Theatre in the Raw

Tonight I experienced theatre which was so raw and real that I am still reeling as though drunk. Remember that deep experience when you first took a risk to share the deepest part of you and you looked up into the eyes of another person and found a soul who felt just as lost and alone? And suddenly neither of you are alone.

That happened tonight. For a few short hours we stripped away the pretences and revealed our fears and our failings. And scenes emerged which were so compelling and so true and so real – an estranged father and daughter, a couple struggling to work through their differences, two friends finding each other again in their common flaws.

I watched my friends become completely different people and work at a level rarely attained. I want those hours back again. I want to experience again the miracle of life born of such simple fare. Actor. Audience.

The Mits.

When it's running, I drive a 1992 Mitsubishi Galant. Currently it is in the midst of a repair job which has taken over a significant portion of my garage and large chunks of the last two weekends. It needed a new water pump. I didn't realize that that task required removing most of the hardware on the front of the engine block.

The car was "purchased" from my wife's parents for $2000, and although we have had the car in our possesion for at least 5 years, they have yet to see a cent of that money. This fact is an ongoing, festering wound to my pride.

Initially I didn't like the car. It's an automatic, and I prefer a stick. The paint on the trunk somehow had been damaged when we got it, so it has a flat sheen instead of glossy. My mother-in-law used to drive it and placed her beverages (not in the cupholder mind you) in a large square indented space in the dash, just above the center console. As a result, most of the air vents and the original stereo were gunked up with dried soda-pop.

About 2 years ago we bought a used Saturn for my wife, and the Mitsubishi became my car. This was mostly because the Mits became less dependable and my wife relies on her car a lot for work.

I've had to fight over the last few years to keep the car alive. It burns oil, so I have to check it everytime I fill up. I couldn't drive it for several months a year ago because we couldn't get it to pass inspection. After spending $400 on mechanics to no avail, I ended up working on it with a friend from church, spent about $150 on parts we installed ourselves and got the thing to pass by the skin of its teeth.

Now I have a distinct fondness for the aging machine. I actually take pride that it's over 12 years old, has over 180,000 miles on it and still putters along. Hey - any schmuck can go out and buy a new car, but few can claim to keep one running past the 10 year mark.

So, how does my Mits reflect my personality? Mostly as a symbol of my masculinity. My dad and mom split when I was 14, and I lived with my mom from the breakup until I graduated from high school. I didn't spend nearly as much time with my dad after the divorce, so I think I missed out on the last few years of torch passing from father to son. Working on cars was something he did pass to me. I still change the oil in both my cars to this day. It sounds a bit silly and stereotyped, but working on my car feels masculine to me.

Recently my wife came across a Mazda that a friend of ours is selling. He is moving overseas and it's a pretty good deal. When she talked about us buying it and replacing the Mits, I was initially a bit angry that she would suggest such a thing. My emotional reaction surprised me. The honest truth is that the Mits is probably not long for this world. I toy with the idea of buying a new engine for it, but that's probably a poor financial investment in an aging machine.

My relationship with the Mits is intimate. I've worked on her enough to know her pretty well. She's got a lot of problems, but I know what they are, and I'm okay with them. I do my best to keep her running, and she takes me where I want to go. I'll probably miss her when she's gone.

What makes a good improviser?

Lately I've been working on a syllabus for a Level 1 "Fundamentals of Longform Improvisation" class and to prepare for that I've taken a step back to figure out my intentions. This question - what makes a good improviser - is kind of at the heart of the issue. If I can take a student at the beginning of class and help them develop the qualities that make them a good improviser, then I will have succeeded.

Here are the qualities I percieve as key:

• Able to create a wide range of vivid characters.
• Able to be fearless and take risks.
• Able to connect meaningfully and fluidly with other individuals in scenes.
• Able to create substance out of thin air with descriptions and object work.
• A solid understanding of basic performance concepts.

Let me break it down even further:

To create a wide range of vivid characters, I think you need to be able to:

• Create characters from a place of reality. It doesn't have to be your reality personally, but the truth of the reality of the characters you create. The key here is being able to create more than just a surface image.
• Find ways of creating varied characters instanteously. It's easy to Fall into a rut and find yourself playing characters that are very similar. Some things that may help with this are drawing on one’s physical body and vocalization to spark character. Journalling and people watching can be helpful as well.
  
• Remain consistent in your character. Filtering what happens in the scene through the point of view of your character. Stick to your shit.
  

Fearlessness requires:

• Overcoming the editor inside which judges everything before we do it/speak it.
• Yes, and…, not no, but… Acceptance rather than denial.
  
• Approaching scenes with a sense of adventure. Affirmative rather than negative. “Sure, let’s do it!” rather than “On no, not again.” I think part of this at least is overcoming the fear of the unknown.
  

Connecting meaningfully and fluidly with other individuals in scenes requires:

• Relationship, eye contact. This is Connection 101.
  
• Giving gifts to your partner. Being
  
• Listening to and receiving gifts from your partner. Sharing the scene and not dominating it.
  
• Playfulness.

Creating substance out of thin air with descriptions and object work requires:

• Describing things with specificity. “A dog” vs. “A grey and white cleanly clipped terrier with an attitude.”
• Being specific about what you do during a scene without making it what the scene is about. Show us what you are doing, tell us what you are feeling.
• Having emotional connections to the objects created in scenes.
• Mime skills (and bowstaff skills)
  

A solid understanding of basic performance concepts. Most are about communicating effectively with your audience. Here are some key ones:

• Cheating out to the audience so you can be heard and you communicate more effectively.
  
• Being aware of stage picture and "blocking" other players.
• Being heard. Projecting. Stage whispers. Annunciation.
• Finding the light.
• Staying in character, not breaking when the scene is funny.
  
• Behaving professionally – respecting your place as an actor, the place of the director, and the place of the audience.

This last category gets frequently overlooked, and that's unfortunate. If you can't be seen or heard onstage then your performance is going to be missed. It's no fun in the audience when the front row is laughing outrageously at something that just happened, and you missed it because the actor didn't speak loud enough or was hidden behind someone else (or in a dark spot onstage).

For people new to performing, it's helpful to explain that it is rude to give notes on your fellow performers or to spend 10 minutes explaining why you did something to the director. A quick lesson in basic etiquette should be plenty to just make sure everyone is on the same page.