DAY TWENTY-ONE: The Pauper Improvises
A long time ago, I remember seeing this teenaged girl doing improv. In the era of "Whose Line Is It Anyway?" (where the points don't matter), she stood out as a young, fearless improviser. During a game of "Party Quirks", she was deemed the quirk "thinks she's invisible." And in a moment of seamless improv-ed beauty, she stood in a corner, boomed her voice over the party, and declared "I am God" before stifling back laughter in character. We were all rolling in fits of laughter ourselves. And for some reason, I still remember that*.
As I grew older, theater became less and less a part of my life. I wasn't performing, and I was rarely going to see any new shows. And college brought out a competitiveness in theater that I just didn't have the stones to contend with. But no matter how much I distanced myself from that world due to insecurity, I never could shake it fully. My years of performing ignited a fire within, and insecurity isn't the bucket of water tossed over the flame that one might think it is. In fact, insecurity is more like a glass lid. You place it over the flame and slowly watch it dissipate until all you see is smoke. But if you lift the lid quick enough, the flame survives and flickers.
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| Until this bitch rears her gaping maw, that is... |
This is all to say that I've been thinking of that young girl a lot lately. As I have gotten back into improvisation, I realize how difficult it really is to be that whip smart. Not just to come up with some witty turn of phrase, but to come up with something universally funny based on the situation, the irony, or the sincerity. And I'm having difficulties understanding how it seemed so easy for her.
I'm not going to pretend that I've yanked the tablecloth out from underneath my faithful readers. Yes, the young ingenue I've discussed is simply a teenaged version of myself. This is not to toot my own horn, but I was weirdly good at improv when I was younger. And considering how insecure I felt during every day life as a teenager, this is a feat that as a secure and confident 26 year old trying her hand at improv once again, I simply cannot wrap my head around. But for some reason, nothing I did on stage was ever embarrassing. It was my security blanket. My bowl of tomato soup. The only place I ever felt I belonged. And when you feel like that, the plebes from your other world just don't matter.
I've tried my hand at little bits of improv during my year of writing courses. I've attended free Second City seminars where I suddenly felt like throwing up when asked to walk around a room and assume the identity of a princess with a drinking problem or a troll who is a prima ballerina. I've vamped during scene readings and "Fucking with the Audience" sketches. But I have yet to feel that same sense of belonging that I once held so essential to life.
And then last night happened. During improv, we finally moved beyond the mirror games and Zip, Zap, Zops of the level A world and got to create our own characters and dialogue. And something very strange happened to my body. I suddenly found myself volunteering in the first group of one of these games. And even weirder yet, a suspicious lack of hives.
I suddenly didn't feel this mental block that just a few short weeks ago kept me from being able to brainstorm any sort of object work outside of clay molding a bottle of Maker's Mark. That fearlessness crept over my body. The desire to do something I loved conquered the fear of looking stupid. And I threw on my best Fargo accent and created a happy couple taking polaroids and eating wieners at a cocktail party. What seemed like an impossibility every day for the past year has suddenly become my current reality. Am I back to where that young girl was? Well, not nearly. But she's still in here somewhere. She's just trying like hell to push that glass lid off before it's too late.
