THEATER REVIEW: Improvised Shakespeare Company

The Improvised Shakespeare Company
Directed by Blaine Swen
Presented at iO Chicago

Disclosure: I was comped for this show by Joe Janes, who is a member of the cast.

Saturday night. Wrigleyville. 10:00 PM. Lots of discarded trash strewn just about everywhere the eye can see, much of it within feet of half full garbage bins. Puddles of stuff - puke, piss, water, other stuff. Throngs of drunken kids congesting the sidewalks - Cubs dudes, party boys, nineteen-year-old girls in revealing minis wearing far too much makeup and trying to look older while slightly stumbling and texting at the same time. Cabs and cars and guys on bikes fill the street; every few feet reveals yet another hip hop soundtrack playing tunelessly out the open doors of yet another bar.

And I'm here to see some improvised Shakespeare at iO.

Recently, in a conversation with a fellow old school improv guy, he made the pronouncement that Chicago is no longer as ahead of the improvisational curve as we think we are. That while the UK is about ten years behind us in innovation and overall quality, most parts of the States are nearly caught up and that part of that is an arrogant laziness of the Chicago mindset. We're Chicago - the birthplace of modern improvisation - we're badass.

The Del Close Theater on the second floor of iO looks like the old Second City in design and style. There is the required shrine to Close on the far wall next to the bar (hosted by the affable Michael Lehrer, winner of this year's MAELSTROM for WNEP and one of the most talented, and in my opinion, underrated cats in Chicago.) On the stage left side of the stage is a huge projection screen with a pre-show slide show promoting the various shows in the theater interspersed with hyperbolic testimonials from "luminaries" like Andy Richter and Andy Dick that, indeed, iO is the most important place on the planet Earth to learn and experience theatrical improvisation.

A beer and a glass of ice water.

And the show begins.

It starts like just about every improv show in the last 50 years has started - a group of six white guys take the stage amidst musical bombast (except for the fact that they're wearing a version of breeches and stylized tunics, they could be any group of improvisers from any city) and explain that what they'll be doing is improvising the opening night (and closing night) of a completely original Shakespearean play in two acts. They get a suggestion. A douchebag in the audience screams of "Lost: The Shakespeare Play" and I cringe. The trap of getting such a pop culture icon for a suggestion is that the archetypes and jokes inherent in spoofing it will undermine the genre exercise itself.

My reservations are proved quickly meritless. Ross Bryant (easily one of the best improvisers in the genre I've ever seen) launches into a prologue that ties the world of Lost with the world of Shakespeare's The Tempest seamlessly and in rhyming couplets no less. And I'm hooked.

The plot is silly and loosely plays with conventions of both the titular television mindfuck and the weirdest play in the Bard's folio - a shipwreck, a Caliban-like character, a sorcerer, his daughter, a door in the floor of the jungle, a smoke monster, factions splintering the castaways, a rescue party organized by Penelope. It's all fun and very, very funny but what sets this evening apart from countless other genre improv sets is the incredible attention to detail and easy familiarity these guys have with the bard.

Nary a piece of information uttered is discarded - a throwaway bit in the opening shipwreck scene inevitably becomes a point of character exploration in the second act that ends up becoming a sly snark at Lost, Shakespeare and improvising itself. A quick, funny bit of wholly accidental plot contrivance between Rich Prouty and Blaine Swen develops into a play within the play that hits on the flashback sequences of Lost and is a freaking riot to boot.

It's also apparent that these cats have done their homework and that doing this show for the better of two and a half years has paid off in spades. They, almost to a man, understand the rhythms of iambic pentameter and also know when to break out of it to get a laugh without sacrificing the integrity of the scenes or characters. They also understand how to weave innocuous jokes into big moments and consistently mine the fun out every piece of interesting information (by naming the wrecked ship the Crispin Glover, there becomes a treasure trove of little throwaway bits involving their knowledge of the bizarre actor and almost every one of them lands.)

My friend may be right - Chicago improv has become a bloated mess, like the indie band scene was in Seattle in the nineties and stand-up become in NYC in the eighties. Perhaps there are lots of groups around the country doing innovative, substantive work. That said, you aren't going to find better work done anywhere than the Improvised Shakespeare Company.

Simply put, this was one of the most solid and fully realized improvised shows I've seen on any stage. Hats off to this group and, if you have any interest in seeing how Close's assertion that improvisation can be an end in itself as a night of great theater, this is the show to see.

The Improvised Shakespeare Company
Fridays at 8PM (and 10:30PM starting in August)
iO Chicago - 3541 N Clark St
773.880.0199
Tickets are $14.00

Dear Weekend Patriot

...as you start drinking your PBR in preparation for attending that Jaycees sponsored fireworks display and wave your polyester hand-held flag over your distended overfed gut, take a short self-revelatory gander around you.

That bigass truck you drove here? The proud Americans who (used to) run the company that made that truck bankrupt the company because they couldn't fathom the idea that the oil required to run that huge heap of metal and plastic would cost us more money and more lives than you could imagine because they were blinded by the potential profits generated by making American Made Automobiles that are designed to break down frequently enough to need a constant flow of parts.

And that Lee Greenwood "God Bless the USA" tee-shirt your prominent beer gut is protruding from? That thing was made in Honduras by sweatshop 11-year-olds who have never heard of freakin' Lee Greenwood. They were paid $0.02 for the amount of time it took to make the shirt and you paid $22.00 for it at Spencer's Gifts. God Bless the USA, indeed.

Your wife and kids over there in the lawn chairs? They're all hopped up on Ritalin and Prozac and will never be weaned from these "happy" drugs because as soon as they were, they'd take one look at you and immediately throw themselves in front of a speeding NASCAR Pace Car out of the resulting despair.

The can your beer is in, the fireworks and the flag? All made in China.

So, before you proclaim your pride in America, understand that the cats that fought and died in a battle against King George 233 years ago so you could eat that Hardee's 18-pound cheeseburger and afford that 400-inch plasma screen TV (China) would puke their Revolutionary guts out if they saw you squandering away everything they held dear and punch you in the gonads until your ears bleed because you can't quote two consecutive words of the Constitution, let alone expect your kids to be able read it.

But you hate the gays and can't stand the idea that women get to choose what to do with their bodies and that it's cool if wrongly accused dudes are on death row as long as they're black and think that religiously indoctrinated morality should determine secular law, so you're good with it all.

Happy Fourth of July.

Friday Roundup: "I Wonder How This Inflation Thing Is Hurting Al Franken?"

Quote of the Week

I work with Don again and again not because we have a shorthand to comprehension or even familiarity (honestly sometimes his familiarity gives me hypertension)... it is because he is a damn compelling actor, and he usually gets what I'm going for as a playwright. - The Devil Vet

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What the Hell Happened to DeWitt?



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Supercalifragel - ERK. ERROR - 404

At what point does a live theatrical production stop being theater and become nothing more than an electronic dog and pony show?

A computer central to the new touring production of Disney's "Mary Poppins" malfunctioned about 15 minutes into Saturday night's Chicago performance at the Cadillac Palace Theatre, causing the entire show to be shut down and the frustrated audience sent home.

According to several people who were there and sent descriptive (and angry) e-mails to the Tribune, the problem occurred shortly after the start of the technically complicated production, which has two weeks left in a Chicago run of several months. Audience members were asked to cool their heels for about 45 minutes before it was announced from the stage that, for safety reasons, the show could not go on.

Having just finished with WNEP's SKALD - a live theatrical production stripped of almost everything but a storyteller and a room for people to sit and listen in - I find the very notion of creating a show so dependent upon non-actor technology to be incredibly stupid. As the Big Whore of Broadway continues to try to make every show look and feel like a film, they're slowly killing off the notion that theater is a LIVE thing - I now have to ask people "Do you go to see theater or Broadway-in-Chicago?" because they are no longer the same beast.
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The Al Franken Decade

Many thought that a black man with a foreign name becoming President of the United States was groundbreaking. Fair enough I say. But the real groundbreaker is that a former comedy writer who used to be a mainstay on Saturday Night Live is now a full-blown Senator:

ST. PAUL, Minn. (AP) — The Minnesota Supreme Court on Tuesday ordered that Democrat Al Franken be certified as the winner of the state's long-running Senate race. The high court rejected a legal challenge from Republican Norm Coleman, whose options for regaining the Senate seat are dwindling.

Coleman conceded and the hi-jinx now begin.

To commemorate the moment, here's some words of wisdom from (now) Senator Al Franken:

Al Franken:

Thank you, Jane. Well, the "me" decade is almost over, and good riddance, and far as I'm concerned. The 70's were simply 10 years of people thinking of nothing but themselves. No wonder we were unable to get together and solve any of the many serious problems facing our nation.

Oh sure, some people did do some positive things in the 70's - like jogging - but always for the wrong reasons, for their own selfish, personal benefit. Well, I believe the 80's are gonna have to be different. I think that people are going to stop thinking about themselves, and start thinking about me, Al Franken.

That's right. I believe we're entering what I like to call the Al Franken Decade. Oh, for me, Al Franken, the 80's will be pretty much the same as the 70's. I'll still be thinking of me, Al Franken. But for you, you'll be thinking more about how things affect me, Al Franken.

When you see a news report, you'll be thinking, "I wonder what Al Franken thinks about this thing?", "I wonder how this inflation thing is hurting Al Franken?" And you women will be thinking, "What can I wear that will please Al Franken?", or "What can I not wear?" You know, I know a lot of you out there are thinking, "Why Al Franken?" Well, because I thought of it, and I'm on TV, so I've already gotten the jump on you. So, I say let's leave behind the fragmented, selfish 70's, and go into the 80's with a unity and purpose. That's what I think.

I'm Al Franken.

Jane?

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Old Superheroes

These are great.







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OK. Is This Like Atlas Shrugged or Watchmen?

Who's disappearing the famous people? Farrah, Billy, Ed, Michael, and now Karl?

LOS ANGELES – Karl Malden, the Academy Award-winning actor whose intelligent characterizations on stage and screen made him a star despite his plain looks, died Wednesday, his family said. He was 97.

Malden died of natural causes surrounded by his family at his Brentwood home, they told the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences. He served as the academy's president from 1989-92.

While he tackled a variety of characters over the years, he was often seen in working-class garb or military uniform. His authenticity in grittier roles came naturally: He was the son of a Czech mother and a Serbian father, and worked for a time in the steel mills of Gary, Ind., after dropping out of college.

Hey, Grim Reaper? Take a freakin' break, huh? I know you're feeling the pressure of cosmic lay-offs and you want the Senior Management to see you working hard and being essential to the Company, but c'mon already!
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Other Quote of the Week

Personally, I think most theatre is over-rehearsed and that squeezes much of its life out. -- Scott Barsotti

A Tale of Two Taxis

It Was the Best of Rides, It Was the Worst of Rides...

My regular mode of transport around the city is the CTA (both good and ill) or my own two stems. On the odd occasion, I'll take a cab. And, also on the small end of the ratio, I get a chatty cabbie.

Sometimes the yackie flack tells me bad jokes or the one time, coming home late after an evening tryst at 4AM to get home, shower and head for work, campaign for the Presidency.

The other day, I found myself in need of cabbing it both in the morning and after work and I encountered two talkers.

The AM cat was a young Caucasian man, Slavic-born and sporting a buzz cut. He looked a bit menacing with his hardcore blackmarket shades and stiff, thick neck.

"Navy Pier, please."

"You work there?"

"Yeah. Work for Chicago Public Radio."

The glasses come off and are replaced with a smile that would charm the panties off of Hillary Clinton.

"Yeah? I LOVE Public Radio! Are you on the air or what?"

I explain my gig to him and he launches into a brilliant and enthusiastic monologue about Worldview and Fresh Air and the balance that the station achieves. He confesses happily that he listens to us all day long and that while his partner likes to listen to folk music and indie rock at home, they have an agreement that WBEZ is on at least half the time at home.

"You like Obama?" he asks.

"Yup. I like Obama a lot."

He then proceeds to praise our president in language that can only be described as ebullient and we chat about various policies that we both like: public health options (his brother almost died for lack of insurance and he and his partner do not yet have any), his handling of foreign affairs, Sotomayor.

He is a cabbie and a student of Green Technology and is embarrassed that he can't find a cab that is a hybrid and we both get into a passionate agreement about the desirability (and feasibility) of the electric car.

When we arrived, I paid him (three dollar tip) and exited. He parked his cab and ran out to shake my hand and wish me well.

Great way to start the day.

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Going home, I was running late. Nabbed a cab and before we had even reached 10 miles an hour -

"Call your Senators. Call your Senators and complain."

"About what?"

"This cap and trade scam about to put all of America out of business. It's going to be like living in a Communist country soon enough, so call your Senators and express yourself."

I keep quiet. I know where this one is going.

"You hear me?"

"I did."

"I drive people all day and I tell them all to make their voices heard. Except for a couple of nutjobs, everybody agrees that the country is way off track."

"There you go." - this is my verbal non-response when I'm drifting in the conversation or I don't want to offer an opinion. Like "Uh-huh" but with more bite. Sounds like agreement. The older black cabbie takes it that way.

"And did you hear that President Osama sided with the Communists in Honduras?"

Uh-oh.

"Well, I haven't had time to delve into the specifics, but from what I gather, President OBAMA is pretty deft at the foreign policy game. At this point, he gets my benefit of doubt on things until I get more info on it."

Things get quiet for a minute or two.

"You know that that public health care option is going to ruin the country, don't you?"

"No. I don't know that. In fact, I think that's a patently stupid thing to say. At this point, recent polls indicate that first, 72% of the country wants a public option. Second, the argument can't cut both ways - either the government is inept and the public option would be a disaster OR it'll be so incredibly successful that it puts the insurance corporations out of business."

And the argument is afoot.

He mentions that he watches FOX News exclusively and tries to defend that it is fair and balanced. He goes on about Obama (whom he insists on calling "Osama") and I relent to the highly partisan back and forth - I try to find common ground (I really do) and find myself struggling to say things like "I think we're on the same page on that, but..." and "No argument on that point but consider..." but to no avail.

As we pull up to my corner, he complains that he gets all the nutjobs from Navy Pier. I tip him three bucks anyway.

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Man. Black and white and yellow cab all over.

The thing is, while I loved the affirmation and genuine enthusiasm in talking to the AM guy, I was charged up and in the heat of the moment after PM guy. Either way, nothing is better or more life affirming than a passionate opinion - it incites passion in others and stirs the blood.

Some out there in the blogospheriums prefer a lack of debate or heated argument - a great big brainstorming session that results in cheerleading each other for the sake of it. Others gravitate to the JunkYard Dog approach because it's sexy and juicy and fun to read and comment on.

I like it both ways. Those are the best fireworks one is apt to see and the one incredible reason to be overjoyed to be American this week - not the wars, not the economic toilet drain, not the lack of health care or anything else. I'm pleased as shit to live in a country that enables me to take two cabs in one day and get two completely opposite opinions thrown right in my face.

Rock.

I Believe...

...that you know it's a slow news day when they spend 35 minutes broadcasting a live car chase on a major highway that only exceeds 90 miles an hour and there are no explosions.

...that if your Broadway style musical is so dependent on computers and high tech that it shuts down because of a software glitch, you missed the entire effing point of live theater and should instead be writing, producing and directing Monster Truck Rallies and Ice Skating shows.

...that anyone who genuinely believes that Michael Jackson was NOT a pedophile, in spite of the payment of 22 MILLION DOLLARS IN HUSH MONEY to stay out of court, is a rube. Really. Talented cat who liked little boys in a "BAD" way. After a bit of thought and some reading about Jackson, I've changed my perspective a bit on this one. When I'm wrong, I'm wrong. What made me change my mind? Stephen King's perspective.

...that any person elected to public office that makes the retarded claims that homosexuality is like "toe cancer" and represents the most significant threat to our nation should first be publicly beaten and then forced to walk around her constituency and punch in the face everyone who voted for her.

...that nothing feels more exciting or more overwhelmingly mindblowing than the sensation of giving yourself over to reckless abandon - the heart races, the knees shake and the World seems to (sort of) make sense.

The Paradox of Permanence

Theater IS Life

...or more accurately, it is a microcosm of Life.

In a singular production of a theater piece, you create bonds and instant friendships necessary to do the work at hand. These relationships often become intimate very quickly and, like a coupling, you learn new languages and methods to communicate with your colleagues. You fall in love a bit, display generosity of spirit, tear each other down, build each other up. And for this brief slice of time, you are irrevocably connected by by this flash intimacy and common experience.

And then the show closes.

You make the motions that indicate that, in spite of the finality of no longer doing a show together, you certainly will work together again and hang out in bars. These bonds will continue.

But like a an affair that has ended, the magic is gone and you become acquaintances - you go to each others' shows but your lovers are now in a show with other people and you are watching them make love on a different set with strangers, in love with someone else. You are now the audience rather than an essential part of the onstage action.

This lack of any security, stability or permanence is standard for all things in theater - we build a set to be whole and artistically sound, spending hours of late nights making it just right, hammering and painting. We find our special nooks to store coats and water bottles; we become ritualized to bathroom procedures and places we eat before the show in the neighborhood. And the goddamn show closes and it's strike and it all disappears in the course of a day. The costumes are stored, the lights struck, the floors swept and mopped, the stage painted black and the lights turned off. And, as if it never existed in the first place, it is quickly replaced with someone else's new home and their stuff.

The human experience is larger than that of a singular theatrical production, but it's transient nature is exactly the same. From the beginning of anything - a life, a house, a relationship - everything struggles on in a continual state of slow decay. Nothing in human experience is designed to be permanent and yet we strive so heroically and so futilely to sustain it indefinitely, as if sheer will will keep the train chugging along and if we Really Believe, we will never die.

Perhaps, if instead of fighting against this inevitable finality of things we embraced it, then the time spent with them would be brighter, more important. When people have near death experiences, they tend to go on living their days with more meaning. If you knew that today was it, the last day, that the show closes at midnight, would you waste a second on the bullshit? Would you argue about petty things? Would you make excuses for incompetence or laziness or incompleteness of purpose?

Narrator:
[Tyler steers the car into the opposite lane and accelerates] What are you doing?

Tyler Durden:
Guys, what would you wish you'd done before you died?

Ricky:
Paint a self-portrait.

The Mechanic:
Build a house.

Tyler Durden: [to Narrator]
And you?

Narrator:
I don't know. Turn the wheel now, come on!

Tyler Durden:
You have to know the answer to this question! If you died right now, how would you feel about your life?

Narrator:
I don't know, I wouldn't feel anything good about my life, is that what you want to hear me say? Fine. Come on!

Tyler Durden:
Not good enough.

Personal Potpourri

So, What's Going On Over at My House?

• Just finished the Tenth Annual SKALD Storytelling Competition over at the fab DCA Theater. The week was filled with workshops (thanks to the super upbeat Amanda Rountree), incredible stories, and a sell-out, SRO crowd for the Saturday night event.

The KidSKALD was sparsely attended (by both audience and absent participants) but it still was a nice little evening. My old friend Jason Meyer came out to judge and it was like hanging out with the hippest cat on the block.

MAELSTROM was better attended and the six contestants knocked out eighteen original, improvised stories in just under an hour. The incredible Michael Lehrer won the contest, but props to all six including the smartest cat I think I know, Regan Davis, and the incomparable Fuzzy Gerdes.

SKALD10 was hosted by an initially nervous but ultimately brilliant Steve Edwards (former host of WBEZ's 848 and current Program Director) who started things off with a story about he and the wife at a nude beach. It was perhaps the most solid SKALD I've seen in ten years - every story was a winner and told extremely well. Usually I can call the winner within one or two stories - I was baffled this year. Dennis Frymire won the thing with his story of discovering his ex-wife's infidelity on a couch while she watched Grey's Anatomy.

THING THAT I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD SAY IN MY ENTIRE LIFE:

"We're holding the house for my ex-wife's boyfriend."

(I realize that may be interpreted as a pitiful thing to say, but rest assured, I thought it was actually pretty funny as odd as it was.)

• A week or two ago, something just kind of coalesced and I dove back into the dating pool again. The dawning realization is that with my two marriages, I haven't really dated in nearly twenty-two years. TWENTY-TWO YEARS, dude!

Like just about anything I do, I'm incapable of approaching this in a half-assed manner. Committed to the online dating thing for one month and this experiment has revealed a couple of interesting truths:

- I'm much more relaxed on dates than I was in high school. Part of it is that I'm not really expecting anything but a nice time with a new person, checking her out, being checked out, kicking the tires and seeing if things click. I'm not looking to get hitched again, I'm in no real hurry to jump in the sack, I'm not in search of a soul mate. So, I'm not nervous or posey or desperate. Cool.

- The online dating deal put things in perspective in a strange way. There are a lot of really attractive, funny, interesting women I see (both online and in person) that, while fantastic in every way, just don't ring my bell. As David Duchovney says in Californication, "I love women. I have all their albums." I have to assume that when taking a look at me, a good 80% of the time, my mug is met with the same reaction - cool, cute, but it's not sparking the deep-seated evolutionary genetic plug. Makes the rejections feel less like rejections and more like just part of the dance.

- Dating is all about the law of averages. Instead of waiting for lightning to strike when you stare into her picture or from across the room, it's about relaxing and circulating. With over 3 million people living in Chicago, at least half of them women, and at least ten percent of them my type, and at least ten percent of them that could possibly put up with me, there's gotta be at least 15,000 ladies on my dance card.

- I have a lot less free time than I thought. Trying to arrange dates for breakfast, lunch, dinner, after hours drinks - I'm way too freaking busy to find the time (or the cabbage - dating is EXPENSIVE!) I'll likely put the brakes on this pretty soon - I actually have lots on my plate and juggling a lot of dates is pretty low on the priority list at this point.

- There is simply no nice way to say "I think you are super cool and interesting but I'm just not interested in dating you." No matter how you say it, it ends up being met with "You're just a shallow asshole!" A friend of mine told me that her worst date ever was 45-seconds long - the guy came in, looked at her, and said, "Oh. I thought your tits would be bigger." Yes - dude is a shallow asshole but at least he was an HONEST shallow asshole.

- The only two pet peeves that are being discovered are the priority an awful lot of folks put on "earning potential" and annual salary as a criteria for who they'll date and the practice of putting out online photos that were taken YEARS ago and then showing up for the date looking completely different. The first is shallow in a capitalist sort of snobbery; the other is deceptive.

• After two and half years of busting my overfed ass, I'm now sporting a 34" waist for the first time since college and I'm about fifteen pounds from weighing what I weighed in high school. Yes - I'm bragging.

• On the art front, Jen and the WNEP gang are working hard on "The Hopper Project" script for a January/February production at the Storefront Theater downtown. In August, it looks like I'll starting a twice monthly improvisation bootcamp called "The Woodshed" in tandem with the Theatre Momentum kids - it'll be a "Pay What You Thought It Was Worth" thing. And, the planning stages for the massive "365 Sketches in 365 Days" project being written by my pal Joe is coming together for a two-week long presentation of all 365 sketches in 26 shows with 26 directors and casts.

Have a great holiday weekend as we pretend that the promise of America has been fulfilled with our giant fat asses, corrupt politicians, 50 million without health care, unnecessary wars, waste of all of our natural resources and allegiance to monster mega-corporations that squeeze every moment of individuality or pride out of every community.