Head-in-a-Cart Takes an Improv Class: Week #5

I had to rush home to take off my make up because my teacher told me it would be distracting to the class. I was bummed that my classmates would not have the privilege to see me as a gorgeous bride, but given the dynamics of improv, I agreed.  When I got to class my classmates were outside waiting for the previous class to finish.  They were talking about how we were midway through the course and that they didn’t feel prepared for the graduation performance.  Haley said she was freaking out because she didn’t feel prepared and she didn’t want to fail in front of her loved ones.  I almost told her to get over herself and that if they were really her loved ones they should be used to her failing.  I didn’t bother because I had a headache and she’s 22 so fuck her and her agent too.  My energy had dropped after I took off my makeup and now I felt like I was getting a cold.  I was like, meh.  We waited for our teacher but he never showed up.  Instead, we got a sub. I don’t like substitute teachers. I never have.  So double meh.

We didn’t do any of our usual warming up exercises, which was cool because I didn’t remember anyone’s name or thumpers.  Being a zombie all day really turns the brain into mush.  Even with a headache, I was still the fastest to react during the warm up exercises.  It surprised me that I was able to focus and pay attention in that state.  We played Hot Spot again but this time instead of singing we broke into monologues.  I heard the hot spot say “Human Resources,” tapped him out and started a monologue about the time I was caught tweeting during work and got called in by HR.  I blocked out much of that meeting but I do remember the HR Director holding up a stack of print outs of my tweets.  She said, “You tweet a lot.” 

Next we worked on painting scenes in groups of four.  The teacher gave us the location and two, one by one, were supposed to furnish the room for us by adding objects and details.  When the teacher was satisfied, the other two entered the location and started a scene.  We got air control tower.  Of course everyone wanted to paint the scene because that’s easier than doing a scene.  But most of the people in my class are moocher actors and I decided to stand back and let them do whatever.  I’m not afraid of doing a scene. That’s why I’m taking the class.  Haley added romance novels and a box of half eaten chocolates to the tower.  HA HA HA HALLARIOUS, ISN’T IT?  Instead of going with the obvious unusual element I complicated things.  I said those things belonged to a colleague that went crazy and was in a loony bin.  The teacher stopped the scene and pointed out the obvious: the romance novels.  These two air traffic controllers must be hopeless romantics.  So we went with that.  It’s true. I always complicate things by over thinking.  You don’t notice until someone points it out though.

I kinda’ lost focus at that point.  I sunk in my chair and watched the scenes while trying to suppress my headache.  I rubbed my eyes and face and noticed I still had spirit gum residue on so I spent a good amount of time peeling it off.  The teacher then talked about what distinguishes UCB from the other improv schools: The Game.  What is the game and how to you find the game?  It’s about finding the interesting and unusual in a scene and playing that out.  We played around with a scenario of a group of firemen on their way to a fire.  One of them wants to stop for fast food.  So the fact that they would stop to do that it’s the unusual thing.  Then you try to think of ways to repeat that unusual thing, excuses and reasons to stop before getting to the fire.  So that’s the game.  Pinpointing the unusual and going with it.

Then we started doing scenes two people at a time, with the teacher stopping and pinpointing things when we weren’t getting it.  Two by two, people kept getting up but I just sat back. It felt weird to sit there but I was feeling lethargic and meh-ish.  I was aware of it and it made me feel horrible.  I decided to force myself out of my funk and get up when the teacher asked how many were left.  There were only three including myself.  He told the three of us to do the scene.  Someone threw out the word “breakfast” and I found myself in between two really young guys.  I took the lead and asked, “So, who wants breakfast?” (I know, original, huh? But I'm not supposed to complicate, remember?) Then I asked them what they wanted.  One said pancakes and the other eggs.  I said I didn’t know how to make eggs.  The teacher got up and said, “Yes you do. You know how to make eggs.” I replied, “Actually, I don’t really.” People gasped as if I had said something blasphemous.  I told them I had issues in the kitchen. The teacher thought I was trying to be weird but I was just being myself and truthful, like we are supposed to. 

The teacher went on to explain that for long form improv it was better not to throw in obstacles.  I then took the opportunity to ask something I had wanted to ask since the last class.  I told him I wrote drama and that I directed films, where conflict is everything.  In its simplest terms, characters wants something, other character(s) keeps him for getting it.  It was about piling on the obstacles.  The teacher said improv was not exactly conflict-free; that it was okay to have conflict, but that obstacles had a way to throw a scene off track.  I think I understand. 

So we continued the scene, with me trying to connect with my sons who were home from college and they being total selfish pricks.  We ran out of time and we went on to the next exercise which was supposed to help us understand what we are doing for our graduation performance.  It’s going consist of  a monologue, three scenes based on the monologue and then another monologue and then another three scenes.  It’s the Asscat format. 

The teacher divided the class in half.  I stayed on stage.  Four of us were supposed to step forward and do a monologue.  A monologue, not a performance and not a standup routine.  The teacher said “prom.” Oh boy my memory was immediate.  I stepped up and told my story.  I told them about my parents pulling out all the stops for me.  They rented a vintage Rolls Royce and even got my tennis coach’s 27 year old son to take me to the prom.  I felt like such a grownup not going to the prom with a high schooler.  I told them about how my date left in the Rolls, leaving me and my friends in front of his house and then returning with two hoes and a bag of coke he bought with my dad's money.  My friend, who's a crazy Italian, went nuts and screamed at him and I, completely out of character because I used to be very shy, lost it too and screamed at them to get out of MY fucking Rolls Royce. The teacher asked me the moral of the story. I said: Don't expect anything from prom.

Three young guys who had probably just gone to their prom two or three years ago stepped up and did their monologue. One had his clothes thrown into a bond fire at the beach, the other ended up without a date at a Mormon party and the third didn't score with his date because she wanted to watch a DVD of Twilight instead.  The teacher asked us what parts of the stories made us laugh.  We discussed it for a while.  He said that we should be aware of what the audience laughs at during the monologue and build our scenes taking in those elements.

Poor Haley. Will she be ready to take the improv scene by storm after the three remaining classes? 

Lesson #6: Don't complicate the game by being weird and not knowing how to cook eggs.

Head-in-a-Cart Takes an Improv Class: Week 2

Illustration by T. Carson

 

Improv class was uneventful last night.  I behaved and never mentioned any of my race-related fixations.  We did a lot of exercises, which I will write about even at the risk of boring you because I want to chronicle my experience for future reference.

Again, we stared with Zip, Zap, Zop and the name game.  Then we got into miming.  But realistic miming, not like those annoying French mimes.  We threw and caught knives, babies and angry cats.

Next, a bunch of us had to act out tableaus on stage while the rest watched.  Someone would say, “Hey let’s go to the movies” we’d act it out and then someone would say “let’s go to the beach” and so forth.  Then someone had to pick a fight in slow-mo and the fight had to escalate into a brawl.  All in slow motion.  I learned that hitting and getting beaten up in slow motion is very tiring.

We also did a lot of space work, which rattles me because I have to pay attention to what others are doing and I can’t space out to think.  Which is good I guess because that’s the reason I’m taking the class.  Not to think so much all the time.  It’s a struggle, I won’t lie, and I hope I get better.  I’m baffled that I’ve had no trouble letting go and that I’m not afraid of acting like a fool.  I don’t even get nervous and, to be honest, it’s really out of character for me.  I didn’t think it was a big deal until a filmmaker friend who is also taking improv classes told me I was brave.  Me? Brave? I don’t think so.  It’s not like we have a choice at UCB.  You have to do it.  I feel like a new person and it’s very weird.

We did an exercise called How Can We Fuck with This Baby?  Again, the class was split in two, with half being the audience and half acting out the scene.  I didn’t get to do this one.  One by one, the students entered the room and added something to it and then they had to solve a problem using the baby.  One person took a shit and used the baby to wipe his ass.  You had to pick up the baby where it was last left, so you really had to pay attention.  Someone started exercising and picked up the baby and used it for step aerobics.  You get the picture.

For our group, he changed it up.  Now we were mute spies trying to hide top secret documents.  Same concept as fuck with the baby, but each spy had to retrieve the documents from the last hiding place and find another hiding place.  As soon as the documents were found, the audience hummed the theme to Mission Impossible and stopped humming as soon as that spy left the room.  I spaced out once, but luckily we could enter the room whenever we wanted to.  I chose to get a dog off his bed, place the documents on the bed, and then convince the dog to get back on the bed and lie on top of the documents.  I wasn’t interested in creating a piece of furniture or fixture because that’s fucking boring and I’m a terrible mime.  I simply pretended the invisible dog was my dog Pepa and did what I do every night when we are ready to go to bed.

Despite the teacher telling us not to try to be funny or wacky, people still did it.  He explained how and why UCB came about.  The founders were tired of the improv scene where everything goes for a laugh.  There was no direction and scenes always meandered from joke to joke.  So they got together and came up with UCB’s method.  I think the concept is basically just writing on the stage.  You start off and then you have to find the “game” which is what the scene is about.  The teacher explained that when a scene is working, you say something that’s boring, normal and logical to you, the audience laughs and you get surprised.  You don’t know why it’s funny until you analyze what just happened.  I had that experience with the Yes…And…exercise from last week.  So far, the two people I think are the best are not actors.  The actors act and try to be funny.  Us non-actors keep it in reality and try to live the scene.  However, I did notice that the one-liner is really ingrained in me now (because of my tweeting I’m sure) and that I spit them out without even thinking.

For instance, we played Know it All Expert.  You get in the middle and people ask you questions.  You’re supposed to answer them logically and with conviction even if you don’t know the answer.  Again, at the “top of your intelligence.”  Most people spewed out wacky, stupid responses to almost everything.  I did it once but I didn’t mean to.  Someone asked me, what’s the speed limit on the 405?  I answered 15mph.  It just came out.  Of course I know what the speed limit is but I’ve never been on that freeway at 65mph and it might as well be 15 mph.

We ended class with an exercise where two people were supposed to be doing something together, like washing a car, preparing a meal, gardening, etc.  The situation changed with every couple.  We were supposed to have a conversation while doing the actions but never mention what we were doing.  Pairing is usually random.  Teacher says “next two” and you go forward and whoever you get, you get.  I need to be more mindful of who gets up at the same time I do now that I know who I don’t want to do scenes with.  Yeah, I guess I’m directing by trying to cast my own scene but I get frustrated if I think I’m not getting the most out of an exercise.  I can’t work up to my potential if I’m always paired up with someone who doesn’t get it.

Anyway, so we got pizza-making at a restaurant.  You perform the action without speaking for a few seconds and then someone starts the conversation.  I said “Dude, I have something to tell you” first but my partner pretended he didn’t hear me, cut me off, hijacked the scene and said “So, when are you going to tell Joe you have herpes?”  It threw me off and I reacted like anyone would in that situation.  I said “Why don’t you say it louder so that everyone else can hear you?”  He replied “I’m just sayin’,” obviously because he had nothing to say, and I asked him “What is it to you anyway? It’s none of your fucking business.”  This is interesting because I was one of the few people to react like this during this exercise.  You’re supposed to call out people like you would in real life, but most of my classmates just go with it so the scene gets absurd really quickly.

The rest of the scene went on with him forcing the issue and me finally responding that I didn’t tell anyone when he had crabs.  I got frustrated and took it out on the imaginary dough and kept on punching it and punching it.  My partner never called me out on that because he wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing or feeling.  He then said I got the herpes from a girl and that I should tell my boyfriend.  I responded “It’s just mouth herpes, what’s the big deal?”  The audience laughed and the teacher stopped the scene.

I swear this type of selfish shit is making me hate some of my actor classmates.  I guess I have to let go of my directorial instinct when I’m performing, but I wish the teacher would mention generosity once in a while.  I mean, if you want it to be just about you, why don’t you fucking do stand-up or monologues?  And here I thought I was going to be the sucky one because I have no experience performing.  Not that I don’t suck, but I don’t suck that much.

Lesson #2:  Don’t space out.  Listening and paying attention is key in life and even more so during improv.

Bonus lesson: Casting is everything. 

Head-in-a-Cart Takes an Improv Class: Week 1

Illustration by Teri Carson

Well, I stressed out and had nervous diarrhea over nothing.  Once I got to class all my nerves disappeared and I couldn’t wait to get on my feet.  After half an hour of administrative lecturing, i.e. The Rules and Regulations, we finally got to work.

 

The first exercise we did is called ZIP ZAP ZOP.  You say ZIP and point to someone in the circle and they say ZAP and point and so on.  It’s like verbal ping pong.  This was probably the hardest part of the whole night.  You really have to be coordinated and pay attention.  If you get distracted you lose track and interrupt the momentum.  We all sucked at it.  This was followed by a fun game to help us learn each other’s names and other loosening up exercises which really work.  I mean it.  If those exercises work on me, they work on anyone.  There were a couple of people that were self-conscious and, to my huge surprise, I wasn’t one of them.  I decided to make a fool out of myself from the get-go and I sure did.

To learn each other’s names, we were supposed to give ourselves a moniker, a physical attribute and act it out.  Leper Lisa walked like a zombie (I didn’t correct her because she was having fun doing that walk), Rappin’ Richie did a weird rapper thing with his hands, Jumpin’ Jenet, a duck-face blond with huge fake boobs spilling out from her low-cut camisole, jumped up in the air, etc.  And Scary Teri let out a frightening, ridiculous monster scream.  It got big laughs.  Probably not because it was funny, but because it was incredibly stupid.  I’ve never done anything like that in front of people I don’t know and it felt really good.  The teacher told me I redefined the exercise.  I think my self-consciousness left my body every time I let out that silly scream.

The first scene we worked on involved ranting about our pet peeves.  We took turns as a group of four and got up on stage.  As soon as the teacher pointed to a student, she would have to start her rant and not stop until the teacher pointed to someone else.  I could not believe the ease with which the words came out of my mouth.  I didn’t pause and I hardly took a breath. If you have known me a while, you must be shocked at this.  I’m not known as a talker.  In fact, I’ve been quite shy all my life and I don’t let people I don’t know see the real me.  I suspect this is going to end by the time I’m done with this class and I feel sorry for the people around me. I really do.

 

I guess you’re wondering what my pet peeve is.  I will try to recreate my rant (condensed of course) below:

I’m Mexican and I used to love my people until I moved to LA. Why? Because of the Laundromat.  I hate going to the Laundromat in LA.  It’s full of Mexicans and all of their family, friends, neighbors, kids and they do piles and piles and piles of laundry and it’s really hard to get a machine.  It makes me feel like a loser that I don’t own my own machines but worse, it makes me feel horrible about myself. That I have such horrible feelings towards immigrants.  And then I see they have the same blanket that I do that I bought at the Tijuana border crossing.  And then I try to grab a cart but they won’t let go because they think the carts belong to them.  And then I think, OH MY GOD AM I RACIST? I thought I was a good person and now this.  Going to the Laundromat makes me feel horrible horrible horrible!!! Etc.

 

If you know me, you know this is a very honest rant.  It had to be.  At least that’s what I understood the teacher meant by going off at the “top of your intelligence.”  He explained it didn’t mean expertise or trying to be smart.  It means that you’re supposed to use everything that’s inside you, like experience, feelings, and opinions.  What you know but that you may be afraid to express.  And that’s what I did and I wasn’t afraid.  Most people kept on repeating the same things in different words and ways because they ran out of material.  They tried to be wacky and quirky.  If, like the teacher said, you perform at the top of your intelligence, you’ll never run out of material.  So basically I’m doing the live extended version of what I do on Twitter.  Keep reading and find out how it didn’t end well.

Next, we did a second exercise where three of us, as a group, were supposed to be talk show guests and the teacher the host.  The rules were that we were all equals, shared a common experience and met in the same place.  One by one each scene descended in to the wacky and absurd.  I knew I really wanted to keep it in reality, but duck-face-boobs hijacked the scene and changed it.  All of a sudden we were on a cruise ship where closeted gays went to come out. HUH?  The captain wasn’t supposed to dock until every single person on that ship came out of the closet.  My character basically stayed in her room puking the whole time and when forced to come out of the room, she puked on duck-face-fake-boobs.

Wow, I thought, so this improv thing really is a fucking struggle between actors trying to outdo each other.  I won’t be casting  duck-face-fake-boobs in anything ever.  I think this is going to be my crux, because as a writer-director, I’m not vying for such attention.  My agenda is quite different. 

 

I think I'm the only person that's approaching it from the perspective of mining truth and reality for comedy.  Most of the other students, especially the women, were trying too hard to be funny, weird, quirky, whatever.  They hijack the exercises.  It's not like when you can’t think of anything and go with something wacky.  The women in my class do it on purpose and it's super annoying.  So far, the men are more generous.

 

I did screw up royally but it taught me a lot about what improv shouldn’t be.

We concluded the night with the Yes, and… exercise.  It’s simple but hard to do.  Two people are having a conversation and one starts by making an observation.  Then you say “yes” and repeat what they said and add “and” and another observation.  Repeat.  Mine went something like this:

 

He: I notice there’s a new dent in the car.

Me: Yes, there’s a dent in the car and I’m sorry but I was hit by an Asian driver.
He:  Yes, you’re sorry and you were hit by an Asian driver and you didn’t get his insurance information.
Me:  Yes, I didn’t get his insurance information and so what, I forgot.
He:  Yes, You forgot and now I have to get a second job to pay for it.
Me:  Yes, you have to get a second job, and it’s okay because you’re my husband and you love me.
He: Yes, I’m your husband and I love you and --.

There was laughter after every line I delivered.  The teacher singled me out.  He told me I had used race a second time and that he didn’t want that to be my go-to thing.  That in this case race didn’t matter.

 

Of course he was right.  I was doing it wrong because I tried to steer the conversation my way before we even started the scene.  I tried to control the scene from the very beginning.  I wanted to write the scene my way as I’ve always done.  I’m used to being in control. Throughout the night, the only time I was in control was during my pet peeve rant.  I felt like shit.  Not just because of this failure, but because I looked up and there were 12 people, most of them white, looking at me and probably thinking I was a total racist.  When the teacher asked about the scene duck-face-fake-boobs said I came out as a cold, insensitive wife.  That didn’t really matter to me because I’m not interested in niceties.  I guess she would have played it that way.  I simply said what came to mind.  I guess it’s a good thing I’m not a wife.

 

I thought about this on the drive back and also most of today.  I took an ill-conceived risk and it didn’t pay off because I had never before experienced lack of control in creating a scene.  I’d like to say I’m fearless but that would be dishonest.  At this point I can’t say if I’ll become more guarded or not for fear of what people will think about me.  I just don’t know.  I’ve been so uncensored and carefree on Twitter and Facebook for so long that I don’t know how that is going to play out during this course.  I guess I just learned that Tweeting preposterous one-liners on the internet and acting them out in front of real people are two very different things.

Lesson #1:  If you want to be in control, just write.