Week 1: Pie, Gardening, and Rivendell
When you’re learning something new and criticism is smacking you in the face from left and right like a Blazing Saddles pie fight, it can get frustrating. Now that I’ve put myself in that position constantly, I’m having to change my relationship to pie. In class this week, Jeff mentioned our unhelpful tendency as humans to treat working on something inside ourselves as different than working on something outside ourselves. When we are learning how to do something outside of ourselves, we don’t take failures as seriously, and we take on our weaknesses systematically. We blame the unicycle for only having one wheel, and it doesn’t change how we view ourselves; however, when we are working on something that comes from within — unwanted negative thoughts, unwanted emotions, our writing, our ability to say lists of random unrelated words (an improvisation exercise) — we take it personally. It reflects poorly on us and could have us in the chokehold of an identity crisis.
Or maybe we’re just lazy about it. It’s not popular in our culture to weed our minds like a garden, so we don’t. Hell I don’t even weed actual gardens.
The only way to stay afloat in this sea of mistakes, growth, and change is to treat it like it’s something outside of you. You notice that you hesitate when you’re leading the group in a dance motion (because you’re afraid no one will come up and claim the space with a new dance move as is intended), but you don’t get bogged down in the throes of WHY AM I SO AFRAID OF EVERYTHING/WHY AM I THE WAY THAT I AM. You just say: Got it. Next time I will lead without worrying about that. Many times, you have to say it wrong before you can know how to say it right. Many times you have to do it wrong to understand how to do it right. Why apologize? Why feel guilty? Don’t. It is not about you, it’s about the work.
Side note: I’ve always wanted a teacher that actually celebrated mistakes, just so students would really believe how true this is. Whoever makes the first five mistakes of the day gets cheers…pizza…beer! Star Student for leading the class in boldness and bravery!
In an attempt to oversimplify a very complex week metaphorically, I’ll say the first week was about weeding, planting new seeds, and gardening basics. You may have already guessed that weeding involves learning how to uproot our bad habits. It’s not something you do once and it’s over — you continue to weed whenever it crops up. What are you afraid of? Touch? Vulnerability? We found some of our weaknesses, searched for the sources, and played with ways to overcome them. We also talked about taking ownership of the class. Don’t raise your hand. Don’t ask permission. Jeff has been intent (as always) to make it clear that he is not interested in being The Leader: he expects us all to be leaders walking on equal footing, free from socially instituted politeness or hesitation that is subconsciously present in more academic settings.
Every exercise, drill, and game that we do in the Deep Dive has a purpose. This week each activity planted a seed of understanding that will continue to grow and change as we build on this knowledge. One exercise revealed an aspect of interactive work, another physicalized a new concept, another developed a deeper understanding of something we thought we already knew, and that other one was just an energizing break because our brains were dead and our inner five-year-olds were screaming to go do something silly. One minute we were singing to learn about group dynamics and story endings, the next we were ballroom dancing to understand the importance of a strong frame when dealing with a spect — an unrehearsed participant who becomes the protagonist and co-creator of an interactive performance. We were repeating and throwing sounds like a vigorous game of catch to practice precise and vocalization without thinking. We were saying as many random, unrelated words as possible to clear our minds of blocks and drilling the foundation of dramatic improvisation (offers, blocks, follows, resists — see explanation at the bottom of the article). We were playing verbal ping pong to practice speaking without knowing what the sentence would be, and we were rehearsing for our first interactive show.
Which brings me to our first interactive show.
It’s called Long Lost Family, and it draws on the phenomenon that when you meet someone for the first time and they are somehow related to you, there is an inexplicable connection between you, even if you have never met them before. It reminds me of the first time I hung out with one of my cousins one-on-one. Even though I hadn’t had the chance to really connect with her before that interaction, by the end of the day I felt like she was my sister. There’s something exciting and close about it that you don’t feel with a stranger who is not blood-related, like your wall is already down.
What happens is simple. The spect gets a call from their long lost family member (an interactor), and on the agreed upon date and time they meet to have dinner and talk about their real lives, with the only fictional element being that they are somehow related. It explores our ability to establish deep connections with strangers as if they are our family members even when they are not, and the goal is for the spect to walk away feeling like they had had more than a surface level social experience—like the interactor really was their family member. A few days after the dinner, the spect and their real family and friends meet with the cast members to discuss the experience.
For a show like this, establishing rapport is essential. Is there a person you don’t get along with and you wish you did? There are some simple things you can do.
Physicality is one of the first things to notice. If you’re facing them head-on in a seated position (like most tables are set in restaurants), that’s actually a confrontational posture in nature. Adjusting your chair slightly to the right or left makes a significant difference. If you’re seated, you also want to make sure your legs are not both turned to one side across your body, blocking you off from your partner. Having one foot pointed straight ahead at your partner and another off to one side opens you up to them (literally and emotionally) and makes it easier to establish a connection.
You can also mimic their movements like sipping your drink when they sip theirs, eating at their pace and employing the same hand gestures to explain things. It’s also helpful to share their point of view. Find something that is also true for you in what they are saying and focus on those places where you agree. This doesn’t mean pretending to like things you don’t, but rather tapping into places where you truly have similar thoughts and feelings. Make observations/statements based on what they are saying so they don’t feel like you are interrogating them. “So you’re from Cyprus. I’ve never been to Cyprus.” “It sure is hot today.” When people share a rapport in real life, these are the tells, and as an interactor (or a person in general) you can use these tells to form a bond.
Another one of the seeds we planted was how to write interactive play scripts. It was amazing to me that you could actually script what a spect was likely to say in response to other characters in the story. One of the Deep divers, Joanna, read the script while Christy pretended to be the spect without looking at the script. In an interactive script, you write what you think the spect will say in brackets to indicate the ballpark idea. Many times Christy actually said what was in the brackets: it sounded like a normal scene. It showed that you can use scripted dialogue to create an interactive show with audience members as the lead, something I couldn’t imagine before.
We also talked about managing production meetings. It’s important to state exactly what you are doing at any given time. If you’re talking about one topic — like the advantages of an idea — you need to explore this topic as thoroughly as possible before moving on to another topic — the disadvantages. Otherwise, your brain has a more difficult time coming up with ideas because you keep cutting yourself off. In our first production meeting, we separated the discussion into two separate parts: 1. Setting the parameters (how many people, where, when etc.) and 2. Brain Dump (any ideas that come to mind). The purpose of Brain Dump is not to troubleshoot, it is to let ideas flow and write them down without comment. If you try to discuss each idea’s pros and cons it disrupts the flow and makes the Dump take eons.
As far as improvisational technique seeds, we worked on two different ways to approach the surfacing of ideas that create an improvised scene. One was allowing things to arise from within without inventing. It’s a subtle difference, but a clear one. It’s the difference between actively inventing ideas and just letting what comes to mind come to mind. Sometimes you will want to invent/manipulate a scene to create a full, satisfying story for the participant, and sometimes you just want to let it be a surprise, even to yourself. Crafting a scene intentionally to create a story is more advanced. At level one, you want to focus mainly on clearing the way so that nothing is obstructing the free flow of ideas. I have found that a combination of the two is the easiest to maintain at this point in my training.
Have you ever gotten into a heated argument with someone that was going nowhere? Gardening basics involved setting the ground rules for this situation: What do we do when the shit hits the fan? We needed systems already in place. The company agreed that at any time if we were in the midst of a heated argument, we could call “Switch!” That meant that you had to take on your partner’s point of view to the best of your ability as if it were your argument. If you didn’t know how to fight for what they believed in, you could get them to coach you on what to say. After this we started yelling “Switch!” constantly at arbitrary times just to be annoying. But hey — if we need it, it’s there.
Other basics: What are our boundaries? And by our boundaries I mean our individual boundaries. Boundaries are a line that it is easy to cross in the theatre. Many a young, impressionable performer has compromised his or her boundaries because some “free spirit” director told them to. We’re all liberals right? We’re all making art, right? It’s a production of Hair, so why not all hang out naked together in the lounge? Um because that’s weird and gross. In our line of work things can get Hairy. The best solution is for every professional to be responsible for her own body and feelings. If she doesn’t feel comfortable, it is her right and duty to tell her partner. That trust must go both ways: not only must we be responsible for ourselves, but we must also be able to trust that our partners will say something if they are uncomfortable. We cannot be tentative and worried about whether or not we are disturbing them. They have to tell us, plain and simple.
I wish everyone operated like this. Then we wouldn’t tiptoe around each other and keep our hurt feelings to ourselves, leaving each other in a foggy storm of confusion and resentment. This fog was one of the first things that Jeff was quick to dispel. No matter how awkward or uncomfortable, if there was something to be addressed it had to be addressed. We discussed legal ownership in depth and agreed on who had the rights to the work we were producing. This fog busting permeated to other areas like the body balancing exercises we did during our physical warm up. If you were uncomfortable about accidentally grabbing her boobs, you had to bring it up. When you bring it into the light, it doesn’t have the chance to fester, and even when it feels weird to say it, the truth sets you free.
Some of you may be wondering where I’m living now. As soon as I realized I didn’t want to die of heat stroke, I was scouring the internet for Airbnbs, which, in retrospect was a terrible idea in Austin. Deceptively expensive, most Airbnbs are in the $1,000 range. I should’ve been Craigslisting my fingers off for a room in someone’s house, but I didn’t want to go through that painstaking grind: serial killer or saint? Out of nowhere, I found a listing for a room up for rent for $400. I was astounded. Where the Hell had this room been before? Why was it so cheap? I called the owner and he told me all about the condo, asking me what I was looking for. The Deep Dive was starting the next day and I was sitting in a pool of my own sweat, tired from the lack of sleep and having just repacked all my stuff back into my car. He had the voice of a man I would trust to do my accounting, so I told him at this point if there’s a bed and some air conditioning I’d like to move in five minutes ago. I tried not to sound cartoonishly desperate, but I was. And so I was off to try and find an ATM, get the security deposit and the first month’s rent, and check out the new digs.
The ATM didn’t want to give me my money. It would start processing and then stop unexpectedly without explanation. I managed to get $400 out before all the ATMs denied me.
FIENDS!!!!!!
I was in a fit of rage at not being able to access my money and unpack all my stuff. Luckily I had a friend in town with a big empty apartment she was moving into, so I resolved to take a look at the condo and just spend the night at her place. I wheeled the necessary luggage up into her apartment, took a shower, and laid prostrate on her luxurious bed. Sleeping on her king-sized memory foam cloud was unreal. It felt like peace was a concrete entity that I could soak in and absorb into my pores. I was soo tired and sooo ready for sleep….
The condo was perfect. For me anyways. The room was cheap because it was supposed to be the dining room; it had 3 walls and a curtain made up of bamboo sticks, fishing line, a sheet, and some clothespins. There was no living room because a computer programmer was living there behind his own makeshift curtain. Dao, Master of the Condo, was also living in the living room in a tiny section the size of a memory foam mattress topper — he had previously been living out of his car so his needs were scant. Two actual rooms were rented out to two other actual roommates. It may sound strange, but to me it felt like Rivendell from Lord of the Rings. My nervous system slowed, my neck relaxed and lifted, and I felt a sense of peace that hasn’t left me since my arrival here. Everyone here is quiet, professional, kind, and sincere. We all share one bathroom, and somehow this hasn’t caused any problems yet. There are three guys and none of them leave beard shavings in the sink — a Christmas miracle. Maybe a month from now I’ll be writing about how I tore out all my hair because I hate everything, but, for now, it suits me perfectly.
Unfortunately, the struggle with my bank account didn’t end the night before the Deep Dive. After my first day of training, I went back to the ATM to take more money out. I assumed that there had been some kind of daily limit, and that now I would finally be able to get the remaining $215 and move into my new place. Processing… then…nothing. Again? WHY WASN’T IT WORKING? I told Dao that once again I couldn’t get the ATM to work, and he suggested I go to the HEB (basically Texas’s version of Kroger) and get a money order.
What was that? I thought it meant I could just withdraw a larger amount of cash than I could from an ATM. I’m not a very worldly wise person regarding banking and finance, so I had no idea what was going on. I got to the HEB to get the money order, and my card was obviously declined — I lost it. I was so exhausted, and I just wanted my money! For a split second I became the kind of person that mistrusted banks and wanted to hide all of my money under my mattress. SunTrust wasn’t letting me access my account online, and there weren’t any SunTrust banks in the area. In that wild moment of frustrated anguish, I finally realized the obvious: I had forgotten to tell my bank that I had moved to Austin. Emotionally overwrought, I had to do one of the things I hate most in the world: trudge and trek through the automated customer service labyrinth until I finally get an actual person on the phone. That poor, kind soul that I did reach — I wanna say his name was Melvin — had a ridiculous Minnesota accent like a character from Fargo, and was on the receiving end of my mental breakdown. He waited patiently as I attempted to explain my mistake between sobs. Kevin acted like nothing out of the ordinary was happening, explained that I would be able to access my money as soon as the call was over, and bid me adieu. I got my money, went back to my friend’s house to pick up my stuff, and headed to Rivendell to move all my shit into my new, permanent home.
For those of you interactive theatre buffs who want to know more about the terminology I’m using, click this link to get up to speed: https://sway.com/7BJqyEw2dDZa137a
