Barely a month into the Fall semester at the college where I
teach in Los Angeles, my father passed away and I had to take a one week leave
to go to New York for his funeral.
Understandably, the world took on a surreal quality and I dreaded the
long red eye flight ahead of me.
On the plane, a woman I sat next to was amused by how I
managed to shove my slightly larger than regulations suitcase under the seat. She complimented me on my success and I
responded with “I’m very good at transforming objects.” After a few moments of witty repartee, it
turned out that I was sitting next to a fellow improviser. We talked shop for a bit and discovered the
second thing we had in common. Neither
of us can sleep on planes.
When I told her why I was traveling, she felt that
continuing to talk about improv was inappropriate and was going to respect my
privacy. That was the last thing I
wanted. “Look, it’s not going to be good
for me sitting still fighting back the tidal wave of grief swarming in my
head. If you don’t mind, I’d love to
continue our conversation.” She was
game. Through the entirety of the
flight, we talked long-form, short-form, educational theatre, Spolin, Sills,
Shepherd, Theatre Sports, Comedy Sportz, Improv Olympics, Canadian Improv Games, Armando. The Improv Vortex is vast, and yet, I don’t
think we left any facet unexplored. We
blinked and suddenly we were in New York.
Even though neither of us had slept, we both felt refreshed.
It was serendipitous that our paths crossed. Ironically, through-out the course of our
marathon improv discussion the one thing I did not learn was her name. Oh, name-less improviser, you have my
ever-lasting gratitude.
A week later, I was back in Los Angeles. I was not in great shape. My perception sashayed between a living
nightmare to being slightly out of sync with the world. For the first time in my teaching career, I
was not looking forward to the classroom and wanted to get that returning
workshop out of the way as soon as possible, so I could go home and wallow in
some misery. I designed a few group
assignments that required very little input from me. My plan was to just sit and watch the class
work.
My students had something else in mind.
When I entered the auditorium where the class took place,
the faces of the students lit up as if I was a long lost relative. The substitute they had was old school. He was not a believer in my learning by doing
approach. He lectured. Endlessly.
I laid out what I wanted the students to accomplish in
class. Silence. Nobody moved.
Then, one of the shyest students spoke up. “Mr. Golding, since you traumatized us don’t
you think you should make it up by letting us do what we want to, today?” That made me laugh. “Sure, what do you guys want to do, today?”
They wanted me to play.
With all of them. For the entire
workshop.
We warmed-up with Kitty Wants A Corner, where players in a
circle try to make eye contact, and then switch places, while the “kitty” tries
to capture a corner. Yup, I was the
kitty. How did I fare? Let’s put it this way, I sweat less on a fifty
mile bike ride.
What followed next were a few rounds of Emotional Hurdles,
where two players jump from one extreme emotion to another, while making the
changes seem justified. I was in every
round. With each consecutive scene
partner, I started feeling more like myself again. For the first time since receiving news of my
father’s death, I was in the moment, focusing on my fellow player and
responding to the next called out emotion.
More importantly, I was having fun.
The students know I’m a fan of “Walking Dead” and wanted me
to create a game on the spot that involved zombies. So, I quickly devised a new version of “Red
light, green light, one, two, three.” I
would be the caller, and when my back was turned, the class had to approach me
slowly as zombies. We discussed briefly
how to get into the physicality of a zombie.
Not all have working legs, arms or necks. First round, I could barely contain my
laughter. They were all so into it. Every time I turned and they froze, I felt
warmth and delight at the sight of twenty teenage zombies in various positions
of physical disarray. They demanded a
second round and this time, I was one of the zombies and it made me feel like a
kid, again.
We ended the session with “Multiple Views,” a game where a
story is told in past tense of an event everyone attended. I opened the story with “I entered the
theatre class and a substitute was there instead of Mr. Golding.” The class leapt on that like ravenous
wolves. Apparently, the substitute was a
cross-dressing, illegal immigrant, who was also a socialist terrorist trying to
infiltrate the American way of life through indoctrinating high school
students. I didn’t realize my college
had such an innovative hiring policy.
Originally, I intended the class to be short. By the time the session was over, I clocked
in with a little over two hours. I left
the school feeling energized. When I
looked at myself in the mirror at home, I liked what I saw. There was color in my face and I appeared
relaxed.
I couldn’t wait for my next class.
Michael Golding is a writer, director and
improv teacher. He can be contacted for
workshops, festivals and private consultations at migaluch@yahoo.com. Michael participated in the evolution of the
Improv Olympics & Canadian Improv Games. Artistic director of the Comic
Strip Improv Group in N.Y. & created the Insight Theatre Company for
Planned Parenthood, Ottawa. He is a faculty member at El Camino College
in Los Angeles,
working with at-risk teens and traditional students. He wrote and co-produced the documentary
"David Shepherd: A Lifetime of Improvisational Theatre" (available
for free on YouTube). His book, Listen Harder, a collection of essays,
curriculum and memorabilia on improvisation and educational theatre, is
available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and CreateSpace. Michael holds a BFA
degree in Drama from New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts & an MA
degree in Educational Theatre from NYU’s Steinhardt School of Culture,
Education & Human Development.
