Fast Times at iO High
Honestly the best part about doing improv is the gossip. Everyone is afraid to admit this, but it's true.
I really should not write this newsletter. Not many bigger red flags exist than admitting that you do improv. Nevertheless, with these words I out myself as a nasty, dirty improv freak.
That all being said, I’m probably done with improv. I know that’s a mushy half-commitment, but it will have to do. My not doing improv anymore does not constitute a great loss to the comedy community of Chicago. I am by no means a great improviser. Probably in the top 50% of all improvisers in Chicago, maybe top 40% on a good day. For those counting along at home, that means I’m somewhere around the 1,000th best improviser. My two best traits as an improviser are my grasp of the technical elements, like sweep edits, and that I’ll always play along with whatever someone else brings to the table. In fact, the thing I truly excel at, the game slots of a Harold, do no one any good outside of a very specific type of improv. But those alone don’t do it. I’ve always lacked that true sense of joy and play that makes the best improvisers. I also really haven’t centered in on the thing that makes me funny, or if I have, I don’t like only doing that.
The last time I did improv was December 28th, 2019. My parents came. It was the first and last time they got to see me perform. It was nice. They, and I, had no idea it would probably be my last show. I have no recollection of any of the scenes that I did. A fine way to go out.
I think I’m leaving improv for a couple of reasons. One, the theater did not renew the weekly show I played in. Two, my indie teams both ended. Three, I don’t feel like shelling out a couple thousand bucks to take more classes. And four, well, sometimes things need to end.
This newsletter is not a reflection a great loss, nor is it, solely, a critique of Chicago’s improv scene. It’s more a contemplation on how some things end.
Improv, and quitting it, is somewhat of a cliché. At least in places like Chicago, where new improv classes spread like spores, attracting people “trying to make it” in comedy. I, of course, did start taking improv classes with the idea in the back of my head that in a few short months I’d be on SNL. After my first class at iO, I quickly gave that up. Whatever talent I had at improv paled in comparison to the shining lights I met in classes. In fact, someone in those classes did make it to SNL, but that’s a different story. I don’t want to turn this into a maudlin journey into the failures of some guy to turn into the next Will Ferrell. The point of all this is that improv is silly and dumb. That’s part of why it appealed to me. I don’t want to make a bigger deal of it than it is. I’m just an almost thirty white guy who thought he had a little funny in him. Not exactly a rare breed. The point of this newsletter isn’t to bemoan some great artistic loss to my soul. Just a simple reflection on the last couple of years.
I’ve done improv pretty continuously since I moved back to Chicago six years ago. I took classes at iO, Annoyance, and CIC. For those who don’t know, in Chicago, LA, and NYC the improv ecology revolves around theaters and their schools. iO and Second City – People love to quibble about this but whatever – in Chicago, UCB in LA and NYC. Students, including me, pay thousands of dollars to take improv classes. Sometimes just for fun, or as a cool way to meet people, or because your job will pay for the class. Most often, however, because people see, and the theaters advertise themselves as a path to a job in Hollywood. 99% of people to not make it to Hollywood. The classes also sustain the theaters in terms of performers. After going through multiple rounds of classes, the theaters than pick a few people from that pool of students to become regular performers on house teams. The regular performers, unpaid to a person for their performances, bring in the audiences for the shows. But lots of people have written about the exploitation inherent in the improv business model so I’ll leave that to the experts.
So what happens to the kids, like me, who don’t make it into a theater’s coterie of regular players once their classes end? I “graduated” iO with about 40-50 people and only like 9 immediately made a team, with a few others given an opportunity to maybe later make a team. iO has a new graduating class every 8 weeks. Some decide to take classes at another place, hoping to make it on a house team at another theater, some decide to quit, some just start over from level 1 again, and some make indie (independent teams). I joined an indie team and took classes somewhere else.
I addition to taking classes, I also played around town with my independent team Penny Red. Chicago has an overabundance of places to do improv and on any given day you can find and do improv outside of the main theaters. Bars run improv nights, and a lot of smaller black box theaters run independent shows as well. The lifecycle of an indie team is pretty standardized. Sometimes independent teams get enough clout and name recognition to get picked up by a big name theater, but for the most part they last for a couple of months, do a couple of shows here and there, and then disband. The members go on to form new ones often, involving some or all members of the previous group. Penny Red, broke that cycle a little. We lasted about for about four years maybe five years. After the first two/three years of existence we only did like 6-7 shows a year, but we practiced almost every week, until about the last six months of our teamdom. We didn’t fall apart because of some internal drama, which happens a lot, but mostly through inertia. None of us wanted to really take on the mantle of being the show booker, and everyone was doing other stuff as well. We certainly never claimed the crown of best independent team. Especially at the beginning we had a lot of bad shows, but we became a solid group by the end, that more than a couple of times absolutely crushed. Some of the funniest improv I’ve ever seen or bene a part of came out of our practices. Outside of even improv, I just had a lot of fun hanging out with that group. I also played around with some folks who called ourselves the Heatfreaqs, though became more of a friend group masquerading as an improv team, probably for the best.
In addition to those indie teams, I also got the chance to act in a sketch show my friends wrote and play in an improv show that ran for over two years at the Annoyance Theater and Bar. These both, will remain an great an indelible part of my improv experience. At no other show could I do more dumb accents, and fake smoke more weed than I could at that one. All of this to say that I did a lot of improv. I had lots of bad shows, but I can confidently say that in the sum total I had more good ones than bad, an accomplishment of which I remain proud.
Not doing improv anymore does bring up some uncomfortable emotions. Especially in those first two years of doing it, my social life revolved around the scene. I attended two to three shows a week, if not more, as well as classes and rehearsals. More than a few of my non-improv friends know me as the guy that does improv. Even my professors at UIC know that I do improv and ask me how it’s going, despite having never seen me. The other off part comes from improv being a “scene.” I’ve definitely made some real friends through improv, but not that many. The scene aspect of improv means that you can take classes with someone for three hours every week, plus a couple hours of hanging out after class, for 64 weeks and then once those classes are over, you never see them again. The same goes for doing weekly shows or practices. I’m Facebook friends with a lot of people from improv, who I’ll probably only ever see in passing. Fortunately for me however, my entire social life does not revolve around improv. As someone who did improv but was always scene adjacent – mostly I just didn’t have the energy to do all that networking– it’s much less the cutting off of a social arm than it might be for someone else.
All of this may sort of sound like I’m shitting all over improv. I don’t want to come off as anti-improv however. The institutions that have been built up around improv certainly need a lot of improvement and have shown their bare red ass during Coronavirus epidemic, but they don’t crack the top ten list of worst things to ever exist. Improv itself I love. It is certainly an art form open to mockery and derision, a lot of which it deserves. For me at least, though, I’ve done both my best creative work, and gotten the biggest rush from doing improv. The freedom of creation, the joy of surprise and the wonder of shared understanding between players, overrides a lot of that bull. While I may not be actively be doing improv anymore, I’m sure I’ll go see a show from time to time. I’ll probably judge it a lot, but still enjoy it. And you know, if The Annoyance wants to have The Customer Is Always Right back on their stage, I probably won’t be able to resist.
this is good, made me sad/happy, ilu