A Month at the IMPROV
Laughtrack theater is turning Honolulu’s inhibited into comedic actors while providing another reason to head downtown. It was a mission of the like rarely undertaken. The assignment: Infiltrate a local theater troupe an effort to discover the hidden secrets behind acting
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It was a mission of the like rarely undertaken. The assignment: Infiltrate a local theater troupe an effort to discover the hidden secrets behind acting without scripts and making people laugh without telling jokes. This was deep undercover work. Secrecy was imperative and the establishment of trust the key to unraveling the mystery behind a group clever enough to lure actors, comedians, teachers, lawyers, students, bartenders, one undercover reporter and even an OHA trustee into its grasp.
The first step was to identify and isolate those responsible. It didn’t take long. Confident and outgoing, neither shrank from the spotlight. One, a performer who for a decade wallowed in the mental flesh pots of Chicago’s Second City, and the other, the former Bosscats’ bassist and business manager who joined her cohort while a student at DePaul University, were ever present amid the black and red surroundings of their small and overly air conditioned Bethel Street theater.
With anonymity ensured, it was time to get a firsthand look at the Laughtrack Theater and the only place in Hawaii to study improvisational comedy.
Just approaching the theater for the first time is a nerve-wracking experience. Standing a short way off, waiting for the doors to open, I wasn’t sure if the large man hidden behind dark glasses and the twitchy gal lurking outside were my new classmates or just two of the interesting individuals who are found daily in downtown Honolulu. Fortunately, they were just that - students suffering from the same mix of nervousness and fear about what we’d gotten ourselves into.
The uneasiness doesn’t get any better once inside and directed to the stage for the very first time. Standing among very different individuals who moments ago were complete strangers, we were thrown into bizarre exercises such as the very unyoga-like Alien Tiger Cow, the bizarrely rhythmic Big Booty, Big Booty, the Big Brotherish mechanized mind control of Zip, Zap, Zop, and most disturbing of all, a Beastie Boys rap performed with Vanilla Ice-like precision. The exercises, spread throughout the eight-week program and repeated at various times, are designed to stop students from thinking and, more importantly, to eliminate any fear of making fools of themselves. This final element is crucial. A lack of fear is imperative to any live performance, so much so that one exercise challenged each of us to immediately invent the cheesiest jokes we could imagine, all to the purposely painful groans of our classmates.
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One hundred ashtrays walk into a bar. The bartender tells them to park their butts anywhere.
With such an uncomfortable introduction, it may seem a wonder that anyone shows up for a second class, let alone for a second or third semester. But much like a dip into cold water that starts out unwelcoming but quickly turns enjoyable, classes at Laughtrack start with apprehension and quickly evolve into a riotous experience of success and failure in which the once-feared stage becomes the place of comfort. This shift in emotional momentum is thanks to the nonjudgmental creators.
The purveyors of such supportive embarrassment are Shannon Winpenny and Kim Potter, who opened the theater in September after returning from the Windy City a year ago. The idea was Potter’s, the theater director. Winpenny, the teacher and performer who is admittedly much more prone to impulse decisions than her more stable partner, jumped at the suggestion. Beginning a school and opening a theater was a risk most would take time to contemplate. Not Winpenny. The Kaiser High grad has never spent much time worrying about her decisions. Much like heading to the Midwest without friends, a job or even a place to live, worry is for others - instinct is what’s really important.
“I read in TV Guide that Chris Farley went to Second City. I had a one-week vacation, so I flew to Chicago, auditioned for (Second City’s) conservatory and got in, which was great,” says the always-upbeat Winpenny.
While such leaps of faith may be unsettling for most, Winpenny’s approach to life is perfect for the stage - especially with improvisation, because fear, even of walking through the door is a hurdle.
“It’s not scary when you don’t think about it, and that’s how I approach improv,” she says. “You just get out there and you do it. And I think the more you sit on the side and worry about what is going to happen, that’s when it gets scary. I just jump in there.”
Her variation on the Nike theme also helps upon graduation, when students move on to becoming performers.
“If you have a terrible show, forget about it, because you have another show. If you have a great show, forget about it, you have another show to do.”
One hundred ashtrays walk into a bar. Seeing a lovely Kool-looking lass, one says to his friend, ‘Man, she’s smokin.’
Improv is like jazz. A structure exists so the individual players know when to enter and when to step back. But within that sim-
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