Chapter 2: A guy named Chris

During my junior year at Haverford (before I even knew what The Throng was), I would occasionally sit with Alexis and her friends for lunch at the Dining Center. Most of these friends lived in the same building with Alexis, so we all knew each other. And then there was another guy, a short guy with a beard and a hat who never said much. I could tell he was only really Alexis’s friend, but I wasn’t even sure that he actually went to Haverford because I hadn’t seen him the year before (Haverford is small enough for that to be reasonable logic).

At the time, I didn’t have much interest in talking to him because…well…I had a crush on one of Alexis’s friends and that was the main reason I sat with them. Then, one day at lunch, there was a mention of someone (not present) who planned to move from a think tank in Alaska to do research in Antarctica. Everyone nodded and mumbled their approval at an academic pursuit taken so seriously (I didn’t understand why anyone would want to be in Alaska or Antarctica, but it takes all kinds). Suddenly, Alexis’s friend with the beard and hat smiled, shook his head and said, “You couldn’t go farther and change less.” Articulate. Selective. Hilarious. That was how I came to like Chris Conklin. Everyone laughed at his comment, but my appreciation ran deeper, mainly because he said so clearly what I was thinking. At that point I knew nothing about ‘group mind,’ but it came as no surprise that he and I worked so well performing improv.

Chris and I didn’t start hanging out on a regular basis until after I joined The Throng, so that was when I learned why I hadn’t heard of them (or him) until that year:

During the 2001-2002 academic year, Chris took a year off from Haverford and spent the time back home in Middletown, NY. During that period, he also took a long form improv class at the UCB Theatre with Armando Diaz, thus changing his outlook on what kind of comedy he wanted to perform. Up until that point, Chris (along with Alexis, Alejandro and others) had been in a group called The Sketchy Players, independently created because they did not get accepted into Haverford’s premier (at the time) comedy group, The Lighted Fools. The Sketchy Players mostly did short from improv (games like Freeze Tag and Party Quirks that you’d see on Whose Line Is It Anyway?) but, although the name would promise it, I was never sure that they ever wrote or performed sketches.

Chris returned to school for his senior year in the fall of 2002 with an ultimatum for his fellow ‘Sketchies:’ either we quit doing sketches and start doing long form improv, or I’m quitting the group. Of course, given his role in the creation of the group, the ultimatum wasn’t so much for influence as much as to express how serious he was about this new thing he’d learned. Oh, and another thing…The Sketchy Players moniker had to go. UCB co-founder Matt Walsh had already told them that it was a horrible name during a workshop in 2000, and now, with the format change, the name didn’t even make sense anymore. Done. The Throng it is.

I heard this whole story one night in Chris’s room while we watched recordings of the “Upright Citizens Brigade” television show that we’d both first enjoyed when they aired in 1998. Wait…no, that’s not true. There wasn’t much talking going on while we watched “Upright Citizens Brigade,” unless it had to do with marveling at how the show’s framework echoed that of the Harold (UCB Theatre’s flagship improv form). Actually, Chris and Alexis gave me this back-story while we sat around in Gummere (dorm) basement talking improv theory. I think all improvisors remember how fun it was to do that in the beginning (hopefully you’ll grow out of it at the same pace as the people around you, so as to not annoy the friendliness out of them).

Anyway, Chris and I hung out a fair amount that spring. I looked up to him because he had a great mind for improv and I wanted to soak up all the information I possibly could. He and I both have addictive personalities in that regard, so it worked out fine. And having his support definitely helped me fit in better with the group of strangers that I’d be performing with for the next year or so.

Next time…Chapter 3: What a bunch of weirdos

Chapter 1: Jock Turns Joker

This tale starts in the spring of 2003, during my second semester at Haverford College. I had torn my right ACL and the swelling had just gone away, leaving behind stiffness and despair about whether I’d ever play basketball again. One Thursday night, Alexis Simpson told me about an improv workshop her group The Throng had arranged for absolute beginners. I hung out with Alexis and her friends pretty often and always had fun with the ones who also did comedy. Still, I wasn’t too excited about dicking around as performance. I specifically remember telling Alexis that I didn’t “play well with others.” Yes, a basketball player said this…with a straight face (Only now do I realize how ridiculous that is.).

So on Saturday morning, I go to the workshop. Upright Citizens Brigade Theater performers Chris Gethard and Zach Woods ran the workshop, striking an inspiring balance between supportive and demanding, a lot like a good basketball coach. At the time, the idea that “offers from your scene partner are gifts” resonated most. Perhaps the receptors for that kind of rhetoric are strong for the average liberal arts college kid anyway.

The only other recollections from the workshop were the “Crazy 8s” warm-up (which I miss, now that I think about how that used to feel) and a scene work exercise where we were assigned to choose an emotion and take it to the extreme (or “blow it out”) in the context of the scene. I played a woman getting fitted for a wedding dress while her already-married, judgmental sister looked on. My character had had enough of her sister’s treatment and proclaimed that the wedding was finally going to be her special day that no one could ruin…That’s how I’m remembering it even though I hadn’t thought about it since that day almost seven years ago until this writing. It felt equal parts ridiculous and natural at the same time. And the praise wasn’t bad either. What was in this improv stuff that it can make me feel like this?

That Saturday ended with an improv show featuring Haverford’s resident comedy groups, The Throng and The Lighted Fools. The headliner was a group made up of Gethard, Woods, Brandon Calhoun, Shannon O’Neill and Tarik Davis. Their suggestion was ‘books,’ and the opening was what I’d learn later to be an organic. The group started out by chanting ‘books’ as they mimed turning their own individual pages. I remember being swept up by what they were doing, knowing that it would have an immediate impact on what they decided to do later in the show. The chanting became interspersed with lines from novels, and left me thinking I needed to read more. The one memorable line to come out of the organic was Gethard saying “He couldna done it; he got a dead arm!” which I presumed was Jem Finch (“Nice one, I see what we’re doing here,” I thought.). I only other clear memory from that set is when the players were at a school dance where the chaperone (Calhoun) wanted the students to make room for the Holy Spirit, and Davis stepped in as the Holy Spirit. Nothing else comes to mind, but I do remember thinking, “That doesn’t seem so hard. And I sure would like the kind of attention they’re getting.”

Later that night, there was a party (I don’t remember where, but I think Drinker House was where the Saturday parties were normally, so it may have been there) where I ran into Alexis and another member of The Throng named Alejandro Miyar (more on him later). They both told me that since they were graduating, along with some other members, they wanted to fill in some slots this year so that the group wasn’t too small at the beginning of the following year. That they cared so much for what they’d built showed me that the group mattered. They also said that Gethard and Woods mentioned my name when asked if anyone stood out in the beginners’ workshop. So when they asked me if I’d be interested in auditioning for the group the following weekend, I immediately said yes.

The first scene I ever did with The Throng involved me urinating to destroy a wall. Jeph Gord and I played soldiers who decided that drinking acid and peeing on a wall would be the best way to infiltrate enemy lines. Don’t ask me how we didn’t die from drinking the acid (maybe I thought we were invulnerable to such things because sometimes Jeph talked like a robot). It wasn’t an especially funny scene, but I was just enjoying the idea that there was something new in my life that I could comfortably get better at with practice. I’d found a new outlet. So by the time I left the audition, I really hoped that they’d take me. I even called my mom and told her about it (sans the peeing) and she could tell I was excited, which was a pretty rare emotion for me. The acceptance notice probably came in an email, maybe even that night, but I can’t be sure because every minute that I didn’t hear felt like hours.

After that knee injury, I’d been preoccupied with when I was going to get surgery so that I could play ball again. But after being taken in by whom I considered like-minded, smart and talented people, I told myself that surgery could wait. After all, how the hell was I going to edit scenes on crutches?

Next time…Chapter 2: A guy named Chris

Introduction

Some of the Philadelphia alternative comedy community knows me; most of it doesn’t. But allow me to share a story that may benefit the would-be improv/sketch comedians/actors who are experiencing the journey.

I’m LeMar McLean. I graduated from Haverford College in 2004 and was a member of The Throng, the school’s only long form improv group. In the summer of 2004, I moved back home to Brooklyn, New York and have been performing at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre since then. Today, I play “Marz, the Black Planet,” a comedy wrestler in the UCBW Cagematch show. I haven’t done improv since October of 2008 at Throng homecoming show.

Whether I miss improvising isn’t as important as the story I share with you about how the last 7 years, New York, the “industry,” and Philadelphia have made me into the kind of creative person I am today. If this sounds just like another excuse for a blogger to talk about himself, I assure you that my hope to share a worthwhile story is sincere. As with any performative act, I’m aware that sharing this story will wind up being just as (if not more) meaningful to me as it is to anyone reading it. But that’s never stopped any of us bozos from trying to make people laugh, only to be the only one laughing, has it?

In deference to the rhythm of blog reading, I’ll break the story out into chapters (I suppose it’s also an underhanded ploy to get people to revisit the Philadelphia Joke Initiative blog space. Credit for full disclosure? Eh? Hm?). So! Here goes, Readers. And thank you for reading.

Until,

LeMar

March 29, 2010