Individuality In Improv
Why Your Non-Improv Friends Think You're In A Cult.
You’ve probably experienced members of your improv theater or team joking about the cult-like mentality that arrises in improv communities. You may have heard folks say they stopped taking classes for this reason. You may have even watched that episode of BoJack Horsemen, where Todd joins an improv group, and the whole episode is an allegory for cults.
I’ve spoken to improvisers in New York, LA, Baltimore, Harrisburg, and New Orleans via Zoom about this relationship. It seems folks universally throw this around as, at least, a running bit.
This sort of thing isn’t really said about groups of people who get together to take pottery classes, bowling leagues, or even your Mom’s book club where they light a bunch of candles, wear the same boots and kill a lamb once a month. So why is this happening at improv theaters?
As I see it, there are a few reasons people get that idea about improv communities. To start, I’d like to take a look at some institutions that purposefully create feelings of loyalty in their members, like frats, armed forces, and well… cults.
All of these institutions do at least three things when initiating new members. The first is stripping new members of individuality. This comes in many forms. In frats, they call a group of people “pledge,” or something more derogatory or erotic for a few months. Often at the end of that process, the individual emerges with a new nickname, or maybe a few shorthand names to go by like, “Tobin” or “Squee.”
In armed forces, they make people wear the same outfit and cut their hair the same way. Personal items are often stored in lockers or drawers and are not permitted in sight of each member’s daily-inspected personal space.
Nearly all cults strip individuality from members who are not the leader. This often comes in the form of re-naming, wearing the same thing during ceremonies, or even forcing the whole group to say the same things simultaneously.
So you’re likely thinking, “Yea, no shit, but this never happens in improv. Improv communities don’t strip people of individuality; they often encourage it.” And you’re right. You should be labeling what you’ve read thus far as unusual in an essay about improv.
Often, improv communities do encourage individuality. But there are ways in which a foray into improv lead us to moments where we are asked to conform.
There are rules in improv that do not support individuality. “Don’t do a walk on unless it supports the game or the scene in some way,” or, “there should only be two perspectives in group games.” Even “Yes, and” supports the idea that listening is more important than adding. And I agree with all these rules; they are good rules for making up fun comedy scenes.
More than the rules, it’s prevalent sentiments about improv that create anti-individualistic ideas in improv communities. Sentiments like “You don’t want to be the funniest person in the scene.” or, “Your job is to make your scene partner look good,” or “Group-mind.”
All of those ideas are good sentiments and ideals for creating good scenes together. Showboating and steamrolling are issues that some players really have to learn to get past to play well. Being on the same page is also essential for communicating improviser to improviser in the middle of a scene. None of these things are being said to quash individuality in improv communities or among teams purposefully. Creating good comedy scenes on the fly just happens to be a group activity that requires a strong connection.
The second tool groups use when initiating members to promote loyalty and discourage individuality is humiliation. Frats use this with paddling or making someone drink and do silly things. The armed forces do this by yelling at someone or making them do physical tasks to the point of failure. Again, these things are purposefully designed to break down the sense of self and create a bond.
In improv, we are humiliated in front of the group while we learn.
A quick aside about the word humiliate and its synonyms. I think “humiliate” gets a bad rap generally as a word akin to words like “conquer,” “debase,” “denigrate,” “crush,” “demean,” or “shame.” I think “humiliate”’s most substantial synonym is “mortify.” The root of “humiliate” is humble. “Mortify” refers to the body feeling pain, often in remembrance of our flesh and its limits. To me, both “humiliate” and “mortify” are words that mean to learn something and remember one’s self as flawed, and neither word implies cruelty or malice on the part of any individual. I understand disagreeing with this point of view, but this is not the argument I’m writing this article to make, and you must know this is how I am using this word. So, whatever your stance on the word’s use, I’d appreciate it if you’d understand my meaning in this context. Feel free to email me if you really want to debate this. I will likely accept that I suck, and you’ll get to feel powerful.
Isn’t reading about improv fun?
Anyways, back to how we humiliate people in improv classrooms. We don’t make people do ridiculous things to make them feel small or give them the sense that their individuality is unacceptable. We encourage people to commit. We praise people when they make big choices. For many people, making a big choice or committing to a game move may show a side of themselves they don’t often show. It breaks down a public self and reveals a more private self.
Thus, a bond is created between the big choice maker and the rest of the group. After folks make those big choices and see that the other people in the room have accepted them, despite their behavior ranging so far outside the norm, the group’s bond starts to strengthen. Most improv classes start as ten strangers, one couple, and one set of BFFs. Eventually, they all become comfortable around these other people who wanted to spend three hours on Tuesday night for eight weeks getting funnier. Usually, at the end of eight weeks, they are friends.
So, improv is psychologically revealing; that’s really just the nature of it. Because of that, it forces us to show more of our true selves. Then, when people accept that self we’ve shown, it creates a bond.
The third thing that groups and institutions do to create loyalty and suppress individuality is to develop a set of rules or a basis of new knowledge that the initiated hold, that the uninitiated are learning.
Frats have a bunch of history about the organization or the university that their chapter is attached to to make people learn. Armed forces use disciple and mastery of the self as a metaphorical ladder to climb. But, they also have literal ladders that you have to learn how to climb. Cults have whatever the leader's teachings are; it may be a connection with the planet or the rejection of society.
Improv has game, character, or scene work, depending on where you learn. If your theater is based on the UCB system, it’s game. UCB has a literal handbook that anyone who comes across this article almost definitely already knows about. If your theater is like iO, you’re likely learning about scene structure, rules, and techniques to support and create a good scene; the kitchen rules, maybe. If your theater is like Groundlings, you’re probably talking a lot about character. Groundlings also has other focuses and teaches scene work. But, to my point, when I took Groundlings classes, day one of “Basic Improv” was primarily a verbal listing and explanation of “rules to play by.”
Improv doesn’t create these rules to create a power structure; these are just the guidelines teachers give us to get better at the art form of improvised comedy. But, these rules do inherently create a hierarchy. When any structure outlines rules, we are faced with at least two groups; those who know the rules and those who do not.
Dedicating yourself to learning and embodying these rules represents sacrifice. It creates something for students to work toward. The effort exerted to learn the rules makes all students more susceptible to the sunk-cost fallacy. As with all things we endeavor to do, every bit of effort we put into it makes us more likely to put effort into that endeavor in the future.
All this is really to say that improv is a learning process. It helps us grow and gives us the tools to put others first and listen better. It allows us to create bonds by being more vulnerable. It gives us better communication tools and teaches us courage.
If you think about the examples I gave earlier, pottery and bowling, they both have some of these attributes, but not all three. Pottery introduces new knowledge and skills but doesn't require teamwork. You may humiliate yourself in front of others while bowling, but there is no need to dedicate yourself to a complex new system of rules.
I think a lot of people keep coming back to improv because they feel they are constructively learning valuable skills while at the same time becoming part of a community.
I only aim to outline how learning improv is psychologically similar to other structures that inspire loyalty to the group in their members, not imply that improv communities do these things on purpose. The truth is, loyalty based on breaking someone down isn’t sustainable. Very few people end up feeling loyalty to groups they are initiated into through negativity for more than a few years. As soon as they see a way out, they get out.
I think improv inspires loyalty, but generally by lifting people up together. The best improv theaters, communities, and schools have members who have been around for decades. They teach people skills that help them focus on what others are saying, approach people with a positive attitude, and feel confident being themselves.
I think it’s natural in our progression as improvisers to take the rules in and look at them rigidly at first. Most of the improvisers I know have gone through a phase of trying to find their own voice after learning all the rules. Like any other art, I think it’s best to learn the rules so you can break them in the ways you want to; to follow what you and your teammates think is funny, rather than what the rules dictate you should do.
As far as the cult thing goes, the big difference is not the mean, but rather, the ends. Cults ultimately make people choose between the group and the rest of the people in their life. Cults aim to cut people off from connecting with others; improv tries to give them tools to do just that.
While cults say, “don’t see your friends and family.” Improv says, “Bring them to shows.” or, “Tell them to take classes.”
Sure, there's is a joke to be made here about how constantly asking people to come to your shows will cut you off from them. But, I won’t write that joke because I’m an improv teacher, and I want to help you learn how to make that joke yourself.
Only a cult leader would betray the trust of those learning from him/her/them by making such an easy joke.
