by robinhardwick

Back in December, I wrote a long tome about my descent from improv enthusiast.  I claimed that I got burnt out and starting resenting my team for not committing. I claimed that I was going to turn over a new leaf and try improv again.  So I did, a few months ago, I took classes offered by a teacher in the community.

It was wretched. I know that improv is supposed to be fun and we’re not the Groundlings, but jesus christ, so many people were in an improv class that didn’t want to do improv. They wanted to go somewhere to “show off” their schtick and constantly joke about penises and farting. Often in the same scene. THe teacher, bless him, did intervene, but this was also a class with no consequences. But if you are coming to do your weird bits, you are wasting everyone’s time. In the class, I was forced to do a scene with someone who admitted to fucking their dead grandmother’s body, screamed at me with an Irish accent (my offer was “I love when I have exact change.)

I can’t do it. When I want to learn something, I want to learn it, I don’t want these assholes screwing it up. And they keep coming back because it is the only place it is acceptable to do their moron act. Improv teachers take note: shut that shit down. Half the class is silently seething.

I think improv may be a thing of my past. I find it tedious and silly. I’ve lost the spirit of playfulness. I’m so glad I’ve gotten myself deep in sketch comedy. That isn’t exactly easy either, sketch comedy, good sketch comedy, is hard. I’ve grown as a writer even a year, and the results can be tangibly seen. I’m also directing it as well, which is just a fucking joy. There’s lost of spontaneity in that, as well as play. And you can take something and make it better. Instead of starting scene after a scene with someone who just wants to call women sluts.