Having spent the previous year performing and studying improv at the Second City Training Center, followed by co-starring in a scripted show at Donny's Skybox and two failed attempts at joining the Conservation program at Chicago's famed Second City, I segued to Chicago's other famed improv institution: iO. During my first day at iO, Charna Halpern, one of the founders of iO, hosted a welcome session where she shared a who's-who of famous folks who've trained on her stage: Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, Stephen Colbert, Seth Meyers, Chris Farley, and my current SNL-crush Cecily Strong. You could almost feel the creative energy in the walls of the iconic theater.
As classes began, I immediately felt overwhelmed and far behind others in my class. Whereas Second City felt like the TV show Friends, iO was Seinfeld. The comedy performed at iO was on an entirely different planet than that at Second City. Quickly I recognized that folks at iO ate, drank and slept improv. Unlike the cuddly, nurturing and inclusive environment at Second City, iO was a different beast. The program was more intense and for those serious about performing improv. iO pushed me and others in the program to dig deeper and perform faster and smarter.
My instructor in Level 1 was the soft-spoken and cerebral Paul Brittain. While some in my class didn't find him to be an effective instructor, I liked Paul and found him to be warm and thoughtful. Perhaps his mind wasn't on teaching as we later learned at the time that he was auditioning in New York City for Saturday Night Live. To his credit, Paul turned the dream of everyone in iO to a reality when he was cast in the show and made his premiere in September 25, 2010 alongside host Amy Poehler.
Toward the end of my second level term, I decided not to continue with the iO program. I couldn't douse my feeling of inadequacy and wound up constantly second-guessing my instincts. Had I ever taken piano lessons as a kid, I imagined this was how I would feel when I decided to quit: "Yes, I learned a lot but I think we're done here as I don't see myself turning playing the piano into a career." Similarly, I felt my time in impov also reached its conclusion. The tough part would be leaving behind my new friends. Just as I had at Second City, I forged bonds with fellow improv friends and would miss our weekly classes with them. Maybe I needed improv to help me break out of my comfort zone AND make friends (something that's not easy to do at 33 years of age), but who knows? During my final day of Level 2, I shared with my handful of friends that I wouldn't be returning. They tried to talk me out of it, but my mind was made up. A couple weeks passed and I changed my mind. I enrolled in Level 3 with iO with a teacher named Jason Shotts. Unofficially, my class exclaimed we would "give Level 3 a Shotts" (#DadJoke).
Back when I took Second City classes, I shared all of my classes with a girl fresh out of college named Jill. For reasons that never made sense, Jill always believed that every one of our teachers hated her. She seemed to default to the belief everyone hated her, but with each term her familiar refrain returned and the rest of us would re-assure her that, in fact, the teacher did not hate her.
During my Level 3 at iO, I was became convinced my teacher hated me. In essence, I pulled a Jill. During our first class together, Shotts warned us that he was often criticized for being too hard on his students which is why he didn't teach Level 1 or 2 at iO (he'd scare everyone away, he said). A fair warning from him and one that was justified. There was no warm and cuddly with him...just a raw passion for performing. Each class, I jotted down notes. I tried to absorb everything I could from him. He wasn't like some teachers who do it with a chip on their shoulder because they didn't or haven't made it big...he did it for his genuine love of the art.
I tried not to take it personally, but I felt like nothing I did lived up to Shotts' standards. His warning of being one of the tougher teachers at iO crept into my psyche during class each Wednesday night at 7 P.M.. One night after class, Shotts invited everyone from Level 3 out for beers to get to know one another in a casual off-stage setting. Finally! A chance to talk and make conversation with him in a no-pressure zone. This, I hoped, would scrub away my inner voice saying "he hates you". Moments into our conversation, I felt like Shotts would rather be drinking hot tar with a urine chaser than speaking with me. Nevertheless, I persisted. When he mentioned he was from Northwest Indiana (so was I!), I questioned where exactly he was from...he again repeated he was from a town in Northwest Indiana. "So was I," I said and asked where specifically in Northwest Indiana. He eventually answered and again Jill's voice played in my head: "This guy hates me!". I couldn't figure this guy out and never shook my feeling of being disliked.
With two weeks to go in Level 3, I took the stage one night with a fellow student named Ashley who wore glasses and hailed from Ft. Lauderdale. Shotts gave us a premise for a scene and we started. And then he stopped us -- namely me. While I can't recall the specifics today, I do remember the two of us stood on stage for 30 minutes with Shotts constantly stopping us to question what the heck I was doing. Perhaps I was having a bad day or maybe he really didn't like me and his tough-love approach wasn't helping...in any event, I do recall him telling me that I was showing no emotion and accused me of making "faces" at him whenever he gave me notes. Whatever I was doing, he was taking it personally. I can assure you, I wanted nothing more than for Shotts to like me -- both as an improviser and a person -- and I never intentionally did anything to question his knowledge or to show him up. We clearly were not simpatico. As our painful exercise neared its end, Shotts shouted something to the effect of, "These walls are shrouded in emotion. If you can't show emotion, you don't belong here." My instinct was to grab my stuff and quietly leave without making a scene. Instead, I peeled myself off that stage and apologized to Ashley for having to endure thirty minutes of my incompetence. During our mid-class break, I approached Shotts and apologized for any faces he thought I was making. I explained that I was likely embarrassed and not trying to show him up by making faces. Hoping to show him some of my raw emotion and prove that I wasn't "making faces", I added that while in therapy with my then girlfriend, our psychologist claimed I should be a politician because I never made any expressions on my face. This conversation also seemed to bother him. Again, Jill's words echoed. "This guy HATES me!"
After class, I left and never returned. A planned trip to Europe over Thanksgiving gave me a week away from improv which I hoped would give me enough time to shake off my bruised feelings. As beautiful as Italy, Spain and Britain were, it didn't change my feelings on improv. When I returned to the States, I skipped my final class which meant that I would have to re-take Level 3 if I wanted to move on at iO. Instead, I dropped out and never returned (except to see some of my friends perform in a couple shows). The ironic part of this story: while trying to remember Jason Shott's name, I combed through my emails from iO and discovered an exchange between Jill and me. In this note, I told her how I was struggling with Level 3 with Shotts and she replied, "I LOVED Shotts! He was my favorite teacher!!". A recent Google search of Shotts revealed he's still teaching improv (but now in Los Angeles) and was awarded Best Improv Teacher in 2011.