Many years ago I was living in Los Angeles and taking some classes, film, acting and art in general. In one class we had a professional Los Angeles film actor who was there to teach us the secrets of improv. In the end, I am not sure if there were actually secrets involved, or just the willingness to get on a stage and go for it.
That is not the story.
The actor was a large man who had done a lot of work in both TV and Film. One of the first things I learned was that all the people you see in scenes in TV or in films are all professional actors. At the time I had not been on a set and watched people work. In my mind, if you just had a line or two, that was not really acting, it was more play, say the line seriously and go home. I did learn that many of these bit players were professionally trained and highly skilled actors.
Again, not the story.
This actor fella would come to class and what he really wanted to do was laugh. He would set up situations for us to improv and after a week or so, he had his favorites, the people in the class who could make him laugh. I was one of those people. For many weeks the class was a complete joy, because basically, whatever the situation, I would just find some absurd aspect of it, enlarge it beyond all reason and basically riff on the concept until he was laughing hysterically. We became friends outside of class, but my sense was that he was a terribly depressed man and found my humor something that took him away from his daily bout of fighting off what he called the blues.
Now we get to the story.
After many weeks of fairly continuous laughfests he started to try and turn the class into more serious directions. I basically refused. I was having so much more fun being silly that the idea of taking a concept and trying to find the serious side of it did not appeal to me at all. I knew then I was never going to be a "serious" actor, that if anything, my joy was hearing people laugh. My lack of intent was upsetting to the professor, but he persisted in calling me up for his various skits. At one point, out of frustration, he sat down and announced that he would be the doctor in this inprov, and when he delivered the news to us, his patients, we would act accordingly.
One by one my fellow students were called on stage, and the doctor would describe to them that the tests were back and things did not look promising. Most choked up, some cried, a few started to ask more questions, how much time they had, what were the treatment options. It was all very serious, not a single laugh in the whole group. For whatever reason I was last. He called my name, I walked up to the stage, sat at the small table, and he looked at me, seriously, and told me I had cancer and had 6 weeks to live. Almost immediately I asked if tha was a guarantee of 6 weeks, or might it be longer or shorter? He asked why, I told him I recently subscribed to a series of magazines and wanted to know if I should cancel. I think he smiled.
Then he sent me out and demanded we try again. My mind was racing, I knew then this was a battle. I was not going to give it, to react sadly, or predictably was not in my portfolio. He called my name, I was up, sat at the table, he looked at me seriously again, but before he could say a word, I interrupted and said, "is this going to take long? I only have 6 weeks to live and the last thing I want to do is spend it talking to people with small desks." Again, his eyes betrayed his serious look, but he sent me back and wanted to try again.
I sat in the audience, he called my name, I again walked to the table and sat down. Again, in all seriousness, he said that he had some bad news for me. Again I interrupted and said, "define sad news, cause if my dog got hit by a car, that would be sad, but if my magazine subscriptions were cancelled, that would be OK."
Sent to the audience again, he called my name again. The game was in full bloom. I was having the time of my life. He was by all manner serious as could be, but I too think he was enjoying the moment, because all the other students had gone with what should be expected in a serious setting and I was refusing. I think he admired my stamina.
He sat me down, told me I had a just a few weeks more of life. I looked at him, not saying anything, my eyes must have widened a bit, because his did too and then he started laughing hysterically. I am not sure why, maybe he was anticipating something outrageous, maybe something else, but his laughter was infectious and soon everyone was laughing. For about 5 minutes he would reset, call me into his office, tell me I had a few months to live and start laughing. Game over.
I remember that moment often, because I always want to think about that when I am sitting in a doctors office with the expectation of some sort of bad news.
Remind me to share with you the visit I had this morning with a neurologist.
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