Doing Good Improv = Not Giving a F*ck

You'll have to excuse my language today, but there's an article that I refer back to periodically called The Complete Guide to Not Giving a Fuck, and it's kinda the point of my blog today.

Improv, as I may have mentioned, can be scary. I mean, it's scary in a good way, not in an oh-my-god-there's-a-scorpion-on-my-nose way. But it's scary nonetheless. And in a really weird way, it can actually become scarier as time goes along. Yes, I'ma tell you why. How's that for awesome sauce?

Assuming you start taking improv classes on your own and you don't know a single person in class - that in itself can be scary. However, you don't know these people, so there's an excellent chance you don't give the tiniest fuck what they think. Even the teacher, probably. You push yourself to whatever degree you're capable of, and you go for it, and the opinion of the others in class probably factors very little into your mindset.

Only then you keep taking the class, and you get to know your classmates and pretty soon you're friends with them and singing at karaoke bars with them after class or attending tea parties with them on the weekends or being decorated with Batgirl figurines by them when you fall asleep on your couch during your own party. Or, you know, so I'm told. And pretty soon, these are among the very most important people in your life.

And you realize you give very much of a fuck what they think.

And that, my friends, is no good in terms of improv.

As #3 of the aforementioned article states, "It's Your People That Matter," and they matter a lot. Their opinions matter, their friendships matter, they matter. And I don't know about you, but I want the people I care about to like me. (Sometimes, as Lisa has kindly pointed out when I needed to be called on my bullshit, I want them to like me best. It's true. I can be that shallow.)

When your people matter, and it causes you to rise up and be the best version of yourself, that's awesome. But when you're afraid of losing their good opinion, you can start to self-censor and judge yourself in an effort to avoid incurring their judgment. You might not want to look stupid or silly or ugly or gross or creepy or whatever on stage, for fear that they will not approve and no longer like you.

I'm not going to lie; it could happen. People have walked out of my life for less valid reasons than those, so I know it's a possibility. But just think about how colossally stupid that even sounds: I'm afraid that if I do a creepy/sexy/stupid/gross/whatever character that you won't like the character and, consequently, you will no longer like me.

If your friends are that lame, they don't really qualify as "Your People That Matter." No. They don't. Anybody who would stop being your friend because you put it all out there in an improv scene with a character or emotion or information WAS NOT YOUR FRIEND IN THE FIRST PLACE.

You can't be afraid AND do good improv at the same time, because you will always be holding something back. Naturally, that doesn't mean you just flop around onstage and say whatever you want; there are still rules and structure to keep in mind if you want to do good improv and be a good scene partner. Feedback on your technique is still valid and appropriate, especially in a class setting - you can't learn or improve without it. So it's okay to care what people think of how the character/emotion/information WORKED in the scene, but it's not okay to care what they think of you for attempting it. Your People That Matter will applaud you for pushing out of your comfort zone. And the others...

Well, who gives a fuck about the others, anyway.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Feats of Strength

Yesterday I did handstand pushups at the gym. Okay, so they were little tiny pushups, not down-to-the-floor-and-all-the-way-up pushups... But they WERE handstand pushups and I for one was pretty impressed with myself. (We'll ignore the part where I couldn't figure out how to step up and over a step. Uh. Right.)

The reason I'm telling you this is not to brag about my feats of strength, but rather to make an analogy between the gym and improv and life. See, I can keep going to the gym every day until I croak, and I might never gain one iota of strength or fitness, I might never add muscle mass or burn fat, I might never get any more coordinated (see the step thingy, above). I'd still laugh and have fun with Nate... but that's not really the goal of working out. The only way I can get stronger and leaner and more coordinated is to keep pushing myself and keep trying to do things I couldn't do last time.

The same principle applies in improv. You get out of improv class what you put into it. If you show up with the mindset of having fun, great. You will have fun, I can pretty much guarantee that. But if that's your only goal, that's the only result you will achieve. In order to get better, you have to put yourself out there every class and push further out of your comfort zone and keep trying to do things you couldn't do last time. Just showing up gets you a huge round of applause the first time you show up. After that, just showing up is... uh... just showing up. Duh.

I guess I probably don't have to point out that this is how life works, too... Give a half-assed effort in your work, relationships, school, hobbies, shaving, you name it, and you will get a commensurate result. That explains all those scraggly hipster beards...

By Sonnjea Blackwell

I Wrote This Blog Post... Where's My Applause?

I know some people have jobs where they don't receive instantaneous feedback. Brain surgeons, for example - they don't get a round of applause after drilling a hole in somebody's skull. Firefighters don't put out a fire, then stand out in front of the building and take bows while the neighborhood gives them an ovation. Most jobs, in fact, don't involve a pat on the back after every single task. Although it would be cool if you typed a report, then got applause, then filed some receipts, then got applause, then handled a disgruntled customer, then got applause...

Improv is different from most other jobs in that regard. Usually. But sometimes, the audience is either not on board or they are on board, but they're low-key about it, and they aren't all fast and loose with the laughter and applause. It can happen when you do LBC humor for a largely Orange County crowd, or when the general mood of an audience is best described as "cranky pants" or when most of the audience is students watching with the intention of learning stuff.

There's a tendency for that to happen in classes, as well as in shows. It's not that we don't think our classmates are funny - they are funny as hell, as a matter of fact. But when you're watching a scene or exercise with the intention of learning from it, your brain is in a different place than when you're watching it for escape or entertainment, and you might literally forget to laugh.

But guess what? Just like the neurosurgeon isn't waiting for an ovation before he makes the next incision, improvisors can't rely on feedback from the audience to keep them going. Sometimes you do a scene and it doesn't get a lot of laughs... oh well. You can't let that get to you, or you'll get all heady and worried and you'll start to throw out weirder and weirder information in a vain attempt to lure in the audience and then each succeeding scene will be worse and it'll be a vicious circle ending with you doing crappy improv even if the only reason they didn't clap at the first scene was because they all just woke up from their naps.

By the same token, you can't let the audience laughing at something convince you that you just did good improv. Audiences are not skilled improv critics and they are notorious for laughing when they want, not necessarily at the moments of improvy brilliance. Your goal as an improvisor, should you choose to accept it, is to do the best improv you can in every scene or exercise, regardless of how the audience (or the rest of the class) responds.

A strong connection with your scene partner(s) will help you disregard the audience because at least you'll feel like you're in this together and you can help each other by sharing your energy when the audience is stingy with theirs. Make eye contact, listen intently, respond with big emotion and stay fully committed, and you will reap the reward of knowing that you did kickass improv. And no audience in the world can take that away from you.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Who Am I?

A recurring theme for everyone I know who does improv with the sincere desire to improve is dealing with the crises of confidence. As I've mentioned before, the learning "curve" is really more of a zig-zag, and sometimes when you've hit a plateau and gotten stuck there for a while, or when you've taken a downward turn for some reason or other, it can affect your confidence. The only thing to do then is to stick it out, keep working at it and try not to let it get you trapped in your head. The more you can just accept, "Oh well, I suck right now" and keep pushing yourself - without beating yourself up for it, judging yourself for it or dwelling on it - the faster you'll get out of it.

The challenge I'm confronting now isn't a crisis of confidence, it's an identity crisis. This goes back to the idea of labels, and how I have labeled myself through my life - as well as how I've allowed others to label me - and the difficulty in throwing off those labels and accepting new ones. A very simple example is the fact that I consider myself a blonde. I was one of those kids with real light hair that got darker as I got older until, by high school, I had very dark brown hair. But I never "felt" like a brunette, even though that's clearly my natural state. So, for most of my adult life, I've gone back and forth between brown and blonde because, though I prefer blonde, I sometimes feel obligated to try and be "natural." Like somehow, deciding to be blonde is being fake.

Actually, deciding to be blonde is just giving myself a label. I had to work to overcome my natural shyness, but I don't feel obligated to continue to be shy because it was my original state of being. So why do I feel apologetic for liking my hair light instead of dark? Like I said, the hair thing is just a simple example - I'm not that hung up on my hair. It's just an example of how we get stuck with these labels.

I think part of the reason we as humans get stuck in a rut, or get trapped being something we don't want to be or what have you, is that we think labels mean forever. If you've been labeled shy or outgoing or bitchy or smart or whatever, there's a tendency to hold on to that label even in the face of clear evidence to the contrary. So then there's an internal fight between who you were and who you are, and plenty of people who aren't you have some vested interest in you staying the way you were, because that's the person they [think they] know. Sometimes the label was never true, it was just a mask you put on or a perception others had and somehow it stuck.

I know in real life, changing the way you see yourself and the way everyone else sees you is much more difficult than just throwing out a label like, "I'm the bravest chick EVAH!" in an improv scene. But overcoming improv challenges gives you courage and clarity and you can apply those in every area of your life... that's kinda why we call it "improv for life," peeps.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

I'm Sorry that You're Sorry

There's a famous line from the book and movie Love Story that goes something like this: Love means never having to say you're sorry. While that's clearly a load of crap, there are instances in life where apologies are unnecessary. Generally speaking, improv class is one of them.

Frequently, when I'm critiquing an exercise or scene and say something like, "So I think if we knew who you were to each other, blah blah blah," or "It was a little questiony," or whatever I might say, students will apologize to me. I hate that.

Wait, wait! Let me explain. I am SOOOOO not upset with the students. What I hate is that people have been so ingrained that they shouldn't express themselves or that their feelings are stupid or that they have to be perfect, that they feel compelled to apologize for saying or doing something "wrong." I'm upset with society, okay? Not you.

Improv is here to help you with being in the moment, saying things and doing stuff. Yes, in order to do "good" improv, there are rules that must be followed and a structure that everything hangs on. And it's my job to teach students all that. But I don't want people to apologize for not understanding something or not getting it right away or being unable to change a lifetime of habits like asking questions on the first try.

There are two things in improv class that warrant an apology: bailing and being disrespectful to a classmate. If you commit, do whatever your best is any given day and encourage your classmates, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. In fact, if you do all those things, then you should high-five yourself and say loudly to any voices in your head that make you want to apologize for not being perfect: Fuck you. I'm magic.

That's what I do.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

What Improv Is... and Isn't

I talked to a lady over the weekend who is interested in improv classes in Long Beach but was concerned that she's "not funny."

Since a new batch of classes starts this week, I figured it's as good a time as any to address the common misconception that improv is about trying to be funny.

Improv is about many things: listening, being in the moment, letting go of your agenda, agreement, commitment, jumping into something fully, carrying your own weight, playing well as a member of a team, connecting with others, creating something that's greater than the sum of its parts, to name several.

Improv is also NOT about many things: being funny, going for the joke, being sarcastic, being witty, being clever, being the center of attention, showing off, to name several.

In an improv exercise, game or scene, the goal is for the team to build something together that, because the players played by the rules and within the structure of the game, ends up being hilarious. The brilliance of improv is that the less you try to force funny to happen, the better the scene will be and ultimately, the funnier it will be. Doing those things that improv is NOT about will do nothing to build your scene and or the sense of teamwork improv depends upon.

So if you're concerned about taking an improv class because you think you're not funny, don't worry! Improv class is about learning the fundamentals of improv and learning to apply them in the exercises and games we do... it's also about making great new friends, having a blast and laughing till your sides ache. That's what happens in a class that's not about "being funny."

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Reasonably Attractive, In Flattering Light

I've written about labels in improv before, but it's been a little while and I have a new perspective on it today.

I always talk about labels being specific and, ideally, helping to identify a character and/or behavioral trait. Labels about looks are good, too, if we learn what that means to either of the characters. But something in class reminded me today that labels that define a character flaw, personality weakness or other shortcoming are perhaps the awesomest labels of all.

Not that all the characters in a scene will be a "loser" - but still, every character needs to have a flaw or something that humanizes them. The big, macho, arrogant guy is simply a bully... unless he has a weakness of his own. And those kinds of labels can be really specific as well. Maybe his favorite movie is Bambi (the Disney one, not some porn one), or maybe he is afraid of the dark, or maybe he's always secretly wanted to be a ballerina.

Same thing with appearance. "Brunette" is a label, but it only tells us the person has brown hair. What does that mean? Once, I labeled myself as "reasonably attractive, in flattering light." "Reasonably attractive" is an okay label, but sort of vague. "In flattering light" adds an extra layer of information - in this case, obvious insecurity - which gives the character something to work with. The fact that I labeled myself this way in a real-life conversation, not an improv scene, is completely irrelevant. My self esteem is fine, thank you very much.

Um. Yes. Moving on.

My point is just this: your labels should help define a character, not simply describe them. For example, "She's hungry" is a boring label, whereas "She's always so cantankerous because she's hungry from dieting incessantly in an attempt to look like Jennifer Aniston" is a label that's full of useful information for building a character.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to turn down the lights. It's not flattering in here at all.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

"LOOK AT ME!!"

Not too long ago, Richard was attempting to teach me a dance that was evidently very clear to him in his head, and he would say, "Look at me! LOOK AT ME!!" to try and get me to be able to follow him. Let's just say that a) one or both of us may have been a bit tipsy, and b) I am the worst dancer EVER, so this was not the most successful endeavor we've undertaken, but even in his allegedly impaired state, he had a point about the look at me thing.

Eye contact is a magical thing. I'm sure you get sick of hearing that word in relation to improv, but sometimes I don't have a better explanation, so magic it is. I was not a natural at eye contact when I started improv. I was shy, and had trouble making or maintaining eye contact in real life, and I could NEVER hold the eye contact for long in exercises like Multiword Story, where Darren would conduct and the players had to keep their eyes on his for the ENTIRE exercise. Some stories seemed to go on for what felt like 7 years or so.

Darren kept insisting that eye contact would help us get out of our heads, help us be in the moment, help us know what to say rather than thinking of what to say and help us get on the same page with our scene partner. I believed him intellectually, but being stubborn on top of shy, I didn't think it would work for ME.

Then one night, I was doing some exercise with Andy. I have no idea what it was. But somehow I made eye contact with him (it was probably an accident; I probably looked at him when I figured he'd be looking somewhere else), and then by some miracle I didn't flinch or look away, and I realized I knew exactly what he was going to say next. He said it, I responded, and the scene was... well, I dunno because I can't remember the scene. I just remember the feeling of being on the same page for the first time.

From that moment on, I was sold on the concept of eye contact. I've seen it work a million times, for everyone. Obviously, you don't always know what your scene partner is going to say. But there is a connection that you can only get from eye contact that takes you a long way towards being almost psychic sometimes. Even if you can never get the scene going, you have that connection and the strong sense that at least you are not in this alone.

But it has to be real eye contact, peeps. Looking just to the left or right of your partner's eyes so it LOOKS like you're making eye contact, but you're really not, doesn't work. Also, staring without seeing doesn't work. Plus it's creepy. Please don't do that.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

No More Words

I have been staring at my laptop for a good 36 minutes and I have nothing to say. NOTHING. I think I'm just saving all my words for this weekend, when I'm teaching my regular Level 1 Improv class Saturday AND the Intro to Improv 1/2-Day Workshop Sunday. That's a whole lotta words for me to come up with.

Actually, the 1/2-Day workshop demands fewer words on my part than usual classes require... It's a dip-your-toe-in-the-water-to-see-if-you-like-improv kinda thing for new peeps, and an extra play session for those who have taken classes in the past or are currently enrolled. Since it's more of a workshop, I just explain how to do the exercises and let people give 'em a shot, rather than getting into all the how's and why's and all those pesky rules.

This particular one filled up FAST, so we scheduled another one already, for March 24th. If you've been wondering if improv is for you (trust me, it is), or just wanting a chance to play with different people, or needing something that doesn't require a 6-week commitment, this is the workshop for you.

I promise, I'll have words. Just not too many.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

But When Do We Do Scenes?!?

Sometimes, I have students who get frustrated with me because we don't just jump right into doing improv scenes. And I get that... I mean, if you've watched Whose Line or seen shows at Groundlings or whatever, you think woohoo! that looks fun! and you want to try it.

The thing is, you might watch a football game or Dancing with the Stars or a brain surgery and think it looks fun - but you don't assume that because you're interested in it, you are automatically endowed with the skills needed to do it.

I'm not saying improv is brain surgery. But it does have rules and a structure, which vary according to the type of improv we're talking about. So we spend a few weeks doing exercises focused on the various rules like agreement, adding information, commitment, not asking questions, being an expert, not being sarcastic, having big emotions, not trying to be funny and the like. And guess what? Even though those exercises aren't complete improv scenes, you're still doing improv. You are doing improv from the minute you walk into the very first class and holler Yay!

Any group of friends can get together and play Scenes from a Hat and be hilarious. But when you sign up for an improv class, it's my job to teach you stuff. Trust me, I'd be happy to jump up onstage with you and just play, but that's not why I make the big bucks. If you're constantly looking ahead and wondering, "When is she ever going to let us do scenes?" you're missing out on all the learning and all the fun!! It's not as if the exercises are like, well, exercising. They're fun to do and hilarious to watch. And if you're constantly looking ahead, you aren't in the moment.

Since being in the moment is more or less the underpinning of improv... well, I think you get the point.

By Sonnjea Blackwell

Improv: Let's Play Soldiers!

I learned something in an improv class recently. I know, shocking.

As you all probably have realized by now, I am quite analytical and derive part of my enjoyment of improv from analyzing the why's and wherefore's of it. Why is asking questions bad? Why is commitment the only rule that offers no wiggle room? Why does Andy no longer carry his dead wife's head around in a mason jar?

I know the answers to two out of three of those questions, by the way.

One thing I've been analyzing lately is the idea of being self-conscious. Actually, self-aware might be a better way to put it. Self-conscious implies embarrassment, and I want to use the word in a broader sense. See, some people are self-conscious in the sense that they feel judged when the audience watches them do certain types of characters or voices or physicality, and that feeling of judgment leads them to be embarrassed or inhibited.

On the other hand, some people are self-conscious in the sense that they feel like what they're doing is awesome and they can't wait for the audience to see it. Rather than feeling embarrassed, they are showing off. So it's not self-consciousness in the way we normally think of the word, but it still requires an awareness of yourself and the audience: I am showing off for you. That's a better way to go, because you'll be much more likely to fully commit to a character and play the emotions HUGE than if you're inhibited. But...

I talked to someone recently who was having a great class and I asked if she had any previous improv or drama experience. She laughed and said no, but that sometimes she and her friends just goofed off in an improv-y sort of way to amuse themselves.

And I realized that that's what we do when we're kids. Of course, we don't know the rules of improv. But we instinctively commit, marching around like soldiers, or prowling around like cops and robbers or making delicious spacework (back then we called it "pretend") brownies for our playing house families. We had deep voices, threw out our chests, cowered in pretend fear, were total experts at everything, screamed at the top of our lungs - and we weren't self-conscious. We were just totally in the moment, playing.

I don't know if there's any way to be aware of the audience/class/teacher and not let it affect you, in either the don't look at me way OR the hey! look at me! way, but it's now another goal of mine to forget anybody's watching and just PLAY!

By Sonnjea Blackwell