Learning the Art of Improvisation

On 30th Street in Chelsea, tucked between wholesale stores with fabric and fur coats, is a training studio for aspiring improvisation actors. Magnet Theater rents these three extra studios and small closet-sized office. Two of the studios have a stage with a few rows of chairs for the audience. The third, smallest studio consists only of a carpet in the middle of the space. This is reserved for the advanced training sessions.

I come to my first improvisation class ten minutes ahead of time. A few people are already gathered in the largest studio. My stomach is a bit queasy, and I begin to regret that I signed up for what will surely be mental torture. I’m a naturally spontaneous person who doesn’t usually get stage fright before speaking in public. But this is totally different. How am I supposed to improvise in a foreign language? How can I possibly understand (and respond to!) all the cultural allusions that I know nothing about? What if they speak of American football? Will I sound silly making all kinds of grammatical mistakes? Will they understand my Eastern European sense of humor? I slump into a chair and for a moment fear the worst, though it actually takes me exactly a minute to realize that I’m not the only foreigner in the crowd. A dark-haired girl is speaking to her neighbor with a distinct French accent. If the French girl can manage it, so can I.

A group of three students is discussing their fall schedule. An Indian-looking guy is wearing a black suit with a tie stuffed in his front pocket. Two sisters are giggling over some iPhone pictures. The clock on the wall strikes seven. Mark, a seasoned comedian and improvisation teacher, welcomes his new students. The first Level 1 class begins with everyone standing in a circle. Mark tells the students to introduce themselves with a body gesture. He starts the round using a gesture from fencing which looks like a thrust of a sword and exclaims ’Mark!’ A man in his thirties next to Mark cups the palm of his hand on his mouth as he yawns and says ‘Doug’. I gesticulate with my arms in the air in the YMCA style and say my name LUD-MI-LA, each syllable accompanied by a different arm position. After the round of names and gestures the game continues with different variations until everyone remembers all the names and the movements associated with them. It takes less than ten minutes.

Next the students are asked to try different short spontaneous conversations in pairs or larger groups. What I really love about Americans is the fact that they take initiative. When Mark calls six volunteers to come on stage, eleven people stand up at the same time. (Not me). Mark chuckles and says we shouldn’t worry because everyone will get a chance. Those who perform are on stage, the rest sit in the audience. Every now and then the audience bursts into laughter. When it is my turn to try ‘ranting’ about something on stage I just say what first comes to mind. ‘I hate when our doorman asks me how I am but as soon as I start to tell him he turns away.’ The audience laughs. I can’t believe I made them laugh with such a simple confession. I relax a little and my brain slowly warms up. Each short scene is followed by a loud round of vigorous applause. After each round Mark steps on stage and provides a short summary of the rules for each improvisation method used. Each time he stresses the importance of ‘yes anding’: the power of improvisation and comedy lies not so much in argument and confrontation as it does in accepting everything that our scene partners establish as facts. For example, if someone introduces a scene saying, ‘Lizzy, you should stop smoking pot,’ then it is a fact that you are Lizzy and you smoke marihuana. Your task is to embrace this fact and to build on it and say something like ‘Yes, I know. I should have switched long ago to cocaine like all of you guys. I guess it’s just a matter of willpower, isn’t it?’

By the end of the class I’m not nervous anymore and find myself comfortable saying the very first things that come to mind. Sometimes they’re funny; other times clearly awkward or absurd. What I notice is that some of the students are just naturally funny. Doug, a recent Harford graduate, hardly says a word during a scene, but when he finally does it’s usually hilarious. For example, during a family scene the grandfather Dough says to his grandson, played by a sixty-year-old, ‘Kid, when in doubt - smile.’ For a straight minute the two grin like Cheshire cats. ‘OK, that will do,’ says Doug. ‘Now, try to seduce me.’

The class ends shortly after ten. The students continue to chit-chat on the way out of the studio and into a nearby bar.