There once was a girl named Meg
Who loved to eat scrambled eggs.
But her fridge went forgotten
And the eggs got all rotten,
And Meg contracted a crippling bacterial infection in her stomach & crapped her large intestine into a toilet.
Here in Chicago, the big game in the entertainment world is improv, as in improvised comedy, or improvised theatre. And while ChiTown is home to some of the best scripted theatre in the world, as well as numerous opportunities for film and television, it is for improv that Chicago is most well-known. If one couples this with the fact that improv has virtually no overhead costs (design, crew, props, etc.), it makes sense to think that improvised entertainment would be insanely profitable.
But it isn’t. Not even a little bit.
Most improv actors I know, even the insanely talented ones, are as broke as I am. And most theaters that host improv shows are usually earning just enough money to get by. Unless the theaters also have a training center and a bar, profits are as elusive as Nessy.
Even traditional theatre has a modicum of profitability, especially when Equity is involved. Maybe that’s it – there’s no Union for Improv Actors.
Or maybe they fall under Equity as well. I’m not sure – I don’t know jack about unions.
But what I do know is that us improvisers seem to be gluttons for punishment, in some cases even more so than traditional theatre actors because most improvisers are also traditional theatre actors. The difference is that we routinely go on stage with nothing prepared in front of a crowd that demands satisfaction. And since we have no rehearsals or previews to determine the merit of our performance, we just have to hope that what we do will be good. We do this over and over and over again for no pay, and little reward more than a healthy applause. Are we insane? Of course we are!!!
The reason why we do it is because we love it. Our payoff is the joy, the RUSH, of performing in front of a live audience. Anything else we receive are just perks. That’s true for all actors; not just improvisers.
But improvisers and actors still need to eat and live inside of places. So we still need currency.
So what do you think? Do you think improv should be more profitable for the performers? How could that happen? Or is the art the reward?
Let me know what you think!
Last night, I made a little trip to Wrigleyville to get some late night Taco Bell (I have a weakness. Don’t judge.) On my way to satisfy my cheesy gordita crunch craving, I made a little detour to check out 3541 N. Clark St., the previous home of the iO theatre. Call it boredom, or curiosity, or nostalgia, though it might be a bit too soon for nostalgia, but I suddenly just really wanted to see it. What can I say, I’m a sucker for living in the past.
Before moving on, a quick recap for the uninformed. For 30+ years, 3541 N Clark Street was the home of long form improvisation in the City of Chicago. Formerly Improv Olympic, the iO theatre boasted not only the distinction of training some of comedy’s greats, but also being the single flickering light of artistic expression amidst a pitch-black ocean of pig-headed, jock douchebaggery known simply as Wrigleyville. This long stretch of bar-lined, vomit-caked road basking in the glow of historic Wrigley Field is a bastion of comedic debauchery, filled with both college kids from Chicago’s various institutions of higher learning, as well as the loud, overbearing middle-agers that many of the aforementioned “kids” are destined to become. Wrigleyville is the Chicago hotspot for all the guys and gals that, though graduated, never really left college. They still yearn for the all-night keggers, the week-long beer pong tournaments, and the ever-pathetic 2AM “Booty Hunts”. On weekend nights, one could spend an entire evening just listening to the many native calls of Wrigleyville. These calls can range from the common, “Mikayla! Mikayla! Come get in the taxi!”, to the less frequent, “Oh my God, he’s such a jerk! I don’t know why we’re still together.”, to the increasingly rare, “No way, bro! We’re gonna be (HERP!) gonna be friends forever, bro!” I could keep spouting off examples until time stops, but I’m beginning to digress. The point I’m trying to make here is that the iO was the comedic receptacle that all of this human refuse fell into, yielding an unending battery of inspiration. If ever you felt stagnated, or just flat-out needed a quick shake of the funny bone, all you needed to do was step out the doors and take a 5-10 minute stroll through the bar-rio (see what I did there?) and take in all the rich sights. Hell, if there was a Cubs game going on, you’d get enough material for a whole show by simply walking from the train to the theatre, assuming you didn’t get puked on during the trip. 3541 N Clark was the protecting force for creativity in that ovum of opulence. Like the Spartans of old, iO provided a shield, for artists and writers alike, against the torrential onslaught of tasteless dick jokes and not-so-subtle racist remarks – yeah, I mean you, overweight bald guy in a Cutler jersey. You’re loud. But, again, I find myself digressing.
That was then. Now, the old blue brick building simply sits there, surrounded by dusty posters of shows long since gone. Well, moved, actually, to the new location in Lincoln Park. The majority of the shows in the old glass case are still in production BUT THAT IS BESIDE THE POINT! 3451 N Clark St is now a shell, an empty ruin of a proud comedy empire that has been reclaimed by the untamed masses. As I walk by the old place, I am greeted by the unbelievably foul odor of stale urine wafting through the air. It was as if the alley to the left of the theatre had become Wrigleyville’s unofficial toilet. It was sadly clear that, much like the prison at the end of Walking Dead Season 3, N Clark St had been reclaimed by the douche zombies of Wrigleyville.
But I don’t want this to be a sob story. I shed no tears, for iO has a new home at 1501 N Kingsbury! It’s bigger, with more performance spaces, allowing for many more people to get a chance to play. The bar is bigger, the food is better, and there’s even a fantastic Beer Garden outside!
Not only have we traded up in size, but we’ve traded up in class of douche as well. Before, we had the loudmouthed, overcompensating, fratty-esque, questionably employed, douche.
But now, we at the iO have OPTIONS! Option 1: Across the street from the new iO is, in fact, the largest Whole Foods in the Midwest. This gives us access to the refined, grain-munching, meat-denouncing, ironic shirt-wearing, hipster-esque class of douche. This is arguably the most preferable of the douche classes because, despite their blathering and general air of superiority, they at least try to improve society with their habits. Bravo, Hippy Douche! Bravo!
Then, of course, there’s option 2:
Next door to the iO theatre sits VIP, a notorious (*ahem*) Gentlemen’s Club. Here, we have the flashy, suited, cigar-puffing, spendthrift, fake mafia, objectification douche, also known as the “High Roller”. While just as obnoxious as the Wrigleyvillian douche, this one is much less pronounced about it, often claiming his reserved nature as “cool”. Often referring to the female clientele, or most females for that matter, as “The Ladies”, he possess what can be defined as “Old World Chauvinism”.
However you wish to call it, it’s look but don’t touch. And they let iO employees into VIP for no cover, which is a nice gesture. So I believe iO will have a bright future in Lincoln Park.
Plus the Whole Foods has wifi.
I don’t really know what to say here. I mean, a lot has already been said since yesterday. But I will try and do my own fitting memorial.
We lost a great actor, comedian, and person in Robin Williams. He was easily one of the most instantly recognizable names, faces, and voices in the world of comedy. His rapid-fire, free-flowing form of comedy was unmistakeable and endlessly influential, and probably will remain that way forever. A chameleon of character, the man was able to illicit gut-wrenching laughs, suffocatingly real tears, and genuine emotional responses from his audiences, often from the same movies. A versatile performer who could brighten anyone’s day with a wink and a smirk, Williams had the talent of forty men, and the energy of four hundred. His films read like a critic’s choice list: Hook, Good Will Hunting, Mrs. Doubtfire, Jumanji, What Dreams May Come, The Birdcage, Dead Poets Society, Aladdin, and so many, many more. I still remember watching Hook as a kid, wishing I could just start one food fight – just one. Or watching Aladdin, and thinking how cool it would be to have a joking Genie. Or watching Jumanji over and over and over again. I never met a Robin Williams movie I didn’t like.
And if ever his motion pictures weren’t enough, we had his incredible standup. I still remember the day when my dad showed me Williams’ golf bit. It had me in stitches, and it always will. “I’m goona knock a little whi’ ball intae a gopher hole! ‘Oh, you mean like pool?’ FUCK OFF, POOL! I’m no’ goona use a strai’t stick! I’m goona use a little fuck’d up stick! ‘Oh, so it’s like croquet?’ FUCK CROQUET!! We’re goona put the hole hundreds a’ yards away!!!!” Classic. Always will be.
As funny as the man was, his offstage, off-screen life was anything but. It’s no secret that, for much of his life, Robin Williams battled with severe depression. He combated it with drugs, alcohol, parties, and endless comedy to stave off his own demons, but it seemed in the end he succumbed to them. The biggest tragedy is that this end could have easily been avoided. Too many people in this country have this mentality that mental disorders such as depression, OCD, and aspergers, are not real maladies, and should more-or-less be ignored or medicated & forgotten about. Because of this stigma, mental and psychological disorders do not get the respect, consideration, or awareness that they deserve. It seems like the general consensus towards mental illness is if you can’t see it, it’s not a big issue. That mentality is what leads to a lot of these problems. People suffering from depression feel like their problems don’t matter, and so they go untreated. So the problem progresses unhindered, until the depression is literally crippling.
As someone who suffers from moderate depression, I can say that it is way more than just feeling sad for indiscriminate amounts of time. Depression robs you of everything that is you. You feel deflated; you have no desire to do anything, the most mundane tasks seem daunting, and even the most benign of criticisms can send you into a downward spiral. I constantly fear that one day I might slip into an incredible low like what Robin Williams experienced, but I also know that fate can be avoided by simply talking. Talk about your problems, folks. DO NOT just bottle them up because you think they are “small” and “not real problems” because they are!
If they’re real to you, they’re real problems.
If they keep you from doing what you want, they’re real problems.
If they’re causing you to contemplate suicide, THEY’RE REAL FUCKING PROBLEMS!
Another symptom of depression is high highs and low lows, and this can be clearly seen in the life of Robin Williams. This is something that I think many of us can relate to. When you’re on a high, you feel like nothing in the world can touch you, and that even the harshest words cannot phase you in the slightest. It is a really great feeling. I’m not even talking about a drug high, either; the high I’m referring to is far more powerful because it comes from the brain, and it is an unbeatable feeling. But when you’re on a low, it is the opposite. You feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, and even the kindest words can feel like an ego-shattering insult. It is this feeling that inspires a lot of people to turn to drugs and alcohol in order to get that high back. But that effect is temporary, and the come down inevitably makes the low even worse. So the people keep taking the drugs, until they develop a dependency. It’s a terrible and vicious cycle that sometimes leads to overdosing or suicide.
And it is all completely avoidable.
If you have a problem, it doesn’t matter what that problem is, go talk to someone! Big, small, it doesn’t matter – go talk to someone!
I’m not saying that simply talking to someone will magically make your problems go away – it won’t – but it will help. It will absolutely help.
Regardless of his ailments, however, Robin Williams left behind a legacy of amazing works unmatched in range and talent. It is impossible to sum up his life in a blog post, but I believe I can wrap this up by simply saying, “Bangarang!”
Soooooooo…….
I finally worked past my laziness & procrastination and started a blog. What’s this blog about? I don’t really know yet. For now, I’ll just say I will be writing about things that interest me. After all, there are 7,000,000,000+ people on this planet, nearly 400,000,000 of whom live in this country, so statistically speaking, if something interests me, it will interest somebody else as well. So I suppose that’s what I’m going for – common ground through trial and error; making friends through whatever may tickle my fancy.
I’m going to talk about food, shows, movies, music, current events, existential bullcrap, jokes, more food, friends, life experience, rants, ramblings, etc.
Nothing is off limits.
This blog will be as ADD as I am. As my focus shifts, so will the focus of this blog. Hopefully, that will keep it interesting.
As this blog progresses, perhaps I will find a more solid topic of conversation, but until that day, this will be the domain of Ross The Rambler.
To start things off right, here’s “Bad Motor Scooter” by Montrose. Yes, that is a very young Sammy Hagar on lead vocals.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tk52nGxF-jc
rosstherambler 