The Chicago improv community has lost another great one, this time to fucking cancer. Judy Fabjance was a beloved improv teacher at The Second City Training Center, a member of the ground-breaking group Gayco, and a mother to Daphne and wife to Kelly. She was only 41.

She started taking improv classes at Second City Northwest, which used to be located in the far away suburb of Rolling Meadows. As a teenager, she worked as a host, back when Second City was still operated like a family-run business. Eventually Judy would come "downtown," as we liked to say in those days, and eventually began to teach and perform.

She was an incredible improv teacher. I worked with Judy when I taught at the Training Center, which means I would pass her in the hall or talk to her between classes in the teacher’s lounge. To be honest, unless you co-taught with someone or observed their class you didn't really know how good of a teacher they were. But you could always tell from their reputation and from what the other students would say about them, and when students would say they had Judy as a teacher, they would beam -- that's how you could tell she was good.

She was also an improv saint. She did things that few improv teachers are good at or have the patience to do, and that’s work with the beginners and students with special needs.

When I heard a couple of weeks ago that Judy was going into hospice after her long, eight-year battle with brain cancer, I was sad. I was also angry and confused. What the fuck, God? Can't you give her a break?

Every time I would see on Facebook she was headed back to the hospital for another treatment, I would get sick to my stomach. I would get pissed off at God. She was tough, she was brave, she endured pain for ten life times, but she wasn’t angry at God. She left that to me, and in the end, I was not that happy with the results.

I was lucky enough to have the chance to interview Judy for my podcast, Improv Nerd, twice: once by herself, which we lost due to technically difficulties and I am still barely over it, and another time a couple of years ago with her wife Kelly at Sketchfest. They were doing a show called “Tales of a Stage 4 Cancer” about her cancer from both the caregiver’s and patient’s point of view. She was a bit weaker than the first time I had interviewed her, and she explained that she had to conserve her energy during performances. She was kind and sweet, open and honest, as was her wife and performing partner, Kelly. Her family was there and they talked candidly about the struggles cancer brings to the whole family. It was an emotional topic, and in the end there was not a dry eye in the house.

I remember thinking two things after the interview. First, Kelly had recently married Judy, knowing what she was getting into. Some would say that is crazy, others would say it is love. Second, I thought about the generosity of the improv community the community I was part of -- from people like Stephen Colbert to the people at Second City to everyone who continues to support the gofundme campaign to help Kelly and Daphne.

Sometimes in the improv community, it can seem like becoming famous is the only priority. Judy was not famous, yet she was a star. She made an impact in the classroom, on stage, and in life. She showed us how to deal with adversity with courage and grace. She was revered at Second City. The woman was loved.

I think some of us in comedy (mostly me) think applause and success equals love, but that kind is not real. What Judy had from her students, her family, her wife, her daughter, Second City and the improv community was love. Love is lasting. Love is the legacy we are all after, we just don’t know it. You had that, Judy, and you will be missed.

I really should not write a blog this week. I am fried and burnt out, and the best thing to do in this situation is just re-run an old blog. But I am not built that way. I am from the school of “push through the pain until something breaks,” and I rarely take my own advice. I save it for you. I am selfless that way.

Improv is an art and a science. I am sure you understand the art part, but the science part is a bit trickier. Basically, the improv scientific theorem works like this: If you take care of yourself in your everyday life, you will make better art. For improvisers, this means when you take care of yourself you’ll make better choices, take more risks, and have increased fun and a general, overall good feeling about your work.

Most improvisers work a day job, so they’re either performing, in class or at rehearsals at night. They are doing this six to seven nights a week. So with that plus the daily maintenance of taking a shower, eating, sleeping, stocking up on frozen pizzas and obsessing about improv, they don’t have much time left over to do things to recharge charge their creative batteries. They just keep pushing until one morning they get up and are so exhausted they can't get out of bed.

Another show, another class, or another rehearsal is not the cure. The only thing that will cure their burnout is rest – good, old fashioned REST. That is the improviser's secret weapon: REST. But nobody wants to talk about it, because improvisers are too busy today being over committed.

Plus, most improvisers (and the guy writing this blog) don't know how to physically do rest. Instead, they push though until they get some sort of sign, and unfortunately, some never even figure out that self-care is the answer.

As most of you know, Lauren gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Betsy, a little over six weeks ago. That little bundle of joy has wrecked my sleep. If you think I was complaining about being tired before she was born, I am now at a whole new level. On top of it, last weekend I flew down to Miami and taught two workshops and did an Improv Nerd live show at The Villain Theater. When I flew back on Sunday, my flight was delayed for four hours. Then I had to get up the next morning and teach a workshop at a college here in Chicago, schlep down to group therapy in the afternoon, followed by a visit from my mom that night. By Tuesday I was beyond exhausted.

Unfortunately, on Tuesday, I had already scheduled an interview for Improv Nerd with a guest I have been trying to get for some time -- Marty DeRosa. Marty is a great comedian and podcaster. I love his comedy and honesty, and I was looking forward to interviewing him.

Since it was clear to Lauren I was running on fumes, she suggested that I reschedule with Marty. I told her I could handle it, but the truth was I was afraid I would lose the guest, and I thought rescheduling would seem unprofessional. I found myself in a dangerous place to make a good decision. I was  fatigued and filled with fear.

Tuesday morning came and Lauren and I scrambled to get the questions together for the interview. I felt tired and rushed.

Marty is great person to interview and a total pro. He came to my house and we recorded on my laptop computer. He was brilliant and honest, everything I expected from him. Then my computer died as we were about to wrap up the interview. Over an hour of this great interview lost forever. Why did this happen? Because I ran out of power, because I didn’t have the computer plugged into the wall. So much for looking professional. This was an amateur mistake and totally my fault. I was pissed at myself and embarrassed.

I said to Marty, “What is the universe trying to tell me?”

Marty did not have an answer because it wasn't his question to answer, it was mine. And I clearly didn’t know then what the universe was trying to say.

It wasn’t until after Marty was kind enough to re-record the episode and he left my house that I got the sign the universe was trying to show me.  It was simple; it was colored red and had six sides and said STOP. Slow the fuck down. Me who teaches something called the Art of Slow comedy and who says at the end of every episode of Improv Nerd, “Walk don't run,” was clearly full of shit.

Let's be honest: The real reason the computer  died was because I was exhausted and I was not willing to slow down and rest. But the real question is: How many more times am I going to write about this before I get it myself?

What is your secret weapon when you feel fried or burnt out? Tell us in the comments below.
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Is improv art? Apparently not in the state of Texas, according to the Texas State Commission on the Arts. When the 15-year old non-profit, volunteer-based Out of Bounds Comedy Festival in Austin recently went to apply for some funding, they were told flat out by the commission that "improv is not art," and therefore OOB "was not an arts organization." And so guess what? No funding.

Really? Improv is not an art? Since when? If you haven’t heard of it, Out of Bounds is one of the premier improv and comedy festivals in the country. Over the years, they have consistently brought some of the biggest names in comedy – including sketch, stand-up and improv -- to Austin for the festival. (Full disclosure: I was one of those big names they brought to the festival a couple of years back).

And this festival has been doing this before Austin was the cool, hipster, skinny-jeans-wearing capital of the world. Not to mention in those 15 years, Austin has become one of the hottest cities in the country for improv. They have five improv theaters that all do a good job of getting along with each other, which has turned Austin into a bit of an improv destination. All of this seems to be lost on the Texas State Commission on the Arts. If only they would open their eyes and see that improv has become just as much of Austin's culture as live music, barbecue and food trucks.

So what makes improv an art form? I know that 95 percent of the people reading this blog probably don't need me convincing them that improv is an art form, so please indulge me here. But for those who do need convincing, here’s why I think improv is art.

First and foremost, improv is theater, and theater is art. That should be the end to the argument right there and the start of the state of Texas writing a big ol’ check made out to OOB.

Unfortunately, some people think of improv as simply a type of comedy, and comedy is something that seems to still be unrecognized as an actual art form. We see it during the Academy Awards every year: A comedy may get nominated for something, but we all know that it never has a chance to actually win anything. Why? Because comedy never wins. Even though people are always saying things like comedy is much harder to do than drama, it doesn't matter. Comedy doesn’t get any respect as an art.

The weird thing is comedy is more popular than ever in TV and films, but on some level, it’s still taken for granted. People think it’s easy to be funny. The general public doesn’t see it as a skill or a craft, and by all means, not an art. They admire people like Louis C.K., Chris Rock, Stephen Colbert, Samantha Bee and Maria Bamford, but they would consider them comedians, not artists.

Those of us who are in the comedy world realize that they’re both. The problem is they are so skilled that they make comedy look easy, and worse, most of the time they are having fun doing it. And of course, people assume that if you’re having fun, you can’t be making art because art must be serious and hopefully pretentious. By all means, make us think, not laugh.

In fact, comedy usually makes fun of the people who take themselves too seriously, and those are usually the people who work for the state government who are in charge of funding.

But regardless of what the great state of Texas thinks, I know that improv is art. I know what some people say about improvisers: All we are doing up there on stage is screwing around. Making thing up. Having fun. All true, but do you know how many years it took to learn that skill? I am sorry we make it look so easy that you don't realize we have trained for years to develop this craft. We know you can't see that, we don't want you to see that. Just like when you go to a play, we don't want you to see we have memorized all the lines.

Saying "improv is not an art," is an insult to all the improv artists in Texas. If you'd like to fight this, share this open letter written by the Out of Bounds Comedy Festival, and use the hashtags #improvisart and #comedyisart.

And I really hope that someone forwards this blog to someone who works for the Texas Commission on the Arts who has a sense of humor.

Why do you think improv is an art? Tell us in the comments below.

Take your improv up a notch this fall! Sign up for Jimmy Carrane's Art of Slow Comedy Level 1 class. Only $259 if you register by Sept. 1. Sign up today!

I recently had a chance to see Mike Birbligia's latest independent film, Don't Think Twice, which was released in limited theaters on July 22. It's the story of a popular New York improv group and what happens when one of the members gets a big break and gets hired by a Saturday Night Live-type of sketch show called Weekend Live.

The film stars improv vets Keegan-Michael Key, Tami Sagher and Chris Gethard, along with actors Gillian Jacobs, Kate Micucci and Birbiglia, and if you’re an improviser at any stage in your career, I guarantee that you’re going to love this honest, funny and at times painful look at what happens inside an improv group when success and fame come into the picture. (Check out my interview with Birbiglia on Improv Nerd).

Birbiglia is the writer and director, and even though he is more known as a stand-up, he is able to take the audience into the improv sub-culture and show very clearly how we improvisers think and act.

For me, this movie was personal -- so personal that a couple of times I found myself crying, something I reserve only for sports movies.

I especially loved Birbiglia’s character, Miles. He's an improviser in the group, as well as an improv teacher. He had auditioned for Weekend Live several years before, and now he’s in his 30s and he’s still holding onto the dream of someday getting on the show. Miles is bitter, entitled, jealous and a comedy snob. You get the sense he feels passed over or that his talent has not been recognized, and all of his feelings start to come out when the casting people for Weekend Live come to one of their improv shows looking for new talent.

As painful as this is to admit, I could really relate to the Miles character, not only because he's an improviser and an improv teacher, but also because of his personality of a bitter-jealous-entitled-comedy snob who feels he was passed over. I have been that character for many years, and let me tell you, something you don't want to face in your 30s, 40s, or ever, really, is that maybe you’re not as good as you really thought and that your friends have more talent, confidence and drive than you do to get to the next level. I could relate, too, to how tightly he was trying to hold on to his so-called status in the improv community. No wonder I cried.

The other thing I could relate to is one of my favorite themes in life and that is jealousy -- what happens when someone gets something you want. It doesn't even matter if you want it or not, you are still jealous. What this movie does so beautifully is when one member does get hired, the jealousy of the other members is unspoken or it comes out in a sideways dig about the show or the performance of the member who is now on Weekend Live. Before I was in therapy that is actually how I handled jealousy. I didn’t speak about it, I denied it to myself and others, and then I’d talk trash about people who were getting what I wanted. If you think I’m a mess today, you should have seen me in my 20s and 30s. I was really fucked up.

And finally, the part I think that really made me tear up the most was when one of the members of the group gets a chance to audition for Weekend Live and ends up sabotaging themselves. I know I have written about this before, but I had an audition for Saturday Night Live back in the ’90s. They were going to fly me out to New York, but that weekend, with absolutely no advice or input, I decided I was not going to do it. I marched in to my agent’s basement office that morning, a couple of hours before I was supposed to be boarding the plane, and said “I don't want to do sketch.” At the time, Dave Koechner was my roommate, and he got hired that season. To say that that was painful is an understatement.

Ultimately, my takeaway from the movie is something that has taken me decades to learn: That in improv, we are trying to recreate a family, to form a community, and to have a sense of belonging. And when all is said and done, if you becomes famous or not, or your friends become famous or not, it is the friendships that we make in improv that really matter.

Don’t Think Twice is playing this weekend at The Music Box in Chicago, as well as at the Landmark Cinema in Los Angeles, and the Elinor Bunin Monroe Film Center and the Bam Rose Cinemas in New York City. Coming to additional cities in August. For more information, check out www.facebook.com/DontThinkTwiceMovie/

I would like you to meet our daughter, Betsy Jane Carrane. She was born Saturday, July 2 at 2:51 p.m. CST in Evanston, a northern suburb outside of Chicago. She came out weighing 7 lbs. 10 oz., measuring 20 inches long and looking like an little angry old man. I was worried. Nobody wants an ugly baby, especially an ugly father. I wish someone would have told me to wait 48 hours until you judge her looks, because then you’ll have the most beautiful baby in the whole wide world. Which we do. As you can see she has a full of head of hair, which I take no responsibility for.

It has now been almost three weeks that I have been a father, and I have to say so far I have exceeded even my own expectations, and I’m actually enjoying it. (Please keep that between us.) Though I seemed to have reached a new level of "always being tired." Before Betsy was born I complained that I “was always tired," but this is the real thing – sleep-deprivation bordering on paranoia. And there are times when she is crying uncontrollably that I’ve thought, "What have I done? I am a first-time father at 52. Am I nuts?"

And yes, at the end of the night when both Lauren and I are so exhausted from the day, we lie in bed and come up with a list of names of people we could give her to. But those thoughts are fleeting. As I sing her to sleep with a lullaby version of Sinatra’s classic "One for My Baby," I know I will love her forever.

And she is ours; we have created her together. It was pure collaboration between the mother, the father and the fertility doctors. It’s clear we did not do this alone.

She is joy.

She is love.

She is one hell of a little teacher.

In the short time we’ve had her in our possession, this way-too-old first-time dad has already learned some pretty cool stuff. Like the smell of baby poo actually has a buttery flavor to it, not that I’ve tasted it, though I’ve come close while changing a messy diaper. And that when people say they are going bring dinner over, expect to get rotisserie chicken (we have gotten four so far, and if you e-mail me I can tell you which supermarket makes my favorite).

And I’ve learned that just like in improv, when it comes to being a parent, there are no mistakes.

Other fathers told me before we had Betsy that you can read all the books, but once you have the baby your instincts will kick in. They were right, and so will your character flaws. One of my biggest character flaws, next to being judgmental, which I hope Betsy does not get from me, is perfectionism, and that’s definitely shown up since I’ve become a dad.

Last week I thought I screwed up. I thought I held her wrong or did something that I thought was not right and immediately I began beating myself up and thought that’s it, it’s over, let’s give her away to someone on the list. After I got over myself, I realized that this is improv working in my life. When I am on stage improvising and I’m in my head and I think I made a mistake, I can adjust and continue with the scene. I don't have the option to quit right then while I am on stage because the audience and the other players on stage depend on me. Betsy is now all of them, and as her father, she depends on me. Yes, I will make mistakes along the way, because I am not a perfect improviser, father or person. And I am glad, because I cannot live up to those expectations.

The best advice a father/improviser gave me was this: “Know you’re going to screw them up." Though he might have been half-kidding, and I certainly didn't want to hear this, I felt liberated that I don’t have to do this perfectly.

Betsy is already teaching me the same lesson. And as long as I am present and parenting her with love, she and her way-too-old dad will be just fine.

 

Oh, the argument scene. Most of us do them. I know I do, and sometimes they work, but most of the time they don't. I wish I could say that prevents me from doing them, but even after all these years of improvising, when I get scared, it’s my go to type of improv scene. I know they’re not fun for the audience to watch, but I keep doing them. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different same results, but if you read this blog, you already know I am pretty insane.

I have found with my students and myself that doing improv scenes that devolve into arguments is a really easy habit to get into and one that can be even harder to get out of.

It's something I saw in my last Art of Slow Comedy improv class. With a couple of weeks to go before the students’ big performance, I started to see a lot more arguing scenes coming up in class. One night at the end of the class, one of my brilliant students pointed it out to me, thank God, and over the next two weeks, we worked on ways to avoid this trap.

When it came time for their final performance, this very dedicated group of improvisers ended up doing one of the most inspired student shows I’ve seen. They rose to occasion by taking risks, having fun, and making moves and edits that I have only seen advanced improvisers make. To say I was proud it understatement. I had a performance high the next day from their show.

So I wanted to share some things that you can do to avoid having every one of your improv scenes turn into an angry argument:

  1. Play vulnerable
    When someone comes out and starts with a problem or wants to fight with you in an improv scene, our natural reaction as improvisers is to get angry and argue back. But instead of being angry, try to play another emotion. Go vulnerable and play someone who is scared, sad, or filled with shame and guilt instead. For example, if someone starts a scene by blaming you for something, make it your fault and take full responsibility in the situation and heighten the stakes for screwing up.Example:
    Player A: I can’t believe you’re late again for work, Bill.
    Player B: I know, I know. I missed the big client meeting this morning.
    Player A: Not good, Bill. We did not have your Power Point presentation in there.
    Player B: I hadn't even started it. I think I am still drunk from last night. I’ve got to get some coffee.
  2. Mirror Your Partner
    This is so easy, you’ll feel like you’re cheating. So get over your judgement and do it! If your partner enters the scene and he is jumping up and down because he’s so excited, do the exact same thing -- mirror him. This automatically puts you in agreement. Your entire being is agreeing with your partner, and it makes it almost impossible to get in argument.
  3. Make Positive Choices
    When my class gets in an angry, argumentative rut, I have them do a series of unrelated scenes with the focus on making positive choices regardless of the situation. I usually have one person initiate a heavy or argumentative invitation.Example:
    Player A: Your father died.
    Player B: Frank, I am glad you are the first person to tell me. You’ve been like an uncle to me.
    Player A: It was a car accident it happen a couple hours ago.
    Player B: He loved that old Jaguar. I am so glad he went out that way. Was there much damage to the car? He mentioned he was leaving it me.
  1. Substitute Blame for Agreement
    If you do find yourself in an accusatory, angry scene, then agree your way through it. When we hear something strong at the top of the scene in an angry tone like, “I hate you," we usually want to get defensive and our tendency is to blame the other character in the scene. But responding with "I hate you, too" will not help you get any mileage out of the scene. Instead, think of specific details about why the other character may hate you. What did my character do to the other person?So if someone starts a scene accusing you of something, such as "You stole my boyfriend" or "You didn't pay the rent this month," use this as an opportunity for a confession. Take a couple of seconds and then say, “I stole your boyfriend because I wanted your attention,” or “I didn't pay the rent because I am addicted to Sudafed.”Example:
    Player A: I hate you!
    Player B: I can be a pretty bad Mom, Andy.
    Player A: You won't let me go and play and sleep over at Kevin's.
    Player B: That's because Mommy needs you. She’s lonely after Daddy left us for that much younger, skinny bitch.

Do you have any tips for avoiding argument improv scenes? Let us know below!

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Last week I interviewed Chicago comedian Kelsie Huff for an episode of Improv Nerd, who runs a very popular stand-up class for women called Fem Com. In the interview, Kelsie talked about how important it is to create an environment in class where women feel supported and nurtured and don't have to apologize for what they say.

I love Kelsie’s philosophy, and I think feeling supported is as important in an improv class as it is in a stand-up class. Until our conversation, it’s something I took for granted: You cannot expect people to take risks unless they feel supported. Without that support in the room, we really cannot do they work we need to do.

There is a saying that I believe they use in a lot of 12-step programs that goes: “We are going to love you until your love yourself." That applies to improv.

If you are like most of us who come into improv, when we first come in, there is part of us that is broken. We have been criticized far more in life than we’ve been complimented. We are very fragile, we just don't know to what degree. We have been so beaten up and beaten down, and all we want is to learn how to express our tiny little voice in the big bad world. So we take an improv class even though we are terrified, assuming that the teachers will tell us what we’re doing wrong and beat us down like our family did growing up.

Instead, we experience just the opposite. We experience a culture of acceptance and support and are told that there are no mistakes, which is can be a mind fuck for most people. Really? No mistakes? How can that be?

That’s why improv can be such an aphrodisiac. Of course, as we get stronger and more experienced, we can handle more competitive improv programs and we do not need the hand-holding of our first classes, but in the beginning, feeling supported is absolutely essential.

When I teach my level one improv class for The Art of Slow Comedy, I bust my ass to make sure the students start to trust me, the class and the process, and to understand that this is a safe place to express themselves (though this has become a little more trickier over the years).

In my first level, I make sure to spend a lot of time on play. I use a lot of warm-up games, and once I hear them laughing, I know that they’re starting to bond and their defenses are coming down. Throughout the term, I use various improv games and exercises to encourage them to create free-flowing dialogue and respond to their partner. I want to reinforce that there is no pressure to be funny, and I tread lightly on the so-called improv rules so people don’t get in their heads.

When all of these things are working, the class suspends their judgments and insecurities for two hours and starts to truly collaborate. As cynical as I am, what we are creating in class is an environment of unconditional love. And that is truly a beautiful thing.

Sometimes we think the goal in an improv scene is for both players to gets laughs — huge laughs. Wouldn't it be great if that happened all the time? Unfortunately, it doesn't. The reality is sometimes one improviser will come out with an incredibly strong character or point of view and the best thing for the other improvisers in that scene is to support them by playing the straight man/woman.

I know, I know, when we do this we don't feel we get much credit, and we certainly don't think we get the recognition from the audience we deserve. But trust me on this: Not only is being a good supportive player one of the most powerful tools you can have in your improv tool box, it’s also the most generous thing you can do in improv. This is the biggest and best gift you could give your partner. Period.

I am not saying this is easy, since we measure our success on how many laughs we get. And it’s especially hard when we are first starting out and feel we have something to prove. But, if you can start doing this, you will take your improv scenes to a new level. I am sorry to say, there some improvisers who never understand the importance of playing a good straight man, and that is sad because there’s no better feeling than when we can set someone else up to get the laughs.

Over the years, I have enjoyed playing the supporting character in improv scenes a lot, maybe too much, because I’ve found it’s actually easier to do than trying to be the funny one. There is a real freedom in not worrying so much about getting the laughs.

But how can someone actually do this well? I think being a good supportive player means feeding your scene partner with specifics or setting them up to get laughs by heightening the game in the scene or the character. Since they have the hot hand, keep passing the ball so they can keep scoring.

I reached out to some other improv teachers I admire to get their advice on how to play a good supporting character in an improv scene. Here’s what they said:

Joe Bill, improv teacher at iO Chicago:
If you want to be a good supporting player, you have to LISTEN to your partner (they probably have the hot hand because they are verbalizing) and be in response — verbally, physically and emotionally. A metaphor is if they've got the hot hand, then they are the surfer. You do everything you can to sustain and amplify the wave that they're riding. Sometimes that can also mean being quiet and giving them space.

One danger for younger improvisers is that they can become detached spectators and fall out of character or the scene. Another is that they get caught up in the adrenaline and cannibalize the wave that their scene partner is riding because they want to be the surfer too. You need to stay engaged and balance giving space to the surfer with feeding the wave that they are surfing (the context or game of the moment).

Paul Vaillancourt, improv teacher in Los Angeles and author of The Triangle of the Scene:
I'm a big believer in each person having a game in the scene (so I don't really think that anyone should be JUST neutral or JUST the straight person, as it cuts the possibilities for the scene in half), so once I know my partner’s game, I'm going to help them play their game/feed their game from my character's point of view. Three ways I think about that are HAVE/SAY/DO. What could I have, say or do that would feed their game (and, if possible, show my game too)? The bottom line is (as in any improv scene), have fun and make our partner look good. (For more on Paul's advice, check out his video tip of the week.)

Ed Furman, alumni of the Second City Mainstage:
If you are in a long form revue, pick one scene where at the top you don't go for the laugh, but try to give the laugh.  Make your main motive to keep the audience engaged, then try to set up your partner.  Playing a high status character that's easily offended or knocked down a peg is a good start.

Jill Bernard, Education Director at Huge Theater in Minneapolis:
Here’s an analogy that highlights that I was raised in the Chicago area in the ’80s: Everybody wants to be the Michael Jordan, nobody wants to be the Scottie Pippen, but we need the Scotty Pippen. A quick exercise to practice reveling in giving the alley-oop rather than the slam dunk is one I just call "Two Person/One Person Silent." It's a two-person scene. One player is silent. The speaking player sets up a scene where naturally the non-speaking player would not talk. Not like the dentist’s office not-talking, more like a lawyer advising his client or a parent talking to a kid who came home late. The exercise shows that being the non-speaking, non-central character is not a meaningless part of the scene, but actually adds focus, believability and interest.

Will Hines, former head of the training center at UCB New York and author of How to Be the Greatest Improviser on Earth:
The straight man is the brakes, but the unusual thing is you’re doing all the pedaling. Braking is good to stay in control, but don't brake so hard that you stop the scene. Just help pay attention to what's weird so we notice it, but don't stop it.

Adal Rifai, improv teacher at iO Chicago:
In terms of support I have a few things I tell students. The big one is the only reason we DON'T support is laziness, fear or judgement, and all three are completely unacceptable. I also believe that support in group play comes down to “recognition paired with willingness.” Many players possess one of these traits, but you'll notice the best improvisers possess and deploy both. It's not enough to recognize what someone is going for if you don't join in, and the same goes for being willing/eager to dogpile but not picking up on when a move is made. I'm usually spouting off a ton of analogies in class, and a personal favorite of mine is, “Group play is like Christmas lights; if one bulb is out, none of us shine. Make sure you're not the burnt out bulb.”
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As you know, Lauren and I are about to have a baby. It’s due on June 30, and it will be our first. Even though Lauren is much younger, I am 52 years old, so you may be saying to yourself what we’ve been saying for the last nine months: "What are we doing?!"

The other night we had a scare, right before we going to turn the lights out and go to bed. Lauren thought she was going into labor. I was like, "No! You can't be having the baby now. It’s supposed to come on June 30!"

I felt I wasn’t ready. I still had to clean the garage and put a shelf in the laundry room. My wife explained to her blockhead husband that "at this point, the baby can come at any time, if the garage is clean or not."

This response on my part is such a pattern in my life: When I am scared, I want to control the outcome. But I realized I have another pattern, too: Whenever an opportunity presents itself, I always tell myself I’m not ready.

I have been doing this my whole career. I have been cast in major TV shows and featured films, and in some cases had to audition three times to get the part, and on then on the day of shoot, I really believe I am still not ready. Even though the director, producer, the casting director and my agent had all said I was ready, my head would say something different. I would think, “If only I had taken one more on-camera class or had gone through a formal acting program, I would be ready."

I have turned down auditions or interviews for potential paying jobs because I was felt I was not ready.

But today, I’m finally realizing that I don't think you ever know if you are ready for something or not unless you do the thing that you don't think you are ready for.

Just a couple months ago a real estate broker contacted me and asked if I would coach him on his sales presentation. The first thing I thought was I had never done that sort of thing before, and even though I have done a ton of corporate improv trainings and have worked with actors individually, I was convinced I was not ready. So, after shutting up those voices in my head, I said rather timidly, "Yes, I can help you."

A week later, I helped him. And it turns out that all of the improv concepts that I use in my classes and workshops and all of my experience of working with actors individually over of the years applied. I was ready, I just didn’t know I was ready.

Two weeks later, another real estate broker called. He had been referred by the first guy, and even though the voice in my head was still saying, "I’m not ready," it was softer. “Yes, I can help you,” I said more confidently. A week later, I was helping him, too.

In terms of having a baby, the advice I get from my friends who are parents is that you can read all the baby books in the world, but just know when you daughter comes out, you will know what to do. Your instincts will kick in.

Usually, I want to do everything perfectly, so unless I feel 100 percent prepared, which we have established is impossible for me, I will keep putting off doing new things.

The beautiful lesson I have learned about having a baby is that she doesn’t care how hard I am trying to put things off. She is still coming. It doesn’t matter how hard I want to control things. This is the start of not feeling ready and doing it anyways — from changing a diaper, to helping with her math, to taking her to college (I will be 70 by the time this happens). So, that little baby has already taught me so much and she is not even here yet.

Have you ever thought you weren’t ready for something and did it anyway? I’d love to hear about it in the comments below.

I first met Will Hines when he contacted me after an episode of Improv Nerd that he particularly liked. I was floored. I had been aware of his reputation as a teacher and improviser at The UCB in New York, and of course of his terrific blog Improv Nonsense. Whenever one of my peers likes my work, I am both a little surprised and very honored.

At the time, Will was the Artist Director at UCB in New York, a job he had for a very long time before moving to Los Angles. We’ve kept in touch over the years and we finally we got to meet in person in Boise, ID, at the Idaho Laugh Festival. Will is part of the second generation of UCB people, behind the original UCB four, and his contemporaries include people like Billy Merrit, Chris Gethard, Michael Delaney and more, whose knowledge about the history of the place is as fascinating to me as Besser’s, Roberts’, Poehler’s and Walsh’s.

Will has a great mix as a teacher and performer. He's a pure technician of the game-style of play that UCB is famous for, and he comes from a very thoughtful and caring approach to this art form, which shows in his work on stage, in the classroom, in his blog and now in his latest improv book, How to be the Greatest Improviser on Earth.

Will says the purpose of the book is “to help people who are new to improv learn to play like experts." The book will be released next week, and anticipation of that, he was kind enough to share with us an excerpt. Here it is. Enjoy!

Become The Most Riveting Person On The Stage

You will know that you are truly being present when this happens: You become the most riveting person on stage.

They say you can’t teach charisma. But you can, and I just taught it to you.

Be fully present, and the audience will watch you like a hawk.

It doesn’t matter how good an actor you are. Or how “naturally charismatic” you are. If you are honestly communicating how the current moment feels, in an authentic way—no matter how clumsily or awkwardly—the audience will pay attention to you. People will magically give you space. Yes. It happens.

I saw a show a million years ago with a nervous, bulldogging man and a quiet, confident woman. He started the scene as a husband on a fishing trip with his wife. He was complaining about the weather and demanding a beer and asking her why she picked this day to go fishing, all the while not giving her time to answer. She had time only to peep things like no and yes and “Boy, it sure is rainy!”

In his defense, the guy was more nervous than actually bullying, but the effect was that his scene partner couldn’t get a word out.

But she was so much more confident as an actor! She did everything physically. Her eyebrows popped up when he revealed that the weather was bad. She looked a bit sad when he said the fish weren’t gonna bite. When he asked for a beer, she leaned over into a cooler and plucked a beer up in sharp, funny movements. I remember she clutched the can just at the top with her fingertips, letting the imaginary can dangle as if it were a gross thing she didn’t want to touch. And when she handed it over to him, and he absent-mindedly took it as he rambled, she gave a quick nod of satisfaction to herself, and at that the audience laughed.

She was in the scene. She was a specific character. She was cool and calm and confident and specific. She was having fun. She was funnier.

And all the while he was talking, we were just watching her.

That woman? MERYL STREEP. No, I’m kidding. I don’t know who she was. But I remember thinking that’s the way to play with a stage hog: You ride the wave in front of you, instead of looking ahead for a different one.
How to be the Greatest Improviser on Earth
by Will Hines

224 pages, $15
Available at http://www.improvnonsense.com/

 

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