"You’re not wearing black."
"Was I supposed to wear black?"
"Didn’t you get my e-mails?"
"No."
So started my sojourn as an actor with Jamprov, an evening of
improvisational comedy. What followed was a mad scramble – initially
for a black T-shirt, later for a shred of dignity – in which
impresario Don Slovin and a ragtag band of down-on-their-luck
performers (myself included) attempted to assemble a cohesive
comedy show at the Brooklyn Lyceum in Gowanus after a mere two
hours of rehearsing at the Devi Dance Studio on Union Street.
And while initially I wondered whether we could possibly generate
enough material in such a short time, I eventually came to worry
whether the night would ever end.
Exploration 1
"Walk around the space. Get acquainted with it."
The Brooklyn Lyceum, a former bathhouse circa 1910, possesses
an attractive, cavernous performance space, yet here I was striding
just four paces across, six paces deep before I hit the walls.
We’d been sentenced to the snack bar’s adjunct seating area!
Navigating around the mismatched furniture, I slowed down long
enough to stare through the dark glass panels that overlooked
the legitimate stage.
Then Don yelled to move around with more energy.
"On a scale of 1 to 10, you should be a 7," he shouted.
Despite his enthusiasm, I felt like a negative three.
Exploration 2
"You should be willing to be pushed around a little bit."
At least Don is forthright about his approach. He’ll tell you
what to do and why you’re doing it wrong. There’s no time for
questions, only corrections. When I mimed a cymbal crash, I was
told I was holding the instrument improperly; later, when I admitted
I’d made a mistake in a three-line dialogue, Don’s original negative
assessment was retracted.
Forsaking the "yes, and" method that’s the cornerstone
of modern improv, Don rejoined my scene opener of "You can’t
go to the movies if you don’t clean your room" with the
brusque reply, "I don’t want to go to the movies. So there."
Curtain.
Exploration 3
"Imagine you’re an animal. Use a body part to point at objects
in the room. Name them in the voice of this animal."
I chose a snake, sticking out my tongue at the surrounding shambles
and the exit signs. (How the latter mocked me!)
After we’d gotten into character, we each took the stage. Sticking
close to our own realities was encouraged so the 16-year-old
high school student’s new persona was a 17-year-old who attended
a different school. Also receiving a thumbs up was a slow-witted
20-something who played a slow-witted 30-something. (Now there’s
a stretch.) My own lisping socialite of a certain age was frowned
upon.
But that’s who I really am!
Explorations 4-10
"What am I doing here?"
The muddled lesson plan continued. Improvisational structures
were sketchily presented, then hastily executed. Most of those
present (primarily regulars) were simply getting refresher courses.
But newcomers like myself who wondered how any exercise actually
worked were blithely told, "You’ll see."
Well I did and it didn’t.
So where was the logic behind this reckless open-door policy
and the stream-rolling tutorial? Nervous energy contributed to
giddy laughter but the happiest members of the cast were clearly
the two latecomers who showed up right before show time. They
knew the best approach was to avoid the chaos that preceded.
Performance
"F– you!"
The regulars appeared at ease with the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants
haphazardness, the impetuous changes to the lineup done offstage,
even the lack of laughs that greet most scenes.
Some of the audience was smiling, a few giggles occurred. But
how much of that was due to the fact that six of the eight present
were directly related to the 16-year-old making his NYC stage
debut?
My single attention-grabbing moment – when I blurted the F-word
in response to a lame one-liner – elicited a raised eyebrow from
the mother cradling the baby. (Are you allowed to curse in front
of an infant?)
Otherwise, I was thankfully invisible.
Aftershock
Who are these actors?
"Do you do this often?" I asked one of the two latecomers.
"Um, yeah," he responded sheepishly. As we gathered
in the hall afterwards for a group hug that signaled my release,
Don gathered money from each of the participants. Five bucks
a head in this instance. Opportunity comes cheap.
The next day, I received the following email: "Thanks for
your talented contribution. Layta, D."
But what had I given and what I had received? It takes a steely
kind of actor to survive the grueling hazing of Jamprov.
As for the audience, they’re all in the family.
Jamprovs take place Oct. 9 and Oct.
16. Rehearsals are held beforehand, from 7 pm to 8:30 pm, at
the Devi Dance Studio at 837 Union St. The show begins at 9 pm
at the Brooklyn Lyceum, 227 Fourth Ave. at President Street in
Gowanus. Admission is $5. For more information, e-mail Don Slovin
at donslovin@gowanus.com.
