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Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Do Improv, Eat Bread

I know it comes as no surprise that I think improv is the best thing since sliced bread. And that's saying something, given my penchant for bread.

I also know I throw around the improv for life phrase pretty freely. But it's our slogan for a reason, peeps.

See, one of the reasons I think improv is so friggin' amazing is that every time you go on stage, you get to start over. It's a fresh start, because it's a whole new scenario and you get a whole new opportunity to be brilliant. Maybe you forgot to label your scene partner, or have an emotional reaction or be a character the last time you were on stage... so what? Since improv is all about being in the moment, nobody is holding you to what you did the last time around - ALL there is, is what you do right now.

And guess what? It works the other way, too. Maybe you did the best scene ever last week (or even 5 minutes ago)... yay you! But it means nothing now, in this scene.

If your goal is to do the best improv you can, you can neither beat yourself up over past mistakes nor rest on your laurels. Look at those failures and successes and learn from them, by all means. But then move on. Wallowing or gloating or whatever puts you in the past, and that is by definition, uh, not the present.

And as for the improv for life part: why not look at every day as a fresh start? Yesterday's gone, and with it the day's successes and failures. Today's a whole new opportunity to be brilliant. I dunno about you, but I think I'ma take that opportunity. Right after I eat this bread.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Improv: Do It With a Stranger

I don't know about you, but I enjoy hanging out with my friends. It's easier and more comfortable than spending time with strangers, who have weird quirks and strange mannerisms and don't automatically laugh at all your jokes or find it amusing when you fall asleep half way through a party. Oh. Perhaps that's just me.

Anyhoo. That same comfort is present when you do improv with your friends. Not that all scenes you do with your friends will work, of course - that's wishful thinking. But there is definitely a greater level of comfort working with someone you already know and trust. It's easier to connect, because you do already trust them. Eye contact is easier. You can get on the same page quicker because you each know how the other thinks. You can consciously play to each other's strengths.

And that's all well and good if you're just playing around, or doing drunk improv, or performing in a show. But if you're in an improv class, playing with your pals all the time will stunt your growth. My grandmother was into ballroom dancing and once, when I was anxious before a 7th grade dance, she told me the best thing to do was to "dance with anybody who asks." She clearly hadn't seen some of the 7th grade boys, but still, it's a valid point.

The best way to improve at improv is to do exercises and scenes with as many different people as possible. When I do a scene with Viet, I can tend to get lazy and do the scene on autopilot because we know each other so well. FYI, autopilot in improv is the best way to crash into the mountains in a giant fireball of unfunny destruction. But if I do a scene with a stranger (or relative stranger), I have to be totally present and in the moment - which is, after all, the point of improv. And that's the only way to be able to listen and react and do good improv.

So if you're in a class with some pals, challenge yourself to do your scenes with anyone OTHER than them. You'll learn a lot more in a shorter amount of time, and in the process you'll make new pals to add to your collection.

And new pals means more people who find you amusing, which comes in handy for that falling asleep thing.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Monday, October 22, 2012

Improv and Motorcycles

I've been watching Sons of Anarchy lately, and this is what I have learned:
  1. Where I grew up (maybe 30 miles from where SOA is set) is even more redneck than I previously thought; and
  2. these guys know how to commit.
Not to women, of course. That would be silly. But the members' commitment to their motorcycle club really is "till death do us part." It's a white trash, redneck version of the mafia, basically. If the club needs you to do something, you do it, and the penalties for failing to commit range from creatively disgusting to lethal.

Oh, right. Improv.

I've mentioned commitment once or three hundred times before, but it's so important it bears repeating: commitment is everything in improv. You can overcome a denial; you can justify bizarro information; you can correct an attack of sarcasm. But if one person doesn't commit, you're done. You can't do improv alone, so everybody in the scene has to be IN THE SCENE.

There are different aspects of commitment... There is commitment to the character, the voice, the emotion, the genre, the suggestion, the moment. But you can simplify by just thinking about being 100% committed to the scene - then everything it entails will be included. That means you keep going until blackout or until the instructor ends the scene - without glancing over and asking, "Keep going?" It means you give your all to the character, the voice, the emotion, the genre and the suggestion - whatever each of those things means to you - without worrying if you're going to look silly. It means not judging the scene as it unfolds, but truly being in the moment - listening to your scene partner and having big emotional reactions to their information.

It's hard at the beginning because nobody wants to look silly, and pushing yourself out of your comfort zone means there's a good chance you're not going to succeed 100% of the time. And there's something comforting about stepping out of the scene, perhaps to comment on the suggestion or apologize for an accent or seek approval from the instructor; it's a way of letting everyone know that you think the scene's a little wonky and, since you're aware of that fact, you shouldn't be judged for it.

I get it. Really. But there is absolutely nothing wrong with a wonky scene. Especially in class - I mean, the whole point of class is to learn stuff. If you already knew everything there is to know about improv and never had a bad scene, why would you take a class? What there IS something wrong with is bailing. You don't learn what you need to learn if you bail on a difficult scene. Darren and I can watch and critique wonky scenes all day long... because if the players have committed, and the scene goes weird, we can help them understand what to do differently. But if somebody bails, the scene doesn't really happen, which means we can't help. We have no idea what MIGHT have happened if they hadn't bailed, so we can't see where their strengths and weaknesses lie.

Look, I'm not that creative, so nothing disgusting or lethal will happen to you if you don't commit in improv class. But you won't learn what you set out to learn, and that's a bummer.

By the way, how do you think I'd look on a motorcycle?

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Listening vs. Garden Gnomes

Listening comes in handy, people. I'm just sayin'. If you listen to people, they feel like you're respecting them and what they have to say. If you don't, they feel like you're dissing them or, quite possibly, that you're a moron.

Yeah, yeah, this has to do with improv. Improv is all about listening. Before you can agree, add information or commit, you have to listen. I've seen plenty of scenes that didn't work because one or more of the players didn't listen to the others. Like this:

"I'm filing for divorce, Minnie. I can't take another night of your snoring!"
"Look, Mickey, garden gnomes! Let's get some for our garden!"

It's bad enough not to have a sufficiently big reaction to something because you're too casual in your scene; it's even worse to have NO reaction because you didn't bother to listen. And while I think garden gnomes are quite funny in and of themselves, they are not the logical response to the "you-snore-I-want-a-divorce" situation at hand.

In real life, listening is a skill that many people could improve upon. I had an encounter at a caffeine establishment this morning that left me convinced the order-taking-woman had an IQ of 8. In reality, she's probably sporting average intelligence, but it's masked by her nearly prodigious inability to process any information given her.

Listening is one of those skills that can improve your performance in virtually any job, even those not directly involved with customer service. Honestly, just feeling heard makes most people so happy, they're instantly inclined to like the person who bothered to really hear them. It's the easiest way to win friends and influence people... and the bonus is, when you listen to people, they start to listen to you.

Even if you already listen pretty well, improv class can still help you listen better. Plus, it's totally fun! And I'm told many people enjoy "fun" so you might wanna check it out!

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Hedge Your Bets

The rules of engagement exist for your safety and that of your team. They are not flexible, nor am I. ~ Viper
Okay, okay. The rules of improv are not quite so inflexible as the rules of engagement at Top Gun. But they DO exist for a reason, and I'ma tell you why. Guess that's just how I roll.

It's really all about percentages. Plunking two or more people on a stage, giving them a random suggestion like "artichokes" and expecting hilarity is akin to going to a party at a trailer park and expecting Dom Perignon. I mean, it could happen, but it ain't likely.

So the rules are there to help you hedge your bets. When you agree instead of denying, you improve your odds. When you add information, you improve your odds. When you commit, you improve your odds. Every time you play by the rules, the game gets stacked a little more in your favor.

But don't get cocky - it doesn't work like a savings account. You can play by the rules for 2/3 of the scene, then go for a joke or get sarcastic or ask a lame question or deny something, and now your odds of having a successful scene are right back in the "astronomical" range.

Not all rules carry equal weight in terms of improving your odds, of course. And sometimes the importance of the rules is mitigated by the experience of the players, their on-stage chemistry and how well they know each others' strengths and weaknesses. Andy and I quite enjoy setting each other up in certain games and scenes, by either asking a question or being sarcastic - but we have the longest history together of anyone in our troupe and I know he'll get what I'm going for and vice versa. Still, it's not the strongest choice.

And don't forget, when you ignore the rules, you're risking the game for all your scene partners as well as yourself. That's a big gamble, if you ask me.

Which, I realize, you didn't. But it's my blog.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Monday, October 15, 2012

Improv: Can I Say Penis?

A student asked an interesting question in the last session of the Level 1 improv class on Saturday. It had to do with saying words like "penis" and "vagina" in scenes, and the general improv attitude towards vulgarity.

I thought Viet was going to burst out laughing - not at the question, which was totally valid, but at ME attempting to answer it... because I'm not exactly the Queen of Propriety in improv or life, especially when it comes to language. Besides the usual 4-letter words I throw around with reckless abandon, I wrote an entire novel in which the protagonist's unpleasant estranged husband is referred to exclusively as "Dickhead." So I may not be the best judge of what's "vulgar." That being said, we got into an interesting discussion about self-censoring in improv.

My general belief is, if you're in class, try it. Not the self-censoring, duh. I mean, if you wanna say something, just say it. I would insist on students respecting each others' personal space and sense of decorum in terms of touchy-feely-ness (ie, don't kiss your scene partner until you've gotten drunk with them, perhaps) but I don't really worry about students saying inappropriate things. After all, you're in class to push yourself out of your comfort zone and try things - not everything is gonna work, and that's part of the learning process. But worrying in advance about what words you should/should not say is just one more way to lock you in your head. And nothing good comes from that.

If you're performing, it's a slightly different story.
  1. For one thing, I do believe in respecting your host. So if you're invited to perform at a church, or a business event, or a family-friendly tea house, you should give them the clean show they want - both in terms of language AND content. If you can't keep it clean, you shouldn't take those gigs.
  2. Second, vulgarity isn't funny if it doesn't end. Raunchy is funny up to a point - but it quickly becomes too easy. I mean, if your humor primarily appeals to 7th grade boys, you're not really pushing yourself OR engaging the majority of your audience.
  3. And third, as with moving around the stage, swearing and vulgarity should have some purpose: to heighten the emotion, perhaps, or because the straight-laced-librarian-looking-woman bursts out of her shell or the character you're playing needs to speak this way. I actually swear a lot LESS in shows than I do in real life, because not all the characters I play would swear like a sailor the way real life Sonnjea does.
On a completely unrelated note, "penis" is a funny word.

There are still a couple spots left in the next Level 1 improv class, so sign up soon, gosh darnit.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Thursday, October 11, 2012

Sketchy People

The H2G sketch class started last night - this is the performance class which means it ends with a, um, performance.


Class was awesome, and it was really fun to see how well improv complements sketch. We'd get a basic skeleton of an idea for a sketch, and then play around with improv to find the beats and really figure out where the funny was coming from, then get input from Darren and the rest of the class. Now we have a week to fine-tune a few of those that had a lot of potential, and we'll see next week how they're fleshing out.

There are plenty of scenes I could tell you about, but I won't because I don't know yet which ones are going to end up in the show and I don't want to ruin the surprise for you. But the good news is, we could've just kept the scenes we created last night and made an awesome show from them - and yet, we still have 3 more writing sessions to come up with even more, better, funnier material. So be sure and get your tickets (they go on sale at the website on Sunday, October 14) or you will be sad. The show runs for 2 nights, and seating is limited.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Well, It Made Sense to Me

I don't usually remember my dreams. I don't know if that makes me a psychopath or what, but it is what it is. However, the dreams I do remember are the unpleasant ones. Not always nightmares; just not unicorns-and-sparkles happy.

What the heck does this have to do with improv? is the question I think you're mouthing at this moment.

Okay, I'ma tell you. See, sometimes I have dreams involving my real friends, only in my dreams they are real jerks. Then I wake up in the morning and I'm real mad at my real friends... except they didn't technically do anything wrong. So now I'm stuck being mad at people for reasons known only to me, which makes it hard for them to understand why I'm not acting like my usual cheery self. What? I'm cheery, dammit.

This happens all the time in improv. Not the sleeping and having bad dreams part, but the part where one person is happy/sad/angry/paranoid/admiring/flirtatious/whatever for reasons known only to them. We're so used to cutting to the chase, that we often neglect to tell every step in the story. But in improv, you have to spell it all out.

I used the socks on the line story once before, but it's a good example and it doesn't make anybody look bad except me, so I'll use it again. The scene was nursing home residents watching a woman hanging out laundry. Andy noted the lady was hanging up a single sock. Viet mentioned that I was mean and yet clung desperately to anyone I could find.

In my head, the lone sock was a perfect analogy for this bitter old woman who didn't have a mate but who clung to people like socks without fabric softener. And I thought the bitter old woman would wonder why the sock had to be lonely, so I said, "What's the deal with the one sock?" or something along those lines. The whole analogy about my life = a solitary sock with static cling got trapped in my head, so it looked like I wasn't interested in those awesome labels of loneliness and bitterness and clingyness, and just wanted to talk about socks.

Much like Vegas, what happens in your head stays there. People you've dreamed about don't know they left you at the restaurant and stuck you with the bill. People in improv scenes don't know you've made eleven leaps of logic and are now stabbing them even though what they said was, "You're always trying to make friends with people through food."

That line or two it takes to justify the emotional change or the information you're giving makes all the difference in terms of the scene making sense and your partner knowing what's going on inside your noggin. So just spell it out.

As for Nate and Darren, you owe me lunch.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Thursday, October 4, 2012

No Robot Improv

I am so glad you are reading this blog, at your computers here in your living rooms on earth because you enjoy improv, my friends who are not strangers to me.

If you've done improv more than once, you know what I'm talking about. If not, I assure you I haven't lost my marbles.

There's something that happens to people when they do improv scenes (or exercises like add info lineup) that causes their brains to forget how actual humans converse. In an effort to get out the who/what/where/relationship information at the beginning of a scene - which I applaud and encourage wholeheartedly - the words sometimes become stilted, inorganic and downright robotic.

We did exercises in last week's Level 3 classes that focused on getting out all that info in just two lines... while talking like fully functioning adult human beings. I noticed two interesting things while watching 25 or so attempts at this in add info lineup.
  1. First, the person who had the first line automatically took their time doing some spacework, getting into an emotional state and connecting with their scene partner while trying to figure out how to talk like a normal person. In that time, they were able to connect with their partners, and the audience got a chance to see something building (often something hilarious, just based on the physicality) before the dialogue started.
  2. And second, by getting out that information in an organic way, practically every pairing got to a "big what" by the end of the second line. I've watched and played in tons of scenes that NEVER got to a big what. So for the vast majority to get to the reason "today is the big day" in only two lines is amazing.
You know how I roll, so you have probably guessed that I have an opinion as to why this is so. And yes, I'ma share it with you now.

I think it's because, instead of just blurting out facts in a robotic fashion, speaking organically by its very nature includes our feelings about things. Feelings about things = labels. Labels = stepping stones to the big what. So saying, "I appreciate you letting me move back home after I lost my job, mom. But it's Friday night, and I'd really rather be out with my friends instead of washing dishes with you," is chock full of both facts and feelings. And when the other person says, "Gosh, Donna, I thought this would be a good time for us to reconnect and relive all the great times we've had together in this kitchen," we know that these two are NOT on the same page and this is the big day it's all going down. Yay! Two lines, a big what, and all because they spoke like regular people.

The good news is, we can all do that because we're all regular people and, uh, being regular people by definition requires no special skills.

You're welcome.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Eye Contact: Good. Sonnjea's Brain: Bad.

Eye contact is a tricky thing. Not enough, and people will think you're a shifty-eyed-lying-used-car-salesman type. Too much, and people will get a restraining order. It's even trickier in improv, where it's the main mechanism for getting two or more people out of their own heads and onto the same page.

Researchers have done studies on the involuntary eye movements people make when they are thinking. Looking up or down, left or right, all serve a purpose in terms of accessing information stored in our brains. For example, I was just stuck for a word, and I looked up and to the left. Which is, you know, the spot on my wall where I keep lists of words. But that's a whole other thing.

The problem, as it applies to improv, is that when I look anywhere in an attempt to access information in my brain, I am only looking IN MY BRAIN. Those of you who know me realize what a small place that is to look. But even if my brain held as much information as Albert Einstein, it's a crappy place to look for improv-y information.

Looking in your own brain is a recipe for sticking to an agenda. Sorry, you can argue with me till the cows come home and couch it in whatever terms you like, but you won't convince me otherwise. If you think the information in your head (your agenda) is what you need, you're not trusting the process to provide the information that the scene needs.

The only way to connect with your scene partner(s) and let go of your agenda is to look them square in the eyes and take time to let that connection form. Then you aren't looking in YOUR brain and they aren't looking in THEIR brain, but you are both looking in the UNIFIED brain you've magically created.

I honestly don't know if there have been studies on this type of magical eye contact or not. Speaking as a person who had to work very hard to learn to make eye contact, I can attest to the almost indescribable difference it makes in improv. Honestly, just in the comfort level alone, it's worth it - if you're ever feeling alone and exposed onstage, make eye contact with your partner. Bam! Now you're not one of X number of people on stage, you are part of a larger collective with the same goals and objectives.

Well, now it just sounds creepy and Borg-y. But I think you get my point. Eye contact: good.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Monday, October 1, 2012

Which Came First: the Chicken or the Self-Esteem?

I have reasonably high self-esteem, in case you were wondering. Whatever. Self-esteem, like confidence, is more of an inner state of being than a reflection of actual, tangible achievements.

Yes, yes. This is going to be about improv, I swear.

First, and most obvious, is that improv can help improve self-esteem. When you discover you aren't constrained by made-up limits or afraid of being in the gray area of not knowing, it builds your self-esteem and confidence.

Second, and something I just learned, is that improv can help you identify those areas where your self-esteem is lacking. Friggin' yay.

The against type exercise on Friday got me to do some deep thinking about why "sexy" is so frequently against type for me (although this time they went with the more generic "girly girl"). The truth is, I don't do sexy characters because I just don't see myself that way. And yes, I get that it's a character. And no, I don't see myself as a swamp-dwelling redneck, or a cavewoman or most of the other characters I've played in improv. So what's the deal with the sexy thing?

Then I remembered what Eddie Cardoza said to me in 7th grade. I've received worse insults since then, but I've never forgotten his. He said, "You look like you traded legs with a chicken and lost your ass in the deal." In his defense, that was a fairly accurate description. But when you are a weirdly skinny, gangly adolescent with too-long limbs and no boobs, the no-ass/chicken leg assessment hits a little too close to home to laugh off.

And I realized that some part of my self-perception hasn't progressed since that time, and the idea of the no-ass/chicken leg chick trying to pull off sexy would just be so far-fetched that a) there's no point in making the audience work that hard, and b) if they did laugh, it would be because they were laughing AT me (and not in the good way.)

ARGHHHH. When it just seemed like I preferred other types of characters and was content to leave sexy to those more qualified to play it, I was okay with the choice. Now that I see it's a subconscious limit I've placed on myself and that I don't do it because I don't have any particular self-esteem in that area, I have no choice but to bust through it. So, great... one more thing to add to my to-do list. That's how it is with improv, you know. You learn that you don't have to live with limitations, which means if you are living with limitations it's because you've chosen to. I don't choose to.

Ready to bust through YOUR limitations? H2g improv classes are starting at the end of October - sign up soon, cuz they always fill up!

By Sonnjea Blackwell