Improv, Week 1

I am 3/5 of the way through a weekly improvisational acting class. A friend recommended it to me more than a year ago, suggesting that it might be an effective way to release and act out some stuck emotions and personal history. After signing up, I received a welcome letter, which among other things said:

"We’re looking forward to creating together in a dynamic and fun improvisation laboratory where everyone has the opportunity to learn, practice, and deepen his or her acting from the moment skills."

I was excited to begin and looking forward to the possibility of transforming some stinky old baggage into a theatrical scene, thereby leaving it in the dustbin of history. The first week we - five students (4 women and 1 man) and the leader (a woman) - dove right in. To begin, we warmed up our bodies and minds to different kinds of music, dancing alone and moving improvisationally with each other. After 30 minutes, I was starting to feel tired and wondered if I could sustain that intensity for the remainder of the three hour class. She then coached each of us in monologues, picking up on our subtle emotional vibrations and encouraging us to move in those directions. When it was my turn to sit on a chair in front of the group, she noticed that my hands were gesturing intensely, generating a lot more energy than the words coming from mouth suggested. Rather than deliver a spoken monologue, she asked me to get up and dance.

Dance?

Alone?

Without music?

With everyone watching?

And this is supposed to be fun?

I stood up but stood still, a split second of hesitation. But then I realized that I had signed up for a challenge and I began to move, trying to express what I had been unable to say aloud and trying to stay with myself, rather than stepping outside myself and becoming, as I often have, a harsh and judgmental critic who stops me in my tracks. After what felt like an eternity of running, leaping and rolling about the room, during which time I made eye contact with no one, she cued me to stop dancing and start speaking. Screaming and yelling, actually. My assignment was to deliver a rant as a teenager, and then throw a tantrum as a four year old, acting out a few scenes from my earlier life and saying things I hadn't had the courage to utter at the time.

The exercise both emptied and liberated me. It had been a highly productive few minutes. I returned to my seat and, not nervously, awaited the group's feedback on my "performance". I don't remember the exact content of what people said, but the general atmosphere was affirming and encouraging. We were there to cheer each other on, not take each other down.