Tuesday, July 29, 2008 by John Robison.

When it comes to feedback and directing a group, is there such a thing as being too blunt or too nice?

No brainer. Of course. There are multitudinous levels, and it’s tough to pick the right level for the right group. I always, always err on the side of too nice. It’s just my personality.  There is a time for bluntness, but it is entirely possible to do it in a nice way. I consider myself to be quite good at this, when it’s important. Be blunt, but be nice, and be realistic. As someone that works with a lot of beginning improvisers, there are a ton of things you just have to let go. I like to focus on one skill at a time, and let other things slide for awhile during that particular training time, though it makes the ol’ skin crawl. I also tend to think that being too blunt destroys the sense of safety that you’re supposed to have in the rehearsal space. You just can’t overwhelm people with too much, or they’ll get discouraged.

The improv workshop is not the place for survival of the fittest. It’s not a competitive sport. In competitive sports, you have a concrete goal (sometimes literally), and a concrete strategy to make it to that goal. There are tried, tested, and true strategies for making it to that goal. There are a particular number of spots available on any particular team. The individuals with the best skills to achieve the goal make it. Everyone else is cut. Period.

In improv, there is no particular goal. Our whole deal is that each time, you’re going to see something different; you’ll get a different experience. In sports, you get one of two experiences: Win/Lose (or in the weird sports, Tie). In improv, there are an infinite number of possible goals, and an infinite number of possible ways to get there. Since this is the reality we’re living in, I believe you should be supportive in helping people to discover their own best way to be successful the majority of the time. Being overly blunt would imply that your personal style is the best style, or the only style, and would mean that you’re ignoring and dismissing alternate ways of doing things. Well, who the hell are you? Depending on the person, we might end up with a whole generation of performers that do nothing but poop jokes. Taking a more laid-back approach may take longer, true, but you’ll end up with more diversity on stage, and an overall more interesting experience.

In the end, that’s the real reason for erring on the side of niceness. We’re trying to grow interest in the art of improv, and you’re not going to do that with verbal abuse. If you don’t preserve the sense of fun, openness, and diversity, beginners won’t come back. Sure, I could make people think that I’m some sort of crotchety improv genius, and that it’s a privilege to work with me, so they should just put up with me… but holy crap - that’s no way to live your life. There’s enough negativity in the world without adding it to improvisation.

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Tuesday, July 22, 2008 by John Robison.

Grammar note: this post replaces all gender-specific pronouns with “them” or “they.” Many apologies to those of you whom this grates upon. 

After a period of time, people naturally fall away from your group for a variety of reasons. As the person in charge, I constantly try to make sure that the theater is an environment people love as much as I do, so when someone leaves, I always go into a mode of “OK… what could I have done better?”

The reasons people give for leaving are just like the reasons people give when they break off any relationship. “It’s not you… it’s me.” I have a tendency to not believe that reason… at first. However, taken on a case-by-case basis, I find that the reasons people give are generally genuine.

At this point in Roving Imp history, over the past year, I’ve had a total of 22 people who have at one point called themselves an Imp. Of those, I still have 13 as active members. So over the first year and a third, that’s a drop rate of 41%. I have no idea where that might be in the whole spectrum of first-year performance groups with bi-weekly performances… at most points, it has seemed high. Right now, it doesn’t seem so bad.

As examples, here are the following real-life reasons, along with my suspicion of the real reason, with all names taken away, as I still really like and respect these people.

Person A: Stopped coming, and then said they had to quit to take care of familial obligations.  I think this one was true. I knew something of their personal life, and think this one was honest. Hooray!

Person B: Said they had to quit to take care of familial obligations. I think this one was also true. It seems that having to quit because of family changes is a common one.

Person C: Just stopped coming, with no communication at all. I have no idea what the reason might be… other than the fact that this person lived kind of far away. Maybe they didn’t feel like they fit in. Who knows? I would like to know. I do know that the “let’s avoid confrontation by just not going anymore” is the most frustrating for me. Lots of people have done it… and why not? For the person not coming back, it’s a super easy way to do it. No fuss, no muss, no risk. For me, however, it sucks the Royal Teat. I realize that you’re a performer, and not necessarily organized, and not necessarily prone to good communication, but if you know you’re not coming back, just let me know so I stop wasting mental energy on you. I hope they aren’t dead.

Person D: Just stopped coming, and said they were going to come back once things settled down with their personal life. This first part was true. Their personal life was all over the place, though they still haven’t come back. I will take this opportunity to put forth my Absence Theory: In my experience, if someone that has been a regular in your group leaves and is gone more than a month, they’re not coming back.

Person E: Just stopped coming. After a couple months, I happened to run into them, and they said their job switched days, and that they’d like to come back once that changed. Probably true… but they still haven’t come back. See the Absence Theory.

Person F: Got too busy. I’m pretty sure this is true. This person is very talented, and very busy due to the fact that they seem to have a tiny issue with overcommitment, much as I had when I was in my early 20s… when I would say yes to almost anything.

Person G: Got another acting job that would take them away for six months. I have no doubt that the reason is true, but I have doubts that they will return. We shall see if Absence Theory holds up.

Person H:  Left due to the fact that they got a job with a national touring company. I’m pretty sure it was true… it was too specific of a story to not be, and there was no reason to not be truthful.

Person I: Said their schedule was too busy. I suspect this statement was masking the actual reason. I was super relieved when this person made a point of thanking me for making them feel so welcome… Another group I have performed with has lost talented folks by not making them feel welcome or included. The day one talented person announced they were leaving, I talked with them and they said, “John, you were the only person my first day that came up and talked to me and went out of your way to be friendly.” That statement alarmed me, as I hadn’t realized that I had done anything… and I hadn’t realized that others weren’t talking to them. Since that time, I’ve tried to be super aware of including new folks and making them feel welcome.

So out of the nine, only one gave a reason I suspect to not be completely true, and one just disappeared. I like to think that I have an open and communicative atmosphere with the performers I work with. Other groups I work with get the old “I’m taking some time off,” when I think they were really feeling “I’m not having as much fun as I should be,” or “I’m not feeling necessary and/or appreciated.” I can think of five such examples of people using that reason in other groups in the past year. Have any of them returned after their time off? Please refer to the above Absence Theory. It hasn’t been proven wrong yet.

I never like it when someone leaves, but I understand that this kind of crazy life isn’t for everyone. Lots of people don’t realize it until they’ve been doing it for awhile. Weekly rehearsals and performances don’t fit into everyone’s life forever. Generally, I’m glad I got to share some fun, quality time with them, and wish them luck. And secretly hope that one day they’ll return, despite any theories to the contrary.

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Tuesday, July 15, 2008 by John Robison.

It seems like a long time since I’ve done a scripted show… although I did two last year. However, it’s been since August of 2007 since I directed and acted in “The Complete History of America, Abridged.” The other show of last summer was “Basehor The Musical 2,” which I was commissioned to write by the Basehor Historical Society. Writing a show is something that I really enjoy and detest at the same time. I love the process of creation, but don’t really like the fact that I am pretty well cut off from society and my family for large chunks of time. I seem to write best when I do a lot at once.

To date, I’ve written three full length plays, a musical, a one-act play, and now a one-act musical based around a couple’s love for the musical “Mamma Mia.” This last one just got finished this past Sunday. It was kind of a rush job… I had about a week to write it, and we’ll have a week to learn it before performing it this weekend. Just as with most of my others, I’ll be the writer, director, and male lead. It’s not that I think I’m all that, but it’s really tough to find a talented male actor of the right type that not only can sing, but is available at the right times.

So, this is the reason for the abbreviated and/or absent blogs of this two to three week period. I’m desperately trying to memorize lines (another love/hate relationship), learn songs (which I love), and learn choreography (mostly just a hate relationship).

This is why I don’t do scripted shows very often anymore.

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Monday, July 7, 2008 by John Robison.

In most respects, the creation story of the Roving Imp is unspectacular and unimportant. Boiled down, the whole story is “I was tired of scrounging for space and being hasseled by the man, so I bought a theater.” As with most things, however, if you dig down, there’s more just beneath the surface story.

I’ve written before about the community theater group I created just out of high school, the Better Than Fair Players. This group was together for eight years, performing all over Bonner Springs, Basehor, and Shawnee, in churches, schools, rec centers, and even outside. Toward the middle and end, we were doing five shows a year without an official permanent home. Each show was another negotiation for space. Each rehearsal represented another day of completely setting up the stage from scratch, rehearsing, and then completely breaking everything down and loading props back in cars and stowing sets in an out-of-the-way place. It was during this four-or-more-times weekly exercise in frustration that the seeds were planted. Yes, like 50% of all actors, I got the completely original idea, “We should have a theater of our own.”

Unlike most, however, I began to do some research, and I began to look for an appropriate space. After about a year of looking, I found a place I really liked. I put an offer on the building… and it fell through for various reasons which may or may not have to do with the fact that the seller had just emerged from prison. After another six weeks, I found another place. It wasn’t as ideal, but I thought I could probably make it work. I put in an offer, but the deal fell through, as it had problems with sewers… mainly the fact that it wasn’t connected to any.

At that point, my personal life sort of imploded for awhile, and to say that the theater search took a backseat would be a gross understatement. My main focus in life at that point was to try to save my marriage (which didn’t work, by the way). After that little disintegration occurred, I decided to expand my horizons by doing some shows in the big city of Kansas City for awhile. It had been eight years, after all, since I had done a show for someone else… I’d been directing my own shows since I was 19 years old, and I thought it might be a good idea to go learn from other directors.

I did a couple shows, and quickly found out that those other directors should really be learning from ME. The directors I worked with were great people, but did not live up to my own standards. I wanted specific feedback and a consistent, coherent vision for a show. This is not too much to ask, but I didn’t get it. (This is not uncommon, from what I have heard, unless you work with certain specific directors.)

Though this foray into “big city theater” was disappointing in certain ways, it really opened up my world in other ways. First, it got me known as a person that knew what he was doing. I quickly got hired to direct shows in town, and found that my directing skills transferred very well from the small town to the big(ger). Second, it introduced me to the world of improv.

I had done improv before. I had even taught improv before. However, I had never before been plugged in to the “world” of improv. I had always before been the one that had known the most about improv in the room (which was not much, FYI). But when Full Frontal Comedy took a chance on me (due completely, I think, to a funky made up dance I came up with in a show), I found a group of really talented, funny people that I didn’t teach and that I wasn’t responsible for. I learned a lot from that group, and made a lot of great friends that I have to this day.

At about the same time I found FFC, I also went back to school to get my master’s degree. The combination of FFC, a very special moment in an entrepreneurship class, and a pivotal conversation with my (new) wife’s sister resparked this idea in my head: I can open a theater now. Not only that: I MUST open a theater.

I quickly mapped out the pros, cons, and things I would need to do before it would be possible. The main thing I needed: a true pedigree from a respected place of improv. So I signed up for classes at i.o. in Chicago. i.o. has the style of improv that is most like the style I like best. Yes, Second City is better known, but has the philosophy that improv should be used as a tool, whereas i.o. founder Del Close always maintained that improv is an artform by itself.

Chicago was fantastic. It helped me in ways that I could never have imagined. I am now a completely different kind of improviser than before I went: a good one. I consider the majority of scenes I do now to be successful… because now I have the experience to recognize why things go awry. Maybe that’s a different post.

Anyway… now I had the experience, knowhow, and the credentials. Now for the hard part… making the theater happen.

To be continued…

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