A New Website!

Soon, all of this business will be migrated to:

www.darinlwebb.com

It’s Tough

Graduating from Paperback Rhino ends the 7 year chapter of my improv career that I’m going to call the “Am I Doing This Right?” years. Still not sure what the next chapter is going to be. I’m faced with the decision of starting my own troupe, likely being the most experienced and de facto leader, or traveling two-plus hours round trip to take classes in Atlanta. It is my deepest desire to be surrounded by people who care about improv as much as me, and I worry starting my own troupe will leave me exhausted trying to inspire that passion in other people. I also can’t justify taking more of what little time in a day Amanda and I have together. It’s tough.

8 Improvisors Walk Into A Barprov…

The thing about bars, you see,
Is their damnéd propensity,
For causing for you and me,
A scenic catastrophe.

A solution for this may be,
one that allows you to see,
and hear without difficulty:
an eatre that starts with a T.

My Rules

Forget about those famous Rules of Improv. Every one of those rules has outstanding exceptions. I’m making a new list of rules. Why are my rules better? They’re not designed to make you a ‘better’ improvisor, they won’t make you funnier. What they will do is put you in a position where you can learn those things on your own. If you don’t follow these rules, you’re just handicapping yourself, and most likely your team as well.

I’ve already talked about Rule #1, DB². Here’s Rule #2:

No Sitting
We’re not performing for each other. We’re not proving ourselves to each other. We train ourselves not to laugh at our own jokes, so why do we make ourselves an audience? Sitting is bad for you because it kills your energy, and it’s bad for the group because it divisive. Does that professional wrestler in the big tag match sit in a chair away from the ring, or is he on his toes, hanging onto the ropes, ready at a moment’s notice to help out his partner? Also, get your hands out of your pockets. You’re not patiently awaiting your turn, you’re anxiously listening for your cue.

Deux Tortues

Two turtles went to the store.
It was nice out.
They put on costumes, masks, and all.
The told the cashier to give them the money or they’d shoot.
Once in the street, one of the turtles gave a whistle.
Down from the clouds came an hot air balloon.
“Hip-ho!” yelled Sir Francis Bacon, “have you the loot, my turts in cahoot?”
With a glorious puff, and a cloud of smoke, the balloon ascended skyward.

A change

If you haven’t noticed, this blog isn’t updated very often, and that sucks. So, in an effort to make this blog a bit more interesing, I’m going to be making shorter, more frequent posts. Maybe I’ll do a longer post when I get the urge, but from now on, posts are going to be a lot more frequent, and a lot more brief. They will be…

about…

this…

long.

About The Man

Comics scripter, comedy legend Del Close dies at 64

by Kim “Howard” Johnson

Comedy icon–and comic book creator–Del Close died March 4, 1999 at Illinois Masonic Medical Center in Chicago.  He was 64.

Along with co-scripter John Ostrander, Close created Munden’s Bar for First Comics, and co-created and co-wrote (also with Ostrander) the 12-issue maxi-series Wasteland for DC Comics.  It was the comic book medium that Close chose for his autobiography:  nearly every issue of Wasteland contained one or two true stories from his life, illustrated by Don Simpson, William Messner-Loebs, David Lloyd, George Freeman and Tim Truman.  Although he co-authored Truth in Comedy (with Charna Halpern and Kim “Howard” Johnson), he considered the Wasteland stories to be his only true autobiography.   He also made an appearance in the second issue of Marvels as Phil Sheldon’s publisher.

Close’s real life was indeed the stuff of comic books, a real-life Forest Gump adventure.  He was born in Kansas, where his cousin’s  cousin–General Dwight Eisenhower–came over for Thanksgiving dinner.

He was always a fan of science fiction and horror, devoted to the writings of H.P. Lovecraft, lark Ashton Smith and many others.  When he was 14, he co-created the world’s first science fiction poetry fan magazine.

He knew L. Ron Hubbard when he ran the Dianetics Institute in Wichita, Kansas (he told Del that because of taxes “I’m thinking of turning this into a religion” (a tale told in part in Wasteland #9). 

He ran away from home at 17 to join a traveling show called “Dr. Dracula’s Magic Horror Show,” in which he served as a fire-eater, and later, when the lights were turned off, would call out “A plague of worms shall descend upon you!” as he ran through the audience tossing handfuls of cooked spaghetti. 

Eventually, he wound up in New York, where he resumed his bass drum studies in a class with fellow student James Dean. He resumed an earlier career as a human torch/fire-eater, calling himself Azrad the Incombustible, but bigger things were ahead.

Del joined the Compass Players–the precursors to Second City–when he was 22 years old, largely because he was a friend of Severn Darden.

Between leaving the Compass and joining Second City, he began doing stand-up comedy, playing clubs and opening for acts like the Kingston Trio.   During one memorable stint, Del, Bob Newhart and Lenny Bruce were all performing around Chicago at the same time, and this unlikely trio spent their off-stage time going to each others’ shows.

He used to dream for the U.S. government in the late ’50s (and when he left it abruptly, got a letter from the government saying “You owe us two more dreams.”).  

Del was one of the founders of Second City, performing with folks like Mike Nichols,  Elaine May, Barbara Harris and Joan Rivers in the early ’60s, eventually leaving Chicago to do a stint with the Committee (and folks like Howard Hesseman) in San Francisco in the ’60s.  While on the West Coast, Del was a regular on My Mother the Car and had a recurring role on Get Smart.  And in his spare time, he used to do light shows for the Grateful Dead.

Del was an important figure in the ’60s counterculture around Chicago and San Francisco (the bizarre but true story about the time he went roller-skating through the sewers of Chicago with a flashlight strapped to his head, shooting rats, is related in the first issue of Wasteland).

Eventually, he came back to Chicago in the early ’70s to direct Second City, and discovered John Belushi, Dan Ackroyd, Bill Murray, Gilda Radner, Harold Ramis, Betty Thomas, George Wendt, Tim Kazurinsky and John Candy;  most of them still consider Del their most important teacher.

He became the “House Metaphysician” at Saturday Night Live for two years (during “the Eddie Murphy era”), then came back to Chicago again in the early ’80s and co-founded the Improv Olympic, where he taught folks like Mike Myers, Tim Meadows and Chris Farley.  

He continued appearing in stage and in films throughout the ’80s and ’90s, most notably the 1980s remake of The Blob, The Light of Day,  and The Untouchables, where he played a corrupt alderman who tries to bribe Kevin Costner.  Most recently, four of his students created The Upright Citizens’ Brigade for  Comedy Central;  Del provided voice-overs for the series, and cut a final voice clip for them by telephone the nigh before he died.

He was an alcoholic who managed to stop drinking in 1978, and a former heroin addict who gave up drugs after the death of his good friend John Belushi.  But, the most difficult habit to kick would be cigarettes, and they ultimately proved his undoing.  He began to suffer from emphysema, and finally wound up in the hospital February 26th.  The end was near, and he knew it. 

But his death was as non-traditional as his life.  He spent his final days saying good-bye to a steady stream of friends in person and by telephone.  He received e-mail, faxes and tributes literally from around the world, from old friends and longtime admirers like Robin Williams, Howard Hesseman, Peter Boyle and Wavy Gravy, to recent acquaintances like Monty Python’s Terry Jones. 

On Wednesday, March 3rd and at his request, a going away party/wake/memorial service was held in his honor at the hospital. Nearly a hundred friends, students and former students crowded in to pay their last respects, listening as Del flung his oxygen mask aside to tell stories and share his final thoughts. Guests flew in from across the country, several with only a few hours’ notice, and Harold Ramis canceled part of the publicity tour for his new film to be there. A Comedy Central camera crew filmed the party, which included a pagan ceremony, a lavish buffet and jazz saxophone players, and master of ceremonies Bill Murray served Del a final martini. 

After more than two hours of partying that would tax anyone, he retired to his room, and a handful of his closest friends said goodnight to him for one last time.  And he died the following day, right on cue.

The words creative genius may be bandied about far too frequently, but in Del’s case, they truly apply.  Del remains an incredibly important figure in American comedy/improv, and his influence will long live on.  He was undoubtedly the best (and most influential) improv teacher in the U.S., and traveled all over giving his workshops.  He didn’t invent improv, but he is probably most responsible for making it into its own art form, particularly with the work he’s done in long-form improv in the past 20 years.

Del is survived by his partner Charna, his cat, his hundreds of students, and an American comedy landscape that he forever changed. 

Del’s Last Words

The day after his “Going Away Party/Wake/Memorial Service,” Del spent most of the day trying to die.  His doctor gave him two morphine injections, but Del was too strong (and of course several people have since suggested that he had built up a tolerance…).

Finally, Del and Charna browbeat his doctor into hooking him up to a morphine drip.  Just before he did so, he asked Del if this was what he really wanted, and Del nodded yes.  He told him “I’m tired of being the funniest one in the room.”

And that was it.  The doctor turned up the machine to give him enough morphine to drop a bull elephant, and fifteen minutes later, he was gone.

Del’s Last Joke

Del’s Will was fairly straightforward, but there was one odd provision. 

He bequeathed his own skull to the Goodman Theatre, to be used in their productions of Hamlet, with him getting a credit in the program.

He asked the Goodman in advance, and they said sure–never, ever dreaming he would do it.  But the day after he died, Charna was on the phone making arrangements with a local medical school to remove the skull before he was cremated.

DB-Squared

What are the ‘rules’ of improv?

When I did IHSSA Group Improvisation, we began the year by going around in a circle, saying what rules of Improv we knew. The basic stuff was brought up, don’t say no, don’t ask questions, etc. Read my post The Buzzer to see how I feel about rules.

Paperback Rhino has only one rule.

DB-Squared

It’s pretty simple, Don’t Be a Douche-Bag. Typically, people don’t want to be douche-bags, so for the most part it is self-enforcing. Sometimes, however, you might be kind-of a douche-bag, or drifting toward douche-baggery. When this happens, hopefully someone will have noticed, and politely remind you of the rule.

“DB-Squared, Darin”

When someone says that, you stop what your doing. Even if you don’t think you were actually being a douche-bag, because one of the best, sure-fire, ways of being a douche-bag, is to start an argument about whether or not you’re being a douche-bag.

So, how does one avoid being a douche-bag? Go find yourself a douche-bag and start doing the opposite. Mostly it’s about respect, and trust. Respect people’s opinions, respect people’s talents, trust people and respect their trust in you.

Good improv requires trust and respect. In order to trust someone on stage, you have to be able to trust them off stage. This is PbR’s greatest asset. We are 13 different people, from 13 different backgrounds with 13 different personalities, but we’ve become a tight family, and I know I can trust any of them to help me out both onstage and off.

Iowaprov

In lieu of a real post I’m going to offer some lists.

Improv in Iowa:

• Paperback Rhino
• Grandma Mojo’s Moonshine Revival
• Comedy Xperiment
• Half-Masted

Things surprisingly good on meat:

• Ice Cream

Awesome games that PbR hasn’t played yet:

• 20,000 Leagues
• Mousetrap
• Marshmallow
• Irish Drinking Song (with a live band)
• Ritual

Things surprisingly good on Ice Cream:

• Meat

Words I can’t spell:

• discription
• pestachio

Interesting contacts I have in my phone:

• A
• Appleby Canoe
• ASI
• Backup
• Irp Akh
• It
• Telemarketer
• The President
• Tramontina

Blog posts that are now over:

• This one

Who knew?

The Snoop Dog and Pussycat Dolls song Buttons is actually about Improv.

“If you’re doing a three-minute scene about two people fucking, don’t give me three minutes of talking about fucking. Get to fucking. Now.” – Norm Holly