Remember to be kind to each other.
Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind
Henry James
Improv is purely people
I love teaching improv classes. I have a spiel prepared to explain why. I didn’t prepare it to sound slick or convincing, like a sales pitch. I recite it like I’m renewing a vow; I know all the words because it’s true every time I say it, and I’m casting the spell to refresh it. It goes like this:
Improv changed my life; it’s a kind of magic. It’s a magical moment when it clicks in somebody’s head and they go — hey, I can do this. I can do this. A light goes on in their eyes when people realise they can be funny, they are interesting, they can do whatever they set their mind to. The moment when their imagination catches fire and they truly believe, that’s a beautiful moment, a magical moment, and all I am is just trying to strike that first spark. All I’m looking to create is that spark; because who knows? That spark might kindle a heart, ignite desire, and maybe one day it might spark other people.
Improv is fun. It’s supposed to be fun. It’s all about people having fun in rehearsals, then people having fun onstage so people watching can also have fun.
It’s all people, and all fun.
Improv is purely people. It’s an engine for laughs, powered purely by people. There are no requirements, no raw materials except people’s life experiences and personality and human ingenuity. You don’t need wit or a creative writing degree; people make people laugh.
But, just like people can make improv, people can also break improv.
People Vibe People Vibes
One of the first, key, most important things you learn, early on in an improv class is that energy is contagious. I learned it once when I was learning improv, and once again when I was teaching improv.
People can feel your energy. The audience can smell fear; if you’re frightened of them, they will be guarded, but if you are relaxed and confident, they relax too. They might not be able to explain why, they might not even be able to explain it, but they can feel it.
Monkey see monkey do; people vibe people vibes.
Here’s what I do with it. If, on my first class, I am warm, welcoming, and friendly, but also excitable, silly, and invested, people pick up on those vibes. Some people mirror it back to me; some people take a while longer to defrost, but it changes the room, and sets the tone, and it tells you: this is a fun place, a safe place, a warm place.
I let my inner fire warm the room; I share my excitement, my delight, my joy. People are frosty and cold and defensive on the first class — that is perfectly normal too. The world out there is often unkind and cruel, and you have to be on guard for energy vampires, people who drain your energy and leave you dry.
I start the first week sharing my warmth. It drains me, and I get cold, but after two or three weeks, the room gets warmer. Other people share their warmth too. And by the last week, it’s snug and toasty, and people share their warmth.
People vibe people vibes.
Remember to be kind
I feel sorry for teachers who get no response from students. I speak up a lot now, I respond to teachers asking questions, I chat to them, sometimes I’ve even written emails with encouraging words to lecturers (I’ve never got a reply back) if I felt the class was cold or bleak.
I’ve been there before, it really sucks to put your energy, your love, your passion into something, to try and share your knowledge with a roomful of people who are giving nothing back.
It’s worse than shouting into an empty room – you don’t expect anything from nothingness. You do expect something from people. You don’t need much, you just expect somebody, anybody, one body to try.
People vibe people vibes. It sucks to give all your energy away and get nothing back.
Improv is meant to be fun, but please remember: improv teachers are people too. They need help, and support, and energy back. Money isn’t why they do this.
I had a class that went wrong; I was frustrated and angry and hurt. Part of my frustration came from feeling like the class took me for granted. Like they were entitled to my time, my energy, my care and devotion — even if they didn’t put anything back in on their side.
You know what it felt like? It felt like they were happy to sit in the bus, and leave me to get out and push the bus myself, like they didn’t need to help, like they paid for classes, so they didn’t need to do any of the work themselves; they could sit back and do nothing.
It doesn’t work like that; doing nothing makes the bus harder to push. I would rather have someone argue with me every class than never speak up. At least friction makes heat, and strikes sparks; absence simply drains energy.
It felt like I had failed. It felt like I was unable to teach them to care for each other, to take care of each other, to work as a team, to take responsibility and get out and push. It felt like I had failed to teach them to share.
People vibe people vibes.
It’s hard to be the giver in a one-sided relationship; when the other takes and takes and takes, and it’s worse when one side takes and expects to take more, without giving back.
If, during class, you don’t care; if you ignore me; if you act like I owe you money; if you can’t wait for class to be over and class is in the way — well, then, I can’t wait for class to be over too. People vibe people vibes; energy is contagious.
Do you know what is not fun? When people don’t bother.
When people show up late, and don’t bother apologising.
When people don’t show up at all, and don’t bother explaining.
When people chitchat all the time, and don’t bother about what you’re saying, or whether others can here.
When people march off to send a text in the middle of an exercise, and don’t bother about the class, the other people in class, or anything that’s not what they want to do immediately.
When people don’t bother with you.
Remember to be kind to each other. Once in a while, remember to be kind to be improv teachers.
There’s an old story about stone soup. Some hungry travellers reach a village where everybody is cold and uncaring, where nobody will help. They start a big fire, put a pot on the fire, and add a massive stone to the pot and some water.
One villager, curious, asks what they’re making. “We’re making stone soup,” say the travellers, “It is delicious and tasty and we would love to share it with you when we are done. But all we’re missing just a little bit of garnish…”
The villager, curious to try, volunteers a few carrots. Another village, cautious, offers half an onion. Every villager only offers a little bit, what they won’t miss, what they can afford to spare. But after the entire village is gathered around, what finally emerges from the pot is a delicious soup that the entire village can share.
One reading of the story is the nasty, conniving, sneaky improv teachers travellers have tricked the village out of their food. Another reading is that the travellers have simply performed a magic trick, by getting everybody to contribute a little so that everybody can share in a lot. By combining what we have, we can benefit more altogether, the sum greater than the parts.
The stone was a trick; the magic was in you all along, if only you’d share it and combine it with others and put it together.
If only everybody was kind, and shared a little bit of their warmth, we could all be warm together.
People vibe people vibes. Be kind; be kinder.