Why I teach Improv
Back in the day, I used to teach a ‘taster’ class. This was for people who wanted to sample a bit of everything — acting, improv, comedy, drama, scriptwriting.
It was at an acting school, and one of the exercises was to answer the question, Why are you here?
(For any instructors — a good question to ask. It forces people to set goals and explain why they really are taking the class).
Here’s what I would say. I’d make a joke about being paid by the hour, because humour makes people relax and lower their guards. And then I’d explain the truth:
Why do you teach?
I teach because I want to light a spark.
There’s a moment, if you know how to watch for it, when people do a show or try something in class. It’s a spark as their imagination catches fire, a light goes on in their eyes, brilliant and terrible and fleeting like a bolt of lightning. it’s the realisation, the moment where they think to themselves:
Oh, I can do this.
It’s the moment when they let go and you’re managing the pedals and the handlebar and you find your balance. It’s the moment when your hand hits the wall and you lift your head and take a breath and know that you need never fear the water again. It’s the moment when you kiss somebody and they kiss back.
It’s rare, it’s fleeting, it’s brief, but it’s beautiful. The moment when people believe: I can do this.
I had that moment. I felt it. Some of my warmest memories are the first time I made someone laugh. I remember making my dad laugh. I remember making a half-empty Starbucks laugh. I remember getting a laugh out of a whole theatre of people.
Each time I made them laugh was an amazing moment. I felt invincible. It felt like a superpower. I went from being an awkward, gawky Clark Kent to being an awkward, gawky Clark Kent who could make people laugh sometimes. And pretend to be Superman for five minutes.
(Sometimes, five minutes was enough.)
And so, that’s all I’m trying to do. All I’m looking for is to strike that spark, to create enough friction and catch the moment to light that spark. Maybe the spark will burn itself out; maybe the spark will light a torch that guides the way.
Maybe the spark will set somebody on fire.
Why do you teach, for real this time, not the spiel you give your classes but the real reason you teach Improv?
When I teach, I strike sparks. Sometimes.
Most of it feels like banging rocks against each other, pointlessly, over and over, just grinding away. But sometimes, I strike a spark.
Maybe their face lights up. Maybe their heart feels warm. Maybe I ignite their passion. I don’t hope to light a fire; I can’t take credit, because fire needs fuel to burn, fissile material to start the reaction, and there was probably something there already.
Sometimes, I strike a spark, and something catches fire.
And also, I get paid by the hour. ;)
