Lights, Camera, Reaction
Jun. 13th, 2006 09:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfieldMy beginner improv comedy class officially came to an end last night with our showcase performance, a combination final exam and spotlight high.
It went well, I think; it is oftentimes hard to tell when you're onstage and in the moment, listening to your teammates and not the audience. As one of six performing groups we only had eight minutes to play, and it's pretty easy to keep up your energy and focus for at least that long; at the fifteen-minute mark or so, even the castmembers start checking their Blackberries.
I initially enrolled in the class, offered by Washington Improv Theater, motivated by the idea of auditioning for one of the performing ensembles. I cannot say that is still my prime objective, now that I know how difficult performance improv really is. I've been to my share of shows, sat from the audience and thought to myself, "I could have done that better." Now I realize this is akin to standing in the football stands and thinking "I would have cut back around the left tackle and taken it down the sidelines."
Maybe I'll get there someday. It was a strangely exhilarating sensation, feeling the stage lights again. There was a time, in my callow youth, when the stage was my home. Back then, my theater geek friends and I roamed the school with the sort of swagger typical of prom kings and starting quarterbacks, either because the Webster High School population was enlightened enough to value our contributions or because we were blissfully deluded about our social relevance.
Upon entering college, I had high hopes of joining some sort of drama production. Those hopes were dashed, however, within the first five minutes of the Drama House introductory meeting. In hindsight, perhaps I was overly sheltered and judgmental, but at the time I thought it was the most disturbing collection of freaks and outcasts since The Wizard of Oz. The only thing that kept me from running out of there screaming was the thought that it might compel them to chase me.
Since then I have turned my creative efforts to writing, with whatever success you see here. Writing is somewhat safer than acting, if less thrilling. Writing is like cooking the perfect meal; acting is like gathering your friends together and hunting-and-trapping your own dinner.
Improv is like going out into the woods and strangling a bear with your bare hands; It has its own set of inherent challenges and lessons. I recommend it to anyone who is interested in stretching their boundaries, or blowing off steam, or longing to get freaky.
Leave your Blackberries at home.
It went well, I think; it is oftentimes hard to tell when you're onstage and in the moment, listening to your teammates and not the audience. As one of six performing groups we only had eight minutes to play, and it's pretty easy to keep up your energy and focus for at least that long; at the fifteen-minute mark or so, even the castmembers start checking their Blackberries.
I initially enrolled in the class, offered by Washington Improv Theater, motivated by the idea of auditioning for one of the performing ensembles. I cannot say that is still my prime objective, now that I know how difficult performance improv really is. I've been to my share of shows, sat from the audience and thought to myself, "I could have done that better." Now I realize this is akin to standing in the football stands and thinking "I would have cut back around the left tackle and taken it down the sidelines."
Maybe I'll get there someday. It was a strangely exhilarating sensation, feeling the stage lights again. There was a time, in my callow youth, when the stage was my home. Back then, my theater geek friends and I roamed the school with the sort of swagger typical of prom kings and starting quarterbacks, either because the Webster High School population was enlightened enough to value our contributions or because we were blissfully deluded about our social relevance.
Upon entering college, I had high hopes of joining some sort of drama production. Those hopes were dashed, however, within the first five minutes of the Drama House introductory meeting. In hindsight, perhaps I was overly sheltered and judgmental, but at the time I thought it was the most disturbing collection of freaks and outcasts since The Wizard of Oz. The only thing that kept me from running out of there screaming was the thought that it might compel them to chase me.
Since then I have turned my creative efforts to writing, with whatever success you see here. Writing is somewhat safer than acting, if less thrilling. Writing is like cooking the perfect meal; acting is like gathering your friends together and hunting-and-trapping your own dinner.
Improv is like going out into the woods and strangling a bear with your bare hands; It has its own set of inherent challenges and lessons. I recommend it to anyone who is interested in stretching their boundaries, or blowing off steam, or longing to get freaky.
Leave your Blackberries at home.
