Um.
^^^ Truthful confession: it took me 20 goes to nail this
opening sentence.
Starting a blog post is overrated. In fact beginnings in
general are weird to me.
I’ve completed one week of training with the Improv Olympic
in Chicago and I feel an invisible pressure to begin this post with how AMAZING
IT ALL IS. How enlightened and “learned” I now am! …But somehow I can’t quite bring myself to do it. All I can
blurt out is a one-syllable grunt disguised as a word. Um. My newfound literacy
is hard to believe I know.
Post class discussions this week have been a sharing of everyone’s
most recent AMAZING improv discovery. Person A’s mind has been blown due to a
simple ball exercise leading to insight on human habits; Person B has finally
discovered the meaning of life through a status exercise and Person C has… well
let’s be honest. Person C is me. Awkwardly grunting and confused in the corner.
(Corner may in fact refer to my inner mental corners. I am crazy but not crazy
enough to wedge myself into 90-degree edges of the room.)
Most of the time I get on stage, cast myself as a man or
evil seductress (Parts I don’t normally get to play in real life). I choose a
body part that is slightly weird or steal a mannerism off one of my classmates
that I find funny, accentuate it and commit to a character. I make bold
statements and try not to ask questions (This is an improv RULE and very hard
to master when you are a kiwi who constantly goes up in intonation for
ABSOLUTELY NO REASON). I try to care about my scene partner, even if our
characters don’t, I follow the fun and if all else fails I commit to a spasm
attack of facial expressions. Sometimes people laugh. Then our scene is edited
and I get off stage having no idea what has just happened.
And this is my battle. Inherently ditzy with a round face
that is easy to laugh at yet somehow still confused, grunting a one-syllable word
question. “Um?”
Coming straight from Gaulier’s clown school where everyone
is “merde” (French for shit) and told they are “merde” from the get go to an
American training where everyone is “ah-mazing!!!” (American for ok) and told
they are “ah-mazing!!!” from the get go is a comic experiment in itself.
Here is a Hamster analogy I created to explain the
experience:
In Test A: The Hamster is put a on a wheel for weeks and
weeks with a tape that tells her she’ll never master the wheel. She never does
but she learns to have fun pooing in it.
In Test B: The same Hamster is given the wheel but told she
doesn’t have to run in it for she invented the goddamn thing! She is master of
the wheel! All her classmates are “Ah-mazing” wheel masters too but no one is
pooing in theirs.
Just in case you hadn’t worked it out – I am indeed the
pooing hamster.
Moving on from the hamster now… I’ll return to what is closest
to my heart. Nothing. *
*With the exception of my squijillion siblings, slapper of a
mother, two fathers, friends and people generally.
Truthfully I am incredibly slow to fall head over heels in
love with anything or anybody. So it is no surprise I am slow to begin my blog
with how Ah-Mazing improv all is. But here is a love paragraph to out balance
the cynicism:
I love improv because it lets me be idiot on stage. I love
that I can cast myself as more than a non-talking beautiful princess. I love
that the art form teaches you to be generous and make your scene partner look
good. I also love that it teaches you to “yes and” and listen to people right
through to the end of their sentences.
I love that it allows you to break stereotypes. I love how passionate
and supportive being on a team can be. I love that what you build with someone
else in a scene is always surprising and better than anything you could have
built on your own.
So there - I’m not so cynical after all.
There are many things I love about improv but I don’t think
everything has to be amazing and enlightening all of the time. And I don’t
think scenes necessarily have to be funny and fast paced all of the time.
My end game for training in improv is not to be the funniest
person on this planet or to be the perfect improviser. Neither is it to do the
perfect Harold or learn the perfect method. My end game is to not take myself
too seriously and remove ego from my creative process. I am a much better
clown, improviser and person when I create something because I thought pooing
in the wheel was funny. Not because I thought I was master of the wheel.
The culture in America is bittersweet. Whilst on one hand it
is very positive and encouraging it is also one of IMMEDIATE SUCCESS. Be the master of comedy NOW! Lose the
weight now! Buy this tablet to lengthen your eyelashes now! Fall in love NOW
NOW NOW! I haven’t yet worked out how to find the balance but I refuse to lose
the element of comedy that is accidental. Not NOW in capitals.
To sum up - My first week training in Chicago has been wonderfully
confusing and overwhelming. My teacher and fellow improvisers are brilliant but I refuse to say,
“I am amazing” or “it is enlightening” NOW because I’m not here for a ‘get
funny quick fix!’ Comedy is a life long journey. Perhaps I feel this way
because I am so attuned to abuse in the form of a French drum. Or maybe it’s
because I’m skeptical that you can buy instant eyelash-lengthening tablets and
Facon (Fake bacon) from supermarkets here.
Anyway - Facon is calling me to go and try it. So that’s all for now.
But more updates on improv, facon taste and magic tablets to come.
