I Got Into Improv Because I Thought I Invented It.
By: Improv Utopia blog contributor Valerie Vasilas
In college I wanted to direct One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest. I wanted to create my own adaptation that followed the novel more closely, because, well, really, Dale Wasserman’s version is full of kitsch. I am not a fan of kitsch. Kitsch is for suckers. However after failed attempts at writing my own adaptation (a friend of mine tried too, but it didn’t work), I decided to throw caution to the wind and just work our way through the story without a script.
The result was glorious: actors committing to character, making choices based on character, working together to create this world and adding, adding, adding and heightening the story until we were satisfied.
Oh, hey, doesn’t that sound familiar?
A very close and dear friend of mine was an actor in my cast, and was also a player with an improv theatre. After One Flew closed, on a whim I decided to audition for the theatre. I was cast, and thus begins my adventure.
My only other experience with improv before this was in high school, playing Viola Spolin games (I find it so interesting and neat that I can identify improv forms now!) such as ZipZapZop, Freeze Tag, World’s Worst. There is nothing wrong with Viola Spolin and her wonderful games, but at the time I only saw improv as a warm-up for actors, a way to get actors loosened up and ready to work with other actors. It was a means to an end, a tool for a higher purpose.
Flash forward to my time spent as a player at the National Comedy Theatre. I was taught the basics- the games, yes-and, scene work- but during my first year on the team I was always wishing in my head that I had taken a class or a workshop, or something. I felt unworthy to be among such great people who truly, in my opinion, got it. They embraced the games, found clever characters. I knew that the only way to grow was to throw myself at it, and so I did.
Here’s a confession that I don’t think anyone knows about: I cried before my first show with the team. I was cast onto the team in March, my first show was in June 2010. When I saw my name on the show scheduler, I panicked. I went out and bought the first improv book I could find, Keith Johnstone’s Impro. I devoured it, hoping it would illuminate me, make me “good” at improv so I wouldn’t suck for my first show. And when the day of the show reared its inevitable head, I sobbed like a baby. God, I was so scared.
The show happened. Everything went fine. Obviously, I lived. However to this day I still get really, really nervous before a show. Only now, after throwing myself in there with my friends and playing with them for so long, it’s nerves as well as excitement.
What eventually ended up happening was that I stopped acting. I would go out for auditions but I would put down NCT as a schedule conflict, thereby ruining my availability as well as my chances of getting cast in shows. Why was I doing this to myself? After all, my goal in life is to start an experimental physical theatre company and be a director; acting should be something of a priority, right? I mean, how else would I get the experience necessary to make the connections and feel awesome enough in my own prowess as a director to make this work?
My subconscious understood it before I did: my goals lie in improvisation. If I wanted to create theatre that resembled my work with One Flew, it all existed within improv. Acting is great, but improv is stronger. In order to understand the work that I want to do, I have to understand the roots of it; the pedagogies of the theatre people that I admired and wanted to emulate all had influences in improvisation. Besides, I was having a lot more fun practicing with NCT on Wednesdays. I felt like a better actor in that space, with those players, because I found myself truly in the moment with these people. We were sharing honest moments on stage that were not scripted, and it felt exciting, glorious and vulnerable- this is the kind of work that I want to create for my theatre company. I figured, getting better at improv would help me to become a better actor, because then I could figure out how to live an honest, scripted moment once I felt comfortable with honest, unscripted moments.
I need to pull a tangent on you all and create an imaginary scenario. Pretend that you’re in school. You’re learning math. Say, Trigonometry (triangle math!). You’re learning the Pythagorean Theorem (A squared + B squared = C squared, nerds!). You’re learning it for the first time. You stumble a bit, but you’re slowly and surely getting better and better every day. But before you can master it, before you feel truly at ease with it, your teacher moves on: you’re learning Sine, Cosine and Tangent (sin, cos, tan, respectively, nerds!) today. No turning back.
That’s what happened with me and improv.
One of the directors of NCT sent out an email to the team asking if anyone would be interested in going to a summer improv camp. I jumped in immediately. I had no idea what I was going to be getting into, but I knew that I wanted to take workshops, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to realize that desire.
(Hey everyone in case you didn’t know, I’m referencing camp here.)
Camp was amazing. First of all I became humbled and awed in that I did not, in fact, invent longform improv. I spent a weekend with like-minded people who saw improv as art. Improv is a performance art that isn’t only comedic, it can also be dramatic. No matter what mood it is, though, it is always ELECTRIFYING. Everything is honest and raw. Everything is right. There are no failures, there is no wrong, because it’s all honest and therefore, true and beautiful.
My nerves came back to me in full force while I was at camp my first year: how dare I deign to be in the presence of fellow improvisors who had years of experience, who could talk theory and history, while all I could do was say, “Yeah, that was awesome!” at all of it? I again felt unworthy.
It was a mix of insecurity and being overwhelmed by so much love and support (and shared ideas that I didn’t know could be shared). Going back home from camp, knowing that there was another world out there (to put it into recent perspective: I guess it was a similar sensation to Katniss finding out there was a District 13), I resolved to throw myself even further into this world of improv. I grew miles, and I was determined to grow even more. I started testing myself- I would do things on stage that would normally make me uncomfortable, and I would sit in that uncomfortability, and deal with it. This is how I started growing myself. I knew where I could afford to improve, and so I put it upon myself to push myself there.
However, in time I learned that pushing myself consistently is hard. There were ruts. There had to be ruts. In every creative process there are always ruts. I thought about how I could keep growing, and I came to the conclusion that I had to go somewhere new. I had to push myself to an even MORE uncomfortable place, literally: I had to move. I had to surround myself with new players, learn from new teachers, and push myself through the darkness of that. I wanted to train myself in the foundations and fundamentals of improv.
I wanted to move to Los Angeles and go to the iO West.
Getting there physically was easy (not really). Getting there mentally was harder. It’s frightening, leaving home for the first time, leaving everything that was ever a comfort in your life. A job that paid decently (even if it sucked balls), a theatre to call home, friends that you love: why give that up?
To realize a long-sought after dream.
Honestly, if it weren’t for the friends that I’d made at camp that are in LA, and for the words of encouragement and love from friends back home in Arizona, I don’t know if I’d have been able to do this move. This was a trust-fall of life. Like, hey, I’m going! Catch me!
I was caught. I was warmly welcomed into LA. I love all of you and thank you for that. And now here I am! I am here, realizing my dreams. I’ve started level 1 at iO and it’s been a magical experience. I’m learning so much! The power of saying “yes” and true, true commitment to character and relationship; separating Valerie from whoever she’s being on stage. These are things that I know already, but to be taught these things at such a basic level is MIND BLOWING.
I am excited for my learning journey. I am excited for improv. I’m gonna keep trust-falling into this and not care where I end up. This has been great so far, and by continuing to trust and be open and be honest and be vulnerable and be real and be secure I can only continue to learn and grow from here.
Maybe from this I can “invent” another form of theatre. That would be awesome.
