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Last weekend I went out of town to teach a couple of Slow Improv workshops at the 2 Day Comedy Festival in a little town in New England called Kittery, ME.
I had not flown to teach at an improv festival in almost 10 years.
I used to do it all the time before my daughter was born, and I had forgotten how much fun it is.
The improvisers came from all over New England, and they were all so excited to be there. I can get so high off their enthusiasm that it usually takes me a couple of days to come down from it.
One of the most satisfying parts of the trip was seeing how good these improvisers were and how the training in the rural parts of the country keeps getting better. I was impressed they were playing at a level that used to be only reserved for the larger improv cities. This was not always the case. When I traveled to improv festivals and training centers on a more frequent basis 10 to 20 years ago, you never knew what you were going to get.
Another special part of the trip was the showcase on the final night of the festival. There were several improv groups, and for the final show, they did an Armando where I got to be the monologist. An Armando is a long form of series of improvised scenes based on a monologue that is given at the top of the show. I was in the original cast of the Armando at iO Chicago, back in the ’90s. It was named after a real person, Armando Diaz, who is now a brilliant teacher at The Magnet Theater in New York. Armando would start the show with an honest monologue, and the cast would improvise scenes based on what came out of his mouth that week.
When I was asked to join the original cast of The Armando, I had taken a couple of years off improvising, and I was insecure and frankly, terrified, to be playing with some of the best improvisers in Chicago at the time, and I felt out of my league.
I was rusty and did not have much confidence. If it wasn't for a couple of my friends encouraging me to stay, I would have quit. I am not kidding. I would say the first year, I played a nervous, low status character every week, because that was how I was really feeling.
A lot has changed since then, thank God. You wouldn't have liked me 30 years ago. I didn't like me 30 years ago. I am in a better place in my career and personal life. I have a family that loves me, I have friends that love me, and on occasion I love me. And performing the monologue that night, I had a deep sense of gratitude for Armando.
Gratitude for the fact that people are still doing this improv form and I am still doing it 30 years later in a small town in Maine. That I have gotten so good at teaching that people want to fly me out to learn from me. That I love what I do.
It helped that the show was really funny, including the monologuist. The cast did a great job of going deeper with my monologues, improvising my insecurities and vulnerabilities in their scene work.
It was a great weekend.
On Tuesday I turned 62. (If you didn't have a chance to wish me happy birthday, you can do it the comments below.)
When you become my age, it’s very popular to get together with your friends and complain about your health. You talk about your cholesterol levels and statins and how it sucks to get old. Old friends get sick and die. That is why at my age, it is easier to look back than look forward, because the future is scary.
And as I look back, I realize that I have been teaching improv for over 33 years — more than half of my life at this point. Teaching improv is like raising a child: One day you wake up and realize that your kid is in the fourth grade, and you wonder how did the time go so fast?
Improv has changed a lot since I started, and thank God, I have changed with it — sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. When you resist change, you resist being relevant.
As I have gotten older, I learned how to make adjustments physically when I teach. I have to conserve my energy more before classes now, and sometimes I struggle to find the words that used to come so easily. But with age comes patience, wisdom, and kindness. This makes up for the natural aging process and makes me a great teacher.
But the biggest thing I have lost with age is this need to constantly prove that I am worthy —something I wish I had in my 30 and 40s, but that only comes with years of experience and a little therapy.
I suppose I could start thinking about retirement, but I love what I’m doing too much to want to quit.
The thing I still love about teaching is you are never done learning. When you think you have all the answers, you don't, and that means you are stuck.
I recently watched the Lorne Michaels documentary. Lorne Michaels is 80 years old and has been producing Saturday Night Live for 45 of the show's 50-year-run. Someone like him could be stuck in the past, but what people said is that Lorne is always focused on the next show, thinking about things like who is going to be the musical guest in two weeks. He is in the present; that’s probably why he can still do it at his age. But it’s more than that. Just like me, he’s not just doing the job because he can, but because he gets to be around these amazingly creative people working together to create something special. I get to do this every time I teach. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
In December my friend and fellow improviser Pat Finn died of cancer.
Most people knew him as Finner. Some people called Finnstone, but I am not sure if Pat made that nickname up for himself, and I could not verify it before the publishing of this blog.
I cannot explain how this happens, but sometimes the people you improvise with become like brothers, and Pat truly became like a brother for me. And I’m not the only one who feels this way about Pat.
I had actually known Pat nearly all of my life. My dad and Pat's dad were best friends growing up on the north side of Chicago. So I had met Pat a couple of times when I was a kid, but I got to know him better when he and his friend from Marquette moved to Chicago back in the ’80s to do improv.
His friend was a guy named Chris Farley.
Pat and I took classes at iO together. We did lots of shows together. The iO was small back then. The same 24 improvisers hung out together night after night, and we’d usually end up drinking at someone’s apartment ’til the wee small hours of morning. Back then, there were no such things as school nights. We partied hard, but we just called it bonding.
Pat played rugby at Marquette. He was physical and energetic on stage. He improvised with a lot of joy, always letting the audience know he was having a good time up on stage. Pat made positive choices on stage and in his real life. He was beloved. He never said a bad word about anyone, which for a complainer like me, was a little annoying.
We became roommates with Brian McCann, and I will never forget the night he told me he was going to marry his girlfriend from Marquette, Donna Crowley.
Pat had come into my room after waiting tables at a restaurant owned by Johnny Red Kerrs, a Bulls coach turned broadcaster. When he told me the news, I was thinking, “What are you doing? You are never going to make it if you get married!”
I am glad I kept my mouth shut, because getting married was the best thing he ever did. No one was more supportive than Donna.
After he got married, he got hired at Second City and then quickly moved to L.A., where he got a big break co-starring on the George Wendt show. He and Donna lived in L.A. for 30 years, raising a family.
We kept in touch, in the last years mostly by phone. He was never angry or felt sorry for himself when he got cancer, even when the doctors had to remove and rebuild his bladder or later when the cancer came back. I always thought he got his positive outlook on life from his mom.
After Pat died, I went out to breakfast with his mom. I said, "Pat always had a positive attitude. Did he get that from you?”
“No,” she said. “He got it from...” and then pointed at the Catholic church across the street.
Pat was a huge success. He got parts in movies, TV, and commercials. He was part of one of the greatest improv groups ever, Beer Shark Mice.
But when Pat died, his friends did not talk about his credits. They talked about his character. His kindness. His ability to make you feel welcomed. His humor.
When your character overshadows your accomplishments, that is your legacy.
Pat was loved.
When I heard Pat had died, those memories of us struggling in Chicago came flooding back to me. They were some of the best years of my life, I just did not realize at the time.
Grief is so complicated.
There is a selfish part of grief, where you are not only grieving the person who died, but also your youth. A small part of your youth dies each time one of your friends dies.
It is final. The reunion tour has been cancelled.
Grief can bring us closer to people when we are vulnerable with our sadness and our tears.
And when the sadness passes and the tear ducts dry up, we are left with gratitude that person was in our life.
Godspeed, Finner.
Evanston comedian Jimmy Carrane is thrilled to be back performing his one-person show, "World's Greatest Dad(?)" on June 6 at the Northfield Public Library!
About World's Greatest Dad(?)
After 10 years in group therapy, Jimmy Carrane is still unhappy that he is not as famous as some of the people he started out doing improv with. So when his therapist suggests that Jimmy and his wife have a baby to bring more joy into their life, Jimmy sets out to become a first-time dad at age 52, at the same time that his own father is dying. From fertility treatments to a disastrous funeral, Carrane takes us on a funny and poignant roller coaster of life and death and shares his discovery that you don’t have to be the “greatest” to be a good dad.
Written and performed by: Jimmy Carrane
Script and creative consultant: Gary Rudoren
Directed by: Dave Maher
Photography by: Suzanne Plunkett
UPCOMING PERFORMANCES:
Saturday, June 6, 2026
2 p.m.
Northfield Public Library, 1785 Orchard Lane, Northfield, IL
Tickets: Free, but registration required. REGISTER HERE
Kris Sharma is a very funny stand-up comedian whose new comedy special, Ethnically Vague, has just been released on YouTube. Last year he opened for Hannibal Buress.
I knew Kris when he lived in Chicago. He had been a student of mine and spent years there becoming a great improviser. Kris is someone who understands how important it is to take care of your physical and mental health if you are going to succeed in comedy.
Recently, I saw a post that Kris had written, and when I read it, I loved it, and thought it would make a great guest blog. So I want to thank Kris for letting me share this with you.
Enjoy!
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9 Ways Comedians Can Improve Their Mental Health
By Kris Sharma
Disclaimer: I am not a doctor and this is not medical advice.
This may seem like a weird topic. But I feel like it's important.
To do comedy—to WANT to do comedy—you have to be a little weird. It's an odd thing to do.
I probably know more comics than I do people in any other profession. And compared to the general population, comics tend to be more:
If you want longevity (in life or business), you'll want to prioritize your mental and physical health.
Some hot takes and tips:
1. There is nothing sexy or cool about prolonged dysfunction
Kurt Cobain is dead. Patrice O'Neal is dead. Belushi is dead. John Candy, Jimi Hendrix, your favorite artist that lived fast and died young...they all died horrible deaths.
Whether it's booze, drugs, overeating, or depression — you need to do SOMETHING about it. Or it will kill you.
2. Destructive behaviors are not the source of your creativity
You will still be a "real" artist when you're feeling good. Sure, you might perform well when you're sad. I did some great shows when I was unemployed and sleeping on a buddy's couch. But that's all I had.
Trust me, your gifts will still be there when you're done self-sabotaging.
3. Life is long
Life is short? Fucking bullshit. Being a tortured artist at 20? Sure, it's a romantic image. At 40, it's fucking embarrassing.
4. Find out what your "thing" is
Do you have a self-destructive habit? It's probably time to quit.
I have SO MANY friends from my 20s who are sober now. Life gets better.
For me, it was gambling. So I quit gambling when I was 30. It's been more than 15 years, and I don't miss it at all.
Only you can decide if you're an addict. But there are 12-step programs out there for damn near everything. And they're free. It can't hurt to check one out, if you're inclined.
5. You need to look at your life holistically
"I'm still depressed even though I take medication!" Yeah, your life is depressing. Are you exercising? Are you eating real food? How about going outside? Are you getting enough sleep?
There's a meme about the "I have depression starter pack." It's a collage of junk food, video games, p*rn, staying up late, etc. Funny, but true.
Some of you would have an immeasurably better quality of life if you walked around aimlessly for an hour a day instead of sitting on the couch.
6. Real change takes work
"I can't quit drinking!" Really? How many AA meetings did you go to this week? Did you get a sponsor, work the steps, etc.? Shut the fuck up and get to work.
7. Comedy won't save you
I know it might be the only time you feel happy and normal. But it's just a job. It's an activity. Sure, it's a calling. But it’s just part of your life. It's not everything.
8. Try things
If something in your life isn't working, try something else.
What's worked for me:
Therapy, combat sports, long walks, meditation, yoga, journaling, neurofeedback (this is a cool one), and the aforementioned 12-step programs.
(I actually was on antidepressants a couple of times. It didn't do much for me, but your mileage may vary.)
People (myself included) think that moving to a new place can help. And it can, to a degree. But wherever you go, there you are. Those issues will come along with you.
9. Simplicity works
My life is better when I move my body, eat whole foods, get enough sleep, spend time with the people I love, and don't overload on toxic input (cough, cough — social media).
So find what works for you.
With the new year upon us, I thought I would share with you five things that have helped me in my improv career. With a little courage and willingness, these five things can make a big difference in your career and in your life.
The longer I teach improv, the more I see that some improv “rules” get in the way of students’ improvising. I don't even like to call them rules because that implies that if you're not following them, you are doing it wrong. I try to use the word guidelines. One of the goals of improvisation is to learn to trust your instincts, but I often see students put their trust in the “rules” over their impulses.
In my online and in-person improv classes, I have seen three improv rules that, when followed too rigidly, prevent students from doing even better scene work. So, as we leave 2025 behind, I would like you to rethink these so-called “rules” so that you can start the new year off doing your best improv.
EXERCISE:
Set up four chairs as if it’s a car. Put two chairs in the back and two in the front. The premise is four people who know each other are driving to an event, such as a funeral, wedding, rock concert, or college reunion.
For example, let’s say four long time college friends are going to the funeral of one of their close friends. One of the friends in the car confesses they used to have an affair with the person who just died. The other three are emotionally surprised, and they take it personally. They feel betrayed and say, “Why did you hide it from us?” Someone else could feel jealous because they went on a couple of dates with the person who had the affairs and thought there was something there. This scene is more about the relationship of the people in the car, and we use the person who is not there as a starting-off point.
Want to start your improv off right in 2026? Don't miss Jimmy's Long Form Tune-Up Workshop on Jan. 3!
I love learning about comedians -- their successes and their struggles. Last week, I shared my three favorite documentaries about comedians that I watched in 2025. And this week, I wanted to share my three favorite books about comedians that I read this year.
If you don't get these books from Santa, you must find another way to get yourself a copy. Because not only were these three books enjoyable, but they were also very informative.
Besides being an improv nerd, I am an even bigger nerd about documentaries about comedians. I love to hear about comedians' success as much as their struggles. A good documentary has a way of inspiring me. The best ones let us in on the comedian’s creativity, what motivates them, and teaches us something about them that we didn’t know before.
All three of the documentaries that I am about to recommend accomplished that and made me appreciate the comedian’s talent even more.
John Candy: I Like Me (Amazon Prime)
Directed by Colin Hanks
In this documentary director Colin Hanks gives us moving portrait of John Candy, one of the most beloved stars of comedy films, who died of a heart attack in 1994.
Candy started his comedy career at The Second City before becoming the break-out star of the sketch comedy series SCTV. Hanks uses never-before scene footage, home video and some candid interviews from family and friends to show an intimate side of Candy few people are familiar with. I found the people who are interviewed about Candy’s life from his SCTV days, like Martin Short, Dave Thomas, Catherine O'Hara, Eugene Levy and producer Andrew Alexander, gave honest and insightful assessments of a person whom they genuinely loved as a friend and collaborator.
What I liked: Don't be fooled by this documentary. Yes, like all the reviews have been saying, it's filled with heart, but it’s also filled with honesty. Many of the people who are interviewed share some of the things that Candy struggled with, including the premature death of his father, to his weight and even his fame. Hanks does a great job of laying out Candy’s body of work, including his movies such as Planes, Trains, and Automobiles; Vacation; Uncle Buck, and Stripes, as well as SCTV. But what I loved most was that after an hour and 53 minutes, I really got a sense of who Candy was as a real person, not just his public persona.
Stiller and Meara: Nothing Lost (Apple TV)
Directed by Ben Stiller
Ben Stiller directs this documentary about the comedy team of Jerry Stiller and Anne Meara, who happen to be his parents. Stiller pulls off a lot in this very personal film. He gives a history of Stiller and Meara’s comedy. He explores his parents’ marriage, not knowing where their act ends and their marriage begins. But Stiller digs even deeper, sharing how he was affected by being raised by show business parents and how it played out in his own family. This is not linear documentary; it’s much more artsy, which makes it more memorable.
What I like: The fact that Ben Stiller was willing to examine his marriage -- he was separated from his wife at the time that he made this – as well as his relationship with his children and sister, makes this a incredible brave and daring film. There are some really honest conversations that he has with son, wife, and sister. This is a wonderful piece of filmmaking.
Being Eddie (Netflix)
Directed by Angus Wall
"Being Eddie" is a pretty straightforward documentary, covering Eddie Murphy’s childhood to starting stand-up at a very young age to getting cast on SNL and his amazing film career.
Eddie is interviewed at his palatial estate and other stars are interviewed as well throughout. There are some great clips of Murphy’s work and insightful interviews about his career, and you can't help but come away with just how big of an impact he has had on sketch comedy, stand-up, films, and comedy in general. I would agree with some of the reviews that this documentary wasn’t as revealing as it could have been and tended to avoid personal controversies, but it was still an inspiring story.
What I liked: Eddie Murphy. He always made me laugh on SNL and in his movies, but at the height of his fame, he seemed to get caught up in Hollywood and didn’t seem like he was really enjoying it. He had become a rock star, and was rightfully guarded, which is not good for comedy. But now he seems more relaxed and at peace with his life and career. I liked when he got spiritual in the documentary, and I would have liked to see even more of that side of him. When it was over it, I felt the same way about Eddie Murphy that I feel about another comedy legend, David Letterman: He seems happier now.
Want to start 2026 off right? Sign up for Jimmy's next Long Form Improv Workshop on Jan. 3!
When I was in my 20s, my parents would let me invite my improv friends who had no place to go for the holidays over to our house. We used to have improvisers over for Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter. I guess it was their way of supporting the arts.
The other day, I was speaking to an old improv friend, and we were reminiscing about how much fun it was going to my parents’ for the holidays. It would be usually two or three improvisers mixed in with my parents, siblings, and relatives.
Sometimes, I had so many friends over, instead of having a kids’ table, we had an improvisers’ table.
For me, it not only forced my family to be on their best behavior, but it was also a lot of fun.
You never knew what would happen. I mean, whenever two or more improvisers gather, it’s going to be a good time.
I remember one Easter my super religious Uncle Jimmy brought a lamb cake. Once dinner was over, the lamb cake became a 20-minute game of object freeze, until it was unrecognizable and my uncle was convinced we were all going to Hell.
I know going home for the holidays can be tricky. I also know improvisers know how to have fun wherever they are.
Sometimes around family we feel inhibited, reluctant to be silly or to really be ourselves. I get it – it’s hard when people don't laugh or won't play along.
But being spontaneous and funny is our gift – it’s better than anything you are going to find under the tree. And in most cases, the other people you are celebrating the holidays with will be secretly happy that you are there and making everyone laugh.
Every Christmas, I go to my wife’s parents’ house in Pennsylvania, and I try to remember to bring my playfulness.
They are not improvisers. They are German. And yes, some bits that I try to do fall flat, but sometimes they laugh and play along. And I think they appreciate my silliness, I really do. And someday I am hoping they will come up to me and say, “That was the funniest Christmas we ever had."