The other night I attended one of our classes at Berkeley Improv, “The Armando,” taught by Tiffany Dalpiaz. The Armando is a longform improv format where a storyteller shares a brief monologue, and then the troupe plays a series of scenes inspired by the monologue. Halfway through the class, after warming up and practicing monologues, Tiffany uttered my three favorite words, “Two people up!” Every chance I get to jump up on a stage and dive into a scene without a script is an absolute joy. But it wasn’t always this way.
The first time I tried improv I simply could not stop laughing. I remember trying out for the improv team in high school. My scene partner and I got the prompt, “Boxing.” She began folding imaginary boxes, while I strapped on gloves and punched an imaginary bag. We turned to each other, I said, “what are you doin–?” and burst into giggles. Every time I tried scenes in the early days, all it took was one line, no matter the content, to get me keeled over. In hindsight it was my nerves getting the better of me. I couldn’t think of what to say, and that feeling of being in unknown territory was enough to tip me over the edge into a disarray of nervous laughter.
How did I get from there to here? Now I am so eager to be asked to “jump up!” It took me several tries to start jumping up and not busting up into laughter. After I conquered the laughter, it was time to try jumping up without an idea already in my head. I developed the funny habit of always wanting to be some kind of low-status, subservient character in my scenes. Once I was able to kick that habit, I learned how to jump up with new motivations and physicalities in scenes. Now, after five years of improv, I love jumping up just for the thrill of delighting myself with something that comes randomly from the depths of my brain.
As my skills for jumping up developed, so too did my skills for listening deeply to the other players on stage with me. If diving in without a plan is the most essential skill of improv, listening to your partner’s every word is the safety net that catches you in the fall. One thing I love about the format of the Armando in Tiffany’s class, is that it requires the cast to listen very carefully to the initial monologue. When we listen carefully to one another, we’re more prepared to navigate the ideas that come up onstage, and develop chemistry.
Just this past week, our monologist told a story about a mouse that got caught in a trap in his childhood home. He shared about his parent’s bizarre hunting of mice, and insistence on sending photos to him, even as an adult, of the mice caught in their chicken coop. In the scenes we played after the monologue, all sorts of fascinating characters came about. There was the scene where a rat and a mouse were two cousins, playing cards and discussing the family inheritance. Then there was the scene of a mother launching a dating app for mice, convincing her child to take her seriously. As the scenes got into a flow, I felt the laughter come back. But this time not out of nerves–out of pure joy at seeing the cohesion of our group as we told stories about, of all things, mice!
For those of us in the world seeking new experiences in the new year, it can be hard to take the first step and just jump in. We can get caught up in the preparations, wanting things to be done properly and without failure. But these delays are just that: delays. Starting, just jumping in, even if you’re not sure if it will go well, is as essential of skill in improv as it is in life.
Improv gives us a chance to gain confidence, and embrace our playfulness and sense of wonder. It is an art form that uses mistakes as the starting point, and relies on our capacity for listening to others to take shape. These skills make us great artists, and they also help us become better people.
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