Friday: much nerves and excitement, followed by a tentative show. Not terrible, just not risky. I think we were playing it safe in front of our first audience. We used very few devices (swinging doors, etc.), for fear of stepping on each other in front of the audience. The result was that some scenes went on too long. Writing this now, I can't remember who I was or what I did, except that I delivered the first personal monologue, inspired by a card that said "I want to have your baby". My story was about how one's life can be divided in two by babies: before baby and after baby. I was also in in a confrontational rodeo scene with Joe. Afterwards, Bobbi gave notes that chafed some in the company. I think we all knew we could have done better and were sensitive to criticism, even if delivered gently.
Saturday: I arrived pissed off and distracted. The company seemed spacy at check-in, but I wasn't one to judge. We warmed up on the stage which was good. Then, feeling the audience bearing down on us from the lobby, I think we rallied and focused. We changed backstage and committed to taking more risks and using more devices. As I passed into the theatre after "places" I felt the murmur of the audience like soft shove in the chest. I felt electricity shoot up my back. The air was charged.
Arriving on stage for the opening I could tell it was a full house. Sometimes you walk into the audience's smell when you walk on stage, on nights when they are packed in tightly and the humidity is just right. On Saturday, their scent enveloped us like a warm hum as we stood before them. As we began reading the cards (I had "I love unicorns" and "I'm not particularly fond of your singing"), their laughter was percussive, visceral. Again, I was led to deliver a personal monologue, this time inspired by someone else's card about having shoplifted as a child. So I told a "getting sober" story, in which I described confessing my own shoplifting to my first sponsor, who then buried my shame with his own shoplifting story. He liked to steal live lobsters from up-scale seafood stores in New York when he was ripped on coke. Top that. I dare you.
The rest of the night felt just magical. Meg and I did the "main scene" together - the story of newlyweds on the coast of Maine, with the hint of alcoholic trouble in the family. At the end of the night, Meg called it back 40 years later, with the two of us as an old couple, and me an old drunk. It was deep. In between, there were hilarious shoplifting scenes, poignant domestic dramas and one homicide. Joe and I had done a scene as car mechanics, in which it was revealed (through swinging doors) that I was sleeping with his wife. Then, during call backs, Joe whispers to me on the sidelines, "Lie down so I can drag you". So he dragged me on stage dead. The audience roared.
Afterwards, the lobby was thick with well-wishers. Bobbi was jumping up and down with excitement. We had clearly nailed . . . something. But what? Unlike a scripted play, there was nothing to take home as a "lesson learned" about this scene or that one. What was learned was learned about ourselves and each other - as people and performers. Could it be as basic as this? That we are best when we have faith in each other and ourselves and go for it? And something was learned about that intense bond between audience and actor, which on Saturday felt nearly erotic. They were horny, we gave them what they wanted and a good time was has by all. Maybe it's not exactly sexual. But for a magical night to happen both of those conditions need to be met: the audience arrives hungry and the company feeds them well. My friend Kathryn said to me, "I didn't want it to end. I felt like your were all making something just for me." And we were.
Sunday: the inevidible "how can we top last night" demon arrived with us. We went on stage Sunday afternoon for a less full and less hungry audience determined not to shoot ourselves in the foot by comparing what we were doing to the previous show. But it was inescapable. What we did was fine: creative, fun, serious. But we had tasted what we were capable of and, like all good performers, were left unsatisfied by the good show, having known a great one. Afterwards, we all agreed we wanted more. But when and how remains to be seen. We may be performing at Ursinus on Sept. 20th - still unclear as of this posting.
I want to tell you what my thoughts are about long-form improv generally, but it's late and I'm tired. Next time.
