I Went to Improv School Twice

I recently received a certificate for completing the six-level improv curriculum at Boomerang Comedy Theater.

Which is lovely.

It is also slightly ridiculous, because I have now taken the entire curriculum twice.

The first time, I was learning how improv worked. The second time, I went back partly because the curriculum itself had changed over the previous year, but also because I wanted to take the classes alongside the people I was performing with.

And, as it turns out, improv school is one of those places where doing something twice does not really mean doing the same thing twice.

The exercises change. The teachers emphasize different things. Your classmates bring completely different instincts into the room. More importantly, you are different.

The second time through, I already understood the basic machinery. I knew what it felt like when a scene was going well, and I had accumulated enough spectacularly strange scenes to recognize when one was quietly driving into a ditch.

That meant I could pay attention to different things. Listening. Trusting the person standing beside me. Not trying to drag a scene toward whatever brilliant idea had just galloped into my brain.

And there was another reason I wanted to go through the classes again: the people.

Improv is an oddly intimate art form. You walk onto an empty stage with another person and collectively invent a universe while an audience watches. There is no script to hide behind and very little opportunity to pretend you knew what you were doing all along.

You learn pretty quickly how your scene partners think.

You learn who will follow you into an absurd premise without blinking. You learn who will notice the tiny detail you tossed into a scene thirty seconds earlier and bring it back at exactly the right moment. You learn how to support each other when absolutely nobody knows what happens next.

Somewhere along the way, classmates become teammates.

That was a big part of the second trip through Boomerang's curriculum for me. I wasn't simply retaking classes. I was spending time learning and playing with people I would eventually share stages with.

Then, because apparently I felt there was still an unacceptable amount of certainty in my life, I took JQ's stand-up class.

Stand-up is a completely different animal.

Improv teaches you to listen to the other person, relinquish control and build something together.

Stand-up hands you a microphone and says, essentially: Okay. Now there's nobody else up here. Good luck.

I loved that too.

There is something wonderfully strange about discovering new creative forms as an adult. We tend to think of classes as things belonging to an earlier part of life, something you finish before you begin the supposedly serious business of being a grown-up.

I am becoming increasingly suspicious of that idea.

Sometimes taking a class changes your work. Sometimes it changes your confidence. Sometimes it introduces you to people who become an unexpectedly important part of your life, and sometimes you take the entire curriculum twice and somebody finally gives you a certificate so you have documentary evidence of what you've been doing with all those evenings.

I'm keeping mine.

This Week

I'll also be back onstage this week.

On Friday, September 4 at 7 PM, I'll be performing with Nerdprov at the Boomerang.

Then on Saturday, September 5 from 8 AM until noon, I'll be at the Baton Rouge Art Market with my art, books and assorted strange little creations.

Apparently my preferred state of existence remains somewhere between stage lights and a market tent.

There are worse places to be.