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Recently an improviser contacted me and said he was struggling with playing low-status characters in his improv shows and he wanted some advice on how to do it. I have always loved playing low-status characters, maybe too much. In fact, I think that’s all I played the first ten years of my improvising. This got me thinking that I have never written a blog on the subject, so here it goes.
Here are my three best tips for plays low-status characters in improv:
There's an expression that goes, “Would you rather be right or would you rather be happy?”
This applies to improv.
I have seen my students time and time again wanting to "do it right" and follow the rules, rather than trusting their instincts and having fun. They would rather be right than happy.
There are a lot of reasons for this, and they all boil down to fear.
The longer I teach, the more I believe that the most important thing in improv is being in the moment.
Spolin said it first: “Improvisation is transformation,” which means scenes will naturally evolve into something else and go to unexpected places. But transformation can only happen when you are truly in the moment.
And in improv, the best way to be in the moment is to trust your instincts.
Easier said than done when that nasty fear is involved.
Sometimes after my students do a long form in a class or workshop, a student will say, "I wanted to do a walk-on, but I was not sure if we could do walk-ons."
I get it. My whole life I was always looking for approval or permission. I didn’t want to make a mistake and look like a fool and be called out in front of the class.
When that’s how you have been living your whole life, it's hard to let it go in a silly improv class.
Today, my philosophy about improv has changed. When we start doing a specific game, exercise, scene, or type of long form, the instructions are just a starting off point. The goal of the game or scene is for it to transform. I’d rather see the students trust their instincts over my instructions.
Wait, Jimmy, if people don't listen to you, won't it be chaos and nobody will learn anything? Thanks for bringing that up. For the most part, people follow instructions and if they do take risks, they’re not going to even come close to sabotaging what the class is doing, so the benefits of a game transforming outweigh the negatives for the students.
I have done Zip Zap Zup where it transforms to saying people's names or saying sounds or even students passing objects. If you resist the transformation, you miss out of the fun.
Yes, at times I may give specific instructions in game or a long form. For example, let's say I have seen too many walk-ons in class. I may give a direction that there should be no walk-ons in the next long form. And guess what? Students will trust their instincts over my instruction and I may get three or four walk-ons, which is far less than the 12 that they did in the previous exercise.
Even though they didn’t follow my instructions exactly, we have succeeded as a group because my point with saying no walks on was to limit the number because they were getting in the way of our scene work, but we also had people trust their instincts and take a risk over an imposed rule.
So the next time you are in that fear place on stage or in class or in rehearsal, ask yourself would I rather do it “right” or would I rather have fun?
If you've been improvising for a while, at some point one of your teachers/coaches will say you need to take an acting class. This may be confusing.
If you are like me, you might think something like, “I am improviser, not an actor.”
And then a huge acting opportunity will come along, like a play, commercial or even a TV show, and you will blow it. Not because you are not talented, but because you don’t have acting training.
If you are still not sure why taking an acting class might be worthwhile, here are three reasons why improvisers should take an acting class.
Improvisers have had the reputation for years that when they get in a casting session and are asked to read off the script they usually suck. The reason they do is they usually have no formal ACTING experience or training. Remember, the last time I checked, there was no one getting rich off just doing improv.
If you are looking for an improviser-friendly acting class, I highly recommend Green Shirt Studio in Chicago. Jack Schultz is Green Shirt’s Artistic Director, and he is an incredibly respected and supportive teacher, especially with improvisers. Green Shirt classes start Aug. 20, 2023. Plus, you can try one of his classes in the Chicago Triple Threat Workshop, running from Aug. 26 through Sept. 16. For more information go to https://www.greenshirtstudio.com/classes/.
This Sunday is Father’s Day and it’s making me think a lot about my dad, who died a little over six years ago, a few months before my daughter, Betsy, was born.
In one of the last conversations I had with him, I read him a list of 11 things he gave me as father. My dad didn’t take it well. I think getting compliments made him uncomfortable.
One of things I thanked him for was teaching me good manners. In fact, people still tell me that I have good manners to this day, and that’s all thanks to my Dad.
The reason he had such a hard time taking in the compliments I gave him was he couldn’t forgive himself for getting into some legal trouble around the year 2000 that sent him to prison.
His guilt and shame about that overshadowed some of the good things he did as a father.
Last week was Betsy’s last day of Kindergarten. They had a ceremony for the parents at her school where the kids sang a song, we watched a class video and each kid got an award.
Betsy received the "Ms. Manners" award "for always being respectful and courteous to everybody," which immediately made me think about my dad. I was proud of her, and I was proud of myself, too, for being able to pass down to my daughter one of the 11 gifts that my dad gave to me.
Had my dad been alive, he would probably would have had a hard time taking any credit for it, though. He probably would have said, "I had nothing to do with it. It was all your mother."
But even though he wouldn’t have been able to acknowledge it, I know it was him. I’m giving him most of the credit.
I read a book recently where someone said that their relationship with their father improved after he died. That was true was for me.
My dad and I had a complicated relationship. I believe most people have complicated relationships with their parents. But it’s often a hard thing for people to get in touch with because they feel like if they say something like that, it means they don’t love them.
I love my dad more today than I ever have, and that doesn’t change the fact he and I had a complicated relationship. I think I’ve learned more from my dad now that he is gone than when he was still here. Being a father helps, too.
My Dad and I shared one tragic flaw — we believed that to be loved, you had to accomplish something. But I’ve learned that being loved or admired for your accomplishments isn’t real love. Real love was right in front of him all the time, in his five kids, but he couldn’t really see it.
I’ve never felt more love than from my child. And in my dad’s case, times that by five.
I think my dad finally understood this on the last day I saw him, which was also his last day on earth. He was on morphine. He could not speak. I said I loved him, and he waived backed. And in the that tiny gesture I felt he loved me too.
Kindergarten ended this week for Betsy. She made it through, and more importantly, I did, too.
Watching your kid grow up is emotional. One day she has a new BFF, the next she doesn't. It's like watching the stock market.
When she was a baby all my friends that were parents said, "Enjoy this time. It will go fast." At the beginning it did not go fast enough. I could hardly wait until she walked, talked and could read at a sixth-grade level.
Now, at 5-and-3/4 years old, my friends who were parents were right.
I can't believe Kindergarten is over. I will miss Betsy telling us about "free play" and who got into fights. I will miss packing lunches and rushing out the door in the morning to walk her to school. Yes, I’ll have to do it all over again starting in the fall when she’s in first grade, but it will never be Kindergarten again. Next year, she’ll be just a little bit older.
For the last nine-and-a-half months we’ve had the same morning routine. I would walk her across the street and take her to the back door of the school, where I would say "Goodbye! Have a nice day at school!" And if I was really brave I would say, "I love you Elizabeth." (She is Betsy at home, and Elizabeth at school, but signs her name Liz because it takes less time. She's learning time management.)
Then the morning of the last full day of Kindergarten, something changed. We got about 20 feet away from the back door, and a group of older kids were standing in front. As we got closer, she whispered to me, "Dad, you can go."
What?
"Dad, you can go."
She felt self-conscious that I was standing with her and wanted her independence. I was caught by surprise. I know that my friends who are parents would say, "That’s a sign you are doing a good job as a parent."
I said, "Bye, Betsy," and watched her head past the older kids into the school.
If this was hard, I can't imagine what it’s going to be like when I have to drop her off at college for the first time.
I walked away feeling really sad. But as Betsy said to me the other day, "Dad, there is such a thing as happy tears." I had never thought about it that way. Unfortunately, I almost never let myself cry, but if I could, I know that right now I would be crying happy tears.
Do your art for the joy of it. Don't do it unless it brings you happiness.
It's not about the fame and fortune. Those will come or they will not.
Make up your own definition of what "making it" means and fuck the rest.
Do what makes your heart sing or skip a beat, just don't have a heart attack.
I am out of cliches, but my point is we need you and your art.
It doesn’t matter what kind of art you do as long as we can see it and you are not hiding in your bed. That makes you a "hermartist" — someone who hides and withholds his gifts from the world. Hermartists don't know better; they hide because they are scared. If that is you, know it's ok, totally ok. We can wait for you to come out and play when you are ready.
Creativity needs light, like plants need water and humans need oxygen and readers of this blog need another metaphor.
Actors and improvisers are sensitive creatures, which makes us both good at what we do and often very affected by what is going on in the world around us. And when the world gets crazy, such as with the news about these recent shootings, it can be tempting to want to give up on acting and improv altogether and think that making theater or comedy in times like these is useless.
But that isn’t true. Our art can help us feel more connected to others, and it can help others heal as well.
This past week, after the news about the shootings at an elementary school in Uvalde, TX, I felt very hopeless. But I reached out to my like-minded friends on Facebook who reminded me that we do improv shows for all sort of reasons: community, connection and compassion. They were right.
If ever there was a time that we needed all that stuff, it is right now.
That and healing. We need healing.
People say "Laughter is the language of the Gods," and we speak that language. It doesn’t matter if you are making people laugh at your boring-ass day job or on stage in front of 100 people. The Universe is not judging how many people you make laugh. All that matters is that you shared your gift of comedy with someone else, end of conversation.
Yes, keep doing whatever brings you joy, even in dark times.
Watch Kindergarteners in a dance recital. They are not doing it for fame or fortune. They are simply doing it for the joy of it. Sadly, as they get older, they will outgrow this, and they will start to do art only when they think it is “worthwhile,” but for this brief moment, they know that performing just for fun, even if they aren’t that good at it, is the point.
My hope, for all of us, me included, is that we can bring more of that into our lives and if we do, we can affect others. Sometimes my best work goes unnoticed, like when I’m joking around with the teller at the bank or speaking gibberish with my 5-and-a-half year-old daughter while she gets ready for school.
You are more prepared than you think you are to perform. You always have been. So just trust yourself and get out there. The world needs you.
I think sometimes improvisers get hell bent at working at certain theaters or making a house team, and then they stay too long at places out of frustration or insecurity.
I think moving on is even harder if you work with improv gurus, whom you make your higher power because you think they have all the answers. I know because I have done this too many times to count.
Often when we stay somewhere too long, we’re not only doing because we want to achieve a goal or get validation. Sometimes we stay too long because we fear that if we leave, we’ll miss out on a great opportunity that is just around the corner or that if we leave our improv and our life will fall apart.
In some cases, if we have been at an improv institution for a little while and still haven’t reached the “top,” it may be best to stay a little longer. But in other instances, the best way to apply what you have learned from that teacher, school or theater is to leave.
That was my experience working with Del Close back in ’80s. I learned a lot from him, especially about doing honest monologues as opening for the Harold. In fact, I enjoyed that more than improvising scenes.
Del was a guru and I willingly drank the Kool-Aid and believed his type of improv was the only true form of improv. Eventually, I left and found The Annoyance Theater, which was quite a different style than Del was teaching, even though a fair amount of the improvisers there had studied with him.
Though I had done pretty well at iO and had made a house team there, at The Annoyance I reached a new level of creative and critical success by doing my one-person show, “I’m 27, I Still Live at Home and Sell Office Supplies,” that I would never have achieved had I stayed at the iO doing Harolds.
The show was influenced by Del and his work, and my director Gary Rudoren, who also had been a student of his, played a big part in that as well.
And then eventually I left the Annoyance Theater and years later started teaching at Second City before I left the Training Center. But that transition, too, helped me because I took what I had learned there and actually got better as a teacher, and in some cases, as a person. Once I stopped teaching in Second City’s institutional system, I didn't have to hide behind their name and reputation, which did not work well with my people-pleasing ways, and find my own path as a teacher.
I say this because recently, after 17 years, I left group therapy. Being in group was certainly hugely influential in my life, but after that much time, I felt I had learned everything I was going to learn there, and if I stayed, I knew I would stop growing.
And while I'm happy that I made the decision to leave, doing so has brought up those same feelings I had each time I left or was fired from a theater. But when I look back at each of these transitions, I realize that didn’t fall apart when I left. I actually got stronger, wiser and better looking. We all have to move on sometimes or we stagnate. And sometimes it's our decision to move on and sometimes it's not, but either way, every new transition means we are moving forward.
I did it. Last weekend I actually did a live improv show in front of a live audience.
It had been over two years since I had been on stage, thanks to Covid. But here I was at the Laughing Academy in Glenview improvising again with some people I had known for years and some people I had just met.
It was strange to be back. Nothing had changed but the entire world.
I was more excited than nervous. I was more calm, than anxious. But the fear of being in a large crowd still lingered, thanks Covid.
But still, I was grateful to be there, to be with people again.
For me, the pandemic gave me more appreciation for human contact. I had taken for granted meeting friends at Starbucks or going over to someone’s house to watch the Oscars. And I have missed being with people so much. That’s why I was looking forward to improvising again in the flesh.
Yes, I was timid at the start of the show — rusty, as we like to say. Both my excitement and my control issues came out, causing me to edit way too much.
In spite of my mistakes, it was completely joyful experience. It was one of those nights that the air felt light, like you couldn’t do anything wrong. And it all went by too fast, which is a sign of a great show.
The audience agreed. I heard we got a standing ovation, but I don’t really remember because I was in an adrenaline blackout when I walked off stage.
The big takeaway for me was that I didn't realize how much I missed improvising. Not just performing in the show, but every part of it — hearing the audience laugh, hanging out with my fellow improvisers before and after the show.
When you improvise with someone you connect with them on a deeper level, though we never speak about it. It must be how people feel when they serve in the army together or play a sports team. Except we connect though play, by taking risks and by being vulnerable.
We don't talk about this much either: Improvising, the art of getting up in front of people and making things up, is vulnerable. One of most non-improv people's biggest fears is talking in public, which is why most people have to write down what they’re going to say in front of a crowd. We as improvisers are way past that. People both admire us and think we are insane.
When you are still doing improv shows in your 50s, you’re not doing them to get fame or fortunes or to prove anything to anyone. You are doing them simply for the joy of it, something we all need more of in this unpredictable world.
And performing live again really gave me that overwhelming sense of joy like I used to get when I first started improvising almost 40 years ago, thanks Covid.
Improvisers inherently know that joy is in the now.
That’s where the laughs lie, and the audience reinforces that when we are on stage. It's something we train for and hope to achieve in every show, yet I still don't achieve it every time I improvise.
Staying in the moment can be hard, even for longtime improvisers like me. I cannot tell you how many times I been improvising and while I am doing scene and I am thinking about what I am going to have for dinner when the show is over.
As hard as it is to be in the moment on stage, it can be even harder in our lives. The best way to avoid the joy is to spend a lot of time thinking about the future or the past.
Our mind is muscle. It needs discipline, and you have a better chance of being able to be in the moment on stage if you practice it in your own life. It's the old cliche "art imitates life."
Students asks me all the time what they can do between classes to get better, and I think training yourself to be in the now is one of the best things you can focus on. Here are five things you can do in your own life to be more in the now.
If you are looking for a little inspiration in your comedy career, I have found three things — a book, a movie and a documentary — that really spoke to me recently, and if you don't mine, I'd love to recommend them to you.
Odenkirk talks about creating the iconic SNL sketch with Chris Farley where Farley played the motivational speaker, the hard work that it took to get the cult classic sketch show Mr. Show on the TV, and how he originally turned down Better Call Saul.
He is someone who seems to be objective about his life and his career. When talking about his years working at SNL, he is honest with us that he had a chip on his shoulder and a bad attitude. Through sharing his successes and many failures, he passes along lessons to us. Bob has always had the reputation of mentoring comedy groups and people in the business, and this book in a lot of ways is an extension of that work. For anyone who wants to have a career in comedy and show business, this is must read. I love saying must read, especially when it's true.