What lies beneath
Improv is fun to watch, but it doesn’t always take its cue from humor
In the fall of 2001, Jacquie Lowell was en route to a physician’s follow-up on the mastectomy she’d had several days before. The operation had rid her of her cancer, the doctors said—no need for chemo or radiation or a bunch of revisits and red tape, only the direct order that she get the hell outta there and enjoy her otherwise robust health.
All systems were go, except for one paltry detail: The date was Sept. 11. A feral band of religious zealots half a world away would celebrate accordingly, their bloodlust spawning a country’s anguish and, for Lowell, a live close-up of the chasm between joy and despair.
“I fell asleep to Leno and woke up a few hours later to… the end of the world,” Lowell said.
The cancer never really stood a chance against this impassioned gal, any more than Al Qaeda could preempt her plans for class that evening. Six of her improvisational theater students e-mailed her during the rest of the day, begging her to hold the meeting. Sixteen eventually showed up, eager to bridge that chasm with the sense of community that only performance art can provide.
Fade to Aug. 23, 2008, and San Diego’s Swedenborg Hall in University Heights. You can’t hear yourself above the hoots and hollers as Lowell’s Mission: Improvible troupe (www.missionimprovible.com) pulls hilarity out its collective ass. Bits on political spin-doctoring, send-ups of literary classics, minimally scripted material that requires filling in off the cuff: The crowd of 100 eats it alive, at once in sync with the players and unaware of its role in the healing process that so often drives performers stageward.
“You can address adversity either way,” Lowell said. “You can go through the deepest, darkest emotions of your problems, or you can play with them, as [our group] did on 9-11. Holding somebody while they cry is cathartic, and getting them to laugh hysterically at the adversity is cathartic. There’s a fine line between child’s play and inner child’s play, perhaps involving the [performer’s] education, life experiences and accrued wisdom.”
The fine line becomes finer still as the actors vie for attention (and, yes, sometimes fall short in the attempt). And therein lies the magic.
“The members of my performing groups and advanced classes,” Lowell said, have “a connection on [a] play level that transcends the personality level. Some are newly separated or divorced. Some are older. Some are disadvantaged on the economic scale. Some are battling illness. What they all have in common is [that] they are bright, creative, social, fun people who like to make each other laugh and stretch each other’s brains. The individual personality differences fall away. When we play, there is a remarkable unity of purpose and energy.”
Another Mission: Improvible program, among the countless shows Lowell has staged in her 30 years’ experience, winds down—but it’s a cinch the endorphin high will tide the audience over. The performers cop the same buzz, this one colored by the harsh realities that may have brought them together. The therapy—the incredible healing power of performance—is taking its measure, just as it did on an unsuspecting group of doctors on the day of Lowell’s operation.
“I was stuck in this room,” she said. “I obviously wasn’t going for a walk. I had to make some quick improv choices here.” A minute later, she’d placed a makeshift sticker under her gown, just below her shoulders.
“I’ve got to get something off my chest,” it proclaimed.
The surgical team totally lost it. And probably never got it back.
Write to marty@edarts.info and editor@sdcitybeat.com.
Published: 09/02/2008
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