If you haven’t heard by now, last week, after 108 years, the Chicago Cubs finally won a World Series title. Pretty incredible, especially for me who has been a Cubs fan my whole life.
But if you have been reading this blog with any sort of regularity, you know that a celebration of any kind doesn’t come easy for me, and this one was no exception.
As I stood in the kitchen with my wife, Lauren, nervously listening to the radio as Cubs legendary broadcaster Pat Hughes made the last call of the World Series, I jumped up and down with joy. But in less than two minutes, I was already replaying the moves the Cubs’ manager Joe Maddon had made during the game. Moves that I did not understand. Moves that I thought were mistakes. What the fuck was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I be excited? They won, something they had not done since 1908.
That did not matter. My head took over. Why did he pull his starting pitcher so early? Why did he pull his middle reliever so early? Why did he put his closer in so early after the guy had pitched a ton of innings the night before?
It was as if I was ignoring the results. They won the World Fucking Series. The real question is why couldn’t I enjoy it?
The simple answer is this is what I do.
I do this in my life and certainly in my performing, especially if a show has gone well. Instead of feeling excited, or even joy, after a good scene or a good show, I would rather pick it apart, replacing excitement with my drug of choice: shame.
I did this again last Sunday night at Second City where John Hildreth and I were celebrating our five-year anniversary of our show, Jimmy and Johnnie. A pretty big accomplishment. So big that after the show we had a little party to celebrate.
But, you know me, I’m not good at celebrating and feeling joy. Instead, I need to find some shame so I can medicate those feelings. So, during the show I did a character that was not very PC by today’s improv standards. The young audience gasped a couple of times, and I got the hit of shame that I needed. Surprisingly, during the show, I was able to let it go as we moved on to the next scene, knowing I would have plenty of time to pulverize myself about it afterwards, which is just what I did. Despite the fact that it was a good show overall, I used this character choice to beat myself up by replaying it in my head for the next 48 hours.
I often have guests on Improv Nerd who say they don’t analyze or even remember what they did after they improvise a scene. I am not sure if that’s really true or if all of these guests are lying to me. If they actually don’t analyze their scenes after a show, I am impressed. I not only remember every moment, especially the bad ones, but I like to beat myself up about all the moves I think I should have made or not made.
And that is excatly what I did when the Cubs won the World Series. I went right into picking-it-apart mode so I wouldn’t have to feel the excitement or the joy of them winning. Instead I decided to bask in the shame, like a bath of cold, dirty water.
We think as improvisers it’s our duty to dissect every move we make after a show or class, because we think it will make us better. But sometimes it just makes us miserable. I am not saying don’t ever analyze your scenes; that would be unrealistic. Instead, just try to do less of it. Since I obviously I don't know how to do less of it, I would love your help. In the comments portion below, can you tell me how you celebrate your successes without dissecting them to death? Thanks.
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Kevin Allison is the creator and host of the hugely popular storytelling podcast RISK! He was also a member of the sketch comedy group The State on MTV in the '90s. We talked to Kevin about what he learned from working with such a large sketch group, how he eventually found his comedic voice, and practical tips on to how to craft a story to be on RISK!
Here’s something I see often in my improv classes: Two students will improvise an incredible scene, get tons of laughs, play real and grounded characters, and then when it’s over, they rush off stage and get back to their chairs as quickly as possible, as if they are in the witness protection program. The thought of basking in the glory of their success is too vulnerable.
I get it, we're complicated. As actors, we are dying to be seen, but at the same time, we are uncomfortable being seen, especially if someone is going to hand out kudos.
I know this has been very true for me. My whole life I wanted to get attention. I was funny, always making people laugh. But at the same time, I felt like I was a burden. As a kid, if went over to a friend’s house and they offered me something to eat or drink, I would lie and say I was fine. In high school, if I locked myself out of my parents’ house late at night, I would rather crawl through a window than ring the doorbell and wake them up. When I started taking improv classes, I never wanted my parents and non-improv friends to come to any of my shows because I felt like I was bothering them, because deep down I felt I was a bother. (God, I hope do not pass this on to my daughter).
My way of dealing with this was to become invisible. My senior year, I refused to be seen and did not get my picture taken for the yearbook. Instead, my name was listed at the back of the book as an invisible senior. It was as if I never existed. I wanted to be seen, I wanted to be noticed, but I was terrified.
So believe me, I get it when my students want to run off stage after kicking ass in a scene so they won’t have to hang around to get some positive feedback. If they’re like me, the message in their heads is “I don’t want to take up any more time from the teacher and the rest of the students,” or “I don’t want to be selfish,” or “I don’t want to be a stage hog.” All of these messages are really saying “I am a burden.”
So, if you are like me and think you are burden or a bother, I want to encourage you to practice not feeling like one. Take up a little more space in your improv classes. Take a risk and be the first person to get out there in exercises and scenes and see how it feels. Do the same in your rehearsals and shows. Yep, you are going feel uncomfortable, and that is the sign you are headed in the right direction. Let me know how it goes.
As you know, a little over three months ago, Lauren and I had our first child, a beautiful baby girl named Betsy Jane Carrane. Being a parent is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I am a glad I did not know how hard this would be or I wouldn't have done it. Lauren feels the same way.
Here are some of the things I have learned in the first three months of being a dad.
Are you looking to take your improv to the next level? Sign up for Jimmy's Art of Slow Comedy Level 2 class, starting Nov. 2 (you do not need to have taken Level 1 to sign up). The Early Bird Deadline ends Oct. 19!
Kicking a member out of your improv group is something nobody wants to do. Most groups avoid it because improvisers hate confrontation. But sometimes it has to happen, and if you do have to let someone go, remember what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. So here are some tips to help prevent you from having to kick a bad apple out of your improv group as well some tips for showing someone the door.
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Stacey Smith is the founder of the Chicago Musical Improv Festival, as well as an amazing improviser and teacher. Jimmy talk to her at this year's festival at iO Chicago about how the hard times starting out in improv in Chicago, what she loves about doing musical improv and how she's able to do so many projects.
Tonight is the 2016 Emmy Awards. It's a big night for the television industry, and it's also a big night for the improv community. When I was looking at the list of nominees the other day, I couldn't believe how many improvisers were nominated in all categories -- acting, writing, and directing. Here is our unofficial tabulation of improvisers who are nominated this year. If we've left anyone off of this list, please let us know.
And good luck to all of tonight's nominees!
What still excites me about improv after all these years? I get this question a lot. And the answer may surprise you. It is the teaching. I love teaching. I love teaching improv even more than doing shows or the podcast Improv Nerd.
And this will blow your mind coming from Mr. Self-Hatred and Self-Loather himself, I am great at it. In fact, I am a terrific improv teacher and I keep getting better. I have put more time and energy into becoming a better improv teacher than becoming a better performer, which is how I have become so incredible at it. (Now even I am getting uncomfortable). I think the fact that I can admit that I think I’m good at it is quite an accomplishment. Let's move on.
There are so many things I love about teaching improv, but one of the biggest ones is being able to create a sense of community for people. I love taking a group of strangers — it doesn’t matter if it’s a three-hour, one-day workshop in Omaha or a six-week class in Chicago — and creating a place where students feel safe taking risks, being vulnerable and making lots of mistakes. At the end, the students will say they feel "bonded" or "really close to one another." That is community. And that is the thing that brings me so much pride and joy as an improv teacher.
I cannot think of a better gift to give people than a sense of belonging. You cannot have group mind without it. You cannot build trust without it. Support does not exist without it. Having a sense of community is what attracted me to this crazy art form in the first place as lost teenager more than 30 years ago, and it’s why it’s so hard to leave. Community is the number one reason improvisers do improv in the first place and they are not even aware of it. Why else would you choose an art form that relies on other people?
The biggest compliment you can give me besides “You are the best improv teacher” is to tell me that you made friends in my classes and workshops and you stay in touch with them.
In the years since I started doing improv, I have seen it grow up from being a local thing that was unique to Chicago to a global thing that’s done across the world. But despite how widespread improv has become, the thing that’s as still true today as it was when I started out is that everyone is striving for that sense of acceptance and that feeling of belonging.
I know as read this, you might have been kicked off a Harold team or never made one or auditioned for shows and never got cast and you feel that you never became part of the community that you wanted. But the beautiful thing about the size of improv today is that people are creating their own communities. Smaller sub-communities. Musical improv is its own community, and inside that community are even more sub-communities.
Nothing makes me more proud than when my students create their own shows or start their own groups or find a theater that they call home. And I can’t think of anything better than if they start coaching and teaching and take what they have learned from me to bring even more people that sense of community around the world.
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TJ Miller, a hilarious stand-up and star of HBO's Silicon Valley, sits down with Jimmy at The Annoyance Theater in Chicago to talk about why physicality is important in comedy, how he developed his great work ethic and his unique approach to acting and auditioning.
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Bob Dassie is a legendary improviser and teacher. He performs with his wife, Stephanie Weir, in Weirdass, and has also been improvising with the group Dasariski for 17 years. We talk to him about his incredible work ethic, he philosophy on getting better and making the positive choice in a scene.