Improv: First Blood

Still far apart 20 years later, but this time I brought a weapon.

Surrounded and protected.

6 Degrees.....

Today I want to go back in time to an incident from my early years as an improviser. I was fairly reckless then, not always taking the time to think about the potential danger that flailing arms and leg kicks can be. I was unaware of individual player's different comfort zones - though I was very cognizant of mine - and I'm fortunate that nobody was damaged in the process.
Mostly.
In the second season of The Impromaniacs, we maintained an open door policy; we did not hold auditions in the traditional sense but let it be known that new members were always welcome. One of the newbies on this particular Saturday morning was Robert. Unlike many newcomers, Robert had a strong background in theatre and was not showing any signs of trepidation or hesitation at jumping right into the midst of it. At one point, he and I ended up together in a game called "Role With....", which entails four improvisers playing a scene in four styles, be it emotions, film genres, accents, or pretty much anything else. When each player enters the scene, those on stage adapt that player's style. Then it goes backwards, each player exiting until one is left. If this sounds complicated to read, try writing it, or introducing it.
Robert enters. His style was "Woody Allen." I was excited because this was also a style I could do well - I struggled with some back then - and I was ready to "Woody it up." What the scene was about I do not remember. Here's what I do remember: my elbow coming up and landing on Robert's mouth. I carried on. There was a collective gasp. I turned and saw blood streaming from Robert's lip.
I'd split his lip open. While doing improv.
I stopped, stunned at what I saw. I am not squeamish about blood, but I'd just met the guy an hour ago, and now he was never coming back. Because I'd split his lip open. While doing improv.
But I'd not anticipated what we would all soon come to know: Robert's quick reaction time and laser wit. Far from panicking or stopping, he used his injury, in true method acting style. Never breaking character, never hesitating, he declared:
"I just came out for an improv audition and I'm bleeding from the lip!"
It was perfect. It broke the tension and let everybody know that no serious damage was done. The scene went on, though I remember nothing of the rest of it. That hardly mattered. Robert had created an indelible and legendary moment in Impromaniacs lore. Today, twenty five years later, I still relive this moment with him and with others. Yes, Robert stuck around. That's a mild understatement, as he went on to produce some of the greatest improv moments, lines, characters, and scenes which still sound fresh and exciting when I relive them. He and I have become great friends, both on and off the stage. He returned to Victoria several years back and leaped right into scene. I was pleased that he'd never stopped, performing improv and "serious theatre" while he was living elsewhere.
For the past five seasons, the two of us have played together in "Sin City," Victoria's live improv serial. He still does killer accents. I still do not. We are among the last of our ilk: forty-something improvisers with a link to the past. We are sort of the "wise old men" of the improv community, but we have kept our youthful enthusiasm and maintained our love of and for the art.
Robert was always an idol of mine; I'd always wanted to be like him: to be able to think so quickly and effortlessly on my feet, to say and do things which delighted players and fans.
I've been told that I'm a good improviser. I like to think that's true. If it is, perhaps some seeds were planted that day at The Fernwood Community Association, when an errant elbow met a lively lip and formed a blood bond.

***Robert is in all three of the photos at the beginning of this post. He is at the far left staring at the ground in the first picture; dressed in green with a pseudo-bowl cut in the middle pic (that was for Sin Season: Kingdom Of Thrones) and looking suave at the far right in the last one. Note that in the first and last shots he and I are separated by a buffer of actors, which I don't think is a coincidence.

"Why, Yes, I'm Still Doing Improv

  Every so often I meet people who have seen me on stage in the past, enjoyed my performances, and are happy to tell me so. I am happy to hear it.
I also encounter those of whom, based on their avoidance of direct eye contact, it can be safely assumed did not enjoy my performances. Of them we shall not speak another word.
In nine out of ten of the former moments, THE question is asked of me, and the following conversation - or a facsimile of - ensues.
 Them: "Are you still doing improv?" (sometimes asked with wonder and hope; other times with a shaking of the head and and a different vocal emphasis, as in, "are you still doing improv?")
 Me: "Oh, yes!"
 Them: "Wow!" (again, with very different inflections and tones. It's interesting how many ways a three letter word can be manipulated to denote attitude.)
  Me: "Oh, yeah. I'm never gonna stop."
  Them: "That's ....cool." Or a word like that. There is always a small pause before the word, whatever it is, as if the speaker is flipping through their mental thesaurus to find the one response which will denote mild interest without being too committed to the cause. The encounter ends with a "good to see ya," with maybe a handshake or complimentary (?) pat on the back/shoulder.
 And again I am made to ponder this particular life choice.
 For about FOUR SECONDS.
 Yes, I am still doing improv. I will always still be doing improv. I love it and it loves me. The marriage began twenty five years ago. We've had some bumps along the way, some frustration and, yes, even tears. We've even separated for brief periods. But we always come back to each other. We were made to be together.
In a future post, I will explain how discovering improv saved my life, how it gave me a purpose and a self-respect I had not been able to find.
 Why the Hell would I ever give that up? Why would I want to?
 I know that many consider improv to be a "young person's game," that at age 47 maybe I should have outgrown it, or grown tired. But I am not your grandmother's 47 year old. Only my birth certificate says how old I am: my attitudes, goals, and sometimes my thoughts and desires are those of a much younger person.
Somebody still well suited to do improv. Somebody who (hopefully) is able to communicate and get along with people of all ages. Somebody who has dedicated many years of his life to performing, teaching, and studying this often very misunderstood art form.
 Why the Hell would I ever give that up?
It's true that most of those with whom I 've worked over the years no longer do improv. Some have chosen other careers in the performing arts; some grew bored or frustrated; others - the great majority, in fact, - opted for "real lives."
I have no life mate. I do not have children. Or a mortgage. I'm only truly responsible to myself. Improv has helped me to love myself.
 Why the Hell would I ever give that up?
So, yes, I am still doing improv. Still growing and learning. I do many other things, too. Stand up. Shakespeare. Character Roles. I love it all. Admittedly, improv has taken a back seat to these often in the past several years.
 I always return to my first love.
 I always will.
 Why the Hell would I ever give it up?

Here I am doing improv

Still doing it. Sometimes I get to wear a costume.

I'm not doing improv here. But I am drinking a beer and wearing a scarf, two things which, in my experience, improv inevitably leads to.

Personal Reflections On 2011

2011 was not my best year. It would be hard to top 2009. It also wasn't my worst year; 2003-04 were both equally painful. But the year just past was, in many ways, my most significant year. It was filled with equal parts sorrow and joy. Epic highs. Cataclysmic lows. Turmoil and beauty.
Not a single minute was boring.

After living in the same house for over ten years, I was forced to move not once, but three times over the course of four months. I do not like moving. Dislike the feeling of rootlessness it left me in. It was due mostly to my mistakes that I had to move in the first place. I lost my beloved cat Soot, whom I will forever miss.
I'm often forced to ride the bus or rely on a ride home. I hate having to rely on others to get me somewhere.
But on the flip side, I believe that I've learned some important lessons. Be a pro-active roommate. Communicate. Chip in. I now live in a nice little house with a good friend. There is more freedom here than I had before; I'm allowed to keep my cutlery, plates, and towels in the same place as his are. No longer do I have to keep everything in my room because there is "no room" for my collection of things. I'm sharing a home, not just staying someplace. And I am no longer paying $200.00 to $300.00 a month in bills. Oh, and there's a washer/dryer.
It still feels odd at times. I'm very much a creature of habit, and this is new. But I understand that change can be good, and I believe that this was and is a good thing. I'm happier. More relaxed. No longer looking over my shoulder, afraid that any decision which I make (not, truthfully, that I made that many) will be laughed at or labelled "weird." I look forward to going home now. I WANT to go home, rather than stay out all day or night in an effort to avoid those I'm living with.
Oh, and there's a washer/dryer. I think that I may have mentioned that.

My alcoholism, which has been steadily growing over the years, was at an all time high in 2011. There was rarely a day which went by when I wasn't drinking. A lot. Booze led me to commit a few shameful acts, acts which will stay in my heart and between me and the other parties involved.
I often felt helpless against the powers of the bottle this past year. But I think that I'm okay. I'm still drinking heavily, but feeling better about it. I'm not ready yet to quit or cut back. When I am I will.

Creatively speaking, my year was a marvel. I acted in three plays back to back to back: a very good production of "Hamlet," a Victoria Fringe Festival play which was critically well received and relevant ( a first for me in The Fringe), and a cute Christmas production which not only paid money but gave me my first puppeteering experience.
I became a stand up comedian, doing my first set in January and carrying on throughout the year. I won The Showdown (a talent competition) in April. My sets have been well received and I even have a video on You Tube. I've discovered that I love the rush of stand up. It was long a fear of mine, and I conquered it in 2011.
Alas, it appears that, at least for now, I have left my beloved improv behind. I've lost a part of my passion for it. Let's hope it returns this year.
Also in 2011, I acted in a murder mystery, an improvised soap opera (which is on-going), and started this blog. All good things.

I was hideously broke much of the year. Not good. But I rediscovered my empathy. Good.

As most of my friends know, I am writing short stories based on the life and music of the wonderful Karen Carpenter. This project took on a life of its own in 2011. I wrote like a demon, more than I ever had before. Almost each night for six months, dating back to the end of 2010, I wrote. By the end, I had filled nine notebooks worth, 126 stories in all. I've never been so passionate about writing. It's made me want to write more, instilled in me a new found discipline. The goal for 2012? Finish editing, get some readers and outside opinions, and look towards publishing.

More good things: I have continued to post a daily anagram on Facebook, and they are better and sharper than before. I participated in - and won - Victoria's first Haiku Slam.

More bad things: I hurt some people in 2011, alienated some others. Made mistakes. Occasionally got lazy at work.

There were some crazy nights. These, too, will remain between myself and the people involved.
There was beauty in the insanity.

In 2010 I discovered that I have a soul. That things can touch me. In 2011 I learned more about the depth of my feelings.

In 2011 I discovered that underneath the alcoholism, arrogance, and aloofness, I'm all right.

Here's to 2012. I can't wait.