I used to think the only satisfaction I could get from improv was when I performing it. You know, the attention that being on stage gives you. I thought I could only be happy if I was getting the laughs, the applause and the accolades.
That is how I thought for a long time.
I was a scared and selfish improviser because I was scared and selfish person. It was all about me. All the time.
I am grateful to report that today some of my happiest and proudest moments in improv aren’t coming from my own performing – they’re coming from watching my improv students succeed.
It happened last week. At the end of the Art of Slow Comedy Level 3 class, the students put on a long form performance for their friends and family. It’s nothing fancy. We just set up about 20 chairs in a classroom. We have no stage. No lights. And last week, the form was simple, a montage.
Though the space was casual, the work these students did that night was on a very high level.
I could tell it was going to be a great show almost from the moment the show started, just from the first couple of scenes. The group was confident and poised. Though they were a bit tentative, they were patient and listening, which is always a good sign. The concerns I had about their editing disappeared; it was crisp and gave their set the momentum you need in a successful long from.
Typically, when my improv students put up a show, I am more nervous than they are because as the teacher, I hold all the fear for the group. But this time, I felt really relaxed because I could tell this group was on their way to doing a great show. I could stop worrying and actually enjoy the show because they were in the flow.
You often hear in improv about the individual finding his or her voice on stage, but you very rarely hear about the group finding its voice. That night, their voice emerged as group. They started almost every scene realistically and grounded, and if it happened to go absurd, they aggressively supported the game.
And the best part was no one was giving up his or her unique voice in the process. Instead, they were blending their voices together as if they were singing different harmonies to the same song.
To say I was proud was an understatement. That night I had as much of a performance high as if I had improvised right along with them. Though the show was over by 8:15 p.m., I was so excited I couldn’t fall asleep until 1 a.m.
That night was special for me. I certainly attribute it to my age. And therapy. And my loving wife Lauren. And being a parent, because my daughter, Betsy, gets me to see wonder and joy in life though her eyes, just like I must have experienced when I was a kid. Just like my students got me to see the wonder and the joy of improv through their eyes, the same wonder and joy I must have felt when I was starting out, too.
For that, I am grateful, and it makes me feel that teaching improv is one of the most gratifying things to do in the world.
The summer is a good time to catch up on some reading, and I have come up with a short list of books all about making it in the world of comedy that I think you would really enjoy inside in the air conditioning or outside in the sun.
So if the summer movies disappoint, here some book that won't.
Scovell is a terrific storyteller – funny, vulnerable and brave. She is candid with her readers about her struggles breaking into the male-dominated business and gives us a glimpse of some of the bad behavior she experienced. What I particularly liked was how comfortable she was in sharing with us her insecurities and how brutally honest she was about the disappointments and the egos that come along with working in television. Yet she also shares how rewarding working in television can be. I really enjoyed reading it and could not put it down. I loved how passionate Scovell is about what she does, and I also appreciated that she was giving it to us straight, which made it a fantastic read.
Mark Czoske is one of Chicago’s most respected improvisers and teachers. He currently teaches at The Second City Training Center in Chicago and has performed at The Improv Institute and in Flannigan’s Wake. Jimmy talks to him about the “hard truth and realism” in improv, how he develops his characters and how meditation has help him be more in the moment as a teacher and improviser.
It’s nice to write a blog every once in a while when you don't have all the answers.
This time, I’m going to you for answers, because one thing I’ve learned over the years is if I’m struggling with something, there are other people out there who have struggled with it, too. And if I’m willing to ask for help, I have found people are usually willing to share their experience, strength and hope around how to overcome it.
So, here’s my issue (which, sadly, I’ve talked about before): I believe that my worth as a person is directly tied into how I perform on stage. If a do what I determine is a "good show" everything is fine and I am a worthy human being. But if I do what I determine is a "bad show," I am a piece of shit and don't deserve to live.
Yes, there are many things that are fucked up about this, and one of the biggest ones is that my perception of what is a "bad" or "good” show is broken. I can't trust myself for an accurate read. As you can guess, this is an awful way to live, and takes all the joy out of doing improv for me.
Last Sunday, it got pretty bad for me, we did our Jimmy and Johnnie show at Second City. I’ve felt like I’ve been off my game for the last couple of shows and certainly not living up to the high standards I set for myself. On top of it, a lot of my students who I respect came to the show. And in my head, I assumed that after watching my performance, they were all thinking that not only does their teacher suck, but also “Why is he teaching the Art of Slow Comedy when he isn’t even doing it himself? He is so full of shit. Why should we listen to that chump?”
These were only a small sample of the negative voices in my head on my ride home. In fact, they got so loud that I was surprised I could focus enough on driving to get home safely. I was not being kind to myself.
The sad thing is I have been doing this to myself for years, ever since I first started improvising back when I was in my late teens. The whole joy part of improv is something that has never come to me naturally. It has always been more about myself worth.
After being in group therapy for years, I know why I think this way. I was one of five kids from a dysfunctional and addictive home. Both of my parents were emotionally unavailable and I was neglected. I competed with my other brothers and sisters for my parents’ love and attention, which really didn’t exist. One way I squeezed a tiny bit of attention out of the nearly empty tube of toothpaste was by being the funny one. No one in my family could keep up with my quick and sarcastic humor. Getting laughs for me equaled love.
I thought getting laughs from my Mom and Dad was getting real, unconditional love. It was not; it was fake. It was like using artificial sweeter in your coffee. It tricks your brain to think you are using real sugar.
I didn’t fully understand this when I first started out in improv, which is why I was threatened by people who I thought were funnier or more talented then I was. Now, it makes sense. It was all about my role in my family. In my head, there was not enough love and attention to go around, and if someone else was funnier than I was, it felt like I would lose what little was available.
So how that plays out in improv today is if I do I good show I feel I am loved, and if I do a bad show, I feel like I’m not loved, that I will be abandoned. I have made progress, though. It used to be more severe. Before, I felt I had to be the funniest person in the show to feel loved, and today I am much more comfortable with letting other people get laughs. So, I am not hopeless here.
But I would still like help. I am hoping as you read this that not only can you relate but you are also willing to share your secrets with me about how to overcome this in the comment section below. Because this is killing me. This takes all the fun out of performing. So, I am asking, please help me. I am all ears.
If you don't take care of yourself in this exciting, yet taxing art form you will be toast. Toast does not perform well on stage – it’s dry, and flat and doesn't have much flavor.
If you want to avoid the toast syndrome, one of the best ways is through a little self-care.
Self-care is the art of taking good care of yourself so when you are put in high-stress situations, like improvising in front of a paying audience, you can perform to the best of your ability.
For me, self-care is simple. The days when I teach classes at night, I make a point not to run around town doing a million errands, and I take a bath before I have to go to relax. When I have a show at night, I take it easy during the day.
This whole concept of self-care is not taught in school, and it’s very rarely mentioned in the improv community -- until now, since I am mentioning it. So, here are some very simple things you can do to take care of yourself that will not cost you a dime.
A couple weeks ago, I talked about the importance of doing improv warm-up games before your classes, workshops and rehearsals. Today, I wanted to share three warm-up games that I have been using for some time that I found to be very helpful. Like improv itself, there is no right or wrong way to play these games, and over the years I have modified them, so you will get my version of them. As always, keep what you like and leave the rest. And hopefully you will put your own spin on them as well.
Another variation you can try when the group seems out of sync – for example, when players are trying too hard or are not taking in what they are getting from their partners -- is Silent Zip Zap Zup, which helps them really listen to each other. I will instruct them to use no words, but instead pass a physical gesture to someone in the circle in the exact way they received it from someone else. All they need to do is pass it on. If someone pretends to throw a baseball to you, all you have to do is pretend to throw the baseball to the next person.
Once they seem connected I will then have them go back to playing Zip, Zap, Zup using the words. Depending how they are doing, I may go back to silent and back to words. Either way, the focus is to get the group to be in sync and more connected, which is important for when you start doing more complicated exercises like scenes or short form games.
Tips:
I have found it helpful to repeat what each player has said before I say, “Then what happens?” You can say different things to prompt them if you would like, just keep in mind that the focus is for them to acknowledge what the other player has just said and build off of that. If they say no to an idea, I will sometimes remind them that we want to find the agreement. However, it’s important to be lenient during warm-up games so use your judgement depending on the player.
How it’s played:
Have the class sit in chairs in a circle, with one fewer chairs than number of people in the class. Choose one person to stand in the center. That person will say something that is truthful about themselves, and they will use the phrase, "People who are wearing jeans” or “People whose favorite TV show is VEEP." Now if that is also a truth about a player sitting in one of the chairs in the circle, they have to get up and find a different chair. When people get up to find a different chair, the person in the middle will look for an open chair to sit down.
Tips:
The point of this game is really to get them to be more physical and have fun. I am pretty lax on the rules. If two people get in the chair at the same time or if someone says, “People who are wearing blue” and they are not wearing blue, I let them police themselves.
I will interject, however, if it gets too physical because people can get competitive and rush around and bump into each other.
After playing this for a bit, you can do a variation on the game where you say, “OK, now the theme is sex, drugs and rock and roll,” and people can start revealing a bit raunchier things. However, only use this variation for mature audiences. I would not recommend it for high school or college groups and definitely not for corporate improv training.
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Dan Bakkedahl is one of the stars of CBS's Life In Pieces, and you also know him from VEEP. He is an alumni of the Second City and iO Chicago. Jimmy caught up with him while he was back in Chicago recently to talk to about why he's happy with the state of improv on TV and film, getting a compliment from Del Close, and why choosing not to play certain stereotypical characters makes him a better improviser.
From time to time, a fan of this blog or the podcast will contact me directly and ask me an improv-related question. Recently, I received a question about how to know if you should pursue improv seriously, and I decided to share it because it's something I believe everyone in improv, comedy and acting has probably struggled with, regardless of what age they were when they started.
Q: I have a question that may be rather presumptuous and reeking of a quarter-life-crisis, but I thought you might have some advice that could help me or others. I recently graduated with a liberal arts degree. I became involved in comedy halfway through college, and I've left wanting to pursue improv and acting seriously, but I have a constant, nagging feeling that I fundamentally lack the capability to do it. While it may be true that I could benefit from taking more classes, I have an anxious/alcoholic mind that is constantly trying to convince me that I am worthless and that my dreams are unrealistic. It's hard to even know where and how to start with these feelings casting a shadow over everything I think about doing. I don't want to let this anxiety dictate my ability to perform. How do you find the resilience to pursue improv and the things you love in your life? Any advice is appreciated.
A: The fact that you are asking me this question gives me a clue as to the answer. It sounds to me like you love doing improv and acting and are clear you would like to pursue it more seriously. So I say, trust your instincts and jump right into the deep end of what you are passionate about right now in your life. Who knows? You may do improv/acting for a couple of years and be like, "I am done," or you may become a lifer or end up SNL. You will not know until you try.
I cannot think of a better time to throw yourself into improv/acting than right after college when you still have so much energy. If you're afraid that pursuing improv or acting will delay your "real career," just know that whatever you learn in improv and acting will never be wasted. The credits transfer to life, and the skills that you will learn will apply to any future career choice. Look at those years you pursue acting and improv as grad school. Got it? OK, let's move on.
Now, let's look at your insecurities. I want you to know that I can relate to them all.
In terms of feeling that you "fundamentally lack the capacity to do it," at this point, with your limited experience, you do not have enough information to make that determination. Sorry about that, but the truth is it takes at least three or four years of studying improv and doing shows on a consistent basis to know if you're really good at it, and that's a conservative estimate. So when you start taking classes, beside having a great time and learning, remember you are gathering information about your skills that will help you make you an educated decision about whether it's worth pursuing for the long haul.
Also, be open and be flexible. You may start doing improv and find you like acting more, or you may be drawn to doing stand-up or sketch. You don't know where it's going to take you. The clarity you are looking for will come from taking the action and signing up for a class. Baby steps here.
OK, now my favorite part: the anxiety/alcoholic mind. My brain is wired the exact same as yours, and in my experience, my insecurities about my abilities as an improviser and actor have never completely gone away. Even after doing it for more than 30 years, there are still lots of times when I tell myself that I suck and that I should quit. My brain compares myself to others and comes up short. It makes me jealous of other people's success. It tells me I'm getting worse, not better, and that I am wasting my time. But ultimately, I keep doing improv because deep down I love it, and I need to express myself in spite of my fears and insecurities. And luckily, the more I do it, the less power these fears have over me.
Feelings cannot be avoided or swept under the rug. We need to feel our feelings. That is what fuels art. Yes, this is by far the most painful part of the creative process and the most necessary one, not only as improvisers and actors, but as people. By pursuing improv and facing your insecurities, rather than choosing a "safer" career path, you will actually have the chance to heal the shame and anxiety you feel and to reduce the size of the shadow you talk about.
In terms of resilience, mine has come from the help of others. A lot of times when I feel like I want to quit, I call my support peeps and they encourage me to get back on the horse. To thrive, you will need a shitload of support. If that means you need to get into individual or group therapy, do it, because you deserve it. If you need more friends who are emotionally supportive of your dreams, go out and find them right now. Build a strong support network, and when you have doubts and fear that you're going fail, they will have your back. Sound familiar? (Warning: They may not be the same people who have your back on stage.)
I am not going to sugarcoat it: Pursuing improv and acting is not an easy path. It's very difficult at times. You not only have to deal with your insecurities and your fragile ego, but you also have to deal with other people's insecurities and even more fragile egos.
I hope I am not the last word on the subject. I would love to hear your input on how you find your resilience to continue to pursue improv? Please let me know. I can use all the inspiration on the matter as I can get.
When it comes to teaching improv, I am old school. Though I have evolved as a teacher and performer over the years, one thing that has not changed since I started teaching is that I love beginning each improv class or workshop with a series of warm-up games.
Warm-up games are essential. This is something I learned from one of my favorite improv teachers, Martin DeMaat. Some improv teachers don’t see the importance of them. They want to cut right to scene work or throw the students right into doing a Harold.
Yes, warm-up games take time. Yes, they seem silly and not as important as going right into working on scenes or a long form. I can assure you, however, that by playing warm-up games, students can go deeper and be more grounded in their scenes, not to mention take more risks, if they have warmed up first.
After many years, I have come to the conclusion that it’s not even important for the students to get the games “right.” It's just about playing. Pure play doesn't have rules. It transforms from one thing to the next. I will tell my students the directions of a warm-up game just as a starting off point. If it transforms, it doesn’t matter. I love watching a class take zip zap zop and morphing it into different sounds and words and then it turns into a game where they are passing and transforming objects. Watching this, you think, this can go on for hours, they are in the zone of free play.
Even if you warm them up by doing a series of short scenes, hold your tongue, because the beginning of class should be all about them getting out there and playing. I often look at it like, let's get the crappy scene out of the way first so we can do some good ones later.
Next week we’ll talk about my favorite warm-up games.
Last week, I did it. I finally did it. After five years of auditioning for Chicago P.D., I landed a part, a nice speaking part with lines.
It was playing a prison guard. Which is not only in my wheel house, it’s apparently my calling in life. One of my first parts I ever got in TV or film was in Oliver Stone's Natural Born Killers, where I played a prison guard who was terrified as the prisoners were rioting.
My scene was with Tommy Lee Jones. He played the warden. I didn’t have a clue who he was. I thought he was a country music star making a crossover to film.
I remember thinking at the time when we were doing our scene together that he was playing the warden way over the top and he might want to bring it down a little for film. That year, he won the Oscar for The Fugitive.
The next time I played a prison guard was in Public Enemies. Though technically I was not a prison guard, I was custodian, and not just any custodian, but the custodian who John Dillinger scared with a carved piece of soap that looked like gun to make a prison break. Johnny Depp played Dillinger, and I knew who he was from People magazine.
Both parts called for the character to be scared to death, which I was at both auditions, at the call backs and on the set, but this role on Chicago P.D. would have to rely on my acting. Which is a different kind of scary.
The break down called for a "nerdy, brusque” prison guard. The nerdy part was easy. I just had to show up. The brusque part was where the acting would have to come in.
The late Jane Alderman, who was a casting director and a teacher of mine, would always say to me, though I did not get it at the time, "You are an improviser. Use your improvising in your acting."
She passed away a couple of years ago, but her lesson finally got through to me just in time.
I approached my scene as if I was working at the DVM. It didn’t have to be more complicated than that. Thank you improv, and thank you, Jane Alderman.
Something that I am embarrassed to admit is that when I have gotten day player parts before, and believe it or not, I have gotten my fair share of them, I always thought that this would be my big break. I was delusional, thinking the scene was about my character. It’s almost laughable now.
What I finally realized this time is that day players are serving the story and the star. The producers want you to come in and say your lines. They’re not looking to spin off a series based on Prison Guard Number 2.
Day players are not important. You may be acting on a hit TV show on a major network, but your role is invisible. No one will remember you. Which is a good thing, because it takes so much pressure off of you, and once I realized this, I could actually act and have a good time on the set, which I did.
When I was starting out in show business, my agent said to me, "For every 30 things you audition for, you will get booked on one of them."
Though I did not want to hear that at the time, it was helpful, just like realizing when I was cast as Manny the Used Car Salesman in an episode of ER, I was not there to win an Emmy, but to serve the story. As an improviser, I am comfortable in this role of supporting the story. As a human being with low self-esteem who is trying to prove to myself and the world that I am enough… well, that’s another story for another blog.
But I am grateful that I got the opportunity to do an episode of Chicago P.D. and that even at my old age I finally got this day player thing down and I am open to doing even more parts.
You never know — they may bring Prison Guard Number 2 back next season. Want to read more practical advice about how to approach being a day player on a TV show or film? Check out this blog I wrote for Green Shirt Studio.