FINDING THE RIGHT IMPROV TEACHER

                     FINDING THE RIGHT IMPROV TEACHER

Since improv is trending in the media now and in pop film culture I thought I'd say a few words about finding the right fit. If you are considering taking an improv class here are some thoughts on finding a teacher:

I’m fond of saying that selecting an improv coach/teacher is very much like finding a therapist. One size doesn’t fit all. And there are hundreds of reasons to commence a class or workshop with improv in the title, and there are at least as many teaching styles and purposes. And, truth be told, anyone can call herself an “improv teacher.” There is no formal or even informal certification of those who put out the IMPROV shingle. I’ve known a young woman who had taken a single improv class, found it exciting, and then made up flyers to announce that she was teaching a six week class. And, I suppose it’s possible that she had a natural talent for understanding improv and that the class was terrific. Regardless of clocked hours or training and experience as an improviser, the measure of the value of an improv class is often personal. The operative question to ask an improv leader is: “What is your purpose in teaching this class?’ The answer will be revealing.

I recently attended a high level conference at Stanford University where I had taught for some years. The conference leader announced that there would be a session on improvisation following lunch. This pleased me, as a little dose of improv wisdom would be welcome at this rather academic day, curiously, on the topic of innovation. The young leader introduced herself and told us all that she was new to this, that she had never done this game before and was experimenting. Fair enough, I thought. I like it when improv teachers are themselves improvising. We all filed into a large open space in an adjoining room. We were given instructions to find a partner and to face each other and then take turns leading and following while making random movements. (This is the classic Mirror Game used for decades in actor training.) After a minute or so we were instructed to join with another pair making a foursome, still mirroring. “Add some noises,” she coached. This continued until the large group of 60 was in one big circle all mirroring. And, then abruptly, the leader said: “thank you.” It was all over. We all applauded as if we had done something extraordinary. That was the end of it. The organizer announced that the next session would start in ten minutes across the hall.

What had happened? The leader had simply set this activity in motion. Period. Besides “doing the Mirror Game” I don’t think our young leader had any purpose for this odd activity. What struck me was the waste. This game can teach a plethora of life lessons about self-other-power-control, and most of all about attention. At the very least it can be a jumping off place to discuss our fear of being observed or judged. (Everyone feels silly doing this at a conference.) What makes no sense is to simply do the game, sans instruction or debriefing. The game is not improv. We might as well have been playing hide and seek . . . which is at least a proper game. No doubt this young women had been introduced to this game by some acting or improv teacher and was confusing a tool with the learning.

For my money a good improv class has a balance between experience and reflection, with the emphasis on experience. Improv isn’t psychodrama, but failure to take note of the implications of what happens to us when we jump into the pool and try out new ways of thinking and doing is a missed opportunity.

For most of my beginning classes I invite the group to form a standing circle, take a moment to look around at who is in the room and then shake their bodies lightly. This is followed by a game called Sound Ball in which I begin by miming throwing a ball to someone in the circle accompanied by a random sound. “Whoosh,”. . . I shout (pretending to throw a ball) at Tom. Tom is instructed to catch the ball in real time while repeating the sound that I threw. “Whoosh,” says Tom, pretending to catch the ball. Then Tom needs to make eye contact with another player across the circle, and throw some new random sound, miming the pitch. “Burrrumph,” calls Tom, throwing to Adele. Without a beat, Adele, shouts, ‘”Zzzzing” miming throwing to Sam. “Oooops, Adele,” I counsel, “you forgot to catch first.” “Oh, she observes, “right,” and she makes the correction. “Burrumph” says Adele and then, turns back to Sam and continues the new sound: “ZZZZZZing.” And so on.

I pace the game to get faster, and within minutes I throw in a second Sound

Ball, just to up the anti. Everyone laughs as they realize what is happening. “Oh, no, two balls!!” someone inevitably yells out. “Right!” I reply, “you can count on chaos! I want it to be a challenge.”

And on we go continuing to toss and catch noises, and later words and phrases. The game, the activity of throwing and repeating sounds, is simple enough to understand. Most new students struggle with it . . . for a variety of reasons. These “problems” become the lesson. “So, what were some of the issues that made this a challenge?” I ask.

“I had trouble finding someone to throw it to. No one was looking at me.”

“I wasn’t sure what the sound was.”

“I was trying to ‘come up with’ a good sound nobody had used.”

“I was feeling stressed because it was so out of control.”

“I had two balls at the same time!”

“These are terrific problems. They are all natural, by the way. It’s normal to try and ‘be prepared’ when we have to do something. However, if you are using your mind to think of a ‘good sound’ it is likely you aren’t paying full attention to what’s coming at you. Most of us are busy preparing how we will react (what sound to use) and its easy to miss what is coming at you,” I counsel. How much are we missing in life while preparing what we will say next?

Of course, each of us is wrestling with his own demons, and problems with the work varies. A skillful teacher is noticing what parts of the simple process unleashed by the game need attention and correction. What is key here is to underscore that beginning improv work is all about process and not about content. We are free to utter whatever smart or nonsense sound appears. We begin to exercise the spontaneity muscle and execute before we’ve “decided” what is a good idea/word/sound.

Adam Tobin, a former student who is now the head of the Screenwriter’s Program at Stanford had this insight about teachers of improv. Each of us is teaching with a unique voice. The same game taught by different instructors yields different life lessons. Our “voice” in the classroom reflects our values and our purposes. There are many insights that can emerge from playing the same game.

It’s wise to check out the teacher’s voice to see if it resonates with your purposes for studying improv. A good fit can produce profound learning.