Meow House Theatre

Sunday, August 5

Today is the end of my improv week in New York. We have our graduation performance at the UCB Theatre at 4:00.

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I got up pretty early and before taking a shower or anything went to Duane Reed to return a curling iron I had bought (having forgotten my own from home), which I used only once or twice. It kept smoking, which didn’t seem quite right. At first I thought it was just from being new but after the second time with little puffs of smoke coming out of the end, I said uh-uh and returned it. I came back to the hotel to finish packing and realized I had forgotten to buy a hair pin or barrette of some sort, which I wanted so that my hair wouldn’t fly in my face during our show, so had to go back to Duane Reed. Thankfully this is not a long trip, as there must be eleventy million Duane Reeds in New York City and I only had to walk 50 yards outside my hotel to get back to one. There were two, in fact, right across the street from each other, and I know at least two more within a block-and-a-half heading toward Columbus Circle. I can’t imagine how they all stay in business. I couldn’t find a barrette that 1) didn’t look like something a Japanese schoolgirl would wear; and/or 2) would work in my hair, which is extremely thick so there aren’t many barrettes or clips that can hold it decently. I had been using two chopsticks to put it into a twisty bun all week but wanted to wear it down for the performance. Since I couldn’t find anything suitable, I just decided to wear it entirely down and hope it didn’t keep falling in my face.

I then headed down 8th to find a non-chain breakfast place, which I did and finally had Belgian waffles, something I’d asked about at several places during the week and had always been told, “Oh, the waffle maker just broke.” Yeah right it “just” broke. You just don’t want to make waffles, dude. Take them off the menu why don’t ya.

Back to the hotel, packed, checked out. I was planning to watch Sharilyn’s graduation show at 2:30 so I had several hours to kill before then. I decided to take the bus up 8th Avenue, which turns into the famous Central Park West as it runs along the park. It was a glorious day out, the nicest day of the week so far, at least at that time of the morning. I rode the bus up to 96th and got off and walked through the park until 71st and then got back on the bus and made my way down to Chelsea. I passed the building where my mom used to live in about 1953, corner of W. 81st and Central Park West. Her little apartment must be worth about $6 million+ now. O what could have been, if she had only held onto it, right? Can’t dwell on these things or I’d just be depressed all the time.

I was surprised at how many people were there for the 2:30 show. Probably 50, and these are paying customers. I have since discovered that it’s kind of unusual for an improv school to have graduation performances at the lower levels. The Second City doesn’t, at least not for their intensive programs; ImprovBoston doesn’t either, not until you get up to Level 5. I almost didn’t stay for this, in fact; it cost me another $400 to stay for the two extra days, plus an increase in plane fare, and I had asked if it was mandatory that we stay for the performance and was told “no,” but that most people did. And thank god I changed my mind and said screw the cost, I’m staying, because it was totally worth it. I think Second City, IB, and anywhere else that doesn’t do a show at every level is making a big mistake. It doesn’t have to be long; 20 minutes would be enough, even. But the experience of performing in front of a real audience on a real stage is unbelievably powerful, and especially on a stage that is THE stage for improv. If I studied at Second City, I’d be incredibly disappointed to look at that stage and know I wasn’t getting on it in front of anyone, in front of people who actually chose to go to a class show, who wanted to see non-professionals perform, and were happy to pay for it.

Sharilyn’s show went really well. I was in the front row and used her camera and mine to take pictures of her and the other cast members. Their structure was a little different from what we did: they also did monologue/scene, but they did three monologues all at once, by three different people, and then did all their scenes based on those three monologues. (Our structure was monologue/4 scenes, three times.) She had a really cool walk-on (that means someone else is really doing the scene but someone in the back line will “walk on” and do or say something, very briefly, that adds to the scene). Hers was during a scene where two people were on some kind of carnival ride that went under water and they were deathly afraid, yelling they couldn’t breathe and were going to drown, and Sharilyn walked on and around them with her arms opening and closing in a big V, whereupon they started screaming, “Shark, shark!!!” It was really funny. Just that 3 seconds, with no dialogue on her part, really added to the depth (pun!) of the scene.

They got done and I waited outside for her to say goodbye, as she was flying out and couldn’t stay for my show. Then I went back in and met the rest of my class. We did some warmups and then headed backstage so the audience could start being seated. This is when I really started to be glad I stayed. There’s a big sign on the door: “UCB performers and staff ONLY!” and it was very heady to be able to go past that door into the back. Which, in case you are interested, is incredibly small and cramped and filled with video and sound equipment and various other mysterious “stuff” that takes up 80% of the space. We had split up into two groups while doing our warmups and spent our time backstage thinking of our name and deciding who would introduce us. My group became “The Semi-Colons” (I had suggested “Splendiferous Zeppelin”; the somewhat bizarre looks I got in return were clear indications that nobody there was a true Stephen Colbert fan); the other group called themselves “Where’s Sweden?” which was a funny reference to something that had happened on Day 1 of our class: one of the students was from Sweden and was talking about how many Americans did not know, even within a continent’s reach, where Sweden was, assuming it was in South America.

I thought I was going to be really nervous and had contemplated taking a Valium beforehand, just in case, but I didn’t. My group went first, Ari (who was directing) introduced the whole class, and the second I got out from behind the curtain I had no nervousness at all. None. I was pretty shocked at that. I had to remind myself that I hadn’t taken the Valium. I should add that we had been told (and this is what happens at every improv performance I have ever attended) to enter the stage pumped up, dancing around, psyched, excited, etc. But everyone except me just walked out there and lined up! I went out all over-exaggerating my excitedness, doing the snaps, you know? Everyone else must have forgotten that they were supposed to be kind of goofy for the entrance. I hope I didn’t look too weird, but what the hell, I kind of like looking weird. Improv is one of the few places where the weirder you are, the funnier you are.

Someone from our group introduced us and asked for a suggestion from the audience. Someone shouted out “Elephant!” so the deal is, whoever is inspired by that word in whatever way–a direct inspiration (e.g., a story about elephants)–or indirectly (e.g., “elephants are gray and that reminds me of winter, so here’s my story about Christmas”)–just steps out and does a 2-minute monologue. Well, “elephant” immediately reminded me of “nose,” which reminded me of something that happened to me when I was little, so I stepped out first and this is the story I told:

“When I was little, I had an older brother and older sister. Well I still have them. Anyway, I was pretty messed up as a child, with my glasses and eye patch and hideous overbite, as my class knows after hearing story after story on it this week … this whole class has been like therapy. So I think being ostracized so much outside the family made me want to really be “in” on things in the family, and as all little kids do, this means wanting to join in with my older siblings, no matter what THEY want, because they just seemed so exciting to me. I wanted to play with them and hang around with them and do whatever they were doing. I especially adored my older brother, and followed him all the time. If he made a sandwich, I wanted to make one. If he told me Tabasco sauce tastes good, I wanted to drink it. But of course, older brothers and sisters do not want to play with their younger siblings. That didn’t stop ME from wanting to join in though, and I did it as much as I could, no matter how much they protested. So one day my brother was chasing my sister and as usual, I inserted myself into the activity. They were running around and I was following and they were trying to shoo me away to no avail. They weren’t getting rid of me, oh no. At one point, my sister ran into a bedroom that had two very low twin beds on the opposite sides of the room, and she ran under one of them. I wanted to be in on it–whatever “it” was, it looked so fun–and followed her into the room and ran under the other bed, lying on my stomach with my face pointing down to the floor, balancing on my nose. Well, my brother came in and thinking that my sister was under the bed I was actually under, jumped on top and started jumping up and down and of course I didn’t know this at the time but my sister who was watching described it vividly years later, “Your face just went–FLAT!–into the floor. You had your nose showing and then it.was.gone. So there was blood everywhere, I’m screaming, my sister is screaming, my brother is petrified yet denying everything, my mother ran in and saw what happened and said to my brother, “Stupid, STUPID, how could you do something like this?! Look what you’ve done to your little sister!!!” And my brother, justifying things as only a 10-year-old can, shouted insistently, “It’s not my fault! I didn’t do it on purpose! It was an accident! I thought Carla was under there, not Mary!!!” Because it would have been okay if he jumped on the bed when someone else was under there, right???

And that, ladies and gentleman, is why my nose is no longer the cute, pert, upswept bump-free nose of my toddlerhood, but rather this thing [points to profile]. Thank you very much.”

And then we did four scenes off that monologue. I don’t think I participated in this round, because I had done the monologue, and the best people to riff off it are the ones who are getting random ideas from it, as opposed to the person to whom the event actually happened. Then another monologue and four scenes, then another and four scenes, and then we were done. I did I think three scenes altogether, which is about what everyone does, although if you just stand there the whole time, that’s okay too. (”Okay” meaning nobody is going to scold you for not jumping in, but really, the point is not to just stand in the back line.) I did one with another woman, in which I turned out to be a man (you take as a fact what is offered from your scene partner–no matter what it is–and she called me her husband, so that means I was her husband) and we had 13 children, two of them having died because we had so many we forgot to feed all of them, and with the wife pregnant again with twins we were thrilled that we’d be back up to 15 and able to field a hockey team. Yes, infant neglect and mortality can be funny. I forget the other ones I did; I think that one was the longest and has stuck in my mind the most.

Ari was a really good director. He would just cut the lights at whatever point in the scene he felt it was done, whether that was 10 seconds in or 90 seconds in. It helps to have a good director who knows when to cut because that keeps the pace of the show fast and the energy high. I had felt that the earlier cast was allowed to go on a little bit too long in some scenes, and would have benefited from having their lights cut sooner. (But what do I know; I’m not an expert on this.) Then our show was over (strangely, we exited without bowing–I said after we got behind the curtain, “Hey we were supposed to bow!” but nobody else seemed to think this was a big deal that we hadn’t–and we sat down to watch the other half our class perform. And when they were done, we all went back on stage to be clapped again, and wished farewell by Ari.

Right after the class, I was out in the audience space (the performers exit by the regular door that everyone else does) and several people from the audience came up to me to tell me that I, specifically, was really funny. I was shocked because I didn’t think I was especially funny at all, let alone “really” funny. It must have been the monologue. I guess everyone can sympathize and empathize with a sibling story.

I am incredibly glad I decided to screw the money and stay for the performance. Never again will I even consider not doing so. And I think that one factor alone–performing on THAT stage in front of a real audience–makes UCB classes far and away better than any other training center. There is nothing like the feeling of dozens of people all looking at you and clapping. I’ve had that lots of times before, of course, via other shows or performances, but for an improv performer, acting on that stage is like being at Carnegie Hall is for a pianist. It’s got a lot of history and backstory and aura to it. And I loved every second of being up there.

Now I gotta figure out how to work out a weekly trip to New York so I can take another class. Soon. Really soon.

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