There’s a podcast called “Yes, Also”, hosted by Suzi Barrett, an improviser and teacher at Upright Citizens Brigade. In the podcast, she interviews people who come from improv, Second City alum, Improv Olympic alum (RIP), and etc. I was in Chicago during a major improv boom: the mid-90s. Second City is a monster, but at the time it was kind of a closed system (that has changed) and obviously a professional theatre. There were far more improvisers in town than there were venues to do it, and so … it forced this kind of culture where improv theatres flourished, places like Improv Olympic, the Annoyance, and Upright Citizens Brigade (which eventually moved to New York). If Second City was the Grand Ole Opry, then a place like Improv Olympic was the Louisiana Hayride. Wild and experimental. I was doing theatre, but my social scene was the improv scene. I had so many friends in said scene, and we would go to shows at Improv Olympic (and other places, but mostly Improv Olympic) every weekend. Yes, I had another reason to be there but he wasn’t why I started going. I was already frequenting the Wrigleyside (where the theatre started) and then the actual theatre they acquired next door, right beside Wrigley Field. I met my friend Phil there. I met Stuart, who is now my friend Jackie’s husband. I met Pat, whom I eventually did Killer Joe with out of town, which is how I met Michael. And I was hanging around with people who are now, almost universally, extremely famous. You know them all. But back then, they were doing improv on the weekends – for free – and CRUSHING. IT. Eventually, Second City scooped them up, and then Saturday Night Live came a-calling.
I was there as this whole thing happened. I was there at its height. Those weekend shows at Improv Olympic were insane. The “house” team was called The Family (actually the full name was the much funnier “Victim’s Family”, but everyone said “Family” as shorthand). That team is still legendary. It was six guys, all of whom are still “in the field”, writing for Colbert or Kimmell, getting nominated for Emmys and Oscars, or … like Window Boy … opening and running his own improv theatre in Los Angeles. These guys were not messing around. Those shows still live rent-free in my brain. They were sold-out shows. High demand. It was a kind of magic, alchemy. These guys had ESP. They didn’t just do the “Harold” – the improv format everyone knows. They broke off into other innovations, most of which spread out into the improv world at large. They did “movies”, full-on plots, full-on storylines, made up on the spot. They did full improvised musicals. They were so much fun to watch.
I was already listening to this podcast, because it’s fun and interesting. Interesting conversations about an interesting kind of niche subject. Suddenly, M. shows up as a guest.
It was wild to listen to because he ends up talking about the entire era when we were hanging out. When we first got together, he was living with his parents. Which was hysterical. Then he moved in with a friend at the time, who went on to become quite well-known – but then we were all just … on the grind. Auditioning, hustling, working. I was always at their place, letting myself in through the back porch door. They lived four blocks away from my apartment. He talks about the move in the podcast, which I remember well. It was a big deal. I remember telling my friend Ann Marie, “The man only has one fork.” The one-fork-ness of his life became an ongoing joke. He talks about when he started teaching, and I was around for that, so impressed that he had the confidence to teach as a mid-20something. He was OBSESSED with improv. He has now taught a couple of generations of improvisers. You can see why he is a good teacher in this interview. He talks about getting a gig where he was a replacement in this guy’s very successful one-man show, and he toured with it for years. I’d go see him in it if he was near me geographically, in either New Jersey or New York. It was this weird continuum where we kept seeing each other regularly even though we lived in different cities. He talks about one particular show of The Family’s, where Matt Besser – eventual co-founder of UCB – killed him in the first couple minutes of the show. I was there that night – and that show is now slightly legendary in the small crowd of Chicago improv people: even if you weren’t there you heard about it. Word of the show spread. The boldness of Besser’s choice – killing a fellow cast member just as the show began – was wild and unprecedented, and what they turned it into – a whole HBO series – complete with “montages”, they did television reports about the murder, Warren Commission type reports analyzing the footage – You would think: “If Matt killed him – then does that mean he’s not in the show anymore? Pretty hostile!” Oh ye of little faith. He HAUNTED the show, flying by in the sky as a dirigible, as a hood ornament, he became a statue, he was seen in “flashbacks”. This remains one of the most incredible and innovative improv shows I have ever seen. Next level. The laughter of the crowd could be heard a mile away. We were cheering them on as they created this whole elaborate scenario. Everyone there felt it: this was something special: the entire “plot” unfolded for over an hour. They kept the ball in the air and also ended it perfectly, satisfactorily. It was breathtaking. The Wrigleyside “theatre” was a small performance space above a bar – and it held about 80 people. There is no record of this show. No pictures. Nobody saw it, except the 80 people present. It exists only in the memory of those of us who were there. One of those shows where you think, AS you are watching, “Wow, I am so glad I am here to witness this.” It was so fun hearing him talk about it!
Also: I love Barrett’s questions. She doesn’t miss a beat: she asks him to elaborate on something, she is really listening (all good improvisers are world-class listeners), and takes the avenue she wants based on what he’s said. So there’s a great flow.
Walk down memory lane. It was a great time, for Chicago theatre, improv, and for us. Here we both still are, doing our own things, and also doing what we love. Nobody “gave up” or “settled” or chickened out. We did okay. It makes me happy because … it was not at all clear back then that that was where it was headed. We were wild kids back then. We did okay for ourselves, I guess.
I love how he says, “And now … I hear everything.”
Enjoy: what he doesn’t know about improv isn’t worth knowing.
