Monday, May 15, 2017


On a short commuter flight from John Wayne airport back to SFO I sat next to a quiet well dressed businesswoman in her 40's. On board she watched a film on her IPad.  At a half hour into the flight the attractive African American stewardess stopped at our seats for the customary in flight drink.  
"Would you like something to drink?" she asked.  
My companion replied "Do you have cranberry juice? "
"We have crab-apple juice, will that be okay?"
"Yes," she nodded.
"Would you like ice?"
" Just a little please."
Turning to me, she repeated her query.  
"I'd like tomato or V-8 if you have it."
"We have tomato or Bloody Mary mix," she said. 
"I'd like the Bloody Mary mix with no ice, " 

The stewardess began making the drinks.  She put a half cup of ice into one of the small plastic glasses. Then she poured water into the cup with ice. Following this she poured Bloody Mary mix into the other cup.  She then handed the ice water to my seat mate who accepted it with a smile.  I received my drink, thanked her, and the cart moved on. 

After a while my curiosity surfaced and I took the liberty of asking my companion, "Excuse me, didn't you order cranberry juice?"
"Yes, I did." she replied.
"How kind of you," I said, "to accept the water."
"She was busy," she said thoughtfully, leaving it at that.

And I wondered how often it happens that someone accepts a mistaken order out of respect for the convenience of the server?  

Would you have?

What a perfect example of kindness.  

May 14, 2017

On board United 5809

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

The influence of Peter Brook

Manuscript of Peter Brook: A Survey of His Directorial Achievements, 1968

December 31, 1965  Martin Beck Theater, New York City

It was New Years eve over fifty years ago. I remember it clearly. The new year 1966 was about to be heralded in all over Manhattan. Outside Times Square was packed for the dropping of the ball.  But I was not out celebrating. I was sitting in my third row center orchestra seat in the Martin Beck Theater on Broadway ten minutes after the house had cleared. The orchestra was now empty following the performance. An occasional usher was checking under the seats for programs or debris. I was still sitting sobbing gently and my whole body was shaking.  Trying to understand my state the word ‘catharsis’ came to mind. I felt fundamentally changed. The theater as a vehicle for transformation seemed obvious now. What had happened?  The final notes of  Richard Peaslee’s music still hung in the auditorium. Kokol spoke directly to me and screamed: “When will you learn to take sides?” I found this a personal message.

 I had to speak with someone connected with the production.

Still shaking and with tears running down my face I made my way outside and to the backstage door and knocked.  A stage manager opened it and seemed surprised on seeing a 23 year old woman, clearly in extremis.  “Can I help you?” he said, with concern in his voice.  “I need to speak to somebody in the company please,” I begged.  I expect that my emotional state was justification for him to invite me backstage.  He ushered me down the hall toward the dressing room for Patrick McGee and Ian Richardson, the stars of the play, The Persecution and Assassination of Jean Paul Maret as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum at Cheranton under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade which had been directed by the incomparable Peter Brook. The play was in its final week of previews and I had scored a ticket out of great good luck or by providence.

Ian Richardson opened the door to his dressing room and seeing me still sobbing, almost shouted:  “What happened to you?”  .  .   .   “I just saw YOUR PLAY,” I blurted out. 
He and McGee actually laughed and then he said:  “Looks like you need a drink.” And he went over to a bottle of Scotch and poured some into a paper cup.  I think I began babbling something about how much this had affected me. I didn’t stay long and I don’t remember much more about that moment except to say that these two world famous actors were very kind to this crazy lady who was still under the spell of their profoundly disturbing and inspiring production. 

It’s not hyperbole to say that this play “changed my life.”  The injunction to “take sides” led me to become actively involved in political action around the civil rights struggle that was going on in the South were I lived.  Segregation was being challenged, and I knew that I had to go back to Virginia and do something to help the cause.  I chose to put together a mixed race acting company to perform a Readers Theater production of “In White America,” a docudrama about civil rights issues.  It was intended to instruct as well as open up the conversation about race.  Just traveling together in the same vehicle provoked stares and the occasional rude remark or gesture.  Lunch counters were still segregated in most of the South, so our little group of integrated players had many challenges.  I had to take sides.

I was in graduate school at the time all this happened, and I was making decisions about what to do with my life. This experience of feeling the enormity of theater in Marat/Sade was the cause of my decision to pursue theater as a career. From a meta perspective, I learned that theater could have the power of atomic fusion.  And so strong was my interest in this particular theatrical event that I chose to write my Master’s Thesis on the achievements of Peter Brook, who was then a rising star at age 43.  Peter’s father, Simon Brook kindly invited me to his home to peruse his mountain of scrapbooks with articles about his son.  A link to this ms is at the beginning of this article.

A few years later I met up with Brook at the Roundhouse when he was in the final stages of rehearsing The Tempest.  I made the acquaintance of Yoshi Oida with whom I studied in Paris in the summer of 1984. A few years later I marveled at the magic of Brook’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream and the spiritual message of his Mahabarata which I saw in LA.

In the nearly half century since I saw Marat/Sade the world has spun on a new axis.  I wonder what we would make of this experience if the play were produced today? I know it still speaks to us.  I have a deep gratitude to Peter Brook for his visionary leadership.   I admire that he has always been a seeker. His work raises the level of the art into the realm of the spirit. 

Thank you, Peter Brook, my own career was inspired by your work.  I am grateful.
With appreciation and respect,

Patricia Ryan Madson

April 21, 2017
El Granada, CA 94018

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

To all teachers of improvisation: some advice

Teaching Improv

“We teach what we most need to learn.”
Jonathan Livingston Seagull by J Bach

In an interview with Hiromachi Kimura, a Japanese improviser and graduate researcher he asked me: “What’s most important when you teach improv?”  Immediately I said  “You must model what you teach.  You need to be improvising as you teach others to do so.  That is, you simply cannot come into a classroom and “execute your syllabus” or “give your lecture.”  You need to be wild-eyed awake.  (Almost like a man just let out of jail) but focused on what needs to be done now. 

Of course you “have some plan” (I’ll teach the necessity of listening well, of attention to the present moment, etc.) but when you show up to lead the lesson you have to be fully awake to everything that is going on . . . the climate in the room, the acoustics and most especially to who is in the room, their expressions, their names, the complete gestalt.  And then you must teach from this reality, not from any premeditated idea of how the lesson should go.

You have to notice everything that is going on, and then you need to follow your impulses and try things.  You have to make mistakes and correct them as you go. You have to show yourself human in the presence of the assembled students.  Your own vulnerability is one of your greatest teaching assets.  Allow yourself to be surprised and even be thrown off guard.

In the spring of 2013 Dan Klein invited me to give a guest lecture at Stanford.  (Well, it’s never really a ‘lecture’ when you teach improv but you share some improv experiences.)  The class was an experiment to see just how large a class you could handle to teach the basic improv experience.  I think there were 90 students in the cavernous room where we billeted that day. The venue was a full court gymnasium with forty-foot ceilings and a basketball court floor.  Imagine the acoustics. We were kindly provided with stacks of metal folding chairs that we all pulled out and arranged and rearranged as we moved from one activity to another. (Improv learning always happens all over the place and rarely in tidy rows of students facing the instructor and a chalkboard.)

To speak with 90 students siting on metal folding chairs in a cavernous room was already a challenge.  After playing a listening game in partners I reassembled the group into a series of seating rows in an oval.  I tried to get all of us as close together as practical so that my voice could actually be heard. I was standing in front telling a story about how True Fiction Magazine (a top end professional improv troupe) would routinely practice repeating long stories back to each other, verbatim, to stretch their memory muscles, when a four inch dragonfly lit on my left arm.  And sat there. It was unexpected and I stopped mid sentence to observe the insect. For what seemed an eternity we all starred in silence at the wonder of this creature and its audacity to interrupt my lecture.  It was a stunning moment. 

A year later a student from that class, a journalist, wrote me a note thanking me for my teaching and he mentioned the incident with the dragonfly.  He reflected that my stopping everything to attend to that little winged fellow taught him more about the value of attention than any encyclopedia or power point.

We must be improvising when we teach.  It’s the only way.  We must trust reality and respond to it freshly.  We must allow insight/inspiration to come through us.  We must model what it is to change course, make discoveries, make mistakes, learn things as we go. When you are teaching/speaking from this vantage point you are alive and open to inspiration.  So, go ahead and make your lesson plan, but then tuck it away in favor of showing up and being there 100%. Remember that you already have what you need.

Saturday, January 7, 2017

Everyday life is the miracle

Everyday life if the miracle.  Hyperbole Abounds
I’m here to remind us that everyday life, ordinary reality IS the way. As we slip into 2017 I take stock of the “world according to popular culture.” Film and television is dominated by Superheroes, magical creatures, alternate realities, time-travel, inter and inner planetary adventures, hyper-explosives, mega bad guys and even a new President who is a Reality TV star. We all seem to be heading at warp speed into some cataclysmic and futuristic future, if you are to believe movie trailers. 
The depth of color of my Earl Grey tea, and the texture of the litter as I clean the cat box, along with the sound of our grandfather’s clock ticking can easily get lost as our minds are lured into the fantastical or the glittery.
I’m here to suggest that the miracle is not superpower but rather running water and raindrops, fresh granola and milk, aspirin and duct tape, free education and taxes. To be alive in this twenty first century is the true miracle.
We know that distraction is the enemy of purposeful living. If it’s shiny, and it moves or has a tiny red dot signifying “I’m contacting you,” then we jump. The expansive leisure that I enjoy in retirement is even challenged by my Facebook and Twitter feeds. So what can we do?
Train your mind to notice the gifts. Take a fresh look at what is around you, who is around you, what systems are in place that support you. 
January 3, 2017

Monday, October 3, 2016

What Character are you Playing?

What character are you playing?
We ARE Stories

On a leisurely walk up a hill overlooking the Pacific I was having a conversation about storytelling. My companion pointed out that every time we tell a story about something that happened to us we are functioning as novelists. Reality happens and then we talk about it. We spin it. It’s all a kind of fiction. We put it in perspective. (The contemporary phrase: “S---t happens” is already a narrative with a point of view. One of the functions of therapy, for example, is to talk about ones life with a professional. Past events are discussed and it is common to entertain the question: “Why did I do X?” Then client and therapist speculate about the probable causes of behavior. When both happen upon a story that they like, it is deemed “true” and everyone breathes more deeply as if understanding is taking place. 
Dr. DK Reynolds is fond of saying: “Nobody know why anybody does what they do.” We can simply know that they did x. However, we are all story-makers, and events alone seem to require a context, a cause and effect story line. We all do this. Without thinking.Whenever we describe an event we actively choose the role that we have played in the story. I’m guessing that we rarely give this a thought. We have already assigned value to the events as we talk about them. It is common to place yourself at the center of a drama in which you are the victim. 
Consider these stories.
1. “It took over an hour just to get to the freeway this morning. Traffic was a nightmare and there was an accident near Devil’s Slide. When I finally got to work, Alison was upset and cancelled our morning meeting. I think she is going to do the project with someone else.”
2. “Traffic this morning was moving more slowly than it usually does. I was fifteen minutes late arriving at the Office. I inconvenienced Alison who had arranged her day to meet with me first thing. I understand that the deadlines for this job require a commitment that it may be hard for me to meet.”
3. “Alison went ballistic at the office this morning. I mean, I was only 10 minutes late and she threw a hissyfit, and pushed me off the job we were working on. She is so unreasonable. I hate working with a boss who is so unfair. And, the traffic was bumper to bumper the whole commute. Honestly, some days I feel like quitting this job.”
These three stories describe the same set of circumstances. The central character (the speaker) comes off as a victim of events in the first story, as a contributor to the problem in the second, and as a victim of persecution in the third. Whenever we tell a story we are placing ourselves in it as having a role. What role do you find yourself playing?

Sunday, August 28, 2016

Stories Starring Women

Stories Starring Women
  The Bechtel Test
 Celebrating the Everyday life of Women
Something monumental in social and artistic history happened last night.  Despite my body being on Greenwich Mean Time from a month in the UK I awoke before dawn in California this morning with the sure knowledge that I needed to write about last night’s triumph at BATS.

Lisa Rowland, fast becoming a major voice, player and teacher of improvisation on the west coast and internationally, produced and directed a two night run of improvised stories about women.  She assembled a seasoned and talented cast of seven improvisers, including veterans Rebecca Stockley and Barbara Scott. Representing the Millennials was Lisa herself and Rebecca Portesky and Kimberly Maclean.  As supporting members of the ensemble she chose Dave Dennison and William Hall.  Seven improvisers bounded on the BATS stage with the promise of exploring how a few guidelines which tilted the balance of power in the direction of women might result in an evening’s entertainment before a live audience.

For anyone reading this who is a follower of improvisational theater in the Bay Area (and worldwide) knows there is groundbreaking artistic work being done here.  Among the dozens of long form theater groups experimenting and evolving new forms are the notable “3 for All,” “Awkward Dinner Party,” “The SF Improv Playhouse,” the LA based ”Impro Theatre” and “Noir Unscripted.” These currently active groups are part of a succession of twenty years of development in theatrical forms preceded by “True Fiction Magazine” and “Pulp Playhouse” to name only a few.  Someone needs to write the history of this movement, which is largely unknown to the wider theater going community.  Even in enlightened environments such as Stanford University “improv” is still looked upon as that comedy stuff.  This is a topic for a longer piece, but I need to return to the purpose of this essay: to talk about Lisa Rowland’s experiment this weekend.

Her company of improvisers, including the legendary musician, J Raoul Brody and lighting improviser Ana Nelson, did something last night that I had never seen in 50 years of theater going.  I may overstate this when I say that the “holy grail” of long form improv is to create authentic theater capable of bringing an audience to tears, touching the heart and mind and delighting us all with its freshness and clarity.  In the past year I have seen increasingly skillful work that has moved the genre of long form into a new level.  Last night tears flowed as I watched a group of ordinary characters, women, who were struggling with everyday challenges.  In the two-hour performance no one got shot or blown up.  No one screamed and raged for attention or power, and mostly everyone got along.  The agonies and triumphs were little things . . . like overcoming social anxiety or accepting the imperfections of ones parents.  Characters talked to each other, often quietly.  I never once noticed an improviser going for the quick joke or laugh.  What was riveting to me was just how dramatic ordinary life (among women) could be.
There was a kind and persistent boyfriend played by William Hall who gently worked to give his intended “space” in order for their relationship to continue.  In another simple scene Daisy (Kimberly MacLean) has an audience with a kindly banker, played by Dave Dennison.  She is seeking a loan for a business venture to build a community center for at-risk youth.  Her unabashed surprise when she gets the loan of $40K was moving.  Characters mostly helped each other and listened to one another.  The entire arch of the show was character rather than plot driven.  This choice provided spaciousness for everyone to be themselves and share the stage with a series of “ordinary miracles.” 

Rebecca Poretsky’s character, Wally was a scientist with a lot of control issues.  A particularly skillful scene was a meeting with her graduate assistants to discuss research.  Each character seemed fully developed and involved.

Near the end of the story a particularly moving scene involved the two aging sisters, Annie (Rebecca Stockley) and, I think it was Maureen played by Barbara Scott.  Maureen leads Annie into her room with the line.  “Come sit down, I need to ask for your help.”  After a long pause, she continues:  “I’m dying, Annie. And, I need a kidney.  You are a match because of our DNA.”  And, Annie throwing her arms around her sister, begins a deep and soulful acceptance of this offer.  “Of course  I will.  You NEED me.  That is the most important thing in life: to be truly needed (sobbing into her lap)”  (I fear I do disservice here to the actual dialog but I hope you will forgive me.)  It appeared to me that Rebecca’s character had real tears flowing too.

And, before I leave the impression that crying on stage or in the audience is the summum bonum let me say that this emotional reaction is just a measure of the kind of human story that was unfolding on stage.  Lisa’s show parameters provided a crucible for these kinds of stories to be told.  In the after show talkback we learned that the “rules” governing this run were simple and hearkened to the Bechdal Test.

1.     These would be scenes and stories by and about women who talked to each other
2.     The structure began with three monologues
3.     All characters would be living in the same contemporary time zone
4.     The two men in the cast would play supporting roles only

The result of these restrictions was dynamic.  Until we encounter its opposite we cannot really know how a cultural bias (e.g.  Dramatic stories are about men.) is skewing the onstage world. 

The improv stage for long form ensembles has always struck me as a political space.  Five players get an audience suggestion and begin constructing a play in our presence.  Who becomes the hero, the villain, the sidekick, the foil?  Usually in the first five minutes of a show there is a subtle power grab for who will dominate or control the evenings destiny.  Over the years I have watched with interest how some actor/improvisers are “drivers”  . . . that is, they tend to dominate the space.  Over time it has been a pleasure as an audience member to see many of these “givens” change.  What fun to see a player who usually grabs the spotlight now “hang back” and serve the narrative as a support instead of a primary.  Looked at carefully all of this jockeying for control onstage is a natural part of the art form.  In “The Bechdel Test” last night the two male cast members were simply instructed:  “Play support.”   William Hall mentioned that this instruction gave him a new perspective.  As a performer he could actively choose NOT to take control, no matter how interesting his idea might be.  “Stay in your place”  was a helpful guideline.  And, once this agreement was in place the five women could breathe deeply and see what developed between them as the stories unfolded.  The result was deeply satisfying.

Perhaps as a woman audience member I’ve had a longing for women’s stories that I didn’t even know existed until last night when this dream was fulfilled.  Thank you Lisa for your vision and for creating an environment for us all to see the power of women’s stories honestly told.  Looks like you got an A+ on your Bechdel Test.  I’m looking forward to seeing more.

Patricia Ryan Madson
El  Granada, CA

BATS Improv August 26 and 27, 2016

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Managing negative chatter

On the weekend of April 7-10, 2016, The Stanford Improvisors had a glorious 25th Reunion.  Over 130 students showed up to celebrate their memories of what it meant to be a SImp. They were there to reminisce, to perform with each other, to share life stories and to improvise songs around a piano. It was fascinating to watch the mix of old students (in their forties now with families and mortgages) with the new crop of undergraduates, so shiny with energy and creativity. What they had in common was the training as improvisors which predisposed them to be positive, helpful and supportive.  It was miraculous to watch old and young perform together on stage, making up stories and getting into mischief together.  My heart sang to see all this cooperation.  In a world where our legislators can't manage to do anything together it was heartwarming to observe how much fun got done with a room full of strangers, choosing to play together.  What a miracle.  Being a SImp meant that your team mates "had your back" and would accept whatever nonsense you might put forward.  Nothing like being around 100+ YES sayers.

During the breaks I had a chance to catch up on the lives of some of my old students now living as grown ups in the real world.  One special friend shared stories of recent disappointments at work.  She was struggling not to let the setbacks and annoyances in the workplace get her down.  A new mother, she was missing being with her gorgeous baby daughter since coming back to work from the pregnancy leave.  She found herself having been demoted and now working for a boss who was at best unappreciative of her work. 
Bummer.  I listened and attempted to console her.  "Sometimes when things are falling apart, they may actually be falling into place."  

After the weekend I sent her a card which said:  "The life we're living is not the wrong life." This is a John Tarrant quote that I find comforting.  

A week later I got an email from her which provoked the following exchange.  Perhaps some of this advice can be useful to others who are struggling as well. 

Student: "I received your cards, thank you so much, and thank you for listening to me during our visit.  Life is constantly a series of trials to test my ability to stay positive and do what's needed.  You gave me those skills all those years ago to get through tough times.  It is definitely no small thing."

Teacher:  "You are so right that life seems to be a series of trials. It is for us all. Sometimes if you can find a way to frame the notion of “trials” (which makes sense) into simply “events” it can help ease things.   The Buddhists talk about two kinds of suffering:  1. The shit that happens (pain, disease, death, unfairness, accidents, bad luck, etc.) and 2.  The suffering on top of suffering that our mind creates.  “This isn’t fair.”  "I’m never going to get the respect I deserve.”  Yada yada.  If we can begin to train our minds to not let this thinking run the show we can minimize suffering, at least, I believe."

Student: "What do you replace #2 thoughts with? Because I have many of those thoughts, they are very loud."

Teacher:  "An excellent question.
Well, here’s the thing:  we have zero control over when or whether these kinds of non-supportive thoughts “show up.”  They just appear, and if we give them any juice at all, they will stay and propagate and become creative.  It’s sort of like a bum showing up on the doorstep asking for a handout.  We notice, acknowledge, and maybe even empathize, but we don’t invite him in for a cup of tea. We often do this with our "yada yada" thoughts   by calling someone and complaining for an hour.  Or bitching to our spouses over the injustice of the world.  It's so easy to get the record stuck on: “It’s not fair.”  We get into a long legal debate over the merits, etc.  Our mind is obsessing over the injury or disappointment.  We will never win that case. 

Redirect your mind.  

So, I think the best strategy to dealing with the “suffering on top of suffering” thoughts is to #1. NOTICE what they are:  “Hmm . . .  seem to be having that “life’s a bitch, it’s not fair” paragraph rumbling around in my mind.”  Once you’ve identified a “non supportive thought train”  you are already in some manner detached from it.  The next step, rather than getting into the legal argument is to say, even out loud:  “That’s interesting.  Now what needs to be done?”  Then turn your full attention to something that needs doing and put your mind and body into that:  changing baby’s diaper, going to the store for milk, cleaning out a drawer, writing that thank you note, working on a brief.  Or even finding the “gift” inside the problem. (The asshole boss is also the one who signs my paycheck which allows me to life comfortably.) Tasks that use large body movements are especially good at redirecting the mind.  The trick with yada yada is to REPLACE them not with a counter argument, (that just continues the "having a cup of tea with your misery" metaphor).  Replace worry and chagrin with ACTION:  Doing what needs to be done.  And while this may not permanently get rid of the crapola thoughts, it allows you not to let them ruin your life. Remember “YOU are not your thoughts.  And, at least you get the kitchen clean or the brief written.”  

The longer I live the more I see that life's biggest challenge is learning how to work with the mind around negative and non-supportive thoughts.  I'm not a Pollyanna.  But I am able to see that "Life is good, even when it isn't."  It's helpful to be reminded.

Every moment a new one.  "The life you are living is not the wrong life." wise words from John Tarrant. And good luck redirecting the yada yada into constructive action.  

Thursday, February 4, 2016

You Decide

November, 2014

The name on her Deli Counter Employee badge said Linda.  I judged her to be right around my age  . . . just pushing into her 70’s.  There was a light in her eye as if she had just won the lottery.  “Having a good day?” she almost sang as I pushed my cart down a slender aisle near the Deli.  “I am,” I replied, “and it’s clear that you are too!” 

“Oh, well. It’s easy,” she beamed,  “You decide. You decide to be happy.  I mean, everybody’s got their junk, even the folks who seem to have it all. But you can decide to be happy, ya know.  That’s what I do.  And, her whole body virtually glowed with the truth of her simple idea. 

I’d been rereading Victor E. Frankl’s Man's Search for Meaning again and Linda’s point has reinforced his proud comment:  “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”

It’s important to remember that we decide how we look at life.  We attribute meaning to the world.  It’s easy to forget this as we encounter life and notice all the things that make us unhappy.  Like a magnet the mind goes to the negative.  Linda reminds us to turn this bad habit around.  Decide. 

Notice the gifts.  Notice all that you are receiving.  Notice the ease most of us have.  And, even for those with life challenges, notice how much help there is. 

There’s a Buddhist saying:  “Every day is a good day.” 

You decide.