Character Hot Seat Interview by Michael Golding

Character Hot Seat Interview is a game I employ during the first few sessions of my college high school outreach workshops with at-risk populations. A student plays a person they know well (parent, teacher, friend, relative) who is interviewed first by me, then by the class. It’s an effective game. Opens up possibilities for future scenes, provides insight into the player’s world, trains students with the type of questions they need to ask to learn as much as they can about a character, and makes them aware that they already have an arsenal of personas at their disposal.

This is a game I often participate in, usually playing someone I have a great deal of love for (my father, David Shepherd, Ed Asner).  In a recent workshop, my students had a request. They wanted me to play my wife. I balked at this request because I’ve been separated from her for almost two years, a fact I have yet to share with my students.  As honest and open as I try to be about myself so I can gain their trust, I initially felt this information would be a distraction for the students and painful for me.  It took a year before I could take my wedding ring off. Once I did, I still stuck to the narrative that my wife and I were together, and used a film role playing a single person as the excuse for why I wasn’t wearing it.

My wife and I at a workshop after she played her mother in a Character Hot Seat Interview, 1986
Photo: David Shepherd 

Anxiety started to rise in me, and I tried to dismiss the request as something I would do at another time so that we could move on to something else. But the students were adamant and reminded me of what I stress during the first few sessions; “there’s nothing I’m going to make you do that I’m not willing to do myself.” 

So I sat down in a chair as my wife would have, took a deep calming breath, exhaled and looked out at the class and told them to proceed with their questions. The questions were pretty much what I expected. How long did my wife and I know each other? How did we meet? What did we think of each other’s parents? Do we have kids? After saying that we didn’t have kids, but had a cat (Gizmo) for 17 years, the students were amazed that a feline could last that long. This resulted in a slew of questions about Gizmo; where did you find her? Did she ever go outside? Did she have kittens? Will you ever get another cat? They were also fascinated by my wife’s Canadian nationality, and a slew of questions focused on her perception of the difference between Americans and Canadians, what she misses about Canada and what she likes and dislikes about America.

The legendary Gizmo, 1984 - 2001. Photo: Jody Cherry

While I was admittedly stiff and hesitant during the first minute or so of questioning, I eventually relaxed and got into my wife’s vocal rhythm and answered as I felt she would. My inner improv monologue was whispering “relax, take your time, and get into it.” I played her listening skills – the way she would take in a question, ponder it slowly, seriously, and give a response directly to the person who asked it, often with a follow-up question of her own.  The students seemed to enjoy that. There were thirty one in attendance, and she had their attention.

Surprisingly, this wasn’t a particularly torturous experience for me, although I was relieved when it was over. I played her as sincerely as I could, with the uncomfortable awareness that I wasn’t being honest with the students about the present state of my marriage. There was still forty minutes left in the workshop and I didn’t want to spend it shifting the focus of the class on to me.

As I got out of my chair one of the students said “Wow. I really like her. She’s cool.”  That comment stunned me, because I was concerned that any anger, heartbreak and resentment I still harbored might seep through in the characterization. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. I felt good that my portrayal came off in a positive way. Perhaps I'm finally moving on. And yeah, she is cool. 

In my experience with at-risk populations, being married is viewed as a positive aspect of my character and my wife is an ongoing topic of conversation in workshops. It provides the students with a comforting sense of normalcy about me, which comes in handy when I have to persuade them to try something that is not perceived as normal.

Ed Asner once told me that no one ever died from getting separated; everyone experiences heartbreak from the end of a relationship and eventually has to move on. Perhaps being honest about that aspect of life with my students will provide a stronger unifying bond in class than being married. "Otherwise Michael, you'll turn into a Mopey Gus and believe me, nobody wants to be around a Mopey Gus!"

Who am I not to heed the wisdom of a man who has been married and divorced twice?  

Receiving wisdom while on Ed Asner's lap.

Postscript:  A week later I’m warming up the class with “Tirades & Endorsements,” a game where a student can either talk about something that angers them (a tirade) or something they’re passionate about (an endorsement). Camille, one of my more passionate students chose “married men who don’t wear their wedding rings” as a tirade. Standing up she instantly exploded; “if you’re married and you don’t wear your wedding ring that only means one thing – you’re sniffing around, period!” For the next thirty seconds Camille‘s volume and indignation escalated as she listed the bullshit excuses she heard from married relatives who didn’t wear their rings. When she finished her tirade, she sat down with her arms folded and glared at me. Her face was seething with anger.

The room was silent. I walked up to Camille and softly said “I’m separated. Is that a good enough reason not to wear my wedding ring?”  Surprised by my answer, she looked down at the floor. “Yes. That is a good reason.” I had expected an avalanche of questions from the students to follow, but there were none. Camille raised her head;  The anger on her face was replaced by sincere concern. “Mr. Golding, who is going to look after you when you’re old?”

I don’t think I’ve ever been more moved by a student’s comment. Perhaps Ed was right.

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.   

Teacher-In-Role by Michael Golding

I frequently tell my students that there’s nothing I’m going to make them do, that I’m not willing to do myself.   This statement is born out of the necessity to lessen students’ initial fear of participation in warm-ups, games, scenes and formats.  Occasionally, this backfires on me, such as the time I expended all my energy in a physical warm-up, and then suddenly discovered that I had to pace myself for the rest of the workshop. I didn’t move much from the couch that night after I got home!

I enjoy role-playing with my students. I generally play “adult roles,” such as father, teacher, counselor and employer, while trying to make the students look as good as possible, so that by the time the next class rolls around, participation is more voluntary than mandatory.

When the group as a whole refuses to budge from their chairs, I segue into a Teacher-in-Role scenario, a technique I learned from Gavin Bolton, a pioneer in the Educational Theatre movement.  

Essentially, the teacher assumes a role in relation to the students: a leader, peer, or expert.  The first time I encountered this technique was in a workshop Gavin conducted with thirty other participants.  Gavin set up a town hall scenario, inspired by thematic elements from The Crucible. 

We were all cast as denizens of the town, and Gavin was one of the “respected elders.”  At the meeting, Gavin informed us that children were spotted practicing witchcraft in the woods.  He then allowed us to discuss the matter amongst ourselves, in order to ascertain the identity of the children.  As we conversed, in pairs and groups, Gavin mingled, while surreptitiously asking various members “Who do you think it is?”  After some time passed, Gavin changed the tone of the discussion by revealing disturbing information to a select few; “I have it on good authority that your daughter was one of the children practicing witchcraft.”  We kept this going for about a half hour, and it was fascinating to experience the metamorphic transformation of the group from close-knit community, to suspicious adversaries.  It was an exciting, new way to approach improv, while exploring the theme of rumors.

In past Teacher-In-Role scenarios, I’ve cast myself as a detective briefing the class, all in role as “detectives in training” on an unsolved murder mystery.  Students would write down what they think happened, asking me for additional details.  This led to the detective trainees interviewing other students in role as suspects, while coming up with various feasible scenarios, several of which were then selected and explored in a scene.  Another time I was in role as the head of an agency that provided help and advice to runaway teens.  I broke the class up into pairs, and gave them the two roles of counselor and runaway.  Each counselor had to find out as much information as possible about why the runaway decided to leave home.  The counselors then reported back to me, and as a group, we decided which case should be looked into in greater detail, resulting in a scenario about the events leading up to running away.

When I worked at New Village Charter High School, an all girl institution in Los Angeles, due to the nature of the study body, it was not unusual to have a class with just two or three students – all of whom did not want to participate.  The reasons would vary.  Fatigue was often cited, and sometimes the personalities in the room were not compatible for collaboration, based on a personal grudge.

The most notable incidence of this involved Skylar and Thalia, who had a little feud going.  Apparently, Thalia had made a disparaging remark about Skylar in another class, and Skylar was holding a grudge.  For several sessions, Skylar would not participate if Thalia was in class.  She would just sit quietly, or sometimes glare at Thalia.  I thought about getting involved via the magic of improv, but with two teenage girls circling each other like feral cats defending their territory, I figured it was best to stay out of the way, and hoped the problem would run its course.

During a session on discrimination, Skylar and Thalia got into a discussion about my appearance.  The comments were pretty much the same I’d been hearing since the beginning of the school year – my mustache and hair were too gray, my chest and arms were too hairy.  I pointed out that the two were discriminating against me based on my appearance, but neither saw it that way.

We decided to do a scene about me getting a makeover.  Thalia played my wife, Skylar played the salon owner, which was something she eventually wanted to do in real life, and I played myself in the scene.  Thalia and Skylar instantly related to each other in character in the scene, which gave rise to a lot of humor.  Thalia was obviously the boss in the marriage, and Skylar kept embellishing Thalia’s vision of the new me, while creating a realistic salon by creating an extensive array of hand props.  I had never seen Thalia’s space work as vibrant as this.  The end result left me with a shaved head, a gold tooth, an earring, a nose ring, and the phrase “Brooklyn Boy” tattooed on the back of my neck.  When we reviewed the scene afterwards, Thalia and Skylar both agreed that if I followed their make-over specifications, my wife would shower me with sex.  The two have been talking to each other and on good terms ever since this class, including socializing away from school.  This scene also led to having revealing one-on-one sessions with both students, and the work continued on.

Thalia generally walked around with an enormous chip on her shoulder, and was very adept at turning a compliment into an insult.  Once, when it seemed like we were on the verge of getting into an altercation, in order to help her sort it out, we agreed to do a quick round of Character-Relay to show how we came off to each other.  In this format, we would start a conversation, with each of us playing ourselves.  Every thirty seconds, we switched characters, Thalia becoming me, I becoming Thalia, as we continued the conversation.  The game proved invaluable for Thalia, who became more self-aware of her emotional drives, while I got an inside peek at how I came off to the students.

Skylar lived with her aunt, who had her baby taken away because she was a heroin addict.  The aunt was due for a drug test and wanted to use Skylar’s urine to pass.  Skylar wanted to know how I felt about that, and of course, I turned it around on her by asking “how do YOU feel about it?”  Skylar admitted being hesitant.  I then set up a Character Hot Seat exercise, and interviewed Skylar as her aunt, who admitted that she was manipulating Skylar into becoming an accessory to a crime.  As a result of this role play, Skylar decided not to go through with her aunt’s scheme, and was empowered by the fact that this was her decision, and not one that I forced on her based on my own code of conduct.

Skylar and Thalia’s continued personal and creative development exemplified the purpose of my classes, and the role I played with this at-risk population.  The vast majority of these students had hard shells as the result of a life that was not kind to them.  Some were harder to connect with than others, but once they understood that I was sincerely interested in their opinions, and was willing to risk looking foolish to make them more comfortable, that’s when the real work began, which often led to extraordinary results.

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. 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.


 

 

What I Did For Improv Love by Michael Golding

 A colleague once described my teaching technique when working with at-risk teens as “putting my feelings out there,” which was something she admitted she couldn’t risk doing in fear of being hurt.  When working with this population, I have to leave myself open and vulnerable so I can gain my students’ trust.  This forges a bond between us, and allows them to share aspects of their lives that they normally wouldn’t in a traditional classroom setting.  In a way, the relationship is akin to a love affair, with all the wonderful attributes that go along with it, including, the inevitable break-up.

My most intimate, break-through classes with at-risk teens have been through one-on-one sessions, or within small groups of four to six students, where I participated as a teacher and player.  During my assignment at the New Village Charter High School, the only all-girl charter high school in California, most of my one-on-one sessions were with the students residing on site at St. Anne’s, a social rehabilitation center for young women.  Some of these residents were wards of the state, or parolees.  Often, just as I was making progress, the student was removed from class, never to be seen again.  It was a crushing emotional blow, hard not to take personally, and made it difficult to suck it up and start fresh with someone new – who was probably going to break my heart and abandon me eventually.  So much for professional and emotional distance.

St, Anne's residential facilities.

The following are case studies of four students who affected me on an artistic, personal and emotional level.

Daisy was fifteen years old and six months pregnant.  She was the first student I’d ever had a language barrier with - she didn’t speak English, I didn’t speak Spanish.  In our sessions, I relied exclusively on non-verbal Viola Spolin games such as Transforming the Object, Who Am I? and Gibberish, which proved to be very successful and fun for both of us.  The two of us eventually created our own non-verbal scenarios, incorporating character and space work.  One time we were pantomiming a chess match, which developed into a fight.  We were arrested, thrown into jail and inevitably plotted and executed our escape.  The classroom itself became a prop – freeing and empowering for Daisy, since she had access to an environment she normally wouldn’t in a full class.  Occasionally, Daisy’s social worker would pop in for a few minutes at the beginning of the session and assist as a translator, which enabled me to raise the stakes a bit.

About a month into the semester, Daisy was abruptly pulled out of school by her father and sent to live in Mexico with her grandmother for the remainder of her pregnancy.  I found out shortly after her removal that Daisy had a better command of English than I was led to believe.  Well played, Daisy.

Dareisha was sixteen years old and had a long history of criminal activity – assault, breaking and entering, drug possession.  Once she assaulted a teacher who tried to prevent her from leaving the classroom by grabbing her shoulder.  Despite being incarcerated for the assault, Dareisha had no remorse over the incident.  “He shouldn’t have touched me.”  I responded by telling her that I had made a mental note never to touch her.  With the first smile I had ever seen on her, she said “You, I’m cool with.”

Dareisha had a hardened veneer to her personality and students on campus would stay clear of her.  In class, she had no problem contributing suggestions for scenes, but she would only improvise with me – and frequently ended the scene with a curt “done.”  If other students were in class, her focus was erratic when improvising, frequently getting confrontational with her classmates who she thought were mocking her as they watched.  Often, Dareisha would stay after class so we could play together alone for a half hour or so.

One of the assignments for my course was to arrange the order of scene outlines the students came up with, to form a story with a thematic thread.  Instead of meeting this criteria, Dareisha handed in a five page, hand-written scene.  I couldn’t wait to read it.  Dareisha was particularly snuggly with me in class that day.  Wherever I sat to lecture briefly, she would quickly sit next to me and at one point, rested her head on my shoulder.  Something was up, but she wouldn’t tell me what.

That night, I read Dareisha’s scene.  It was worthy of David Mamet – complete with realistic, vibrant dialogue and powerful characters.  I was so proud of her achievement and was looking forward to encouraging Dareisha to pursue writing.  Next day, Dareisha was gone.  The police had showed up at St. Anne’s and arrested her for robbing a store with a group of other girls the morning of our last class.  I never saw Dareisha again.  To this day it still haunts me that I was unable give her what she needed most, encouragement and hope.

Amanda was seventeen years old and seven months pregnant.  She had a criminal record which included shoplifting, carjacking, breaking and entering.  Amanda came from a family where nobody graduated high school; her mother and sisters all became pregnant when teenagers.  Despite her past, Amanda had a wonderful sense of humor, with an optimistic outlook about her future.  When we first met, she told me that she was a virgin, had plans to attend college and was proud that she was going to be the first in her family to do so.  Amanda was a wonderful advocate for her fellow pregnant students, counseling them on prenatal care and day care options.  I was convinced that Amanda was on a path to rebuild her life and make her family proud.

Amanda and I had wonderful teacher/student chemistry.  We talked honestly about our lives and used that information as a springboard for scenes.  In one scene, I played a transsexual, where Amanda as my sister, was encouraging me to get back in touch with our parents.  While this is a scene I normally would not have explored in a regular high school, transsexuals were a part of Amanda’s world, and I had to respect that reality.

Two months into the semester, Amanda’s twenty-two year old gang-banger boyfriend, and father of her child, got out of jail and pulled his car in front of St. Anne’s.  Amanda quickly got in and according to the rumors of the school was off to Vegas to get married.  Sadly, all the girls were behind Amanda’s decision to do this.  “You go, girl!  You get as far away from this place as possible!”  When I asked the girls who was going to take care of Amanda’s baby, the response was “Her man!”

So, despite the fact that Amanda was now in violation of her parole, and being transported across state lines, having just thrown away free hospitalization and day care, the students were adamant – she made the right decision.  It was romantic and dangerous.  Often, I wonder what I would do if I ever crossed paths with Amanda again and what physical/mental state she might be in.

Dulce was seventeen years old and eight months pregnant.  She had a criminal record for drug trafficking. First game I played with Dulce:  Two Seconds Behind, where one player tells a story about themselves and the second player repeats it verbatim, two seconds behind.  Dulce used it as an opportunity to talk about her life honestly, being pregnant, arrested, and substance abuse issues.  Touching and at times funny.  It was a powerful experience for her to hear my voice and emotion echoing her words.  Somebody understood her.

Second game:  Suitcase, where players sit in a circle passing around an imaginary suitcase.  Each one has to put in an object that starts with the first letter of their name. Dulce playfully said “Dulce’s dick” then switched it to “Dulce’s duck.”  I told her that it was okay to stick with her first choice.  The interesting thing here is that even though these are essentially kids, they’ve led adult lives.  So, while I might reprimand a teenager for this choice in a “normal” class setting, I would often give a free pass to the at-risk girls, depending on the circumstance.  Otherwise, I would be spending most of each class reprimanding or in conflict.  When it was time to take an object out that the group heard, I quickly went first with “I think we’d all be happier if Dulce’s dick was out of the suitcase,” which caused Dulce to blush. 

Third game:  Scene about discrimination.   Dulce played my pregnant girlfriend who was being introduced to a future sister-in-law, played by a social worker who got roped into the scene, who discovers that the baby isn’t mine.  Dulce was very physical with me during the scene.  She sensuously stroked my tie while talking to the sister-in-law and pulled me off stage by it to end the improv.  This was a major trust breakthrough.  The majority of the men in Dulce’s life had abused and betrayed her to the point where she felt all men were not to be trusted.  In me, she found someone who actually listened and understood her.  I was never judgmental and despite the Hindenburg shape she ballooned into, Dulce was still very much a kid who often needed to be reminded that she was beautiful and it’s okay to be silly and play.

Dulce’s back was always hurting her, and her movement was limited.  She could stand briefly, but the majority of her scenes were played sitting down.  She went into labor a few weeks before the semester ended.  I walked into class one day and she was gone.

Once again, someone I had forged a bond with, who was starting to grasp the work and benefit from it, was suddenly taken away.  It is the nature of the job, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t bother me.  Every single time.

While my work as an educational theatre specialist with at-risk teens is deeply gratifying, it consistently wrecks havoc with my abandonment issues.  Intellectually, there is a barrier that allows me to do my work.  But the more I get to know a student, the more open my heart becomes, and it’s hard not to be profoundly affected by their stories.  They don’t want pity.  They just want you to listen and understand without judgment.  While saying goodbye always sucks at the end of a semester, not having the opportunity to do so, cuts a little bit deeper.  I’m blessed that many of my former students have remained in touch with me or have found me years later through Facebook.  Maybe one day, the four I have just written about will do the same. That would be very nice. 

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. 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.