, there's less and less to tell the average audience member what to expect when they see a show. Unless you've seen some of all of the players, read a review or hear about it from a friend, what would compel you to seek out a specific improv troupe?

I'm working on an actual workshop—part "how to," part hands-on application—for this sort of thing, so I figured I'd try it out here. Play along if you want. And tell me, if you feel like it, if any of this stuff is helpful—too simple? too complicated? too irrelevant? That sort of thing. So here we go.

BRAND PERSONALITY, IDENTITY AND IMAGE IN IMPROV
Or, to borrow a line from Joe Bill and the Annoyance: How you do what you do is who you are.

First, some quick definitions:

To get to your brand personality, describe your troupe as if it's a person—and think of your relationship to your audience like a relationship between two people.
Your brand identity is the way you present your troupe—your shows, your posters, your website, your logo. It's what you put out there—the experience you create.
Your brand image is your audience's perception of you.

In a dream world, your brand identity would be based on your brand personality. And together, they would create your brand image—and the relationship you have with your consumers.

Question #1: What is your troupe's personality?
Think about the improv troupes you've seen that make the biggest impression—and how you'd describe them to a friend. What 3-5 words would you use to describe your group?

Choose descriptors that get at the essence of who you are as a troupe. Some examples and approaches:

Comedic style: Playful. Whimsical. Mean-spirited. Intellectual. Aggressive.
Relationship with the audience: Friendly. Approachable. Seductive. Dangerous.
The players and their attitudes: Irreverent. Sexy. Adorable. Goofy. Ballsy. Cocky.
The vibe of the shows: Fast & furious. Patient. Accessible. Innovative.

Try to make them as specific as possible—no need to waste space with words like "funny." And you can skip words like "professional" and "experienced" and "premier" unless you're The Second City. (Or unless cultivating that vibe is essential to differentiating your group, which might be true if you're a private-show company targeting primarily corporate types, for example.)

As a case study, I'll use the Annoyance, because they have one of the strongest personalities of any around. If I were guessing at their personality, I'd use these:

subversive (which feels stronger than "irreverent")
uncensored (more open than "inappropriate" or "dirty")
fearless (beyond "powerful" and implies a certain recklessness)

And as a personal example, I'll use Spite (and hope Nikki and Megan will jump in to add, correct and argue if I misrepresent anything). Some with potential:

ballsy (because the masculine take on "brave" applies to our unladylike behavior)
bodacious (a mix of bold and audacious—and there's that "bodacious ta-tas" line)
mischievous (because there's a twist on "playful" that implies we're going to fuck with each other and the audience—and we actually promise each other that before shows)
???? (we're not a "women's issues" group, but we offer a unique point of view—unladylike ladies? ungirly girls?—and it'd be nice to incorporate that)

Coming up next:
Question #2: Does your identity match your personality?

Spam and Turkey and Ham and Chicken and Roast Beef!

2009-12-02T16:40:00.000-08:00

So in the midst of some discussion about using social media to market, a broader issue came up: How do efficiently and effectively market shows featuring multiple independent improv troupes?

There are quite a few of them around, from one-shot deals to major events to ongoing efforts. With good reason: Because the audience for the improv community is still relatively small, you can increase your crowds (and thus, your chance of making rent) when more than one troupe plays. And it means sharing your regulars with other troupes—which is great incentive to step up your game.

But the more of this type of show we do, the more marketing challenges arise—some of it stuff that doesn't occur to you until it's too late. Like:

Marketing the show to different audiences with different interests (troupe loyalties, for example)
Differences in opinion on how to market (from poster aesthetics to how many times to send Facebook reminders)
Different response mechanisms—reservation lines, e-mails, Facebook invites—for different troupes
Key messages—prioritizing the event, the talent or the venue

Of course, there are many more challenges—who headlines? who opens? what's the best spot? how do you split the gate?—but this is just about marketing.

(OH, hey...if you're one of those people who doesn't believe marketing best practices apply to improv troupes, you're not going to like this post much.)

Audiences are exposed to thousands of marketing messages a day; the conventional wisdom for breaking through the clutter used to be three impressions. Now that wouldn't even make a dent in most people's subconscious. When you do deliver multiple messages, it's important for them to have enough common elements that they hang together in people's minds—consistency is the quickest way to critical mass.

For example, everything you see about Target clearly comes from Target—whether they're selling clothes, kitchen appliances, food or the whole store. Target gives you multiple reasons to come in—value, style, selection. The approach broadens the brand's appeal on a couple of fronts—to multiple consumer groups with different needs, and to individual consumers hoping to cut down on the number of stops they have to make. But even very different messages ("Expect more. Pay less." vs. "Design for everyone.") come with a similar look and feel.

Major brands have strategies and style guides to keep messages consistent across different consumer contact points—and the more complicated the brand, the more specific the style guide. I'm not suggesting we need anything that formal in the improv world, but there's value in consistency.

A few things we can do as producers and troupes can do to help make sure our marketing gets through to our audiences:

Agree to agree: Pick the most important things, and communicate them the same way everywhere—period. Some "non-negotiables": The name of the event, reservation information, pricing and discounts, short sell-copy or taglines or show descriptions. Visuals count, too: Logos, fonts, colors. Decide which communications (i.e. press releases, calendar listings, Facebook invites) will be general and handled by the producers, and which can be customized by the troupes.

Target your messages: For example, a press release to the KC Star or Pitch would lead with the biggest news (in a recent example, that would have been The Union—the group coming in from Chicago with a show directed by a Second City performer). But one sent to a local paper would feature the local troupe or individual.

Personalize your invitations: Pretty much every troupe has its own Facebook group or fan page. And, as we've chatted about recently, we talk to our fans differently. So there's nothing wrong with each troupe setting up their own invitation and sending their own reminders, if it seems necessary—as long as you keep the big stuff consistent and maintain a single point of contact for reservations. The big risk, of course, is over-delivering messages to anyone who happens to be a member of multiple groups.

Manage your media: Producers should make sure every troupe has the information they need for their personalized messages; troupes can provide producers with logos, photos (and photo credits) and group-specific information (bios, show descriptions, websites).

So...what else? What mind-blowing challenges and fabulous solutions have you run into promoting multi-troupe shows?

Spam! Spam! Spam! Spam! Lovely Spam!

2009-11-29T20:10:00.000-08:00

Boy, this social media thing is tricky for marketers.

I get to deal with it in my improv life and my work life, and here's the thing—everybody is equally new at this and wondering how to do it. Some of the complicating factors:

You have to use Facebook! You have to use Twitter! You have to blog! But only a tiny percentage of marketers actually know what they're doing!
It's nearly impossible to ease your way in or try it out in private. It's like trying on a new outfit while you're standing next to the rack: Everybody sees what you've got.
It's easy and free—and the temptation to abuse it is strooooooong.

Twitter and Facebook give every company, brand, product and improv troupe the opportunity to try permission marketing—without the need to build or maintain your own database, or the requirement to pay printing/postage costs or the upkeep on a website. It's a relationship marketer's dream come true, but can turn into a nightmare for your most loyal customers if you're not careful. Group and fan pages and Twitter, especially, force you to walk a tricky, thin line:

Pro: It's easy to invite/collect friends and fans and followers—and presto! Dozens, hundreds or thousands have "opted-in" to receive your information.
Pro: It's easy to send messages to or invite the whole group to events.
Pro: It's easy to engage fans in a conversation and put information (videos, photos, links, show info) where they can access it.
Con: It's easy for friends and fans to ditch you if your updates are too frequent or infrequent, too long or irrelevant—or for any other reason.
Con: It's not easy to restrain yourself—when ticket sales are slow, or you're bored, or you're putting your needs before your consumers, it's tempting to send just one more update.
Con: It's downright hard to know what to update and when you should update it—and even harder to make the time to do it.

Everyone's got a different idea of how to do it. One improv pal shot me a message before a show and said "don't forget to send an event reminder the Monday before the show—and hit 'em every day until Friday." Another said "quit telling me to spam my friends."

The workable answer is somewhere in the middle. To get closer to it, Tantrum/Spite actually surveyed our audience base (and some additional consumers in the right psychographic/demographic set). The survey asked everything from "where do you look for information when you're planning your weekend" to "how far in advance to you make plans" to "how often would you like to receive reminders about a specific show?"

Now we make very specific choices about where we promote our shows and how often we talk to our consumers. It's not easy—it requires advance planning, detailed calendars and self control. We keep an eye on our fan/follower lists to make sure people aren't dropping off, and try to figure out what we've done wrong when they do.

That's the easy part—the "push" marketing. We're still figuring out how to start conversations. You have to do more than just promote—if your messages do nothing but sell, you're missing the point. But we've seen some good examples: Click here (and here) or here (and here) for two very different groups who are doing Facebook and Twitter right.

Oh, and speaking of complicating factors? What happens when many of your most loyal consumers are members of a special interest group who are likely receiving similar messages from others just like you? Stuff like this.

I'm looking at you, KC Improv Community.

Here's what you're likely to get in a week:

Event invites and reminders for every troupe whose group/fan page you've signed up for. (Double that if they've got a group AND a fan page.)
E-mails from every troupe who has you on their list.
KC Stage reminders about those same shows, if you're on that list.
Tweets about the same stuff, with tiny urls that link to the website.
Blog updates about the same stuff.
Dozens of notes, status updates and wall posts from every improviser in every troupe you know.

And if you're crazy enough to let Facebook send updates to your e-mail address, double that.

Personally, I want to know what's going on. Even if it's not for me, I get questions for show info from my high school kids and sometimes from out-of-town visitors. I'm curious about what other troupes are doing and how they're marketing shows, so it goes beyond entertainment to professional curiosity.

I recognize that I am not your typical improv consumer.

Based on what I've seen, and in my opinion as a consumer, an improviser and a relationship marketing geek (I ghostwrote a book, even), here's what I think we're doing right—and wrong. And no, I'm not naming names—but I think we know who we are (I include myself and my troupes in the list).

Yay: Post photos of your troupe (with proper photo credits, please, because photographers deserve props, too). Thoughtfully edited (short, funny, easy-to-understand) video, too.
Yay: Timely event invites, based on your consumer base's needs (which might mean setting it up a month or a week in advance).
Yay: Meaty, interesting and/or funny blog updates and Tweets and status updates that express your voice and your brand.
Yay: Status updates that attach individual players to events and troupes in an informative, charming and personal way.
Yay: Q&As, responses to wall posts and other real-time conversations with audience members. (If someone compliments you on your wall, say "thank you.")
Yay: Consolidated messages—about multiple events from one troupe, or one show from multiple troupes. Plan ahead so we don't hate you.
Boo: More-than-weekly event reminders. Once we accept, it SHOWS UP ON OUR WALLS. It's ON OUR EVENT LISTS. We may need a nudge, but constant poking annoys the crap out of us. You don't need to tell us a show sold out. A thank-you is nice, but if you've already sent us a bunch of messages that week, we're probably going to find it disingenuous.
Boo: More than daily status updates demanding that we see your show. Especially bossy, bitchy ones in all caps. ESPECIALLY if that's all you ever update about.
Boo: The same message everywhere—Facebook, Twitter, blogs, e-mail, press releases. Yes, repeat the basics. But we come to your blog for more in-depth, insider info than we expect on a release.
Boo: Keeping quiet until you have something to sell us. Talk to us when you're not doing a show—and keep it engaging, charming and consumer-focused. Otherwise, you're like that semi-hot guy who only comes around when he needs money or sex.
And a great BIG boo: Using other troupes' events or groups or walls to promote your own stuff. "I won't be attending because my group has a show that night at the coffeehouse. It's at 8pm and only $5!"

This stuff isn't easy—but it's not that hard, either. The biggest thing to remember is that, at least on Facebook, we call each other "friends." If we're not self-centered, self-promoting asshats, this social media thing can really make a difference in our audiences.

Technique vs. creativity

2009-11-23T17:01:00.000-08:00

I can't watch American Idol and have no interest in dancing celebrities. Watching real-life families struggle or people compete in races or survival contests? Meh.

Give me a show where people cook or design something: Chopped. Top Chef. Project Runway. The Next Food Network Star.

And The Next Iron Chef. (For which there will be serious SPOILERS in this post.) I was bitterly disappointed that my chef-crush John Besh lost to Michael Symon in the first competition, but Symon has won me over (it's mostly the giggle). Then there's this, from his evaluation of the competitors in last night's show:

"If you're creative and you fail, are you creative? Or are you a failure?"

It was all part of a bigger conversation—OK, argument: The show's regular judges dinged the guy they thought executed beautifully but played it too safe. The Iron Chefs dinged the one who took more risks but failed more often.

Because the chefs couldn't respect the guy who may have all the imagination in the world, but screwed up french fries.

I won't gas on about obvious links to improv—or any other art. Creativity and imagination are vital. But you don't get far without knowledge.

****

Speaking of technique, my fabulously talented writer friend Bryn Donovan has a great post up on creating characters for novels that has lots of fodder for improv exercises.

Lunch hour brain dump.

2009-11-17T11:21:00.000-08:00

So Hallmark brings in terrific outside thinkers—marketing folks, artists, branding experts, writers, even improvisers—to tell us what inspires them and share what’s new in the outside world.

Today, it was Jason Rohrer. From an article in Esquire:

A naked kid and a freakishly tall man walk in a meadow. The meadow is their front yard. It pokes up from among the sheared lawns of upstate New York's Route 11B like a Mohawk, purposeful and defiant. The kid's hair is long and blond and, on first glance, feminine. He wears orange rain boots, his uncircumcised penis free in the breeze. The tall man wears military-style cargo pants and a red T-shirt that says MONTREAL INTERNATIONAL GAME SUMMIT. He's barefoot. His dirty-blond hair is spiky from not showering.

(I assume he showered before coming here, but was far enough back in the crowd that I can’t be absolutely certain.)

He’s a video game programmer whose most famous game, Passage, presents a lesson in mortality in five minutes. I downloaded it for my iPhone while he was talking and played it at my desk—and though it didn’t make me cry, a lot of what he said got me thinking.

To sum up: There’s a lot of discussion in the video game world about whether it can be art. They’re compared to movies as if that’s the standard—if a video game seems almost like a movie, that must be good, right?

His definition of “art” is tight enough to mean something but “weak” (his word) enough to open up the discussion (paraphrasing, here): Art explores the human condition, leads you to insights about your life and the world around you, and makes you think about it after you’ve experienced it.

He wonders why video games should want to be movies when they grow up—why they can’t be their own thing. Why would you want to invent a movie? They already exist.

Talking to my friend Amy on the way back from his chat, we both admitted that Hallmark’s creative resources are often just as inspiring to us in our outside worlds as they are at work. In our day jobs, we’re cogs in a much bigger machine, so our contributions can keep things moving—even influence the direction they go in—but we’re not big or strong enough to affect holistic change.

But in my improv life (and in her jewelry-making world, Applescraps), I can change things. Whether it’s bringing an idea to a group or adjusting the way I communicate or deciding what kind of projects I want to be involved in, I can use new information immediately.

And I want to do something with this idea of not trying to be something that already exists.

For our show, Erik and I have talked a little bit about more theatrical work—something beyond toilet-paper, something worth writing down. OK, hang on…

A quick aside to say I’m past the days of any interest in self-indulgent experiments with art-for-art’s sake. Improvisation, as I use it, is about entertainment—that means it should offer SOMETHING to an audience. And if it’s advertised as a “comedy” performance, that something should be laughter. But I think there’s a middle ground between trying to put on a show that makes a statement and playing Spelling Bee.

…and we’re back. Now I’m interested in pushing in a different direction. There are folks who take “that scene was so good it seemed like it was scripted” as the best improv compliment you can give or get.

But if what we’re doing is improvised, that means it can be affected—from moment to moment, scene to scene—by everything. The audience. The environment. The mood. We talk about that a lot in terms of work within the scene, but not the form or the show itself.

The closest we get here (there’s more organic work going on in other cities) is suggestion-heavy, audience-participation driven shows. But is there something else? Something that taps into the energy of the room and the space and the crowd?

How do you create work that truly exists only on that night, for those people?

OK. Lunch hour’s over. Time to get back to work.

Be careful what you wish for.

2009-11-15T21:02:00.000-08:00

I set this as my goal on 11/23/08: At least one rehearsal a week, and at least two shows a month.

Uh...done. Up to three or four a few times this year, even. So now, just like last year, I'm looking at my schedule for the first quarter or so of 2010, and it goes something like:

Shows:

1st Saturdays: Exit 16 at the Corbin
2nd Fridays: Tantrum at the Westport Coffeehouse
2nd Saturdays: At least one round of Thunderdome
4th Saturdays: Omega Directive at the Roving Imp
Saturday TBD: Spite at Crossroads Comedy the Fishtank (and maybe another Friday at some point)
Saturday TBD: Duo with Erik Johnson at Crossroads Comedy

Rehearsals:

Sundays with Erik
Tuesdays with Exit 16 (shows monthly, too)
Monthly with Omega Directive
Pre-show with Tantrum and Spite
A few before Thunderdome with Team #9
And coaching Nifer, Julie and Chante's Thunderdome team with the ladies of Spite

Sustainable? Who knows? At some point, I'll probably want to have a weekend that doesn't involve improv at all (or, say, lets me see improv in another city). (If you listen, you can hear Josh giggling.) December will give me enough of a break that I'll miss it, though, so I'm not too worried about the first three months.

*****

Got to play with Erik again tonight.* We're getting to know each other better and better, and pushing each other out of our comfort zones more and more. Random notes:

My characters all have had the same diction (sentence length, word choices) and reactions to things; tonight, I tried higher status, more confident and more...um...well, less asexual characters. Not necessarily all at once.
As we get more comfortable with each other, we're willing to make our characters more vulnerable and more interesting things are happening.
We're having fun goofing around with forms (french braid/stripped-down Harold, La Ronde) and different ways into scenes. We're tending to play longer scenes, but it's hard to know if we're finding the turns or missing the beats.
So yeah, we're ready for a coach. We'll have one more session without one, then bring in the fabulous Nikki DuPont, who we're confident will call us on our bullshit. (And, we're hopeful, not have to find a way to explain that we're only funny to ourselves.
Playing at home continues to force us to play some level of appropriateness. We can get weird, but not loud weird. So characters are typically grounded enough that no one calls the police.

*BTW, if you haven't seen a CounterClockwise Roast, go when they come back next year. I giggled all the way through their take on The Bodyguard last night. Erik is surprising and smart and goofy; Ashley is highly observant and absolultely adorable; and Bess is hilarious when she revels and rolls around in the pop-culture muck.)

Two down, one to go.

2009-11-10T21:21:00.000-08:00

This week started with Erik, and a rehearsal for our as-yet-unnamed duo.

Jill had given us an assignment—a positive-fixation exercise—which worked incredibly well to help us get at characters who actually like each other. Along with some mirror-your-partner's-character scenes, we used it to continue working on grounded characters. As we work together more, we're starting to see some patterns/bits/habits/outs to work around; my take is that they mostly tend to be defense mechanisms. When characters get to the point where something interesting might happen—you know, they might have to reveal something or be vulnerable—we have our go-to devices to lower the stakes.

So it's time to bring in a coach. We're 95% comfortable with each other (if we were 100% there, there'd be no stake-lowering) and we know the basics of what we want to do with our show. Now it's time to start crafting it into something performance-ready. I'll admit, I'm going to kind of miss the pure exploration; without a show scheduled or a director involved or any kind of results-orientation, we've been able to just play. Which, not surprisingly, is kinda fun.

Rehearsal #2: Exit 16. After a lackluster show and a great rehearsal (thanks again to Jill), four of the 10 kids played a ridiculously solid show at the Corbin last Saturday. A 90-minute show by four kids could be a scary thing, but they were fired up and ready and playing in front of a friendly crowd. They used everything we worked in rehearsal, hit the stage with huge energy and sustained it for the whole show.

Tonight we worked on some new games: Character swap and Evil Twin. We played three versions of Character Swap:

Girls in one line, boys in another—everyone takes turns continuing the scene in the same character
Two teams of four, swapping out all at once to continue the same thing
Same as #2, but with a Talk In Turn adjustment (they could only talk in a pre-determined order) to help focus

Notes from the session:

Make your character distinct enough that someone else can take it on
Add new information with every switch
Heighten the emotional connections/interactions/reactions with every switch
Watch details—environment, character traits, dialogue

Evil Twin was interesting because I've never seen, coached or played it. It's always interesting to try to figure out the games within a game in rehearsal—and learning to coach it while the kids played it adds a twist. They count on me to know what to say, so I have to adjust their expectations when I'm figuring it out with them.

Rehearsal #3: I'll be taking Tantrum through the same stuff we did with Exit 16 last week. As much as it'll suck to (mostly) not play, it should be a whole lot of fun. Every now and then, I'm just fine with stepping out of player mode and just being the coach.

The answer is "yes."

2009-11-03T20:13:00.001-08:00

At the end of last week's Exit 16 show, I just wished I could make them feel better.

And that's where being a workshop whore gives me power. Yeah, taking workshops every chance I get makes me a better improviser. But even more than that, it gives me toys to pass on to the kids.

Two weeks ago, I had a refresher course in Jill's Fireball Theory—which turned out to be just the thing they needed. I told them her theory about Boomer and outrunning the voice that says "you suck." And we did some of her exercises, some of Dave Razowsky's, some Annoyance stuff....and we talked about exactly what the voice was saying. And I asked them questions and let them talk even more than usual, because Jill reminded me that's how people learn.

Sometimes this stuff is so obvious I look right past it.

When I've been new or haven't been comfortable in troupes, I've either felt like the giant gas-guzzling steamroller that crushes everything in its path or the idiot newbie who really should just sit down and shut up and maybe learn something, moron.

And, as it turns out, those feelings are the ones getting in the way of the kids making strong choices. The experienced ones are afraid of being stage hogs. The new ones are worried about staying in their places. So they're being incredibly polite.

All the trust falls in the world are no substitute for telling each other everything they do is right. We forget to tell our partners...

I need you to be confident.
I love it when you're fearless.
I want you to be big and loud and powerful.
I won't judge you when you try something different.
It's OK when you grab me, push me, poke me, climb on me, and do all that stuff we wouldn't do to each other in real life.
If you edit my scene, I won't resent you.
If you change my idea, I'll have another one.
If you don't get what I mean, it's no big deal.
If we step on each other every now and then, it's just because we're going somewhere.
I've got your back. I'm going to play like you've got mine.

Tonight, I think the kids found out all this stuff. It's more than a toy or a tool—it's truth. I can't wait to see them play this Saturday.

Comedy On The Square
Featuring Exit 16
The Corbin Theatre, 15 N. Water on the Historic Square in Liberty, MO
8pm $5

Is there such thing as an improv Band-Aid™?

2009-10-27T20:12:00.000-07:00

Dude.

The kidlings did NOT have an easy time of it tonight. Small crowd. Small cast (we were down two). Their hosting was strong, and the show structure was fine...

...but they were missing the fun. And they knew it. And, God bless 'em, they tried to bring it with them every time they went on stage, but it just wasn't there.

Because we haven't had help in The Expensive Sound and Light Booth, I've been running both from just off stage. Which means I spent the whole show trying not to wince, and to say supportive things as they went out for the next scenes. We did some high-energy scene-starts at the break, and everyone knew exactly what they needed to do.

And that's the tough part. They're new improvisers—even though, in their lives, it probably feels for the seniors like they've been doing it forever. The ones who've been doing it longer have a pretty good idea of what they were missing; the newer ones, even, have a sense of what happened.

They just don't have the tools to get themselves out.

Hell, even experienced improvisers can't always extricate themselves from a horrid show. But we have more tools. If I'm mired in a sucky scene, I have quite a few ideas for how to get out of the quicksand—by myself, by grabbing onto someone or something. And I'm on stage with experienced players who know when to throw me a branch and when to fire up the Jeep and toss in the cable.

The kids—they're just lucky to keep their heads above ground. Which they did, making me insanely proud. Everybody has a not-great show every now and then. Theirs came after just one real rehearsal in a month. In front of a smaller-than-usual crowd. Nobody's making excuses—least of all them. Next Tuesday, we'll work on what they think they need. Because they know a lot about what that is.

ImpFest 2009, part 2

2009-10-26T18:15:00.000-07:00

Ooof. Stayed home from work AGAIN today, and slept most of it. Stupid cold—though I guess I'm lucky it's not the flu. We'll see how much of this I can get through without dozing off...

Saturday
Workshops with Jill
Omega Directive, Coma Chameleon, Improv-Abilities
One, Dictionary Soup, Brownies Don't Lie

Jill taught her Fireball Theory class, which I've taken once and watched her teach the kids. It was interesting to take it again with a different—and much larger—group, and to hear their takes on the work and their improv issues. Her Fix 'Em Up session was terrific; we gave her our issues, and she put together exercises to help us work on them. Exhausting, but a great warm-up for our show.

A little thing about the make-up of the class: It was mostly John's Roving Imp students, plus a few local improvisers. One of the things John's doing is instilling a love of the craft in the folks who work out of the Imp. Every local group has a vibe—whether it's one they intentionally seek and foster or not—and theirs is full-on improv geek, in a wonderful way I love being a part of.

We finally have Ryan back in Omega Directive, which is wonderful. I love playing with those guys. It's not just that I don't have to do any of the production-side work; John has put together a fun, strong, really interesting mix in this cast.

I'm not proud to say this: Somewhere around hour 15 of the ImpFest, I hit a wall. The cold, being tired, doing shows, taking classes...it all took its toll and I missed a few sets while Jill and I walked around and cleared our heads before our show. I would have loved to have not missed a minute of the festival...but to get ready, getting out for a while was really important.

Plus...well, Jill and I have only done the show once, and hadn't had a chance to rehearse for the one we had coming up in a couple of hours. So we got some down time: wandering around the Dollar General, walking around downtown, browsing a great little Mexican convenience store I didn't know existed, and getting in a good (if really, really quiet) warm-up in the green room and out on the back deck. (From what we heard from backstage, the sets before ours rocked. I don't think anything all weekend made me much happier than hearing Julie get loud, enthusiastic, sustained, well-deserved applause.)

I would be lying if pretended I didn't spend the first scene and a half all the way up in my head. The monologue: "Holy crap. What's going on? I'm not getting it. I'm not connecting. This isn't working. I'm totally blowing a chance to play with Jill. ARRRRRGH." Then: "Fuck it. Let's play."

In our third scene, I climbed up on a box and hid in the nook at the back of the stage, and played the first third of the scene in total silence, just playing some subtle stuff and trusting that it would be plenty for Jill to mess with. It was, and after that I totally relaxed and just played. We played the kind of long scenes we did in our first show—strong relationships, multiple turns and an inside joke or two (rrrawwwrrr).

Sunday
Coaching session for as-yet-unnamed duo
Making Connections class (teaching)

So Erik and I got a couple of hours with Jill to work on our show, and it made me realize just how invaluable to work with someone who's seen, performed with and directed multiple two-person shows. We started with warm-ups, and her advice that any group warm-up can be a two-person warm-up. (Aaaaah, Big Booty...)

Then a series of questions: Have you said "I love you?" Have you kissed? Have you slapped each other? Are you portable? All designed to make sure when that stuff comes up on stage, it doesn't freak either or both of you out. (We may have to work on the slapping thing. I'll have to convince Erik he can hit me at least a little harder. And the stage slap won't work, because I always turn my head the wrong way—plus, the loud noise startles me more than a real slap.)

Next, more questions, this time to get at an aesthetic for the show. Stuff like favorite books, movies, TV shows...what kind of improv we like doing...what we feel like the show absolutely should have in it...what skills we have outside of improv.

Um. This is where the one-dimensional thing really sucks.

Here's the surprising thing, though—turns out we're both pretty physical, so that could be something fun to explore. That never in a million years would have occurred to me; I used to have to work really hard at making physical contact on stage. I'm not completely without issues or self-consciousness, but thanks to two-plus years of three-a-week workouts with a trainer, the physical stuff doesn't scare me anymore. Not being picked up. Not climbing on someone. I've done a few dozen push-ups on stage, know how to lift with my legs instead of my back, and have the core strength required to play a monitor lizard (see above).

As far as aesthetic, we both seem interested in the same stuff, which we knew: Rich, grounded characters in real relationships. (Pretty much the same stuff Jill and I do in Brownies Don't Lie, so that's handy—I want to do more.)

We spent the rest of the time on exercises—including one Jill had run with Tantrum in her Truth & Beauty session with us a couple of years ago. It's simple: A five-minute scene where one person talks, and one doesn't. It's great at building trust on both sides.

And then I taught a class—and Jill hung around. Um...eep. We talked beforehand about being students in situations where we were sometimes teachers, and vice versa—she did a very gracious job of jumping in with really insightful comments, but never, you know, rolling her eyes and stuff.

The class I taught was on making connections (described here). The goal: Help improvisers get more out of openings, whether they're monologues, stories, scenes, or single suggestions. The first two-thirds were mostly what we notice, why we listen and how we remember things; for the last part, we started scenes, just to explore different ways to use the stuff we remembered (from purely verbal to more character driven starts). It was a more intellectual class than I usually teach—and I had a ton I wanted to cover. So it ended up being more about giving people new ways to approach the work than it was about fixing or changing what they normally do.

Then it was off for more BBQ. And a loooooong freakin' nap.

ImpFest 2009

2009-10-25T18:03:00.000-07:00

The boring preamble

From the top, I've known this week would be a long, fun one. I'm enough of a grownup that I know to plan real-life stuff around festivals: Get the house ready in advance for guest artists (Jill!), make sure work is under control so I can leave on time, arrange workout schedule so I don't miss any, figure out meals and stuff so I don't go nuts with unhealthy food, plan time for sleep.

Of course, life doesn't cooperate, so Thursday I realized I was coming down with a cold. Awesome. The good news: My job is flexible enough that if you're sick, you can take your laptop and work from home so you don't infect everyone in our giant petri dish of an office. The bad: There is no telecommuting in improv.

And when you're sick, your characters all have to have one thing in common: PLAY SOMEONE WHO ISN'T SICK.

So for two shows each night, two classes (taking) on Saturday, one class (teaching) on Sunday, and a coaching session Sunday morning, that's what I got to do. Whee!

Thursday night
Anomaly Orange, Tantrum, TrivProv, Spite

Our first question: What's the rating? On one hand, we're all present and former ComedyCity/ComedySportz players, which means we can do family-friendly content in our sleep. (And honestly, if you're a professional improviser, you'd better be able to do that.) On the other, we don't do it much with those troupes. And "family friendly" means different things to different people.

John's rule: Anomaly Orange brought the most people, so they could set the rating. Happy times for Spite: They set it in our comfort zone.

Tantrum was a little shorthanded—missing Pete and Josh—but we put up a fun little short-form set. Not inspiring, ground-breaking genius improv, but we had some fun moments (and it turns out Megan didn't actually give me a black eye). Spite had our best set in a while—we felt totally on and in sync with each other. The after party would have been nice, but we're grown-ups, so we skee-daddled.

Anomaly Orange has grown tremendously since last time I saw them; Tom Kessler is a natural monologist and mixed commentary with storytelling, all with a strong, authentic emotional point of view. Triv-Prov was a blast—and included the most fun white-boy rap I've seen.

Friday night
Anomaly Orange, Biblioclast, Spite
Improv-Abilities, Coma Chameleon, Tantrum

Whaaaat? Spite in a 7pm show? OK. We came close. And didn't feel as great as Thursday, but were really happy with our set. Tantrum was—well, Tantrum was Spite plus Michael with special guest, Jill Bernard. Being four-sevenths of a group makes you play differently—so there was a fun energy there—and you can't go wrong with Jill as a monologist. But to say we didn't miss Pete and Josh (and Rob, on Friday) would be a big fat lie. Tantrum is the seven of us, and we're missing part of our brain when they're gone.

Another night groups bringin' it. I got to see Coma Chameleon's super-fun format for the first time (a town of sentient animals—whee!). I-A, with a much-smaller-than-usual cast, did some really fun stuff—and they've got girls now, which gives them new dimension. And Biblioclast, with John and Nifer, was wonderful; their trust in and patience with each other made their piece a joy to watch.

Jill and I got lost three times on the way to the after party, because I stupidly trusted google instead of Keith.

Saturday
Workshops with Jill
Omega Directive, Coma Chameleon, Improv-Abilities
One, Dictionary Soup, Brownies Don't Lie

And...hey. My cold has sensed weakness. And I've still got work to do. So more tomorrow.

Focusing on emotional reactions.

2009-10-20T20:28:00.000-07:00

After Mark Sutton's class at KCiF, and in an effort to get ready for the show with Jill on Saturday, I've been thinking a lot about staying in the moment and reacting to what just happened.

Which means that's what my kids got to work on tonight.

There are a couple of challenges to working on this stuff with teenagers:

The teenage brain isn't completely wired for emotional response. From an interesting article: "The area of the brain associated with higher-level thinking, empathy, and guilt is underused by teenagers, reports a new study."
Life experience is helpful in playing scenes that let you showcase a range of emotional reactions.
Kids are giggly.

So I went in with my usual general idea of what to do: a goal, some key exercises, and a flexible attitude. We're down two kids for this show, and there were only eight at rehearsal, so it was a calmer, more focused group—at least by a little—than usual. Here's what we ended up doing:

Warmup: Big Booty, Killer Bunny (to build energy and get focused)
Pass an emotion
Ping Pong (from the Physical Comedy Handbook)
Character walk with animal spine and status—add Ping Pong
Timed scenes with setup (no eye contact, start with shape) and physical/emotional check-in before dialogue
Ditto, but with numbers instead of dialogue* (scene ends when they hit 50)
Full Plus Ronde with numbers instead of dialogue
Busby Berkeley

The Plus Ronde was fascinating to watch. Creating characters and scenes without dialogue forced them to focus on the physicality and emotional games their characters played. It showed them that any character can be in a scene with any other character and it can be interesting to watch if they're affected by each other. It brought out some really nice acting in players who tend to be either over-the-top or primarily verbal.

Now I'm looking very forward to trying the same thing with Erik when we rehearse tomorrow.

*Yes, we could use gibberish instead. If you're good at gibberish, awesome—if you're not, or have never done it before, it's easy to let working hard to create varied gibberish become a distraction. Numbers make it easy to say something without that something mattering.

First official rehearsal for as-yet-unnamed show.

2009-10-18T17:24:00.000-07:00

Ultimately, Erik and I will work with a few different coaches on our show, but in these first rehearsals, we're just kinda figuring out what we're interested in doing. So after last week, when we just talked about direction, we were ready to start playing.

We don't have a show date, a venue, a format or anything like that, so for now, we're just rehearsing at my place. I've done that before—both with bigger groups and the show with Tommy—and it's great in some ways and weird in others. Rather than treating it like a stage, we just decided to use it for the space, editing into other rooms, or even playing scenes in two separate spaces.

(I think my walls are pretty stout. If I'm overestimating their soundproofedness, neighbors on both sides are likely to think I'm involved in a bizarre relationship or three.)

Our first scene, using a Ping Pong exercise from The Physical Comedy Handbook that Jill recommended in a forum somewhere, best reflected how it feels to do the first exercise in a situation like this: a simple encounter between two people who feel kinda silly.

After that, though, it was easy to just focus on the scene.

We've decided to start off just playing long, patient scenes about real people, which is a challenge for a bunch of different reasons:

Trusting the scene to unfold—focusing on moment-to-moment reactions instead of forcing something to happen. Erik takes more risks that I do here; I tend to get locked in stasis instead of making turns. I wasn't using my Viewpoints work, which can make a big difference. We're getting together again Wednesday night, so I can give myself that as an assignment (which will be especially helpful since I'll need it Saturday night).
The whole acting thing. I struggle to differentiate between characters without feeling cartoon-y. How much change is enough to become a different character? It felt like everything I played tonight was some version of me—no changes in diction or POV, and physical changes based more on body language than structure. I may be trying to reign things in too hard.
Damn comfort zones. Nothing brings out your crutches like playing long scenes with just one other person. I'm pretty happy with the fact that I had real emotional reactions in scenes. But. They were pretty similar emotional reactions from character to character, and those reactions were awfully close to...oh, hell. They were mine.

On the plus side, we've gotten our first rehearsal out of the way, and it was fun and comfortable and left us both wanting to play more. So I've got my assignments for Wednesday: Viewpoints work and emotional range.

Brownies Don't Lie

2009-10-15T19:15:00.000-07:00

From the debut performance of Brownies Don't Lie, featuring Jill Bernard and Trish Berrong, in October 2008.

(Videos contain adult material.)

Service

Not What You Think

Brownies Don't Lie returns to the metro area Saturday, October 24, at 9pm at the ImpFest, hosted by the Roving Imp. Click here for more information.

Work in progress.

2009-10-15T17:32:00.001-07:00

At work, they have these things called WIP meetings. Pronounced "whip." I was a little alarmed when I got invited for the first time.

But it's just a status check—a chance to discuss works in progress with other team members and keep projects moving forward. One of the toughest things about doing business stuff without a team isn't having those regular check ins, and I'm not as good with to-do lists as I am at work.

What would be on that list for tonight and this weekend:

Press release written and calendar listings out for The Union/Spite/Loaded Dice show.
Press release and calendar listings created for the November Tantrum show.
Self- and Tantrum- and Spite-driven promotion for ImpFest.
Prep for workshop at the ImpFest next week.

For press releases, when things are on schedule, everything goes by by Nikki. She's got an editor's eye and a writer's brain, and they always end up better when she sees them first. Sometimes it's catching typos or missed words; often, though, she can take half an idea and spin the words to make it sing. It's the closest I get to a WIP meeting, the result is always better.

(If you're wondering why everything isn't run by everybody, um...easy: diminishing returns. Waiting for feedback, getting people to take time out of their schedule to look at stuff, tracking feedback...it all takes time and effort. For this kind of stuff, if you've got one person you can trust to give you solid feedback you can act on, it's usually plenty.)

Idea for upcoming blog: Getting a new audience—can it be done? Thoughts based on a discussion we had after our show the other night.

OK. So about this workshop. I think I gave John a few options back when he first asked. I've been chatting with him about teaching every so often at the Imp, and this was a good chance to jump back in. I love teaching/coaching/directing, but took some time off because for so long I'd convinced myself I preferred it to playing.

Which may or may not be true.

Anyway, it's City 3 Revival Week, so I'd written up some notes about what I have planned for the Imp in the forums. Blown out a little, here it is.

The class is "Making Connections." The inspiration—long-form improv. More specifically, long-form improv that falls flat because the scenes are built too close together. Or long-form improv that feels like a tree with decent roots (opening ideas), but only a branch or two above ground.

Any of this sound familiar?
—You're playing every scene literally from something in the opening?
—You've got a topic that feels like a shitty one, and you don't know where to go with it?
—You feel like everything you're doing is a game, and you don't know how to pull a relationship out of things?
—You feel like you've drained the well? Bled the turnip? Beaten the dead horse?
—Your only ideas for scene starters are too plot-driven?
—You can't remember anything from the opening, or from the other scenes, or from your round of scenes, and you don't know how to start the next one?
—You're starting stuff your scene partners just aren't getting?

We'll work on stuff like this:
—Getting the most out of openings and monologues
—Talking your time dashes further
—Ways to keep ideas in your head (and the most helpful kinds of ideas to put there)
—Mining themes and patterns
—Finding the most interesting elements of the scene to explore

Should be fun.

Another project begins.

2009-10-11T21:31:00.000-07:00

So after Thunderdome, Erik (who plays with CounterClockwise Comedy) and I decided it would be fun to do a show together.

We weren't inspired to do anything in particular. We just noticed, in talking after rehearsals, that we enjoy a fairly similar process, i.e. we're both willing to rehearse a lot, fuck around without a specific goal in mind, do dorky improv/acting exercises, etc., etc.

I had a few thoughts coming in:

Our Thunderdome set was Twilight Zone-ish, and we had a lot of fun playing "period" scenes. Maybe something early-'60s era? Inspired by Nichols & May, maybe fueled by the trendiness of Mad Men?
I play (and watch) a lot of improv with broad characters doing silly things—it might be fun to do something that feels more real and substantive, and not force it to be comedy. (Plus, he's a professional actor, and I want to learn from him.)
It'd be fun to play with non-traditional performance spaces—either in promoting the show or for the shows themselves. (I'm kicking myself, because I'd planned to see Bess Wallerstein's production of Arts and Crafts tonight. She's the queen of environmental theater in KC—Erik was in her last production—but my real job got in the way.)

We listened to some favorite Nichols and May sketches, and watched an episode of Mad Men and a podcast of one of TJ & Dave's shows. And ultimately decided just to play next week and see what happens.

We've got a chance to work with Jill a little at the ImpFest. My instinct, as usual, is to button something up by then. Instead, we're just going to trust that something will come out of it.

Which, believe it or not, feels even better.

Thunderdome score card.

2009-10-07T20:20:00.000-07:00

Of course, some of you might not feel like two or three improv shows in a weekend. If that's the case, I recommend prioritizing Tantrum on Friday night above all others. We'll even cut you a deal if you visit our website.

On Saturday, I'm playing Red Rubber Ball at the Imp in Bonner Springs, then heading back in town for Thunderdome. Jared's got some facebook talk going about who's voting for which teams.

Hmm. I can't do any handicapping—I missed round 2. It's going to be really, really fun to vote on pure merit. I like people on every team, so it comes down to quality. Here's what will win my vote:

Relationship scenes: Oh, sure...find games...do tagouts...pimp gimmicks. NOT ENOUGH. A good, solid relationship scene, with characters who really affect each other, is the sign a player can really improvise.
Strong characters: Improv isn't about standing there and saying funny things. I can't wait to see people make big, powerful physical and emotional choices. We'll see enough of these guys being their fabulous selves at McCoy's.
Solid teamwork: Jared drew from two bags at the draft, if I heard right—so each team has a mix of experienced players and even more experienced players. The winning team should make that invisible—we should see the trust between them and shouldn't feel like anyone's carrying or being carried.
Play: It's been a long week. I want to escape. I don't want to see people thinking, working too hard, fighting for focus, arguing about what the scene is about. I can't wait to see these guys have fun.

In a nutshell: I'm voting for the team that I think is worthy of wearing that belt instead of Team Number Nine. Temporary Sanity won our round, but I'm pretty sure had we been scored as above, we would have beat them out in at least a couple of categories.

What about you guys? Who gets your vote?

It's been a weird week.

2009-10-07T18:36:00.000-07:00

Hallmark, the 99-year-old company where I've worked except (for three years) since 1989, is suffering from the same economic realities as so many other businesses. Add to that the struggle to stay relevant when there are so many new ways to communicate—and a million other challenges specific to the greeting card industry—and here we are. After about a 10% "workforce reduction" earlier this year, we found out last week there would be up to 250 more layoffs—80-90 of them in creative.

No one is being let go because they aren't good at what they do. There just aren't enough people buying our product. Which means there's not enough work to go around.

Meetings to let people in editorial happened today. Design folks will find out tomorrow. By the end of the week, the carnage will be over—for now. Everyone is shaky. So many folks losing their jobs. So many more nervous, sad and scared. So many leaders having the worst conversations you can imagine as a manager.

In a place where people are hired in large part because of their ability to empathize, it's a special kind of awful.

Still, in the middle of everything, we're hopeful. The layoffs come with the most aggressive reorganization our company has ever experienced—one that just has to be big enough to destroy our self-imposed barriers and release our potential and creativity. Which there's plenty of.

At times like this, it's a little weird to go straight from Corporate Monolith to Tiny Company. Tantrum rehearsed tonight, two days after we held our annual business meeting and celebrated our second year as a troupe. We're a professional group, and it's work to do what we do—not just the rehearsals, but in promoting and producing shows—but the "stakes" in our success are almost non-existent.

Like in most troupes who play in other people's spaces, if you don't make a profit for long enough, you just stop doing it.

This month has been an interesting one. As most troupes are, we're working to build an audience beyond our family and friends. We've started to feel real momentum, thanks to some savvy decisions and lots of effort. But economic realities kick in for us, too. The improv festival, which raises awareness of what we do and (we hope) exposes us to more people, may have cut too wide a swath in our core audiences' wallets and over-exposed improv for a little while. The coming holidays are making people think twice about what they spend on weekends—any time and any where, really.

Which is why Tantrum has a special deal on our website. If half-price tickets make it easier for folks to get out and laugh, count us in.

My intent is not to use this blog as therapy, but I'm realizing this post probably comes off as a little melancholy. It's times like this I'm extraordinarily grateful that the thing I spend most of my free time doing feels—most of the time, anyway—a lot like recess from the real world.

I get to call it a workout!

2009-09-30T20:40:00.000-07:00

I do not use exclamation points casually.

But tonight, after Tantrum's rehearsal, Josh gave me permission to call it a workout (this is a big deal—read the comments here).

BECAUSE WE SWEATED OUR ASSES OFF. We brought a lot of the techniques we learned from Susan Messing to rehearsal, and ended things with a Ritual.

I've wanted to try that piece with Tantrum for ages, and was—as always—surprised and pretty thrilled with the result. Every time I thought it was ending, it was moving into another phase. When we finally did end, we'd come full circle. There were phases where I felt focused, judge-y, judged, tentative but mostly playful. Once we figured things out as a group, we were silly and confident and physical and suprising...in other words, it was a Tantrum Ritual.

Another year gets off to a great start.

2009-09-29T19:50:00.000-07:00

The Exit 16 kids had their first show tonight, and I couldn't be happier with the way it went.

Hosting: We've been working on setting up scenes, and for the first time, they did the whole show without run-lists in hand. They learned from what they saw at the festival—and their hosting was smooth and professional.
Scenework: They played patient and smart. Not everything hit—but they never freaked out.
And then there was this: They opened with the Busby Berkeley we learned from Susan Messing. First up, their run through before the show—with my loud, bossy sidecoaching...

They knew to make it work they'd have to have higher energy and more variety in their "music," and I think they pulled it off.

I want to keep working with this piece—there's so much potential for different rhythm, different moves and different energy.

Anyway, I hope they're happy with the show. We'll watch it on video next week and tear things apart—because they're learning insanely high standards—but for now, I hope they're having a great post-show cup of coffee at Perkin's.

Want to check them out? They're performing at the Corbin Theater this Saturday at 8pm. It's $5. You can't lose.

Ladylike? Maybe not so much.

2009-09-28T17:23:00.001-07:00

After our third show as a group—at the 2008 Fringe Fest—a slightly awestruck friend told the ladies of Spite "you girls play like guys." We chose to take that as a compliment.

And as one audience member said after our show on Friday, "You guys talk about vaginas a lot."

This is funny to me because before the show we recognized a fair number of under-21 audience members and decided to see how far away we could stay from our usual content. Not that we intentionally play blue...it just goes there sometimes.

What we know: The bolder we start, the better the show. We try to come out of the gate fearless, with strong emotions and big physicality. Over time, we've worked on avoiding conflict (which can be tough when you're trying to play big, bad and bold), create stronger relationships, be more physical and show more range.

I think when our content goes to adult material, it does so for a few different reasons:

Honesty. At our best, we deal with sexual topics in a real, vulnerable, truthful way. In Friday's show, there was a long scene about a very nervous mother telling her two daughters about sex. I can honestly say I didn't play a single line for laughs. Neither did Megan and Nikki, who were scarily in sync—to the point of saying a line together, without even making eye-contact. We got more laughs in that scene than any other; a few audience members told us afterward that we'd gotten things exactly right. In the Fringe Fest shows, there was a scene about two high school girls taunting the school slut, rumored to have given a blow job. The three characters found common ground in talking about how the experience...um...wasn't exactly a romantic one.
Playfulness. We've done a scene that made one big euphemism out of a bratwurst-eating competition. One about a character "taking care of herself" in a Target bathroom. We've drawn the female anatomy on the stage in "chalk" and given birth with unusual helpers. (Which is funny, since none of us has been any more involved than showing up at the hospital.) Just because that's where the scene took us, and we had fun on the ride.
Nothing better to do. OK. So the smut doesn't always evolve from relationships or happen tastefully in support of the plot. We played an after-midnight show so dirty I wanted to shower afterward...it was fun and self-indulgent and for an audience of a half-dozen improvisers. Sometimes we go for the laugh. I'm not particularly proud of that—but I'm not particularly apologetic, either.

I think it's inevitable in an all-woman show we're going to talk about some of the things women talk about when they're alone. And yes, that means our anatomy—what it does, what gets done to it, what we feel, what we fear.

I grew up in the '70s and joined the workforce in the '80s, in the afterglow of the Women's Liberation Movement. Besides one kindergarten teacher arguing with me that little girls weren't pilots (my first, and most short-lived, dream job), they were stewardesses (I won that round mostly because I was stubborn and loud), I never saw any evidence girls couldn't do what boys did. It never occurred to me I wouldn't have a career in whatever I chose to do. I was surprised as hell when a director told me he believed men were typically and inherently funnier than women.

I've seen a few other all-girl improv troupes, but only one I'd aspire to be like: Children of a Lesser God in Chicago. They play women, but not pointedly so—there was no statement in their work in the show I saw. They just played fearlessly and seemed to be having a fabulous time.

That's the goal with Spite. And if sometimes we end up in the gutter...well, fuck it.

An ugly stereotype.

2009-09-26T11:13:00.000-07:00

The last couple of weeks have brought a quite few discussions of content in improv shows. Some of the most interesting—or, at least, emotional—were sparked by this write-up in the Pitch (excerpted):

...a barrage of cheap, lazy gay jokes has kept me out of local comedy and improv shows for most of this year. I tried again recently and found more of the same. In show after show, area comics ridicule an exaggerated notion of how gay men walk, talk and love, which provokes reactionary laughter: that of the powerful mocking the disenfranchised.

It sparked this letter (again, a snippet):

It's about time somebody called bullshit on this boondoggle that has been passed off as entertainment. Scherstuhl was dead-on. Most improv is small-minded, stale and lame. It's bad enough to pay to watch what is really more like an acting-workshop exercise than real humor. Adding insult to injury are those cheap, lazy jokes about gays (and others) that aim for the low laughs.

And led to a back and forth on Clay Morgan's Facebook page filled with name-calling. Which was cut-and-pasted-and-sent to KC's most vitriolic blogger, sparking more smack talk.

All because a reviewer had the nerve to call a couple of local sketch and improv troupes out on doing humor that was beneath them.

I'll come clean on two points:

I didn't see the shows he reviewed.
But I've seen the brand of "comedy" he's talking about, and I completely agree with Alan Scherstuhl.

I like the players in the groups—and have played with quite a few of them—but I've seen this stuff on local stages before. Remember in junior high, when guys made fun of the very concept of men who liked other men? It's that. Played with limp wrists and effeminate diction, it's uncomfortable and embarrassing to watch.

Every now and then, one of the kids in my high school troupe brings it out. When it happens, they get the same talk as they do when they play racial stereotypes, and it starts with "not acceptable."

We don't play one-dimensional, unkind stereotypes. BECAUSE IT'S UNKIND. Why would you want to create something that brings out the worst in yourself and the audience?

Why would you even need another reason? There are at least a few more, of course:

Good improv is more than just saying something that gets a laugh. It's about creating characters who can have relationships. Playing a cardboard cut-out is a shitty thing to do to your scene partner.
Good scenes happen when players react emotionally, in the moment, to what just happened. Stereotypes don't have emotions—they spout one-liners and rely on expected phrases and reactions. Again: Not. Good. Improv.
Good improvisers bring their full brains to every character and scene they play. Why would you want to play a scene like a mean-spirited, close-minded 13-year-old?

Alan said "a barrage of cheap, lazy gay jokes has kept me out of local comedy and improv shows for most of this year." This is someone who genuinely likes improv and improvisers (including the one who said pretty horrible things about him). The letter-writer called improv "more like an acting-workshop exercise than real humor." The blogger regularly calls improvisers too lazy to write stand-up or rehearse theater.

It's hard enough building a reputation for improv in a city that doesn't understand it. Trying to defend behavior that lumps us in the same stereotype as the lamest of amateur open mic-nighters isn't helping anything.

Next post: Yes, the women of Spite do seem to talk about vaginas a lot.

In the moment.

2009-09-24T19:21:00.000-07:00

I know better than to go to plot. But every time I get on stage, the controlling, bossy, writer part of me jumps in and tries to make something happen.

The morning of the festival workshops, Susan Messing told me to just relax in Mark Sutton's class and feel, not think. And she said I'd love hers because it was all physical and gorgeous and it wouldn't hurt my brain.

DAMMIT. How come in the one show with those two in the audience, I reverted to all my bad habits?

The classes were both just what I needed, and I've felt the effects in performing with my Thunderdome team (it didn't hurt that one of the other players was in Mark's class with me), teaching Exit 16 and in rehearsals over the last two nights.

The Thunderdome piece was inspired by the Twilight Zone, which made it easy to go for the weird and try to make a statement with the scene. Working on the Plus Ronde (a form John Robison adapted from La Ronde) with the high school kids, they kept trying to tell a story from one scene to the next.

In both cases, it just took focusing on the moment and trusting our brains to remember things from before when we needed them. In the Thunderdome scenes, we just grounded everything in relationships and trusted the stories to come. All the kids had to know as they tagged in to play with an existing character was the basic stuff—"he hates trespassers" or "he thinks all Asian newscasters look like his granddaughter"—and make a choice that let that character be more of that.

The biggest breakthrough—which also felt like an obvious connection to the basics—was that if my character felt a strong negative emotion about something, my ONLY choice was to do that thing. If my thing was "I'm disgusted" by the idea of squashing a bug, the only way I was going to get more disgusted was to squish it and suffer the consequences. Feeding a negative emotion feels like it should be about avoiding something; rolling around in the mess is the only way to make it bigger.

Tonight at Roving Imp, we worked on a simple show structure—timed scenes, initiated by different players, based on a theme, and wrapped up with a moral by the instigator. It was just enough structure to let me do more of what's been fun since the festival: Playing a scene by feeling the moment and speaking from the truth of that moment's emotion.

None of this is new. I'd done—or watched—many of the exercises in the festival class. But, as often happens, they hit me in a new way at just the right time. I'm really looking forward to this weekend's shows:

Spite performs with Loaded Dice Friday, Sept. 25, at 8pm at the Westport Coffeehouse.
Omega Directive performs Saturday, Sept. 26, at 9pm at the Roving Imp.

Inventory.

2009-09-23T20:24:00.001-07:00

I'm gradually getting to the point where I actually believe every group I'm involved with serves a completely different need.

Tantrum: This is the one full-time group I'm fully invested in—I play, I partner with Michael on marketing, I contribute to group decisions about its future. But I think I've put too much pressure on this group in the past to meet every single want I have: ultimate improv fulfillment, social circle, experimentation and innovation. When I have the most fun, Tantrum is pure play.

Spite: Same (OK, bigger) level of commitment to producing, but with a smaller group to wrangle. Spite started as a Thunderdome team, and kicked it up one notch this year by playing more shows. We've started to talk about next year, and I'm excited about where we want to go. There will probably always be the producer-pressure here, but since there are only three of us, it's easier to agree on what we want. Coming soon, we'll wrestle with questions about branding, artistic goals and the way to commercial success...

Exit 16: Teach. Learn. Get crazy happy when I see kids love improv and like themselves. That seems like plenty.

Omega Directive: I play with some of the most fun, interesting improvisers in KC and have no responsibility for doing anything but showing up and doing my best work. So: Recess.

Duo Project 1: The idea is that Tina Morrison and I do a show next year, directed by John Robison. Three directors! One stage! Madness!

Duo Project 2: I don't know much about this one yet, other than I found someone who's interested in playing and shares a lot of my interest in work-shopping, experimenting, rehearsing a lot, discovering instead of inventing, combining theater and improv, and other arty stuff. I can't wait.

That should probably do it for now.

The problem with learning...

2009-09-22T20:38:00.001-07:00

...is that you just want to learn more.

I told the Exit 16 kids tonight that I posted their notes online. Their first response: "NO! Now we have to live up to it!"

After rehearsal, I talked for half an hour with two really fabulous girls about that, the festival, Thunderdome, shows, playing and improv in general. It's interesting talking to kids who have been doing this for three years who have some of the same feelings I do after almost 20: "I know what I should be doing. How come I can't translate knowing into doing?"

Sigh.

One of the books I have (but haven't read yet) is a Theatresports history: Something Like a Drug. No kidding. And the most potent crack on the playground is improv festivals.

You watch Susan Messing and Mark Sutton, and think, "Why the hell can't I pull that off?" Then you take their classes, and you get a glimpse of the philosophy and training that makes them that way, and you think, "OK, with enough training and dedication and direction..."

But of course, if you're honest with yourself, you acknowledge that the X-factor is talent.

I can train all I want. I can have the highest standards and the loftiest ideals, but at some point, my level of dedication (I'm a professional—but it's a hobby), training (intensives, at best) and talent (solid, but serviceable at best...I'm an adaptor, not an innovator) dictate how far I'll go.

I could choose to be more dedicated, but get more out of my corporate whore job than I ever did from running a theater (or festival, or high school league). I'm beyond-average obsessive about training—but not enough to quit my job, move to another city or use up all the vacation time and money on classes that I could use to hang out with my tiny, adorable nephews. And I've seen enough genuine, raw improv talent—and you can spot it when they're 16—to know where I stand.

At a festival in Austin a long time ago, I got to listen to Del Close, David Koechner, Adam McKay and Mick Napier talk about their work—and hearing about what it was like to write or play at SNL made me think, "Hmm. Corporate writing jobs—deep down—aren't that different." A few weeks ago, I hung out with Mo of the Union and she talked about what it takes to make it in Chicago.

Uh...not for me. So now the ongoing challenge is...how can I be the best improviser I can be within the constraints I've set for myself...and make sure it never stops being fun?

And then Keith throws out questions like this and gets me thinking about it in a whole different way.

I have a feeling that—even though my constraints and definition of "fun" are different from others—I'm not the only improviser in KC who wrestles with this.

Time for some resolutions?

2009-09-16T18:45:00.001-07:00

The KC Improv Festival is like Christmas for KC improvisers. And after spending way more time than usual with our extended family, eating and drinking too much, getting some great gifts (for me, in the form of getting to work with Mark Sutton and Susan Messing again), this week has provided a much-needed chance to detox.

Over the last couple of weeks, I was rehearsing or doing shows almost every night. This week, I had the kids last night and don't dive back in until my Thunderdome team plays on Saturday.

Then I caught myself telling some folks on my staff that I never wanted our department to have the cutthroat vibe of an advertising agency. And for a work-related thing about how I approach things, I wrote:

I believe collaboration gets better results than competition.
I care more about effectiveness than awards.
And I think if I'm doing my job right, I'll never be the one
who gets the credit for the brilliant idea.

Um. Can you believe something deep in your heart...but forget it enough sometimes that you act like you believe the complete opposite?

What the kids thought.

2009-09-15T20:29:00.000-07:00

So my kids had an assignment—to take notes on all the festival shows and report back. We talked about the festival for the first 45 minutes of rehearsal tonight; though it's usually hard to keep them focused that long, they had a lot to say.

What didn't work for them

Short-form that fell apart without gimmicks
Playing the black/girl-card
Being able to see players thinking
Lack of focus
Laughing at ourselves onstage
Going sexual or blue or weird as a crutch or too often
Fighting for the spotlight
Taking too long to cut
Sauntering from the backup line to the scene
Setting up the lines in blind line ("My father used to say...")
Using clothes for props
Using real names in scenes
Scenes and games without relationships
The drunk chick who wouldn't shut up in the Der Monkenpickel set
"Douchéy" hosting (variety of meanings—self-indulgent, jokey, more-about-the-host-than-the-show) (they didn't think anyone was entirely douchéy, but said there were some moments) (also, please note that "hosting" was not limited to the gentlemen who hosted the shows—they were asked to watch everyone who set up games, as well, because we're working on that at rehearsal)

What did work for them

Strong stage presence
High-energy short form
Strong characters with clear points of view
Teamwork
Listening
Focus
Variety in choices (characters, scenes)
Using the whole space
Strong object work
Fearlessness
Smart callbacks
Physical play
Noticing everything
Interesting formats
Taking turns cutting scenes
Tight beats and edits
Playfulness
Strong emotions
Confident, energetic, friendly hosting

(None of these comments were pulled, pushed or prompted out of them, by the way—in fact, I got most of them verbatim from the comprehensive, very neatly written notes one of the players let me bring home with me.)

They liked something about every set in every show they saw. When they didn't like stuff, they could explain exactly why, and they were usually dead-on. They came out of the festival with exactly what I hoped they would—inspiration, excitement and a little attitude.

(Even if they don't always seem to listen to me—and even though they don't always translate what they know into what they do—stuff like this really makes me feel like I'm getting through and sending good improvisers into the world.)

The best thing: They had strict instructions to come to workshops on Saturday in clothes that stayed put and shoes that stayed on. When they saw others in short shirts, flip-flops and (in some cases) a complete lack of foundation garments, they were judge-y and appalled. And Susan Messing made a huge point of saying show up in clothes you can play in without playing with.

Score.

OK, and here's some news. One of the kids who graduated last year called this weekend—she's the only person from auditions and the only freshman to make it into NYU's improv troupe, Dangerbox. How freakin' cool is THAT?

Well, THAT was fun...

2009-09-15T20:24:00.000-07:00

Annoyingly, the internet has eaten the long-winded, effusive thank you I wrote to the folks who produced the KC Improv Festival. So let's try that again.

Thank you to Tim, Aron, Joe, Pete, Scott, Jen, Keith, Nathan, Jess, Tom, Susan and all the hosts, tech folks, volunteers, teachers, class members and performers who made the festival so much damn fun.

Your time, thoughtfulness, preparation, brains, care, ideas, dedication and general fabulousness came together in one great weekend to everyone who got a chance to be a part of it. I'm insanely grateful to have had the chance to take classes, do shows...and not much else. Seriously. You have NO IDEA how much that rocked.

It IS important.

2009-09-08T21:25:00.000-07:00

Tantrum and Spite have shows this week at a festival I did not produce.

This will be a first for me. Have I mentioned that I have done exactly dick for the KC Improv Festival this year? If not, it's only because to say so is extreeeeemely unladylike.

Here's the extent of my duties (heh. heh.):

Laying out the program (OK, and some editing, because I. CANNOT. LET. REALLY. BAD. WRITING. HAPPEN.). (Unless wine is involved, and let's be honest—this blog doesn't get written without the Cellar Rat.)
Showing up Wednesday and Friday to "help." Joe Henley has told me my position is officially "person who has run festivals before." Usually, I overstaff the hell of things, making me completely unnecessary. It will be interesting to see if this is true this time.

Oh, and I'll play some shows on Thursday and Friday. Which means focusing on the really important thing: What to wear. And makeup. And where we're going after the show.

A big week.

2009-09-07T18:05:00.000-07:00

So the last couple of weeks have been filled with rehearsal and general pre-festival preparation, like shopping for Spite's wardrobe for the show. (I found the perfect hoodie and cargo pants. But they are made of pure awesome, so I think even Daryl and Amy would approve.)

Here's why I'm excited about the festival:

It's an easy way to see lots of other local improvisers play.
I get to play with Spite and Tantrum, and what could be more fun than that?
Susan Messing and Mark Sutton. They're two of my favorite performers and teachers—and they'll do both this weekend.
I'm not in charge. The nice people at Improv-Abilities have taken that role—with help from lots of others, including Pete.

My goal this week: Take good care of myself. Eight hours of sleep, healthy food, lots of water, consistent workouts.

*******

OK, and a little bit of venting:

Audience voting for a "Best of" award should not turn us into assholes. You can be for your team without belittling others.
And dude: QUIT PLUGGING YOUR OWN SHOWS ON OTHER TROUPE'S FACEBOOK EVENTS. It's one thing to go into playful throwdown mode on the wall for a competition—but if I invite you to an event and you use that event's wall to promote your show over it, I will nuke your post so fast it'll make your head spin.

Exit 16 rehearsal #2: Lunch planning

2009-09-01T10:30:00.000-07:00

Not planning for lunch, but planning over lunch. Here's what tonight looks like:

Warm-up:
Killer Bunny
Kitty Wants a Corner
Falling

Exercises:
Doors (open door, establish scene, 2 lines)
Gauntlet

Performance games:
Big/Little
He Said/She Said
Emotion Replay
Funny/Smelly/Sexy
Beastie Rap

Games they know so far:
Gauntlet
Panel of Experts

Games to do later:
Oracle
Growing/Shrinking

The majority of them will be in KCiF workshops next week, so I'm just laying the foundation.

Team #9, bitches.

2009-08-30T20:32:00.001-07:00

Got together with parts of my Thunderdome team this weekend. Going to bed at a reasonable hour tonight, but first:

ZOMG we're having fun. We're doing genre work, which I haven't done since directing Scriptease's disaster flick. Ed Doris is coaching us (our piece is his brainchild), but this week he was doing family duty, so we worked some exercises that seemed to hit on some of the games that fit our genre. Every single one of them hit.
So tonight we got together to watch video of the show we're basing our piece on. It opened up our idea of how to approach it, and we're even more excited than we were before.
Here's something that has never happened before. We usually rehearse for two hours. Saturday, after about two and a half hours of running exercises to inform the work, one of the players WHO WASN'T ME said, "hey, should we run the form?" So we rehearsed about 3 1/2 hour and it wasn't my fault. This random drawing stuff put me on the perfect team.

What actually happened.

2009-08-26T19:58:00.000-07:00

So I rehearsed with Exit 16 for the first time last night and:

I was reminded that summer vacation not only exists to reenergize, but maybe to remind you that you really dig working with high school kids. And by "you" I mean "me."
I changed a bunch of crap, which is typical. And actually made up an exercise or two, which doesn't mean "made up," but "either 'invented something that already exists' or 'morphed some techniques into something only slightly different.'"
I'm getting a good sense of what I've got to work with this year. I wish I had the luxury of spending an entire rehearsal figuring out what they're all about, but "MAK PRODUKT!MAK PRODUKT!"
They don't follow instructions. They were supposed to tell me workshop and show availability by tonight at 6pm. Most did not.

OK. Then...THEN...I got to work with Shawnee Mission South's improv team tonight. What made it fun: One of the girls, Shara, is a Hallmarker's daughter I've worked with before, and she's awesome and it made it easy to be comfortable going in. Plus, they're a small troupe, which is easy to deal with. AND their teacher worked with my Thunderdome teammeate Erik Johnson, so Team #9 may have one more vote.

Turns out I really like teaching improv to high school kids. And I'm thinking it might be, ironically enough, for the EXACT SAME REASON I almost flunked my senior term paper. To connect THOSE dots:

I COULD spend a lot of time getting my shit together, but instead, I'm a horrible procrastinator and prepare just enough.
Real teachers know everything. I don't...and just have enough of a different perspective that I might accidentally come up with something cool.
I may not come up with a SINGLE original idea—but after 43 years I'm comfortable saying I kick ass at pulling a bunch of different ideas together. When I coach or teach, I have to explain that I'm not name dropping—I'm pulling a bunch of different teachers' stuff together in a way that fits the situation. On my stupid term paper, I got accused of plagiarizing because I footnoted the hell out of all the different ideas I pulled together to form one coherent theory.
But still, I get REALLY intimidated by teachers. Both "real" teachers at high schools and "real" improv teachers in other cities.
And, to be gut-wrenchingly honest, I'm intimidated by high school kids because I'm pretty sure they can smell the geek on me.
AND there's no bigger geek moment than going to class after P.E. in high school—you know, trying to wipe down the sweat and make your hair work before you go to class? Tonight I had to go straight from the gym to the workshop. I showed up in sweaty pigtails and no makeup.
So (and I recognize at this point that I'm not so much connecting the dots as free-associating)...I went in all geeky and half-ready and unsure.

BUT. And this is part of the reason I love this shit...

Turns out when I love something—and when I stop worrying and trust my instincts and existing in the moment and reacting to what's around me, it starts getting fun. And I can do it.

I watched and listened to the kids and what they needed, and came up with exercises in the moment that made things make sense to them. (Which is what usually happens with the Exit 16 kids.) And we talked after about what they could do brilliantly in their next scene or show, and they realized they're better than they thought.

And OH, MAN. To be corny...REALLY corny...to do even a little thing that helps a high school kid realize he or she is really smart and funny and powerful? Even just for a moment?

That's the crack.

Playing is fun. Playing may be the good wine at the end of the day that makes you think, "Mmmmm. Wine at the end of the day. It is good." But teaching...that's the mind-blowing thing that makes me insane and obsessive and annoying to others, but keeps me coming back.

Exit 16 rehearsal #1: The first stab

2009-08-24T21:09:00.000-07:00

I meant to go through old notes and books and workshop plans and really carefully and strategically map out this first rehearsal.

Oh, well. Next time. So the plan:

Warm-up: attacker/defender, yes/name cross circle, scream, killer bunny, zip/zap/zop w/transformation.
Exercises to teach technique: Character walk (incorporating stuff I've learned from Dave Razowsky, Susan Messing, Michael Gellman Rebecca Sohn and Jill Bernard).
Performance games and forms that reinforce skills: They've got to be ready for a show at the Corbin after two rehearsals, so...Panel of Experts, Gauntlet (starting a scene from a line and emotion) and Beastie Rap, for starters.

I'll probably change it once we get started. Plus, they're gonna want to talk about freakin' t-shirt designs for a gazillion hours.

******

Random thing completely unrelated to improv: I joined a CSA this summer, so every Wednesday I get enough vegetables to feed a family. Some go bad (there are some really sad peaches in the back of my crisper drawer right now). Some get eaten (tomatoes and mozzarella and basil, oh my!). And a lot gets frozen.

Which means I seriously need to rearrange my freezer, because I'm running out of space. Martini glasses may have to skootch over to make way for more blanched, scraped and frozen creamed corn. Lean Pockets may lose their spot to more frozen cooked chicken (and another carcass or two). And eventually I'm going to have to nut up and chop the three pounds of different kinds of onions (red, white and sweet) so I can make chili and fajitas later this year.

Most of this stuff will get thawed out and cooked to feed groups—maybe chili for a Tantrum gathering, definitely fried okra and creamed corn when my parents visit, and we'll see if frozen mint—steeped in simple syrup—makes a decent winter mojito. But the cooking live part is kinda fun. Because dude: I can TOTALLY poach an egg.

Exit 16 rehearsal #1: Dig mah parallel structure, yo.

2009-08-23T20:33:00.000-07:00

It might strike some as obsessive that I'm doing two blogs in one night. (Which is not an inaccurate characterization.) But I figured I had to do this anyway, and since I've got at least a few pals who've expressed interest in working with high school improvisers, I might as well do it online.

So. Exit 16 starts up again on Tuesday. Things I know about this year:

It's a smaller group than we've had in a while. For a variety of reasons, we've got fewer players (just 10) than we've had in a while (11-12). It's only by one or two, but if you've been around high school kids, you understand.
Six of the kids have prior experience. Chris, Laura and Elizabeth started as sophomores, so they've been around three years. Kay, Steve and Garrett joined last year. Tristan, Taylor, Anna and Bailey (first two are guys, second two are girls) are newbies.
They've experienced the improv community beyond Liberty High School. They play monthly at the Corbin Theater, and last year's troupe played the Chicago Teen Comedy Festival, and the three elders have a Thunderdome belt under their...uh...belts.
My relationship with them isn't just Unyielding Authority Figure. When I started teaching them, I didn't play that often—so they knew me only as a coach. Now they see my shows (where I occasionally use bad language and there's often adult material) and I invite critiques afterwards. At the KC Improv Festival, some of them will be in classes with me. In other words, yeah, I'm the coach—but we're also fellow improvisers.

All of which means this year I have to bring my A-game. To bring out more bullet points (dude, I have been working in PowerPoint all night), I have to:

Inspire and motivate them. They need to have something to strive for—it's a balance between feeling confident and knowing there's still plenty to learn.
Hold their focus. They're easily bored, so I'll need new challenges.
Keep them out of their own way. Their energy, confidence, and comfort with each other can turn against them in an instant.
Instill discipline. Things got a little out of control last year, and I spent a lot of time asking them to be quiet and pay attention. Because they've seen me say "fuck" on stage, they think it's OK if they say it. Not so much.
Earn respect. Yes, we're all improvisers and face some of the same challenges. But I've been doing this since before they were born, and need to make it clear that means something.

The first month of rehearsals will be highly structured. Each one will consist of (slide #3, please):

Warm-up: Provide tools (transformation exercises, mirror games, space walks), build trust (physical games, emotional risks), and get them in the moment (games that require them to listen and focus).
Exercises to teach technique: Relationships, object work, give and take, characters, yes-and, heightening.
Performance games and forms that reinforce skills: For the first part of the year, every game has meaning. Forward-reverse is an exercise in creating environments and heightening emotions. Panel of Experts is a character game. Beastie Rap is about being confident and trusting your brain. Freeze Tag is about creating something from nothing more than a shape and spacial relationship (yeah, baby...Viewpoints).

Oh, plus, they have to have so much fun a three-hour workout doesn't make them cranky. And make sure I can teach basics to the n00bs without boring the crap out of Chris, Laura and Elizabeth.

Let the fun begin...

So of course I write this.

2009-08-23T16:31:00.000-07:00

The two most important things I have to do tonight:

Finish working on my part of a research project for work.
Plan Exit 16's first rehearsal on Tuesday.

So I've spent a few hours working up some stuff for my Thunderdome team, and hey! Blog entry!

I've been emailing back and forth with Ed about an email he sent to persuade people to vote for his troupe in KMBC's A-List competition (I, of course, believe you should vote for Tantrum). The discussion includes the notion that "best" might mean doing more than just putting on great shows, but also working to support the improv community in Kansas City.

There are three troupes doing a hell of a lot of work that makes a positive difference for groups beyond their own. In alphabetical order:

Improv-Abilities (to whom I'm eternally grateful) took over running the KC Improv Festival this year. I still believe there wasn't another troupe who could (or would) have done as good a job. Their members (along with folks from a few other troupes) have been deeply involved in festival planning since City 3 revived it two years ago. The return of the festival was arguably the first major step in the creation of KC's improv community, and as the number of groups grows, it becomes more work and more responsibility. Limited time slots mean harder decisions—even some of the troupes whose members are on the planning committee aren't performing. They spend their weekends meeting about logistics, their weekdays setting up parties and dealing with everything from transportation to finding workshop space, and their evenings reminding troupes to live up to the promises they made when the applied for the festival (like festival plugs in shows and on websites).
Roving Imp is putting up their first improv festival in Bonner Springs in October. Along with that, John puts up the only regular classes in KC, and works with anyone who's interested in taking classes to find ways to make it happen, from trading labor to helping out at shows. He invites other troupes to play in his space, pulls members of different groups together to play in new shows, and does whatever else he can to instill a love of playing and respect for the craft in anyone who comes through.
The Trip Fives are putting up some of the most innovative shows in KC, and have taken the idea of community and run with it. Many local troupes have been invited to share the stage with the Trip Fives in shows at the Westport Coffeehouse, and Improv Thunderdome has created (and sustained) more buzz than any improv-related event outside the festival. It hinges on a brilliant marketing gimmick—because the audience votes for the winner, the troupes themselves (sometimes gleefully) bear much of the weight of drawing crowds. (Though I don't for a minute mean to minimize the work Jared does to organize and promote the show—his ass has been almost completely worked off.) Now Ed has brought back Bare TV, a multimedia experiment that brings together improvisers, writers and musicians.

And, of course, there are other groups who simply put up the best shows they can (and that isn't simple at all). Does that make them any less fabulous or worthy? To me, that seems a little silly.

The nice thing about a community is that everyone contributes in his or her own way...and those contributions change over time and vary by the role improv plays in people's lives and what they have the resources to do.

The nice thing is that, at its best, improv—whether within a community or a troupe or a single scene—is stone soup. It depends on what every single person brings. Groups may do more or less to support the community. Individuals take different roles in the day-to-day work of their troupes. Players may lead the way in one scene and make sound effects in the next.

We'll step on each others' toes a little, and piss each other off every now and then, and go head to head in competitions for audiences, best-of titles and shiny plastic belts.

But the nice thing is that, these days, we can each play the part that works best for us.*

*Note to self: Maybe embroider this somewhere.

Vote improv, dawg.

2009-08-20T20:50:00.000-07:00

KMBC is running an A-List competition.

Sure, it's a popularity contest. The winner of Best Improv Comedy Group will be the group that convinces more of their fans to register and vote. Unlike the Pitch awards, there's not an objective critic saying, "Quality-wise, here's who's doing the most interesting work."

You might argue that the group with the highest number of loyal fans really IS the winner.

What do these things mean? Not much more than a blurb in your marketing materials, in the long-run. But I gotta tell you, I'm loving reading what Tantrum's fans think of us. (Former guest monologist Jim Howard, for example, accuses us of "utter shamelessness"—you know, in the good way.) Stacey (who started writing a blog you really should read if you like writing) has not only said wonderful things, but is pimping us from her Twitter account.

Tantrum is building a group of pretty rabid fans—and the fact some of them happen to be my friends from work doesn't diminish that a bit. I work with writers and artists and smart marketing people—and if they thing improv I'm involved in is worth watching, I couldn't ask for a higher compliment.

The one weird thing about this whole voting thing: I also play with Roving Imp. And love the guys in I-A and Loaded Dice. Also: Where is Spite on this list? Not splitting votes with Tantrum, maybe.

Michael and I are in charge of marketing for Tantrum, so...

Click here to tell the world you think Tantrum kicks ass.

Best news of all: We're keeping the non-improvisers out of the competition. The Improv at the Majestic? Not improv. Neither is Martin City. Neither is Stanford and Sons.

Get sucked in.

2009-08-19T22:07:00.000-07:00

First of all...wanna help out at the festival? Here's a note from Joe Henley:

9:KCiF is almost upon us, and now is the time we call for volunteers to help work the show. Positions are available for every night of the show. From 9/9 till 9/12, we have four nights of improv helping goodness. If this sounds like something you’d be interested in, send an email to Joe@kcimprov.com, along with the nights you are available to work. Everyone will be notified by next Friday 8/21 of their positions. Sending in an email is not a guarantee of a position. We are looking forward to working with you.

You should do it. It's fun. You'll work a little, talk to a bunch of improvisers, maybe meet some cool famous people and get some new beer-drinking buddies.

Like you need more bad influences in your life.

Fixed. HAH.

2009-08-15T20:35:00.000-07:00

Funny how sometimes finally being aware of something wrong makes the solution that much more obvious when it comes.

Without going into specifics, I've been feeling judgey and mean-spirited and snobby about the improv world lately. It's not a place I like to be. When my sister pointed out that I'm ruining it for myself, I wanted to justify my way out of her argument...but yeah. As usually happens when she makes some bold, audacious comment about my mental state, she's right.

So here are the four things that happened this week:

Mother-@#$*ing midyear reviews: 13 of them—which is more than I've ever had to write, and I procrastinated like a pro. My place of employment used to see managers disappear for a week or more to work on writing reviews, so they've come up with ways to simplify the process, like pointing out that if you talk to people all the time, you won't have lots of saved-up points to make. The cool thing, not related to improv in any way: I realized that even when I'm specifically placed in a role of having to judge a performance, there's an opportunity to learn more than I pass on. Even when I had to do some coaching, the results were rich, illuminating two-way conversations that reminded me how much I sincerely adore the people I work with.
Roving Imp classes: I get to take one more next week, then have to trade being in class for teaching Exit 16. And just to make that even harder, Monday's class was the best yet. John has really gotten to know all of the students well, and that's allowing him to push us harder. He does it with a terrific sense of humor ("I'm going to stop you here. A piece of my mind is trying to commit suicide.") that, strangely, doesn't soften the criticism—just makes it more fun to hear.
Green Day concert: In a quick check for a review of their tour, a KC review came up first—and happens to be written by a guy who sits about 20 feet from me. (It captures the energy of the show a lot better than the Star's take.) The energy, attitude and love for the audience made me wonder—how the hell can we use it as inspiration for a little show in the coffeehouse?
Thunderdome rehearsal for Team Number 9: Steve Jones and I grew up together in Lighten Up. Nick Rigoli and I have played at ComedyCity and on the Thunderdome team Burnin' Sternums. Erik Johnson kicks ass in CounterClockwise Comedy; I don't know that we've ever even officially been introduced. Ed Doris is our coach, and is one of maybe five improvisers in KC who is completely comfortable (and probably too happy about) telling me to shut the hell up and do what he says.

Rehearsal—especially for our first time in the same room together—rocked. We got warmed up on our own (yeah, I was bossy). Some fellow improvisers are putting together a Thunderdome documentary, so they interviewed the team while we waited for Ed; he walked in right before they asked, "So what's your format—and how did you come up with it?" Which was handy, since he was the only one who knew.

Ed's take on rehearsing a piece is very different from mine. I tend to start with exercises and exploration, discovering the show from what we create together. Based on what he's seen of us and a few conversations, he laid out a (typically Dorisian long-winded) description of what he envisioned, and immediately (well, after the inanely verbose description) threw us into it.

And it worked. He's coached at least a couple of teams, and recognized that if you're working with people who haven't played together, you have to leave plenty of room for the weird. Now we've got three more sessions to make the form (a mix of in-character set-ups and scenes that I'm not going to get any more specific about) work for us—and figure out how far we can push it.

Then we went for beer. Because that's what troupes do.

Sure, I can ruin my own fun. But I can un-ruin it, too.

Possible? Maybe.

2009-08-09T19:34:00.000-07:00

Scoring a point for Josh's side, my sister Lori said today, "Maybe you've ruined improv for yourself."

I was testing a theory on her. Last week, some pals and I were talking about reasons we see improv shows. Some of the reasons I go:

Because you know it'll kick ass.
Because you're supporting friends in the cast.
Because you're curious.
Because you're supporting the KC improv community.
Because you can learn something, even from a bad show.

Like just about every one we know, I've done all five. Used to be, you had to head out of state for a solid #1; now, as troupes get more experience and higher standards, there are more and more safe bets in KC. Number 2 takes some effort on the troupe's part to generate reviews, recommendations or rumors. And as the community gets bigger and broader and looser, I feel less compelled to do #4 than I used to, unless it's combined with #2 or #3.

It's #5 I was asking Lori about.

I do feel like you can learn something from watching bad shows—to a point. (And have babbled about it before—all the way at the bottom of the post.) When I take the Exit 16 to Chicago, it never bothers me to see one lousy set at an iO Harold show. Sometimes it just proves that even people with solid training have off nights. Lots of times, though, it validates what the kids have been learning about vulnerability, truthfulness and commitment; they see that detached ironic self-awareness doesn't work out well for anyone, no matter how clever they might be.

Seeing great troupes fail can still teach something, even if it's just from a purely academic point of view. You feel a little like a forensic scientist, picking through the rubble of lost opportunities and missed connections to see what went so horribly wrong.

But what I asked Lori was whether—in any of the things she's interested in—you can get as much out of watching something bad as something good. The closest example she came up with was a pro tennis player who says he learns more about his game when he loses than when he wins.

That wasn't really what I was getting at. And I was explaining that to her when she said, "Maybe you've ruined improv for yourself."

I immediately denied it, obviously.

As my mom, dad and sister often do—she has a point. I haven't stopped enjoyed doing it, but I don't have as much fun watching it. I've become more snobby and less gracious. Which I think is more about my competitive nature than it is about the shows. When I'm improvising, I want to kick the most ass. When I'm in a troupe, I want it to be the best. When I'm promoting a show, I want more people to come to it than any others.

You can see how some of these things would be unhelpful.

I'm letting a bunch of stuff that's not about the work get in the way. My little sister is right. Do you have any idea how annoying that is?

Out there.

2009-08-06T18:39:00.001-07:00

Next Friday, Tantrum welcomes Jim Howard back as guest monologist.

The great thing about Jim—OK, one of the great things about Jim—is that he doesn't filter his stories. He's not afraid to say difficult things, or talk about taboo topics or reveal deep shame. It's challenging, in a good way, to work with him because his monologues take emotional detours. He starts off funny, loops around something poignant, and might stop at melancholy.

So when we rehearsed, we focused on a couple of things: patterns/themes and playing it real (which we talked about here.).

The more sophisticated a troupe gets, the more they can pull out of a simple story. Newer troupes tend to play the monologues pretty literally; experienced groups play the themes and metaphors. Tantrum is somewhere in the middle. Sometimes our scenes are a sidestep away from the monologist's stories. Other times, we peel away a few layers. And every now and then, we hit a metaphor. In our last show with Jim, we brought back scenes about semen swimming upstream (seriously, why would you miss this show?) in a later monologue about his wife swimming with dolphins.

The trick is being smart, but not too obscure for your audience—or worse, your fellow players.

Which is why I think part of being good at long form is practicing pattern games—over and over, rehearsal after rehearsal. Partly because it's thinky work—just try a clover leaf without getting in your head ("Pattern game where word association is used to generate ideas, often referred to as a clover leaf because the pattern arcs out with associated words and returns to the suggestion, and is repeated two additional times." —Wikipedia). Eventually, you not only find new ways to jump from one word or thought to another; you also start to understand how your fellow troupe members' brains work.

(One disadvantage of not being in town that teaches Harold work: You can't see people do pattern games as openings over and over and over—that's part of figuring out how they work. You can do it without seeing it—it just takes longer. After I saw my first Harold team—the Plum Dumplings—at iO before they even had their own theater, I tried to help teach Lighten Up pattern work from that show, Del's notes and a friend's description. It was like handing someone a pile of scrap metal and some tires, describing what a car looks like, and saying, "Go!")

Anyway. It takes practice plus time. Tantrum celebrates birthday number two in September (note to self: cake to the festival?). The cool thing is, I think we're just scratching the surface of what we can do.

Going through notes.

2009-08-02T19:15:00.000-07:00

Exit 16 played the Corbin this weekend and put up a pretty fun show—especially for young performers who haven't played together in two months or rehearsed since last May.

They start up rehearsal again in a few weeks. I'll have three kids in their third year, three in their second, and four total newbies. I didn't submit them to the KC Improv Festival again because of the new/experienced percentage—with only three rehearsals, there's no way they'd be ready to take the stage in a confident way. I feel like it's my job to put them in situations where they can feel really good about what they do.

So I'll spend between now and August 25 figuring out how to approach training this year. We always start with the basics—grounding the new guys and reminding the experienced ones where they came from. The good news: Some exercises, including a Spolin-influenced space walk and Del's Ritual, have become traditions, and if I go too long without bringing them in, the demands start.

What comes next:

Figure out what I'm working with—strengths, challenges, holes.
Decide whether I can create a run list for the first show and work towards it—or want to see what they bring at the first rehearsal and then do the planning.
Lesson-plan the rehearsals between now and the first show. Pick games, exercises and approaches.

And all that means figuring out where my notes from 20ish years of workshops are, and deciding which instructors' work best fits this group.

Almost time to get back to work...

Really fast.

2009-07-30T22:14:00.001-07:00

A few things from the Disney trip:

Randy and Kim and Charlie are all doing great. Charlie is adorable and outgoing and silly and sweet and knows no strangers and calls Kim "Mama Manatee," which is insanely cute. It was amazingly fabulous to see them again. (I gave them all the KC improv scene gossip. And yes, you were implicated.)
Disney is everything people say it is. It's a verrrrrrry different experience, I imagine, tackling it alone—without family, kids or brand-new fianceé. But it turns out I kind of like doing things on my own terms, so that didn't bug me a bit.
Though kids can, if they aren't related to me or someone I adore, make me a little bit nuts, there were times they totally made my trip. I rode Splash Mountain with Mel, approx. 10yo, who breathlessly explained everything and asked if I'd ever read the story of B'rer Rabbit and pointed out stuff I'd've missed otherwise and told me when to hold my hands up and when to hold on tight and explained pin trading and probably would have asked me to dinner with his family for the rest of the week if I'd given him the chance.
Some of the rides seem to be struggling against this new need we (Members of the American Audience) have for authenticity. The Kilimanjaro Safari ride at Animal Kingdom, for example, is plenty cool without a poacher subplot ("The elephants are being attacked!") the tour driver can't quite pull off with sincerity. Sometimes it's enough to have cool stuff (like, you know, a WILD ANIMAL REFUGE) without a dramatic storyline.
You get older, and you wonder if you're losing the sense of adventure you had as a younger person. Although I have NO DESIRE WHATSOEVER to further test what I learned at Worlds of Fun in the early '90s (I can't ride the spinny stuff any more), I was reassured to find that I still love roller coasters. The faster, higher, loopier and scarier, the better. I blame playing without a net every few weeks for this.

And there's the improv tie-back I was looking for. Now me and my swollen feet are going to bed.

Wrapping up.

2009-07-26T11:58:00.000-07:00

Well, something worked on Friday. At the last Spite/Loaded Dice show, we each had to throw in $16 towards rent. At this one, we made about $40 each.

Here’s what we know:

A big chunk of the audience said they’d never seen Spite before.
Our website traffic was WAY up—mostly because of the makeover videos.
We were all getting comments and questions about the makeover at work and online.
Pete and Dennis thought there were a good number of new faces in the audience.

On the down-side, we didn’t feel great about the show. And no, it wasn’t the dresses. It was mostly because our schedules didn't let us get in as much rehearsal time as we usually like to have. We had some good moments, but we felt like a lot of our characters and storylines were really similar from scene to scene. For my part, I felt like my characters were all insecure and tentative.

I think we’re experienced enough as improvisers that even when we’re not hilarious every scene, we’re capable of being interesting. Pete, Dennis and Julie said the audience seemed engaged, even when they weren't watching. So I don’t think (the guys can weigh in to the contrary) that we ruined improv for anyone.*

What’s next:

Spite starts rehearsing our asses off—we’ve got two shows in September (one at the KC Improv Festival, the other another gig with Loaded Dice) and a couple in October (Impfest! YAY!).
We’re going shopping again, with the new rules we got from Amy and Daryl.
We figure out how to keep our website hits going.
And maybe do the same for Tantrum.

*I'm working on taking a compliment. So when some non-improv folks I work with said, "that was fun!" I resisted the urge to say, "It wasn't as good as we usually are!" That's really, really, really hard.

Borrowed interest.

2009-07-18T19:00:00.000-07:00

In one of my first college advertising classes, they introduced the concept of "borrowed interest"—getting attention for your product, service or company by bringing something appealing or sensational but completely unrelated into its marketing.

I've inferred from a fellow improviser's comments on my facebook page that he sees Spite's makeover blitz as borrowed interest. (Or he might just be bored. Sometimes it's difficult to tell.)

Mmmmmaaaybe. But I don't think so.

A lot of things make it tough to market an improv troupe or show in KC. Let's start with:

Getting attention
Helping people understand—better still, appreciate—the difference between your group and others
Convincing friends to come to your show next time, instead of some time

Getting attention

The KC Improv Festival originated years and years ago not only as a way to meet other people who did what we did, but as a media hook: It was news. Thunderdome has a hook.

Besides the "they're guys, we're girls" thing, Spite's shows with Loaded Dice don't really have a hook. And not enough people know our groups do quality work to seek them out—especially since we don't have regularly scheduled performances.

We paid part of the rent out of our own pockets last time, and I don't think any of us were interested in doing that again.*

The idea of going public with the makeover we'd planned for months just kind of happened. Makeover shows are ridiculously popular—who doesn't love to see the duckling to swan transformation?—so we thought we'd make a fuss about ours.

Differentiation

Dude. There are a ton of improv groups in KC. KCiF has expanded to four nights, and even with more spots, some of the newer ones aren't playing.

Even with it comes to the older ones, people can't always name the group they just saw. They might know they saw an improv show at the Flea Market or the Coffeehouse, but names? They don't always stick.

And newspaper blurbs don't help much. Your format and your reviews are about the only helpful ways of writing a differentiated descriptions. Saying you're fast-paced, funny, topical, intelligent, character-driven...OK, let's play a game.

Guess the troupe from this snippet from the first sentence or so of their description on the KCiF site. More importantly, try to figure out why you should go see them. (I've let some go longer because they eventually get to a point. Makes me want to go back and rewrite some shit.) Click to find out who it is.

This group formed in March, 2007, as the house team of (a theater), and has performed nearly 100 shows all over northeast Kansas since that time. (The group) never fails to deliver with its blend of fun, memorable games as well as a series of one-act plays made up completely before your eyes.
This group has entertained Kansas City since 2000, and in the last four years the group has been featured in improv festivals in Chicago, Dallas, and the Twin Cities. It is the only group at KCIF to regularly perform short-form improv games as well as more artistic long-form sets, often in the same shows.
Ever since being established in October 2007, this group has quickly become the only longform improv group in (their city). Comprised entirely of University of Kansas students, they bring a fresh-faced enthusiasm to the grizzled Kansas City improv scene.
This group is Kansas City's original and longest running Improvisational Comedy show. has been producing shows every weekend for over 22 years!! That's a lot of laughs! Their...format pits two teams of "actletes" against one another in a fast paced improvised competition where every game is based on different suggestions from the audience.
This group is a four man improv troupe that has a history in short form games and expanded their rapid fire wit to the long form arena. Their style is fast paced, character driven and relatable.
This group is an experimental comedy group that works in sketch comedy, short and long form improvisation, stand-up and dance. ... (their) mission is to explore, invent and produce live comedy shows which combine a unique blend of performance styles while providing audiences with an entertaining experience.
This group formed in part because we wanted to compete in Improv Thunderdome and mostly because we never seemed to get enough stage time together playing with our co-ed troupe...
This group, an animated short-form improv comedy troupe, is bringing their HOT NEW SEXY comedy to the KC stage. So sit back, relax, and enjoy some of your favorite games... Or jump up out of your seat and join them onstage for some wild new ones!
Intriguing characters. Hilarious scenes. No scripts. Seven players fuse experience and wit, normalcy and absurdity, the real and the surreal. This group brings together seven of Kansas City's most experienced, critically acclaimed improvisers...
As the origin story goes, four improvisers were exposed to a liquid mutagen during a traffic accident. The mutagen caused the improvisers to become more human-like in intelligence and dexterity. Also exposed to the mutagen is one member of this group, an improviser once owned by a improvutsu expert named Hamato Yoshi. As a fantastically talented improviser, taught himself the art of improv by mimicking Yoshi during his practice sessions.

So...how much are we helping the audience here? Some are better than others. (I put together two of them, and am kicking myself for not getting to the point earlier. At least their [aaagh—I meant "there," obviously] are no grammar, punctuation or capitalization errors...)

Sense of urgency

Part of the reason Tantrum invites guest monologists is to give people a specific reason to see that show. Our benefit for the Feisty Devils MS 150 team with Scott Sjoberg last month not only blew his personal fundraising goal out of the water—it drew a bigger-than-average crowd of people who'd never seen our show.

Other than the fact that there's a looooong time between shows, there's no real reason you should see one Spite show over another.

Until now.

Friends who've always said, "I'd love to see you play some time" are planning to see this show to find out what Daryl & Amy and Monique , our wardrobe and hair and makeup stylists. (Of course, whether they show remains to be seen...but there's more interest than usual.)

The videos are showing up on our stylists' facebook pages, and their friends are interested to see what they've done—so we have a chance to expand our audience base.

The videos show a little of our personalities, which turns us into real people and not just another clump of comedians. And because no one else has done anything like this, it helps us stand out.

The makeover videos posted on our site have driven traffic up 1,364.71%.

Exactly how well will this work? Who knows. But it's been an interesting experiment. Not to mention a hell of a lot of fun to do.

*Another question: Is the show all of a sudden about Spite and not as much about Loaded Dice? Not at all—we get equal stage time in the show. Both of our logos are on the poster and the promotional materials. But we're producing this show, and we can't force other players to send e-mails, hang posters and invite people to facebook events. Besides, we're not about to tell the guys what to wear.

Cut back...

2009-07-15T22:00:00.000-07:00

I realized I never really got to the "mixed" part of my feelings about movie edits and scene painting.

Yes, at times, I find them incredibly frustrating. I wish I could see them as gifts no matter what, but I don't.

On the other hand, sometimes a player paints a scene and takes it from ordinary to perfect. Or confusing to brilliant.

Naming the setting or location can ground a scene and help everyone imagine exactly what it feels like to be where the characters are. Describing the set or a prop can provide the detail that takes the action to the next level.

Years ago, at the third Spontaneous Combustion (now the KC Improv Festival), Rob Reese (who sparked our tradition of having three featured directors creating shows with a member of each performing company) asked Armando Diaz, his director, for advice going into the show. He knew Rob was a powerful player and that many in the cast didn't have much long-form experience, so he told Rob "Do just enough."

That's what scene painting should be. Just enough. The scene is never about the environment, the set, the props or the costumes—so scene painting should be just enough to ground, elevate or clarify.

Until you get good at it.

Then you can play with it. And if you're playing with a bunch of other improvisers who know what they're doing and you all trust each other completely, you can SERiously fuck with it.

Cut to...

2009-07-14T18:14:00.001-07:00

This post reminded me I have mixed feelings about the movie edit and scene painting.

Quick definitions (as I know them—improvisers do and describe this stuff a million ways, so my understanding might not match yours):

In a "movie edit," a player ends a scene by stepping on stage and describing the scene transition as you might see it described on a storyboard. Example: "Cut to a park bench on a secluded stretch of path" or, fancier, "Freeze: The shot tightens on his outstretched hand, and we match-cut to the outstretched hand of ..."
Scene painting is part of the movie edit—in it, a player describes the physical aspects of a scene, creating a "set" for the players to walk on to or providing wardrobe or special effects.

The movie edit might influence the narrative of a piece—it can return players to a scene or initiate an action. Scene painting should heighten or clarify the scene‚ but it's a description of the environment, not the action or the story.

A few years ago, my kids saw scene-painting in a show in Chicago. Talk about crack on a playground...they could NOT. STOP. DOING. IT.

The main reason: For new improvisers, time off stage is time wasted. High school improvisers, (more than any others, I think) fight their craving for attention (not to mention their almost non-existent attention spans) every time they're "stuck" on the backup line.

Given the chance to scene paint, they're all in. Before we were three lines into a scene, they'd turned its characters into robots or historical figures or stereotypes, filled the environment with bizarre props, and hinted strongly what would happen next.*

On the plus side, they were working important improv muscles. When you're on the backup line, you should be active (Joe Bill says "toes, not heels"), alert, ready to add when needed.

In the minus column, n00bs** have very little sense of what "when needed" means. What it feels like is "when I have an idea." Which, when you're thinking really hard about ways you could "help" is ALL THE FREAKING TIME.

Del Close, the guy who invented the Harold and developed the Movie, said this:

1. You are all supporting actors.
2. Always check your impulses.
3. Never enter a scene unless you are needed.

One of the hardest things about improvising long-form is knowing the difference between "having an idea" (the impulse you're checking) and "heightening the scene" (what you're supporting, not creating). This is the key, I think (from one of Del's student's notes):

NOTICE HOW YOU ARE A PART OF A HAROLD. HOW YOU FIT. THEN SIMPLY ENTER—JOIN.

"Notice." Not "think." Not "try to figure out." Notice. It sounds a little passive. But think about the best scenes you've ever been in: the ones where it feels like your next line or move is handed to you on a silver platter. You weren't thinking or trying or worrying or wondering. You just had to notice that you were needed, and do the thing the scene required.

Getting myself to that state—where I'm discovering rather than inventing—is the reason I keep studying. Because it sure as hell doesn't come naturally.

*I have painted more people into tube tops than I care to confess. Mostly, to my eternal shame, because the word "tube top" gets a laugh.

**I should point out that, as much as my posts may come across as blow-hardy and mean-spirited sometimes, I do love the improv n00bs—and envy them. This stuff is really, really fun when it's new and you're not super-opinionated.

Question 1: The suck

2009-07-13T20:06:00.000-07:00

From a reader: Are you taking questions? Would you answer them in blog form?

What do you do when your scene partner gives you nothing, and takes everything you give and puts it essentially in a void?
In relation to that, what techniques can you use when your scene partner throws so much random crap at you that there is NO possible way that you can rationalize it all?

Dude. It is not easy to improvise with a black hole—or a supernova.

But eventually we all find ourselves there…in jams, in workshops, in classes, in our own troupes on a bad night…hell, in meetings at work.

And here is what I believe, at least after 12 oz. of a waaaay-better-than-expected Missouri wine from Cellar Rat: This is no time to play a slavish game of “yes, and.” This is a time to play hard-core Annoyance style and take care of yourself. I’ll quote an interview with Mick Napier about his approach:

If I want to help my partner onstage then I need to take care of myself first and take care of my own power first, otherwise all I’m supporting my own insecurity and my own fear, which is not very supportive.

You'll notice that Mick never says, "Be an asshole." This isn't about screwing your scene partner back to avenge your perceived screwing-over. It's about making the decision to take care of slash control what you can—which, as Susan Messing says, is your own body—nothing more.

Here's what I think that looks like.

The Black Hole

You're getting nothing. No. Thing. Fine. Take the Steve Martin approach: "I don't need you. I can do this scene alone. I often do."

Make sure you have a strong character—whether it's built from something physical, intellectual, emotional, whatever. Knowing who you are is going to be critical, because you're going to let everything that happens make you more of who you are. (Thanks to Joe Bill and Mark Sutton for practice doing this.)

The person you're sharing the stage with, in this case, isn't really performing as your partner—but s/he can be your muse. Dave Razowsky says everything you need to know is in your scene partner's face. When your character is strong enough, even a blank stare is enough to set you off—and, to squeeze some of Bill Arnett's workshop into it, you can react even to the most ridiculous thing by just saying what your character would say. Do the next logical thing.

Here's the deal: You're the grownup, in this case. Playing the martyr is bullshit. You may have to initiate, or you may find it more fun to react and respond, but you have the power to make a choice that will make the scene better.

To paraphrase Joe Gideon: "You can't make it a great scene. I don't even know if you can make it a good scene. But, if you keep trying and don't quit, I know you can make it a better scene."

The Supernova

This (thank you, Wikipedia) is what happens: "The explosion expels much or all of a star's material^[2] at a velocity of up to a tenth the speed of light (30,000 km/s), driving a shock wave^[3] into the surrounding interstellar medium."

So it could be even worse than the black hole.

It might be a character who talks in paragraphs instead of sentences and WON'T SHUT THE HELL UP. Or someone who starts scene-painting before your first line of dialogue because they have an IDEA! AN IDEA AND IT'S SO VERY EXCITING TO HAVE AN IDEA!!!!* Or someone who doesn't realize that you don't have to FORCE INTERESTING THINGS TO HAPPEN ALL THE TIME and insists on turning you into things like bugs or robots or on making you seven years old or notices that SUDDENLY SOMETHING WEIRD IS HAPPENING. Or someone who just denies the fuck out of everything you say or won't let you, under any circumstances, have what you want.

The supernova improviser could destroy everything in its path. EXCEPT YOU. Because you are powerful. (See above.) There are a bunch of different fun ways to play this. My favorites:

Revel in being the low status character/victim. Everything your scene partner does is wise and right and good, and your character clearly doesn't understand/is a moron/is unworthy.
Focus on the relationship. Everything is innuendo or a metaphor. Handy lines: "I know what you're really saying." "When you get like this, it makes me ______." "But that's not really what this is about/why you called me here, is it?" "I love you."
Make the weird shit normal, and focus on the relationship. If it's turning into some bizarro world, let the world be normal so you can ground it in a relationship. ("OMG! You're a bee!" "Obviously. But this bee wants your body.")

Here's the cool thing about improv: If you know the chords and are comfortable with your instrument, you can join in the jam. And even if you're not all that good, the people who are better than you have the power to take care of things.

On one trip to Chicago with my improv kids, my friend Tim Mason, who plays with Second City, invited me to join their improv jam. I hadn't played regularly in years. I felt rusty and stupid. But (in addition to taking some serious shit from my kids about pushing against my comfort zones), Tim said, "We'll take care of you." They did. I relaxed, and didn't completely suck.

At one point or another, you'll be the improviser who has to take care of someone. When you do, remember to put your own oxygen mask on before assisting others.

So, KC Improv Person Who Asked The Question, I hope this answered it. But I'd love to hear how others deal...

*Real conversation between me and an improv pal:
HIM: I had to hold myself back from saying, "There's a dead hooker on the table in the kitchen."
ME: Um. Thank you.

Stuff.

2009-07-12T18:47:00.000-07:00

President Obama is not about to make a phone call.

And Howard Dean, as bonkers as he might otherwise have seemed in this photo, is not holding a gun.
It's fair to say I'm a little snotty about improv training. But you will never, ever, ever convince me that understanding basic object work is anything but a cost of entry for improvisers.

So it blows my mind a little when I see a kick-ass improviser in the middle of an excellent show make a cell-phone call by sticking out his thumb and pinkie and holding his hand to his ear. Or points in a threatening way with a fingergun. Or when in the middle of a transaction scene (always such a wonderful idea to begin with) a player hands over real money.

And it's not just the principle of the thing.

If you're talking to your actual hand, how do you leave the phone in the pocket of your space-substance cargo pants at the end of the call? If my character wrestles with you for control of your fingergun, am I supposed to literally disarm you to take your weapon? If you pay for my services with actual currency, how are you supposed to leave it on my space-substance bedside table at the end of our session?

With thoughtful, detailed object work, you can make an audience forget you're sitting on folding chairs instead of in a '55 T-bird. You can go without elaborate sets and expensive special effects. You can forge a 90-minute agreement that if you name it or use it on stage, the audience will believe it.

But that agreement is fragile.

The second we think getting into a car is as simple as swinging an arm out, sitting on a chair, and swinging that arm back...or that it's OK to scribble nonsense on one's palm with a disappearing-reaapearing, impossibly thin pencil/pen pinched between fingers...every time we open a door differently than the person who entered the scene before us...or even when we jump in to play the corpse in an autopsy to get a laugh, blocking our scene partners from cutting off body parts or doing anything interesting with the innards...

We've stopped improvising. We're just indicating with lame, half-assed shorthand. And then we're not holding up our end of the agreement with the audience. We're just winking and slacking and saying, "You get this, right? We cool?"

Maybe even worse, we've cheated ourselves out of discovery. We haven't thought about what kind of phone we might be using, or what our characters' handwriting looks like when we write, or whether the door has a sticky doorknob, or what kind of car we're sitting in.

As Tim Kazurinsky says in The Second City Almanac of Improvisation, "To improvise, you need a bare stage, actors, and chairs. Everything else is pretend."

Blue.

2009-07-10T21:46:00.001-07:00

I started my improv career playing ComedySportz, and learned an important lesson: You don't have to play dirty to be funny.

I teach high school kids, who entered Improv Thunderdome specifically so they'd be allowed to say dirty words. (I didn't coach them for that show, and wouldn't let them use the name they use when they play at school.)

But still...over the 19 years since I started, I've spewed some pretty smutty stuff on stage (including what I thought was an excellent rhyme with "Carolina" in a blues song about douching). So I was surprised when, after a show, Hilarious Improv Chick Tina said, "I've never heard you say fuck before!" (Somewhere in Monroe, GA, my parents were laughing their asses off.) (OK, my mom was. My dad was muttering and using my full name.)

So tonight.

I dropped an f-bomb in the first scene of the first game (a tag-out exercise we use as our opening). Mostly because I started it with an exercise I learned at TCiF, and it felt right for the emotional level of the character I was playing.

Our audience was pretty much all there to see our guest monologist and raise money to support the MS Bike team he and his wife participate in. Even before he got on stage, the audience let us know they were feeling rowdy with...uh...suggestive suggestions. (In Advice Panel, Josh answering in rap challenged my ability, as the host, to keep a straight face.) Our guest did a great job—he was completely authentic and hilarious, ending with the suggestion of "laptop" (heh heh) and getting busted by his wife for browsing adult sites.

Ahem.

After our first couple of shows, Tantrum made a concerted effort to play more physically. I've worked really hard over the last few years to get more comfortable with the giant game of grab-ass improv turns into when we play together. Tonight, I:

Played Hammer pants (kinda without realizing it—I thought I was a baby elephant)
Gave birth to two players, who started with their heads INSIDE MY SHIRT
Played one guy's banana hammock
Had my boobs portrayed by two guys, using their hands and elbows in close proximity to my ACTUAL BOOBS
Acted out an adult video with two players, including one playing a cat

There was probably more, but those were the...highlights.

On one hand, I'm pretty pleased with myself for losing myself in the scenes enough to play them out without getting self-conscious. On another, I'm happy with the fact that in the adult video scene, my training kicked in and said, "You could do something dirty and expected, or fun and interesting" and I picked fun and interesting. (Next-clarification: Not saying the scene didn't start off dirty. But once the cat entered, I played it more tastefully than you'd imagine.)

On hand number three, I'm amazed that after a show that involved so much smutty content, I really feel like we played it smart.

It's easy to say the eff word to get a laugh. But it's just as easy to play a character who would say it. And the laughs are bigger, better and come with a lot less shame.

Characters.

2009-07-06T19:56:00.000-07:00

So a few weeks ago, Nikki & I went to the Twin Cities Improv Festival and, along with seeing some kick-ass shows, took two classes from Bill Arnett.

(If I was better at tagging, I'd remember if I'd talked about this first part before.)

How I Take Festival Classes: An Approach Developed Over 19 Years: I'm long past the days of instructor/theory collecting. When I started, I was shooting for variety: I signed up for workshops with as many instructors from as many schools and cities as possible to see what techniques clicked. Three-hour samplers are great for exposing you to the main principles of a school of thought. Now I want maximum feedback, so I tend to either take multiple classes with single instructor or repeat classes with someone I've worked with before. The benefits:

You get more information about that instructor's theory, because their classes usually give you different pieces of the same puzzle.
You get better feedback, either because the instructors watch you longer and gets a sense of your fall-backs and patterns, or because they get more comfortable with you and can be more direct.
There's no way you're going to get good at a technique by doing it one time in one workshop—that's why improv classes are usually 6-8 weeks long. Ever do yoga? You do the same poses over and over, going deeper, feeling stronger, becoming more aware of how different muscles move. Same with improv exercises.

It's that last point I'm particularly excited about. Over the last couple of weeks, I got to:

Take Bill's classes about creating characters with point of view and playing it real.
Working with Nikki, try the exercises out on Tantrum.
Do the same/similar exercises in tonight's class at the Roving Imp (John studied with Bill in Chicago).

When people ask (as a Hallmark intern did today) how you rehearse improv, one of the answers is "You work on new ways to create characters." So far, roughly, I've learned about characters from the following (with dramatically oversimplified explanations):

Annoyance: How you do what you do is who you are. Characters are created physically, emotionally and verbally.
Jill Bernard: VAPAPO (Voice/ Attitude/ Posture/ Animal/ Prop/ Obsession).
iO: Different takes on playing real people in real situations and playing truthfully and close to yourself.
Michael Gellman/Second City: Spolin-based, reality-driven work.
Dave Razowsky/Viewpoints: Movement-based work.
Various work on status influenced by Keith Johnstone, body tension work with Hilary Chaplain, and stuff I've picked up from books.

Some of the theories at least seem contradict each other. Annoyance says take care of yourself first; Second City says make your partner look good. (For how it all looks different, read this blog entry by Bill Arnett.) In Viewpoints work, you make physical choices; in status work, you decide where you are on the ladder compared to your scene partner. Some schools encourage you to be weird and playful, others teach you how to play characters not much different from yourself.

And the great thing is, they're all right.

The reason I'm a workshop junkie is that it's impossible for me to commit an approach to memory if I don't do it more than once. I want to be the mechanic in the garage who can find a wrench in the toolbox without looking—I just reach out, and the right tool is there.

Which is why beginning and multi-level classes rock. Chances are good that I've done an exercise before, so I can layer something else on—thinking about Viewpoints topography (the map you create as you move through the space) when we're doing a character walk (physicalizing a character), or working on playing close to myself as we practice a long-form.

So two weeks of revisiting the same exercises and theory has been super-fun. In Bill's classes, we messed around with the idea of how a real person deals with an absurd character—he gave us permission to call out the crazy, change the subject, leave the room, fire the nut-job.

That was a new toy for me. I've always struggled with playing close to myself, because I've heard different versions of "why would someone pay to watch someone be normal" since I started doing this. But something finally clicked in this workshop. Playing close to myself isn't the same as playing me. What I got out of Bill's class:

I can react like a normal person would act if s/he is telling the truth—but better. No compulsion to be polite or passive-aggressive.
It keeps me in the moment—being real with an absurd character means letting everything s/he says affect me.
I really don't have to think about making anything interesting happen—all I have to do is notice how what they're doing makes me feel.

I've heard different versions of all of this stuff before, but Bill's exercises and feedback and his teaching style really hit home for me. The first class introduced the idea; the second sold me on the theory.

It's not something I'll use in every scene or even every show or with every troupe. But it's another tool in the box, and a chance to work it repeatedly for a couple of weeks means it's a little more likely that when I reach for it, it'll be right there.

Quiet.

2009-07-05T16:08:00.000-07:00

A while back, Jill tweeted about a conversation she started on the Minneapolis forums. I checked it out, and couldn't help but notice how active theirs are compared to ours, which have sputtered almost to silence over the last year or so. Part of the reason, probably, is that we have a small enough community that spends enough time together that we don't really need them like we used to.

But I have another theory: Collectively, we don't have a whole lot of intellectual curiosity about improv. We've grown quite a bit over the last three years, and we've gotten a little complacent.

Some evidence:

The last time someone posted an improv site/resource was slightly more than two years ago. Joe tried to get a conversation about narrative structure going back in February—the only ones with serious contributions were Jill and Tommy.
Even if you go off the boards, the KC improv blogosphere is awfully quiet about theory and technique, unless you count me and Josh getting into it in my comments section every now and then.
A remarkably low percentage of KC improvisers charging audiences to watch them perform have ever taken a real improv class...or even a festival workshop...or worked with a director/coach besides their own. And of those who haven't, many assume they couldn't learn anything new from a local class or a beginner session. Or that it's not worth taking the same festival instructor twice.
We don't seem to devote much time to experimentation. I'm not talking about learning edits and techniques and forms that already exist. I'm talking about spending chunks of time spent not preparing for a specific show, but working to discover your troupe's voice and vibe.

At the Twin Cities Improv Fest last week, it was hard to miss the unmistakable Minneapolis style of improv. It's balls-out, physical and full of energy. You can spot some influences—Jill, ComedySportz, iO, Brave New Workshop, Annoyance—but there's a common playfulness and consistency in quality that seems all their own.*

Mostly, I was struck by how far ahead of us they are.

Their best groups made moves that probably wouldn't occur to our best groups. They didn't miss anything. Their patterns were more complex, their listening was more advanced, and their characters were richer. They played with a level of sophistication that's just out of our reach.

Don't get me wrong—I'm not saying we suck. We've grown a lot over the last three years. More groups are more likely to put on funnier shows for bigger audiences. We're putting some pretty hilarious stuff out there.

ADDED: And from the average audience POV, lots of us are doing good stuff. Of course, I'm not talking to audience members...

But answer this honestly (especially you long-timers): How often are you blown out of your chair by a character choice or game move that can only be described as brilliant? When was the last time you saw a show that made you think "WOW. That's beyond what I imagined improv could be"? How many shows make you feel like you're watching someone run across a tightrope, blindfolded, without a net?

ADDED: Again, from an audience perspective, these things happen in a lot of shows. I'm asking the world-weary improvisers who have seen and/or been in thousands of shows.

Eh. Maybe it's fine. Maybe putting up good, solid shows is enough of a goal. Maybe this is as good as it gets.

Obviously, I don't believe that's true. At one point or another, we've all seen what truly great improv looks like. We're just going to have to dig a hell of a lot deeper to get there. New improvisers will have to study harder, and experienced improvisers will have to push themselves further.

Or we can just wait, and hope it happens eventually.

*Of course, what they have that we don't is an established school teaching its own take on improv theory in regular, multi-level classes. (Help us, Roving Imp—you're our only hope.) If I was any sort of blogger, I'd be able to find previous rants about this.

Home-grown.

2009-06-21T19:18:00.000-07:00

For the first time in...forever, I think...I didn't have plans for right-after-work on Friday. Which meant I could hit the Bad Seed Farmers' Market Emily (a Hallmark and Twitter-pal and Tantrum fan—yay!) has been talking up.

I really like to cook (and am totally addicted to foodie shows and blogs) but it's hard to justify the time and effort when there's just me. Vegetables go bad, leftovers go uneaten, loaves of bread are consumed in a day or two because GOOD GRIEF, PEOPLE, WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU LET BREAD GO TO WASTE?

But I can see getting seriously hooked on this localvore thing.

Hallmark started a CSA program, so I've committed to picking up about two bags of fresh, locally grown produce every Wednesday night this summer. And it's kinda fun to just hit farmers' markets and see what looks good. Suddenly, I feel a little guilty buying produce shipped across the country. And it's not just the guilt—fresh, local food tastes amazing.

I'm tending to follow the shiny thing. These peas are chubby and gorgeous...this bread is dense and squishy...kohrabi? why not...garlic scapes? pretty! Then I come home, get online and google-search for ways to use everything. Or I just roast it with olive oil, kosher salt and pepper.

Friday night, Emily (who is seriously inspiring about this stuff—check this out) talks about learning to create with what you have. So here's the funny connection: Buying local forces you to improvise. Not so surprising that I'm digging it so much, maybe.

Speaking of homegrown...

This weekend was the 24-hour improv marathon, This Lemonade Tastes Funny. More than a dozen improv troupes played to benefit Alex's Lemonade Stand, a childhood cancer charity. Very cool idea from Clay Morgan—great cause, fun shows. It is confirmed, though: I am too old for all-night events. I missed seeing Loaded Dice (the hosts), Improv-Abilities, Roving Imp Spectacular, Pretty.Funny., Dictionary Soup, Bibliocast and The Trip Fives. Why? Stupid need to sleep. Boo.

Go-time.

2009-06-11T19:21:00.001-07:00

Here's why this weekend will be fun:

Friday at 8pm at the Westport Coffeehouse, I get to play with Tantrum. And Kevin, who's part of what seriously is the most amazing staff of copywriter-types you've ever met—which means a bunch of Hallmark pals will be in the audience. It's some of my favorite people in the world in the same room all. At. One. Time.

Friday night/Saturday morning, there will be an approximately 3-hour dip in the awesomeness as I figure out whether I should just stay up all night because I have to be at the airport at 5:30am. Fortunately, I'm flying Delta instead of Southwest, which means I'm not setting my alarm for 5:30am to check in.

Saturday at 8:36am, I get picked up at the Atlanta airport in my sister's rockin' minivan, which will contain Jason and Adam, my nephews. Adam, at almost-3, is showing some really excellent comedic timing, stage presence and directorial ability. If there isn't some sort of performance by the end of the weekend, I will be shocked.

You should come see the Friday show. I'd take you to the beach, but apparently the nephews travel with a LOT of stuff.

Fun?

2009-06-08T21:10:00.000-07:00

I want more ways to get physical in the work I'm doing.

(Yes. Work.)

So one of the books I'm reading is An Acrobat of the Heart: A Physical Approach to Acting Inspired by the Work of Jerzy Grotowski. So far, I have two reactions:

I love it.
Shit. I can't do these exercises by myself. Must find partners.

Lots of exercises, lots of advice and lots of of really exciting insights into bringing more to characters and scenes. And, in the middle of the back and forth after the last post, this:

"There are many jobs in this world that you can do well even if they are no fun.* But you cannot act without joy. On the other hand, learning to act can also be hard work. So maybe the first question we must ask is, How can you work hard at something that is, basically, pure fun? Or, to put it another way, How can you remember to have fun, even in the depths of the hardest, most serious acting work?"

The answer—for me, anyway—is on something my sister gave me almost 20 years ago. An artist in San Francisco developed his own characters and calligraphy, and she gave me a piece of his with this quote by Rabindranath Tagore (thanks, Joe):

"The spirit of work in creation is there
to carry and help the spirit of play."

Improv, to me, is the purest form of creativity and the closest we get, as adults, to real play. Every rehearsal, whether I'm teaching or playing, is a bizarre combination of exhilarating and exhausting.

Tonight, for example, I played with mixing Viewpoints work I did a few weeks ago with character exercises we did in class. John led us in some of my favorite stuff—creating characters by leading with body parts—and I challenged myself to play with tempo and topography.

That's the beauty of taking level-agnostic classes. Because I've done body-lead work before, and know to pay attention to my tendency to hold my head the same way and watch getting too cartoon-y, I can add layers to it. In this case, once I've established the physicality of the character, I can mess around with the way I move through the space. I worked on moving in curves vs. angles, fast vs. slow. I didn't do too much with extremes in tempo, but I can try that in Wednesday's Tantrum...um...workout.

The exhilarating part: I could really see (as usual) how making a big physical choice pushed me into a character I didn't know—someone with surprising reactions and playful responses. One of the other players noticed a choice I'd made to just run back and forth across the stage—fast—just because it was different from the other stuff going on. (Her guess: Of all the sperm, I would be the one to make it out first.) (And there's the fun part.)

The exhausting part: I was reminded how hard it is to focus on topography and tempo once we move from scenes with a specific point of concentration to a full-on long form. Plus I got home late-ish on a school night, with 3 hours of work still to do (and yes, writing this blog is part of that—but only because I had to get bread in the oven) and the knowledge I have to really work out at 7am.

This shit isn't effortless, but it's our job to make it look like it is. Spontaneity, collaboration and trust—some of the keys to consistently funny shows—don't come naturally. (Especially for anyone over age 7.) Rehearsing (workshopping, working out...whatever) helps train your brain and body to respond in the most helpful way in the moment.

But it's what happens in that moment that makes it worth it. Connecting with another player. Saying or doing something surprising and delightful. Realizing that you've made people laugh by doing something fearless. Or smart. Or, sometimes, incredibly silly.

*Last week, I was reminded that mine is not one of them. My improv training, as ever, is more helpful at work than my advertising degree. To tie my work-life even close to my play-life, one of my creative teammates has organized panel discussions by creatives who happen to work in theater. Her theme, courageous collaboration, has sparked some of the most intriguing conversation I've been part of in 20 years** at Hallmark.

**How the hell did that happen? Crap.

Nope.

2009-06-04T18:04:00.000-07:00

So in yesterday's comments, JJSKCK asked an interesting question:
Can we declare a moratorium on calling rehearsal "working out"? It's a bit self-righteous.

As flip as my comment back may have been, I should start by saying I don't automatically argue with everything Josh says—though it's fair to say we are the yin yang of Tantrum.

His question got me thinking: Is referring to what happens in rehearsal or classes as "working out" self-righteous—holier-than-thou, smugly moralistic, hypocritically pious? Even a little bit?

I don't think so. At least, it's certainly not meant to be.

This is "rehearsal":

dry run (a practice session in preparation for a public performance, as of a play or speech or concert)
a form of practice; repetition of information (silently or aloud) in order to keep it in short-term memory

This is "work out":

exercise: the activity of exerting your muscles in various ways to keep fit.

When people ask how you rehearse improv, the best answer I can give them is that what we do is a lot more similar to how a sports team might get ready for a game than it is to the way a cast prepares for a show.

And at its best, getting together with Tantrum or Spite or going to class feels a lot more like going to the gym than memorizing lines and blocking and trying different line readings. It might be different if we spent all our time practicing games and formats or polishing the presentation of the show...

What I want from a 2-3 hour session with other improvisers is to isolate and strengthen muscles and tone and define my technique and skills. I want to get something new out of an exercise every time I try it, because as I get stronger, I can go deeper into it. I want discipline. I want long-term results.

So...um...no.

No moratorium for me. I'm going to keep working out. (Seriously good question, though...)

Back.

2009-06-03T20:09:00.000-07:00

Until we start workshopping a new form, Tantrum is getting together to work out once a month—in theory. Really, we've been squeezing in two: one to fuck around, and one with our guest monologist.

Tonight was just us. Here's how they normally go:

Catch up. Now that we're not doing two shows and two rehearsals a month, and people are doing things like dating and getting married and buying houses, we don't see each other as often. It turns out we like each other, so we have to goof off a little to get going.
Warm up. We usually start with go/yes, just to get moving and get connected. Musical hot-spot is a good one—tonight, we tried it with "Lines from famous American Speeches" (OK, it was a joke, but we rode the wave) and "Movie Quotes." Then we played the turd game (pick a noun, replace it with "turd," and use it in sentences). Toasty!
Work out. Pete and Rob are in charge. Typically, they ask what we want to work on before rehearsal and come up with some exercises.

We played around with editing from the backup line tonight. We've gone from awkward sweep edits (someone runs across the stage to clear the scene, and may or may not start the next one—ew) to cutting and starting with a shape to the end goal: starting the scene either physically or verbally from the second we step off the back-up line. It's generally accepted as the "right" way to do it, but way freakin' tougher than it looks.

This is where I think the Viewpoints work we did last week is really helpful. When you step onto the stage, you can mess with topography, tempo, duration, shape—all without making a single intellectual decision. I'm gradually learning to trust my brain with the facts and dot-connecting and make conscious on-stage choices about something physical or emotional. It keeps me out of my head, in the moment and focused on other players choices instead of the script my brain wants to write.

Here.

2009-06-02T17:50:00.000-07:00

This weekend, I had to explain a tweet gone awry to a friend: I wasn't calling going to farmers' markets self-righteous behavior. I was referring to the feeling I get when I do something I should always do, but am usually too lazy. Like buying healthy local food. Going to the gym. Dropping off my wine and beer bottles at the recycling center before they take over the back of my car. Giving a birthday card or gift on time. Stuff like that.

But I'm realizing the feeling isn't so much a sense of self-righteousness. It's feeling...good.

Some stuff that feels good these days:

I may be the last person in KC to hit the City Market Farmers' Market. About the only thing I did right was take my own bags (another thing that feels good). Next weekend, I'll go early in the day, take some smaller bags to carry bunches of greens and dump potatoes and tomatoes into, and check out the locally produced cheese and meat and milk. I won't put the best multi-grain bread I've ever tasted under big, heavy, gorgeous tomatoes.
A little discipline. I have the "all-or-nothing" disease. The house is a mess? Screw it—I'm not putting anything away. Blew my diet? Game on—what else can I eat? And I refuse to fix anything until I can really fix it. So one thing that feels good is to lower expectations a bit. Instead of keeping the house perfect, I put away three things every night before I go to bed—even if that just means moving a sock from the floor to the laundry basket. (Sometimes it snowballs into a cleaning spree—sometimes it's just about the sock.) Instead of a strict, diet-starts-with-die eating plan, I'll focus on something manageable, like eating mostly unprocessed foods or trying VB6.
No plastic bags or bottled water. Yeah, I still drink Diet Coke in plastic bottles. And every now and then I forget to bring bags (grocery store, yes—take-out food, DOH!). If I do end up with a bottle of water, I'm not allowed to throw it away—I have to reuse it 'til I lose it.
Having people over. As much of a hermit as I turn into sometimes, I love entertaining—even if it's just making guacamole and opening a bag of chips. One person, six, too-many-for-the-condo...love it. It's why I bought furniture and can't help getting more stupid little appetizer plates.
Being back in improv class. I dropped down to less than a rehearsal a week, so it's back to Roving Imp after a month off. This time, I'm going on Monday nights (because Saturday is for taking care of the house) and Megan is going with me. I've said it before and I'll say it again: If you're going to improvise and want to be better, take John's classes.
Systems. Tantrum has a google account, an iGoogle page, and a calendar of everything I'm supposed to do to promote shows. That way I don't have to worry about it until the calendar says I do.

There's lots more. And I look at all the stuff that feels good, and it seems like it involves caring for someone or something: friends, family, my company, my community, fellow improvisers, the environment, myself.

Huh.