Our Stu – improvisor and owner of an occasional table – pushes a movie metaphor to the limit to explain that he is a little nervous about a return to real life improv.
I don’t want to alarm you but soon Morpheus is going to turn up at your house, if he hasn’t already, to ask you whether you want to take the blue pill or the red pill.
You will know it is Morpheus because he will be wearing a long black leather trench coat, an unfeasibly tiny pair of sunglasses and boots that look like SAS attack boats.
With bucket-loads of charisma, Morpheus will start banging on about the fact that you know something, but you don’t know what, but you’ve known it all your life, but not what it is, so you should do something about it, you know? Then he will hand you a glass of water and ask you to take either a blue pill or a red pill.
Before I continue with this creaking movie metaphor, or if you haven’t seen The Matrix, when I refer to the world-renowned cyber-criminal Morpheus, I actually mean the wonderful Emma Bird from Liverpool Comedy Improv (LCI).
When I refer to the blue pill, I mean virtual computer-coded Zoomprov.
When I refer to the red pill, I mean real life, in-person, in-the-flesh, reach-out-and-touch (not in a creepy way) improv in the park.
I would also like to make it clear that while Emma does have bucketloads of charisma, she doesn’t tend to wear leather trench coats and as far as I know her sunglasses are a good size. I can’t comment on her footwear because I haven’t seen her shoes for nearly 15 months.
And to be crystal clear, no pill popping is involved.
Right, with that all cleared up, I’ll get back to the metaphor.
The blue pill
If you take the blue pill you will go to bed and then wake up as you have been doing for the past 15 months. You will look forward to many more Zoomprov sessions in the safety of your own home.
I really enjoy Zoomprov and all its home comforts.
I am less nervous doing online comedy improv. Being in familiar surroundings with a mute button and a camera-off option at your fingertips is a nice security blanket. Plus, if things are going particularly badly, you can pretend you have frozen because of dodgy wi-fi.
I sit in a nice chair with a frothy coffee and possibly a bourbon biscuit. I have a bag of trusty props by my feet that I have accumulated over three lockdowns. I keep a pen and pad next to me, so I don’t have to remember names or what letter is next during the alphabet game.
I am a big fan of physical barriers too. I feel less awkward if I can put folded arms, a desk, a chair, kitchen island or a continent between me and the other human being I am talking to. So, putting a screen and billions of lines of computer code between me and other people is my idea of perfect human interaction. I also have to wear glasses to see the screen, which is another sort of barrier to hide behind.
Unlike Riverdance, Zoomprov all happens from the waist up, so I can wear novelty slippers and sweatpants stained with cereal milk without fear of judgement. Another bonus for a man of my age is the spectacular fact that Zoomprov allows you to break wind without negatively impacting on the scene or the enjoyment of the other participants. Just remember to press mute.
I also work full-time and have a young family, so Zoomprov gives me time to clock-off, make sure everyone is fed and watered, and then pop upstairs for two hours of improvising. There is no nervous car journey, you don’t pay for parking and I can squeeze in at least two improv sessions a week, instead of just one.
I have never felt more connected to the improv community. Before the pandemic I would race into a live session from work, stand shyly by the door beforehand, and then leave immediately afterwards to catch the kids going to bed. Since entering the virtual world, I can hang out online, have actually got to know my fellow improvisors more, and played scenes with people from across the world. It has made me feel part of a massive international community, which is exciting and energising.
I have been able to take courses in different parts of the country without actually going anywhere. I would never have had the opportunity to attend a course by the Nursery and be taught by teachers from the Maydays in real life because of the distance and time involved.
My improvising has improved too. The technical glitches and lag of the virtual world of improv have taught me to listen harder, watch closer and give my scene partners more time and space to work. I use my facial expressions more and make better use of limited spaces.
Don’t get me wrong, it was weird to start off with. None of us were sure whether the virtual world was going to work, but computer coded improv has been a revelation on a petabyte scale.
Crikey!
I performed live for the first time in front of an audience on Zoom. I have never done anything like that before in my life.
Blimey!
Thanks to Zoomprov I became a member of my first comedy improv troupe, The Oickers!
Do I really want to leave the Zoomprov world, discover I am a battery and get chased by machines?
The red pill
If you take the red pill you are going to Wonderland and we will see just how deep the improv rabbit hole goes.
Despite giving me stomach cramps, a squeaky bumhole and adrenaline shakes, I remember loving with all my heart the experience of real-life improv.
But to be honest, that is all I can remember.
It is going to be like learning to walk again after not using your legs for more than a year, (which is actually quite close to the truth!).
What on earth are we supposed to do with all that space? Are there rules for the use of your legs? Will it be more tiring? Will I trip over furniture that other people have mimed? Do I wear trainers or brown brogues? Is it rude to ask people to put their fingers in their ears if I need to burp?
Instead of my scene partner looking slightly down and to the left or right – they will be looking directly at me! I mean, right at me! Right in the eyes! And I will be able to look straight at them in the actual real life eyeballs. What kind of magical trickery is that going to be like?
If I take the red pill, I will be meeting people I have never met in-person, but I have seen through my computer screen the inside of their bedrooms! You have to admit, that is a little creepy. What am I going to say when I finally meet them in real life? “Hi, it’s great to finally meet you – and I love your Star Wars bedspread!”
Awkward.
But then, to be in the same time and space with fellow improvisors, when all the planets are aligned, and the scene just takes off, will be joyous. It will be amazing. It will be magical. There is no other feeling like it in the universe. To be in the same physical place laughing with other human beings and experiencing a beautifully funny and unique shared moment in time that will never be repeated. You will never be able to fully communicate that moment again to work colleagues, friends or family. You just had to be there.
So which pill do I take?
Well, that’s an easy question to answer.
I’ll take both.
(LCI’s Improv In The Park sessions are running every Sunday throughout June and July – click here!)
The Oickers 