How Do You Fall Back In Love With Your Art In a Pandemic?

Jun 14

Words by Dervla Brown.

Well. I needed an answer to this question from the moment we found ourselves in March 2020. The answer I found? Improvisation. Improv, or ‘Impro’ as it’s sometimes known outside of the US, is a form of live theatre. Unscripted and performed without any prior plan or negotiation, it’s often comedic, but sometimes raw and emotional. The form is made up of short scenes, inspired by audience suggestions, punctuated by monologues, walk ons, flashbacks and numerous other physical forms and dramatic tools.

It is an extraordinarily technical way to perform. No scripts, no idea what your scene partner will give you or where they will put you. It’s a bit like a trust fall, but with imaginary problems, goals and relationships. Improvisers must keep track of which fictional name they have given to which player, what their relationship is to this character and where they ‘met’ them, so that when they encounter each other four scenes later, they can call back to this relationship, this place. But I digress. Back in the room, I’ll go back to nerding out on the specifics later. March 2020. My job as a drama coach, as well as being in great jeopardy, felt frivolous, luxurious and pretentious. Wrong for the world we were now dealing with. It didn’t feel vital, or worthy, with people losing their jobs, homes and lives. I knew the value of it, but it was difficult to stand behind the importance of practicing art when our government was leaving us all behind, and front line workers were risking their lives every day. I found it difficult to pour passion into my lesson plans as I normally would, and felt my enthusiasm fade.

When invited to attend a zoom course on improv, I was hesitant. I was uncomfortable playing out fictional scenarios, or worse, taking up the role of an elephant or the like, in my small apartment where the whole building was likely to hear. My arm was twisted (‘it’s up-skilling!’) and away I went. I was invigorated almost immediately. I had forgotten that (sorry, hang tight, pretentiousness incoming- I hate it too!) playfulness keeps us alive, light and ultimately connected. Drama is not therapy, but it sure is therapeutic. Teaching myself to remember to listen and engage compassionately, applies to life as much as it does to teaching. Many companies use improv as a way to encourage team building and openness, because one can be anything, and nothing is wrong. It is very empowering and quickly bonds people, across all professions and nationalities. It is very exposing, and can be incredibly nerve wracking, particularly for those without much performance experience. There are hundreds of exercises designed to pare back our ‘social masks’ (in improv this simply means what we deem 'acceptable' to share, in the office, or at a cocktail party) which allows for deeper bonding and transparency between group members. It is always a safe space and people usually end up sharing incredibly personal aspects of their lives.

There is a debate, as there is with every type of art, as to what is appropriate to say and do, with no pre planning. I feel this is a slippery slope. No troupe, or performance group, should ever be derogatory in any way. This much we know, and are committed to. However I have to admit some of my troupe’s best work comes from blue humour, dark comedy and general debauchery. We recently performed in an online set and literally minutes in, we had accidentally disregarded many of their rules/suggestions for sets that they stream. ‘Don’t reference religion in a way that makes fun of it, try to steer mostly clear of lewd jokes and sexual humour, don’t reference covid.’ Oops. First of all, it’s my worst nightmare to offend anyone or come off as insensitive in any way. Secondly however, I am Irish. Lewd humour and slagging is what we do. When things are censored to the nth degree, how do we share discussions, or decide what is fair game or not? Freedom in art is so important, in my opinion especially in improv because the quality of the work that gets made is less so if we police what is being said off the cuff. People become wooden, and nervous. We laugh because we feel we are right about the world. We share experiences. If we keep policing and editing, we’ll end up with an odd, clinical version of this shared experience.

The world renowned iO Improv theatre, in Chicago, came under fire just before the pandemic for what some were concerned was an erasure of the BIPOC community within its culture. A petition claimed the owner, Charna Halpern, and all involved must ‘publicly acknowledge and apologize for the institutional racism perpetuated at iO as well as her individual history of racism. She must acknowledge the harm this has caused to individuals, communities, and the comedy world as a whole.’ One performer, Jackie Bustamante, described attending an audition for a diversity scholarship, saying she was ignored and treated as though ‘no such invitation had been extended’. I give real credence to issues of this nature, but I also think that in my own personal experience, improv (and yes teachers from this particular theatre!) have been some of the most welcoming and compassionate I have encountered. However, perhaps my whiteness is why I feel this way. Perhaps this is why this training centre gave people Amy Poehler and Tina Fey such success in their early work. Improv cannot be a passion for everyone until it provides for everyone’s experience.

Improv at its core is all about love. Say ‘Yes’ to your fellow players, i.e don’t reject what they give you or where they put you. If you enter a scene and are told you’re in a dragon’s cave trying to steal its egg, make that your business, and you better make your scene partner look good while you’re at it. You should add to the scene, by enriching the relationship, adding detail and context, but the aim is always to lift the person you are engaged with, do the heavy lifting to make them look better, be the coffee in the mug and let them spill you. It’s pretty off the wall at times but a total passion for everyone involved with it, a humbling and generous way to be creative. It is easy to be disheartened by our world in 2021, but being coached on how to play, truly listen and really inhabit my imagination, and enrich the imaginations of others, is a short reprieve.

Dervla is a drama and theatre graduate from Cork, currently working as a drama coach, and as such, feeling somewhat at odds with her life choices amid the pandemic. She is deeply passionate about snacks and loves true crime documentaries. Her dream job is one of those people who deciphers letters written at crime scenes, being very into reading and writing she feels this would be a pretty cool gig. Dervla has worked on several Cork-born feature films and music videos, and is happiest when collaborating with other weird people to make weird (and hopefully good!) things.

Dervla and her improv troupe can be found over at @imaginary.friends.improv on Instagram and Imaginary Friends Improv on Facebook.