Still reluctant to step in, here I am standing in the dark at the colourful high gate with a mysterious inscription “Calthorpe Project”.
I am about to attend my first improvisation comedy workshop. None of my colleagues have dared to join me, so my herd instinct is betrayed. It turns out to be fine, since all the attendants are perfect strangers. We all made our first step outside the comfort zone.
“Everything you say makes sense,” says the workshop leader Nat Tsolak, while everyone is grabbing a chair in a dusty hall of a community centre near Kings Cross. It’s 7pm, so other classes have ended and we have the whole building for ourselves.
I suddenly feel relieved when he says the introduction round doesn’t require sharing personal information such as background and experience. Instead, we should “introduce” a neighbour.
Alpha, an experienced trainee, starts by explaining how Vicky lives at the North Pole and milks reindeers. Everybody laughs.
Read more from Islington Now reporters:
A right bunch of Flappers – trying out a Charleston dance class
19 things that happened when our reporter went to a notorious B.I.G twerking event
A girl sitting next to me tries hard to guess who I am – it’s her first workshop – and makes me quite embarrassed by being almost correct about the dreams that led me to London.
“Make your most serious speeches more humorous. Allow yourself to be vulnerable and tell people what you feel,” explains Tsolak.
“We all recognise typical emotions and relate to them. People laugh when they associate themselves with something you say.”
The first part of the workshop is all about ice breaking and having a good laugh together. We play games on interaction, eye hand co-ordination and fast reaction.
One game is based on pointing to each other. When chosen, you need to construct “elephant’s trunk” with your arms as quickly as possible while your neighbours make “ears”.
I am getting worried that the group doesn’t choose me often enough. “Do I look unattractive? Should have I put on make-up?” Tsolak cautions: “Don’t think about how you look while improvising. The key to success is concentrating on your audience, thinking how to engage them.”
The next game, however, is meant exactly to make you aware of how people see you. You stand in the middle of a circle (that mixed feeling of self-satisfaction and awkwardness) and tell a short story. The rest are mimicking everything you do and say. Wait, is this really how my grimaces look? And that idiotic giggle?
Improvisation is basically making up stories effectively, Tsolak instructs us when we move on the actual “comedy” part. It can come in handy for public speaking, talking to new people with ease or just being a good company.
The first task is safe and amusing. In pairs, we are “recollecting an episode that happened to us two”. I am speaking to an ageing gentleman about opening a pet shelter.
Each statement like “I remember your face…” or “I liked your idea…” triggers a burst of laughter. The next exercise is more demanding – speaking in pairs in front of the audience.
An all-into-healthy-lifestyle girl suggests that I and a young man recollect “our night locked in a gym”. I know what she wants to hear but my improvisation capabilities are not that developed.
Quite perplexed, I try to make sport sound funny but with the corner of my eye I see they are not laughing. How deplorable. Tsolak offers timely words of encouragement: “When you try to make things funny, you look ahead for ideas and people notice your mental effort. It’s much easier to simply recollect how it feels in a similar situation, to visualise it.”
The final task is a level up from the previous one. You speak alone. On how your father didn’t want you to become an artist, or about your recent job interview, or how you got stuck in a lift.
I’ve been reckless to joke about the Russian propaganda and they make me speak about it, obviously. I am trying to conceive an image of being a Russian spy but my Ukrainian mind produces only snippets of disapproval and resentment. I feel a lump in my throat – nothing to identify with.
While I sit in my chair, having failed to entertain, an important conclusion hits my mind – being overly serious about something makes you vulnerable. It’s much better to satirise.
At the end of the workshop, Tsolak summarises the improvisation wisdom. Shared emotions, colourful details, body language and incongruence are good recipes for evoking a smile.
I am amazed at how well many of the class have done. One of them tells me secretly that this course “changed his life”.
On my way to the tube I feel like an empty vessel, in a good way. All the deadlines, tasks, problems that were pulling my brain apart just three hours ago do not bother me. I realise I’m smiling.
Being outside the habitual pattern feels good.
Improvisation Comedy workshops (£10 per session) are part of the School of Laughter, organised by Nat Tsolak. The agenda of the School of Laughter can be found on Meetup.com. Workshops take place in several community centres across north London.
