Improv: Post Show Analysis

In Improv there’s no such thing as the perfect show. As with all comedy gigs there are those that go brilliantly, those that go badly and those that for some undefinable reason fall slightly flat. You can leave feeling like you’re walking on air (audience applause ringing in your ears, team mates high-fiving you as you pass ) or you can leave feeling like you’re staggering through shit, to the deafening sound of silence.

There’s nothing wrong with post show analysis after a bad show, it’s often incredibly valuable, but I’m coming to the conclusion that there needs to be a cut off point when you stop worrying. Lying awake at 7.00am the next morning and thinking “Maybe I tagged in to that scene slightly too soon” or “If only I’d got on stage sooner I’d have been able to initiate that offer and it could have lead to something good” is fine, but if you’re still thinking that at 8:00pm the next day, maybe you need to give yourself a break. I do a fair amount of post-show worrying so am basically giving myself advice here. When I used to do more character stand-up sets I would listen to the audio of the gig afterwards purely to prove to myself that laughter did actually happen.

In Improv, more than most art forms, there are always other options that you could have explored, roads left untraveled which look way more appealing in the cold light of day than the ones you actually took. But I suppose that’s the point isn’t it? There’s nothing more transient than an improvised performance and no show has more script options than a scriptless show.

In the end you just have to climb back on to your mimed horse and trot hopefully in to the next gig. Because who knows, the next show could be perfect.

How To Wait

I have never been hugely patient. When I was a newly graduated actor the idea of sitting at home waiting for the phone to ring seemed strange to me. It was for this reason that I sometimes took jobs others would have said no to: balancing a sheet over my head with a velcro carrot nose attached to it, in the role of “Snow Child” was one particular highlight. It was also, in part, why I eventually started to make my own comedy work. The comedy circuit is wonderful for those of us with impatient minds and itchy feet who would rather perform to five tourists and the compere’s Dad than sit at home, phone in hand.

Little did I know however, that making one’s own work involves endless admin and therefore a good deal of waiting around too. Waiting for promotors, venues, reviewers to get back to you, reviews to be published, whatever it may be there’s a lot of waiting out there. And – Oh Edinburgh Fringe! What a Can of expensive and slow moving worms that is. I am currently waiting to hear about several things; an audition (although as the years go by I can genuinely say that I am usually able to put the “walk out of the door and forget about it” in to practise now), some fairly pivotal stuff to do with my own show and for a loved one to have a major operation.

Waiting

Waiting

Waiting

It’s a funny feeling, a bit like someone has unsealed your brain with a tin opener and let the contents out in to the air where they roam free: unfocused and fuzzy like the cloud of dirt that hangs over Pig Pen’s head in the Peanuts comic strip*. Waiting is a tedious hinterland to be in, especially for those people who like to be proactive. There are only so many times you can watch The Millionaire Matchmaker in the afternoon and feel ok about your own existence.

Modern life is not kind to impatient waiters. Facebook telling you when people have read your message but not replied is about as helpful as an Imp yelling “Wah gutted!” In your face and as for those dots on IPhone texts! Yikes. The only thing worse than those dots (when you’re waiting for a response) is when the dots vanish, along with the answer. Like a nonchalant thief strolling off in to the night. A thief without a diary.

How do people deal with periods of limbo? What do you do? Once you’ve done all the fun stuff like been for a run in the mud and sorted out your pants drawer and done all your invoices that is….

Here are some things I recommend.

1) Surround yourself with your finest friends. There are few things in life that can’t be made better by pizza and telly and funny, kind people.
2) Improvise. Sorry, I know that’s not relevant to everyone, but for geeky improvisers like me there is something hugely helpful about being in the moment and playing and discovering things.
3) Make something. Anything. Bake a cake, write a poem, photoshop your friend’s head on to a picture of a koala, whatever it is the act of being absorbed in something purely for the sake of creation and the sense of satisfaction that comes with it when it’s completed, can only be a good thing.
4) Prescribe yourself some amazing comedy. Inside No. 9 and The Walshes for a start. On a related note watch The Widower. It’s not comedy. Definitely not. Not at all. Far from it. My God it’s creepy. But you can marvel at Reece Sheersmith’s chilling talent and be horrified by the true story all at once.

And finally –

5) Learn the plastic trombone. It’s a bit specific, but that’s what my “loved one waiting for an operation” is currently doing.

* Apologies for the convoluted and highly specific analogy.That’s what happens when you have too much time to think….. Incidentally did you ever read Peanuts? It was brilliant (funny and poignant) and I have always thought of its creator Charles M. Schulz as the Chekov of the cartoon strip world. Maybe reading Peanuts would be another good way to successfully kill time. Certainly if you read to the end of this asterisk** then well done. You’ve killed some more.

**Unintentional comic strip pun….. Now I can only think of the rambunctious Gaul. I used to love that cartoon too. But Chekovian it was not.

The Useful Agony Of Doing New Material

Going out on stage with new material, some of which you know is destined to fail, is a difficult thing to do. I often think it would make life easier if I wore a flashing neon sign above my head. A massive, literal disclaimer which read DANGER: UNTESTED MATERIAL AHEAD. GO SLOW. It’s tempting to say to friends/family/audience members, “Listen guys this may well be shit and I’m fully aware that a lot of it won’t work so please don’t judge me yeah? Please don’t walk out of the theatre or walk out on me, please don’t leave me, I’m sorry I’m not doing a proper job, I know it’s weird to still be doing this, I’m sorry it’s not good YET but it will be and I’m sorry I’m so apologetic and neurotic but I honestly didn’t used to be yeah? It’s this. It’s doing this. D’you know what I -? Why are you walking away from me? What d’you mean you just came in to get a drink…….? ”

Some comedians take a different approach to new material and go out on stage with script in hand. Sometimes when Jimmy Carr is testing new material he simply reads each joke from a clipboard and monitors then and there whether he gets a laugh or not. This is very sensible. It means he doesn’t have to get stressed about remembering lots of new lines and it makes the audience relax if some things fall flat. They know it’s all just part of the process. But this is harder to do if you’re a character comedian. Unless you are very self referential and come out of character a lot (a few people are and it can work brilliantly if this is your style but it’s pretty rare) it can’t really be done. A character wouldn’t get up on stage with a script unless he or she were actually the character of a comedian or an actor you see…..

So really, as a character comedian, you just have to grin and bear it. You have to step out bravely with your new words in your cloudy head and just do your best. That’s all you can do. And when you play back the audio the next day and slice up the script and cut lines which bombed it’s a good idea to try to be kind to yourself. This is easier said than done but it’s essential if you’re going to keep going. Be generous to yourself and acknowledge that it’s the first step and that everything and everyone has to start somewhere.

It’s a tricky thing to fail. Trickier still to fail publicly and by choice. Improvisation teaches that failure is absolutely fine, but improvisation is a meadow of sunflowers and laughter through accidental discovery, compared to the arduous task of actively trying to write sentences which are funny. I do my best to remember the Improv ethos as I step out on stage with freshly written words as it is very valuable when you do (inevitably) forget your brand new lines or get a different response from what you were expecting. Still, there are some things which Improv can’t solve. Mistakes are a gift in improvisation, but when you’re trying out a comedy script for the first time, if you fluff the rhythm of a punchline it is not a gift. Unless it is a gift of poo through the letter box of your mind.

The Pros and Con of Running a Comedy Night

I’ve performed at some lovely, excellent comedy nights such as Up The Creek, Pull The Other One, Eclectic and Comedy Trumpet to pick a few but there are some in which I’ve not been able to see the line up until seconds before, have been treated rudely by the compere and have had an awful, anti-comedy introduction. With the emphasis on the Anti.
So, after one too many dodgy introductions at other people’s nights by comperes describing me as a “Wacky female” (dry boke) or “really, really new” (I wasn’t), I set up my own night with fellow character comedian Rebecca Shorrocks. We’ve been running Cabarera since 2011.

PROS

1) It’s Your Party and You’ll Book Who you Want to.
If it’s your own night you can book whoever you think you and your audience would like to see. For us at Cabarera, from ace sketch acts such as Vinegar Knickers, beautiful puppetry from Aya Nakamura, musical acts such as Tricity Vogue, to alternative comedians making bespoke pieces for us such as Michael Brunström it’s all there for the taking/booking.
And don’t forget you also have the power to book acts that you really like as people and not to re-book aresholes. After all, grumpy comedians are so 2012. I really like the Beta Males. They’re very funny, very professional and very nice human beings. So – hey presto I’m lucky enough to see them at my own night. Result!

2) You Can Treat Acts How You’d Like To Be Treated.
Making acts feel welcome, double checking exactly how they want to be introduced, writing out line ups, being flexible on timings and checking any tech requirements may seem trivial, but they are all very helpful and positive things to do. And if it’s your night, you can make sure that you do them.

3) It’s A Chance To See New Acts.
At Cabarera we tend to book a mixture of acts who we know/have seen and acts who get in touch with us whose work we haven’t necessarily seen on stage before. It’s nice to have an element of the unexpected; it keeps things fresh and gives us the added bonus of seeing brilliant new acts. We hadn’t seen Lucy Fennell before when we booked her but the image of her as Carrie Ann Oddling in a lycra cat suit hugging an audience member is one that will be burned hot pink on my retina forever. In a good way.

4) It’s An Opportunity For Other Acts To See What You Do.
As a comedian I am (in the words of one of my characters) “So far under the radar I am the radar” so running a night is a good way of letting the comedy community know you exist. It’s possible that other acts will be on the bill who run their own nights and they may want to book you. Or it’s possible they’ll think “That was an interesting portrayal of Jesus, shame it will never work as a stand alone set”. Either way, at least you’ve met some people.

5) It’s A Way To Design Your Perfect Comedy Night.
Maybe your perfect night of comedy is high quality stand up with no faffing in-between. Then great, make it happen! Or perhaps you’ve dreamed of going to a night of open spots which has a really supportive atmosphere and a compere who is actually good. Brilliant, then set it up! Personally I wanted to go to a night which was alternative, theatrical and silly, without being elitist or too cool for school. As a result, at Cabarera you can see a slick sketch act alongside a man eating a heron. I can’t ask for more than that really.

6) It’s A Great Way To Generate Ideas.
Running your own night (if you write new material for it each time) is a bit like setting yourself homework every month. It keeps your creative brain buzzing (or humming, or ticking depending on what sort of noise your brain makes, I don’t know I’ve never heard your brain. Mine makes a chugging sound) and it enables you to create material which you can go on to develop elsewhere. Our resident sketch act Short and Curly have used sketches in their Edinburgh shows which they’ve trailed first at Cabarera and I have used a couple of characters who I wrote specifically for the night, elsewhere too.

7) It’s Fun!
Running your own night is a lot of fun. If it goes well you can look out over the silliness you’ve created and feel happy. For me there can be no greater pleasure than seeing a crowd waving home-made flags and dancing around to skiffle music or looking out across the audience and seeing the effort that one audience member has made to create a futuristic hat topped off with an angle poised desk lamp, complete with tin foil trim.

CON

1) It’s hard work.
But then so is anything that’s worth doing isn’t it?

Cabarera is a monthly era-themed comedy and cabaret night which takes place at The Miller, London Bridge. Every month is a different era.

The next Cabarera is on July 11th. Click here for details http://www.wegottickets.com/event/227970

Can Beautiful Men Be Funny?

Like many people I never tire of the “Can Men be Funny?” debate but today I’d like to turn your attention to another issue which has been raising its pretty little head of late, that of Comedy and Beauty.

In September 2012 Hinkleberk Dick, an influential insider (not an insider of anything specific, just a generic insider), made this statement: “Only ugly men can be funny and the sooner that TV commissioners and big shot producers realise this the better. If I have to watch one more reasonably aesthetically pleasing man on a panel show I’m gonna blow my own brains out”. Harsh or accurate?

Last week I went to an open spot night. For those of you clever enough not to have chosen a career in comedy, this is a night above a pub where hopeful/unstable comedians perform five minutes of material to a room of comedians and two people who have accidentally come upstairs to have a quiet pint. At the open spot night there was an MC who was mercifully not very attractive, although needless to say this did not stop him from coming on to the female comedians, but that is part of his job I think. “Thank goodness he is below average in terms of what we as a society consider attractive” I said casually to my friend, “this means he will be very funny” and indeed he was.

Afterwards we saw ten comedians, eight of which were scientifically slightly below average in terms of appearance (and hygiene but that’s not relevant) and two of whom were very good-looking. We measured our laughter using a Squeezepump. A Squeezepump is a popular tool for measuring laughter. It is fitted below the diaphragm (doesn’t take long and key hole surgery is excellent nowadays so it’s well worth doing) and measures exhalations of air when a laugh is expelled. The bigger the exhalation the bigger the laugh and the funnier the comedian is. Unfortunately it’s not possible at present for the Squeezepump to distinguish between laughter and enthusiastic singing (so results can be inaccurate if it’s somebody’s birthday in the audience) but we’re working on that. Suffice to say when we looked at the evidence of the Squeezepump the results were astonishing. The two good-looking men measured slightly higher than average in terms of laughter, rendering our theory defunct. “Shit!” I exclaimed to my friend. “Perhaps men who are above average in terms of what we as a society consider attractive can be funny”. And her reply chilled me to the core. “I didn’t find them attractive” she said.

My world has been badly shaken. It seems (though I say this with immense caution) that attractiveness is subjective, that humour is subjective, that people might not like being reduced to their appearance and that…perhaps…..writing articles on whether or not an entire gender can be funny and whether or not humour and attractiveness are linked is utter bullshit.

But then a fat man fell over and it was really, really funny and we both laughed so scientifically we were vindicated.

Further Reading http://www.chortle.co.uk/news/2012/09/25/16204/beautiful_women_cant_do_funny