Teaching Improv is one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.
I say this to every newbie class I teach, because it’s true: I love improv, and I love sharing improv with other people. I love the moment when a light comes on in their eyes and they think: Hey, I can do this.
There’s a thrill that comes from performing, the rush of adrenaline when you take risks on stage, the surge of dopamine when your joke lands and the audience laughs…
But for me, I treasure the tiny moments too.
Here are some moments I want to remember:
I Speak Your Language
I have two opera singers in my class; proper professionals. One of them is a little shy.
So I stepped into the centre of the circle and delivered half a verse of Con Te Partiro at them. I’m a little proud I knew just enough to throw them a challenge with that song.
And then the two of them stepped up and delivered O Sole Mio back at me. They damn well blew out my eardrums. I was standing six feet away and it felt like the loudest speakers at the biggest concert ever; my ears started to hear static with how loud they were.
But it was a lovely moment that pulled them out of their shell. The right word, to the right people, in the right place.
This happened again when somebody else opened up. She’d been quiet all class, and shy to volunteer; but when someone described her as ‘The Queen of Snark’ she suddenly seemed to revel in that title and played into it.
People want to hear their own language spoken back to them. Which is also…
Come With Me
Sing Song Hotspot is one of my favourite games for how it moves and touches people. Standing in a circle singing with others is amazing and transformative; taking turns, vibing, joining in and singing along is amazing.
But it does require you to take the first step into the circle.
Some of the class really got into it, dancing along, singing songs, and really loving the feel of singing together, rocking out, even if nobody else knew the song.
But once again, the shy people were reluctant to come on stage. Especially after the wall of sound by the Opera Singers.
But then I realised what the answer was: something I muttered without really explaining or thinking why.
“Instead of pushing people on-stage, reach out your hand and say — come with me.”
It’s a little dorky, a little dumb, a little scary… but it worked. And even if the song was Twinkle Twinkle, or Mary Had a Little Lamb, it worked