Craig steps out of the backline and announces to the audience, 'Cheddah'! Jon follows along with 'Tasty!' Sarah is next, 'Swiss!' Jadwiga is fourth in line and says 'Edam!'. We hear from Gouda and Feta and Parmesan. And then Carl steps out. But Carl doesn't name a cheese like the rest. Carl is a rat. He sneaks around, before taking a nibble out of Sarah, then stealing her offstage.

The rest of the cheeses freak out, running around the stage and changing places in line. Cheddah is suddenly not so proud, announcing itself in a lower volume. Bobby follows with a slightly scared 'Swiss', and the rest follow along until Sarah returns as a rat, chewing on Feta and stealing her away too. The cheeses freak out again, with Craig yelping out a horrified 'Cheddah!". The speed picks up, as cheese after cheese is listed. And I'm there sitting in the audience laughing my ass off, because I know what's coming next.

Group games are the best part of the Harold. Yeah yeah, there's nothing like a well acted funny two person scene but when a group game is performed well, it sticks with you because you're watching magic play out on stage. Think about it: how on earth do eight or so people play a game when they can't establish the rules ahead of time? Oh, and also make it funny because an audience has paid to see this show and want to laugh.

There’s only so much you can do by yourself in order to develop your improv skills, especially on your lonesome. Try shaking it out in front of a mirror and you’ll see what I mean. Lately, my improv development has been watching episodes of the old sketch show Full Frontal.

Yeah, I’ve been watching sketch comedy to improve my improv. I must sound crazy - like telling you that I'm learning how to ride a bike by driving a bus. Sure, they are both forms of transportation but they are executed very differently! The same goes for sketch comedy and improv, but there are lessons we can learn from the former to apply to the latter.

It’s said that a great improvised scene could be written out beat for beat as a scripted sketch. The Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre’s approach to scenework is that a scene should have an identifiable pattern that the performers find during the scene, which is then played back and forth. The pattern starts off as something familiar and even relatable, but gets more and more absurd as time goes on. This is known as the game of the scene. The idea is that once we have found this game, we can strip out the specific details from the scene and apply the same game to a different scenario - meaning that we are getting to the funny thing even quicker because we have established rules.

The split-second moment before you step out on stage is a heady one. It’s terrifying. Nerve-wracking. Uncertain. It’s also thrilling. Exciting. Addictive. Occasionally there’s a confidence that goes with it – the notion that this is single-handedly going to be the best thing you can contribute, and the reaction will be insane. Other times though, there’s nothingness – no solid initiation, no clue as to what will happen, no idea. You just hope for the best. 

But each time is the same.  Each time you’re jumping into the void. There are no guarantees. No certainty. And once you’re out there, there’s no going back.

This leap into the unknown has a parallel that’s scarily similar to my own personal life right now. To make the rest of this post make any sort of sense, I should probably just spit it out: I’m gay.

On Thursday 14th January, I took to stage at the Improv Conspiracy Theatre in the Melbourne CBD as part of Dad Fight, a Fresh Blood team making its debut performance.

I have been studying at the Improv Conspiracy since April 2015.  In that time I've watched innumerable shows: Harolds, Remixes, Jams, Cage Matches, etc.  Each one a delight in its own right, each one making my heart healthier for the privilege.  I sat and watched in awe of these performers and a deep desire to join their echelons, to become part of a team and tread the boards of the Improv Conspiracy Theatre as a performer. 

I auditioned and had my wish granted when I was assigned to the Fresh Blood program, with the infallible Simon McCulloch as our coach, and training began.  Different from studying, no longer a set curriculum to follow, but adding our own influence to how we trained, and with Simon’s wise guidance, a chance to make the team our own.

As we trained, getting ready for our first show, I realised that as an improviser what I needed in my career, in my improv journey, is to perform.  It’s important to log some serious stage time.  There is only so much, watching, reading and studying you can get under your belt before you have to get up and do it.

Your end-of-term performance is done. You think you rocked it, though there were some problems, but ah well... the other student performances going on in front of you seem to meander to the background, as in your head, you're busily replaying and analysing every move you made. It's an unyielding internal debate, and standing at the opposing podiums are Uncertainty and Satisfaction, while the person getting drunk in the stands provides a welcome distraction. Over the next day or two, you're coming down off the high. Then, the email arrives. The heart sinks. Imagined future scenarios get much darker. You've been repeated. At that very point, the reasoning and attempts to comfort seem irrelevant.

I once murmured to someone when I first started improv at the Conspiracy that it'd be good to do every level twice, since you could (back then) start Level 1, and top out of Level 4 in 36 weeks. That is a very short period of time to learn a lot. It seems that, for me, this idea is becoming reality, and not of my own choice. I have been repeated once each for Level 1, 2, and the new Level 3. There's a small subset of people who know what it's like to experience a slower growth than their peers. These are the people who have stuck with it, who see more in it than the sting of the results, who didn't crack it and give up, and who come back time after time. It'd be naive to assume the experience is the same for everyone, it seems that no two improv journeys are ever alike. Though, I will share with you how it has been for me.

In my opinion our individual identity is a combination of who we believe we are and how we are perceived by others, with each informing the other. An identity gradually builds over time. Expectations form. Habits accumulate like tartar.

Who am I? 

I am a white woman. Tall, slim and often described as “attractive”. While these labels are associated with “compliments” they can become restrictive. And before you jump in with “Bitch please, being a pretty white girl, how f**king restrictive could that be?!”, which is a fair response, please let me elaborate. 

There is an immense pressure to be “attractive”, whatever “attractive” actually means, you know, subjectivity. As an actress, this pressure is so normal, it could reasonably be accepted as part of my job. I have been weighed in auditions. I read brief after brief calling for an “attractive woman” and scripts describing “the wife” as “pretty, girl next door type”. Naturally, the identity of an “attractive woman” is believed to be a valuable one. It gets jobs. And men, I’m aware you have similar pressures too, but the value of a woman falls to her appearance so readily and naturally that it is an issue that needs to be addressed until more change is evident.

I’ve experimented a lot with the correlation between the way I am treated and my appearance. On the days when my hair is grubby, my face is naked and I wear clothes that are two sizes too big, I am a breath away from invisible. There are days when I like it this way because when I wear heels, get my pins out and don lashings of mascara the attention can be overwhelming. Greetings from a stranger- “Hey baby girl” (I am clearly not a baby). VERY attentive wait staff. Being purposefully and inappropriately touched on public transport. Well intended friends drowning me in praise. Is this who I am? Is this my identity? My appearance?

I have a very obsessive mindset when it comes to the things I love, including improvised comedy. I'd like to share some recent lessons I've learnt regarding being overcommitted as an improviser, and the importance of taking time off for your health.

Over the past couple of months I have delved headfirst into training and performing with The Improv Conspiracy, trying to do and see as much improv as I can. This is not because I have to, but rather because I want to. Trying to improve and do as many shows as you can is what will make you a better improviser, but this can also be dangerous when you overcommit.

In the past four weeks I have come to the realisation that my whole life has started to revolve around The Improv Conspiracy and acting school. I haven’t done something social like seeing a movie or hanging out with friends for a very long time.  I have not been sleeping well or eating properly. I have just been plain exhausted and a little blue all the time trying to commit to as many things as possible. Doing this has affected my performances on stage too: I realised that I wasn’t listening very properly in some improv shows, and I struggled with heightening in my scenes, which then made me want to do even more improv so that I could overcome my issues, which then made me more tired… it’s a never-ending cycle!     

In the beginning there was the Yes. And the Yes was good. The Yes yessed, and from within that yessing was beget an And. And that And anded the Yes, for anding was its own yessing. And so the And begat the Yes which begat the And, and so on until the Edit. —The Book of Improv 1:1-5

People often joke about the improv world being a cult. That’s an easy dig and not always unwarranted. If the Training Centre replaces the cooler water with Kool-Aid I will concede the point. After a year and a half with The Improv Conspiracy as a student, performer, and now assistant teacher, though, I’m more inclined to call improv a religion or philosophy instead.

If that leaves you throwing up in your mouth a bit, stay with me! Do you sometimes cringe when your teachers or friends said things like “Good improv advice is good life advice?” Is that too reminiscent of things like smarmy self-help books and snake-charming mega-churches in Texas? Instead of pushing that notion aside, let’s go to church for a minute.

Jayden Masciulli is an Improv Conspiracy student currently in our Level 5 Intermediate Harold class. He previously blogged for us back in January after he finished his Level 1 Intensive course.

I get nervous.

Not only when I step out to do an improv scene, but pretty much every day, in some way. I get nervous before I visit my grandmother, because I’m not sure if I can carry a conversation with her on my own. I get nervous around my little cousins because I honestly don’t know how to act around children. I get nervous ordering food at a restaurant because I’m worried I’ll pronounce "biryani" wrong and the waiter will laugh and make me repeat it again and again until I’ve offended everybody in the room. I realise now as I write this that these are all highly specific social situations, and are ridiculous. Not even my good friend Dr. Google has any idea what to call this condition.

Naturally, I’m easily petrified when I do improv. It’s one of the many reasons why I started taking classes in the first place – to bust out of my self-constructed, albeit very comfy, shell. I know nerves are a bit of an ‘everyone’ problem, but for me it’s always been my biggest pitfall. They stop me from committing to characters, they block my listening of other scenes and they make me go completely, utterly blank. I’ll always remember fumbling my way through my first Jam to an audience of roughly seven people and coming off stage with a dizzying head rush as if I’d just stepped off of a rollercoaster.

On Saturday night The Improv Conspiracy Theatre hosted Everything Must Go, a show I was fortunate enough to produce. It was my take on all improv-All Tomorrow's Parties festival - I asked a bunch of my favourite teams to perform, had a little play myself, and added all the MB trademark flair (baked goods and dumb bits) to put my signature on the evening.  The turnout was great, the performances were spectacular, and the people who spoke to me seemed to really enjoy the night. All in all, good times.

Here's the confession: I can't take credit for it.

I've been with The Improv Conspiracy for just over two years. Now I'm off, to go chase some dreams that I've had before improv even came into my life. I'm excited but it's a bittersweet excitement, because I have to give up being a part of the community that gives me so much ongoing joy.