PRETTY, PRETTY GOOD.

Amateur Thoughts on Sticky Comedy

I went to an improv practice session today where I was pegged by my “boyfriend” as an extreme feminist in a scene. I wasn’t thinking hard on it, so a few big tropes definitely slipped out of my mouth during both the first and second beats. Only later did I realize that I should have labeled the game (a.k.a. “the fun thing about the scene”) much differently than I did: I labeled it as “overreacting feminist who uses basic everyday life as extreme examples for an argument” (barf) and should have labeled it as “overreacting ________ who uses basic everyday life as extreme examples for an argument.” This would have (a) put a fresh-er spin on the scenes, as it wasn’t a repeat of dialogue and relationships that are [shockingly] always around us, and (b) given more options for where subsequent beats could have gone. An overreacting vegan who thinks mowing grass is murder, and getting a haircut is decapitation. An overreacting clean freak who thinks atoms are just the tiniest molecular makeup of dirt. ANYTHING. 

Alternatively, what I could have done was some big speech, where I broke up with the guy, telling him that I’ve been trying to get him to break up with me the whole time by using opinions held by any person - male or female - that would be annoying, because they defy logic, regardless of the argument being made, and that he was just too caught up in trying to fix me to notice or take a hint. But hey, that’s not very good “yes and-ing,” and I’m also not good enough yet to lie in improv, and certainly not good enough to subvert in it.

So, basically, when you extrapolate this idea to scenes you see about gender roles, sexuality, minorities, etc, you see a lot of shit that people don’t think they think but then they end up saying on stage, because someone shouted out the topic from the audience, and no one knows what to do. Or maybe I just don’t know what to do. But Iknow what I don’t want to do, and that’s that dumb Two and a Half Men thing that made me feel slimy today. Because shit’s tired, and shit’s dumb.

For the love of laffin’

It’s odd to say that I’m “self-made” because I’ve had a lot of support from my family and the constant encouragement of friends. But, because this is a blog and I can do what I want, I am going to operationally define my “self-making” to be the decision to go into the “arts.” 

When people say that comedic sensibility* is innate and not something you can acquire, it’s scary. Because I don’t consider anything I do to be innate. I think it was all learned through studying and repetition. The idea that comedy is just “in your blood,” to me, really means that you have a personality through which comedy can be expressed. If you’re the type of person who takes risks, if you’re the type of person who doesn’t care what people think, if you’re the type of person who isn’t afraid of social judgment, then that’s awesome. Comedy is just probably a much different animal for you than for someone who constantly fears failure. 

So when I read about comedic geniuses like Del Close who just “had it” when they were young, I feel a mix of anxiety and annoyance. For one, it takes away from the self-motivated work that person did toward achieving their goal. And then, on the selfish side, it makes it seem like an impossible dream for anyone who doesn’t feel like they have a spark. I feel like the only spark I can muster comes from my Conestoga-true spirit to be grossly motivated and studious about a subject. And, sadly, that doesn’t necessarily guarantee demonstrating an understanding of concepts.**

So what I’m saying is this: I’m another twenty-something year-old complaining about being scared of failure, even though sometimes I not, but then actually I am. And I cannot fathom how I am going to afford to live the rest of my life at this point, because even taking one four-month job sticks out as a gigantic detour sign on what my brain very clearly wants me to do with myself.

But I’m not bitter, I’m just confused and eager.

*Which, I think, can be substituted with “artistic sensibility,” to speak more broadly.

**CR-7

The Best of Sherlock

MORE SHERLOCK - BECAUSE I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS.

Sherlock exemplifies a lot of elements of comedy. Obviously there are more overt jokes sprinkled into the scripts and into the classy, whimsical style of the show, but there’s also inherent philosophical ties to humor in the way it’s structured and written. Sherlock himself is at his best when his actions and logic are not beyond an “ordinary” person’s capabilities. To me, this is the best part of any mystery series. We like to be fooled, but we also like to know that we could have solved it, had we been paying attention to X, Y, and Z. That’s essentially how laughter works, too, because laughter indicates our brain’s willingness to realize it’s been taken somewhere unexpected - but never anywhere too unexpected. Because if it’s too unexpected, it had a poor set-up (and if it’s too expected, it’s just a stale joke).

The idea of studying people also plays a lot into comedy. One of the biggest skills necessary for good improv is good listening, and Sherlock is highly-acute in using all of his senses. So he takes notice of the subtextual meaning of already-subtextual body language and speech patterns, things that great improvisers are also naturally apt at observing. The reason this is key in comedy is for the sake of flow: an audience can clearly feel the tone of a scene, even if they don’t know where it’s going. Is it serious? Is it abnormal? Is she happy at a carnival? Is he angry at the doctor’s? It’s crucial that good performers can also notice this, and, on top of that, use their senses, observations, and intellect to add things to the scene and propel it forward. She’s happy at the carnival … because she just won a horseshoe toss. He’s angry at the doctor’s … because he hates all authority figures. Sherlock does this with every case - he notices something about a person, contextualizes it, and then later compounds it with his own knowledge to create twists and turns that eventually land at a solution. 

Watching amazing television like this makes me rethink my interest in comedy, and see how far it can go. Namely, into dramas.

More 4 AM Jam Talk

It’s good to know that far worse than making a bad move during a jam is the feeling that you have not participated. Which is what makes me hells-appreciative that the team that hosts the hells-awesome Wednesday jam (Grandma’s Ashes) allowed people who hadn’t gotten into a scene earlier to come back at the end to try again. I still don’t think my scenes were great, and I’m going to analyze why RIGHT HERE and RIGHT NOW. Better start typing “tl;dr” now because you’re about to fall asleep:

I’m thinking too much of the “weird” / “awkward” thing to say. I guess this is the same as “trying to be funny,” which is something I want to AVOID. There was a scene, for instance, where my “mom” gave me a new car as a birthday present (and gave my “twin brother” nothing), and said “Happy 16th birthday!” to me. And yes, I shouldn’t “think” according to the UCB mantra, but I actually just started talking like myself after that, only a really awkward version of myself. I said “Thank you! Because being 16 is an accomplishment of mine, that I have done.”  Which is something I’ve always inwardly felt about birthdays*, delivered in a way that I tend to talk when I feel like someone stops listening to me. I really wish I hadn’t played it this way during the scene — like a “bit” — because (a) it didn’t address the point of what was given to me, which was that it’s my birthday and I should be excited because I got an awesome car, and (b) she was listening to me, and there was no reason to introduce “awkwardness.” On the same token, later in the scene, it was one year into the future and my “mom” bought me another car and got my brother nothing, and he said, “so can I have the old one?” and I said, “no, we trashed that, it was a clunker, yo” — again inserting weird mannerisms from my own speech instead of “staying in character.” I’ve never ever ever ever been an actor, and would never even say I could approximate the skills of one, but this is something I need to work on. I tend to always be myself, which is fine, except when yourself isn’t that character. I’m not a super-spoiled car-crazy 16 year-old whose twin brother is hated by the family (I hope), so it should follow that I shouldn’t talk like myself when portraying that personality. Etc.

Another day, another jam! I’m looking forward to 201(!) starting next week so I can get feedback from people that aren’t me. Oh yeah, and meeting people is cool, too.

*EVEN THOUGH BIRTHDAYS ARE THE BOMB

Also, if I may add -

I am completely beside myself (i.e. MUTE) when the whole back line enters a scene. Some things just weren’t meant for these 101 eyes to see yet.

On the Jams

At UCB, Monday-night jams and Wednesday-night jams are different.

Monday night feels like I’m with a famous person in my family - a famous person who might even bring over a few other famous people. I’m sort of comfortable around them because they’re technically family, but I also haven’t seen them for a while, and don’t really know what they’re up to. Everyone’s also taller. Much taller.

Wednesday night feels like I’m with some sort of extended family. I’m comfortable, even though I don’t know anyone, but I can’t yet predict how anyone thinks, and am hesitant to do something too drastic because I don’t want to disrupt familial flow (or, in this case, cut anyone off).

I’ve now reached the point where my heart isn’t pounding into my ribcage and causing my sternum to vibrate when I’m on stage, but I’m also not thinking. And not in the good way of “not thinking” where ideas flow effortlessly into your brain’s mouth and you’re going to live like Tuck Everlasting. It’s actual blankness. I look into people’s eyes and I hear wheels turning, but I can’t see the wheels yet. Or I see them, but only one second after they’ve turned (i.e. when they’ve just started their next line / move). So this tells me that I’m still nervous, even if the physical component of it is gone. 

How do you approach a teacher with the question, “I don’t know what to say,” in an improv class? If the answer is all my nerves, then that’s great, because there’s room to improve. But if the answer is all my nerves, then that’s also terrible, because I’ve always had nerves when doing anything, and now I’m doing the rawest form of everything-I-want.

I’m going to keep going to the jams, even if it’s one of those “oh that girl again?” moments for regulars in the audience (sorry, guys!). Improv’s led to a lot of awesome discoveries for me, and I need to create opportunities for myself to get more of them. And, as the Adventure Time saying goes:

“Sucking at something is the first step towards being sorta good at something.”