Steven Gomez, Improviser + Theatre Experimentalist

Today, Greg Allen announced that he is pulling the rights for the Chicago Neo-Futurists to perform the longest-running late-night show in the city’s history, Too Much Light Makes The Baby Go Blind.

He cites the Trump election as his “aha” moment, but I would argue that beyond the fact that Greg Allen never seems to have had an “aha” moment, the parallels between he and the president elect are stupefying on a fundamental level. 

I joined The Neo-Futurists’ Chicago ensemble in June of 2008. It was my first industry job out of college and I really honestly thought it was a joke that I’d even been cast. I first saw Too Much Light Makes The Baby Go Blind in 2005, as a student at Columbia College Chicago, and while I instantly felt it was the only thing I wanted to do creatively, I never thought they would actually let me do it. But they did. Why? Because they are the kindest, most supportive group of artists you could ever imagine. They are generous beyond words with their individual talents and personal narrative and, most especially, their hearts. I do not extend that praise to the company’s founder.

As a young woman joining the company, it seemed that foremost on almost everyone’s mind was not only teaching me how to be a member of the company, but how also to protect myself from Greg Allen. By this point he was notorious for a litany of antics, chief among them behaviors that diminished and marginalized female members of the company going back as far as anyone in my time there could remember. Out of respect and what I later came to understand as fear, senior company members were protective of individual names or private detail, but it was made very clear that if any advances were made to sabotage me or my work, I should know that everyone would have my back.

Every institution has stories. We’ve seen them flow from the silent recesses of victim shame quite a bit over the past year. While the experiences are deeply disturbing, what is even more disturbing is that nearly all of them are perpetuated by white cis men of power within their given community and it becomes the business of everyone to protect said men in power in order to protect not only themselves, but also the organizations they represent. Often speaking up leads to implosion.

I find it very hard to believe that Greg Allen’s decision to pull the rights to Too Much Light Makes The Baby Go Blind is in any way related to the Trump presidency. As a former Artistic Director of The Neo-Futurists, I can tell you that this threat has loomed since the end of 2011, when Greg was democratically removed from the active ensemble.

This decision to suspend Greg from the active ensemble was emotional and painful for everyone in the company – for Greg, the ensemble, and the Board of Directors. Greg’s suspension was the result of repeated behaviors of abuse, harassment, and disrespect that had plagued the ever-changing ensemble for years. There were plenty of transgressions warranting suspension in the past, but as the company had no formal harassment policy (one of those things you think you don’t need until you need it), it was always one person’s word against his. There was no structure for recourse, until Greg acted out in front of the entire active company and everyone was able to say once and for all – “This is wrong, and it happened to me, too.”

It is important to note that when terminating Greg’s “active” ensemble status came to pass with a full vote of consensus, it was a year-long suspension. The ensemble told him that no public statements would be made and that if anyone ever inquired about his absence from Too Much Light, we would not mention the suspension. We did this out of respect to his reputation and for his years of service to the company. This was not banishment; this was a necessary, disciplinary suspension for the health of the company at large. After a year (which would have been January 2013), Greg was free to petition his return to the ensemble. He never petitioned.

Greg’s letter to the press announcing his intention to pull the rights to Too Much Light Makes The Baby Go Blind cites fascism and the Trump presidency as inspiration for his decision. He also says that he intends to, quote, “rebrand the show with a new diverse ensemble that embraces a specifically socially activist mission” with an ensemble that “will be comprised entirely of people of color, LBTQ+, artist/activist women, and other disenfranchised voices in order to combat the tyranny of censorship and oppression.” At every turn I find these statements misleading, exploitative, and dishonest – sentiments in direct opposition to the tenets of Neo-Futurism founded by Greg and his original company that continue to be upheld by the bright and dedicated members of the company today.

A few facts that I would like to share, as they do question the declared intention of Allen’s actions:

1.    As of November 30th, 2016, the active Chicago Neo-Futurist ensemble is comprised almost entirely of artists who identify as queer and gender non-conforming, people of color, artist/activist women and disenfranchised voices.

2.    The specific incident that lead to Greg’s suspension in January 2012 was best described as bullying, intimidation, and abuse of power. He tried, against policy, to eject from the show a piece of personal work on the subject of child abuse, written by a survivor of child abuse, because he found it “personally offensive.” He then walked out of a rehearsal and refused to perform in the show if it contained this material, which had already been publicly produced.

3.    In the summer of 2012, The Neo-Futurists raised $5,439.65 for support for the UCAN LGBTQ Host Home program[1], which provided housing and support to queer youth in Chicago. In order to maximize proceeds, most organizers and members of the performing ensemble voluntarily wave their pay. As the license holder of Too Much Light, Greg was entitled to 6% royalties for any performance of the show, regardless of whether he contributed work or not. Every year prior to 2012, he had waved his royalties in the same spirit as those creating and performing the art. In 2012, the same year he was suspended from the active ensemble but still the company’s salaried Founding Director, he chose to withhold his royalties, totaling $461.78.

In revoking the rights to the Chicago Neo-Futurists’ flagship show, Greg Allen directly revokes employment opportunities from the very demographic he claims to be so passionate about employing.

I left The Neo-Futurists and the Artistic Director position in January 2014 when I relocated from Chicago to Los Angeles. Since that time and even before, the question of whether or not Greg would pull his rights to the show has loomed over the company, which continues to thrive with passionate new ensemble, staff, and board members. My personal growth and subsequent professional opportunities are due almost entirely my experience as a Chicago Neo-Futurist. They taught me how to be an artist, a leader, and a compassionate collaborator. The Neo-Futurists are still my closest friends, and every time I go back to Chicago to see their work it never ceases to surprise me. Still bold, diverse, risky, and – without question – highly political. For Greg to question the integrity of the current ensemble’s work suggests to me that it’s been awhile since he’s seen it. I saw it just last week and, like I said, I live in Los Angeles. Greg Allen, as far as I know, still lives in Evanston.

Thank you to the Chicago community who has always so whole-heartedly supported The Neo-Futurists. Thank you for coming to our shows, for taking our classes, for bringing friends and family to wait in our long, late-night lines all year round, for volunteering your time and resources. You are the best people a theater company could ever hope for.

With love and respect,

Megan Mercier Former Neo-Futurist ensemble member (2009 – 2014) Artistic Director (2012 – 2014)

This blog is going to be a book in June. It’s going to be called “How to be the Greatest Improviser on Earth” (inspired by an earlier post in this blog) Pending everything going as planned, It will go on pre-sale in May and ship in June. 

I am self-publishing it. I tried to court it to publishers and had some nice meetings. But basically, I have better direct access to potential customers than any company, so besides the prestige of a publishing company, doing it myself made more sense.

It’s been edited by Malin von Euler-Hogan (an editor who is also on a Harold Team in UCB-NY), and will be laid out by former NYC improv stalwart Nick Jaramillo, with a cover by Maëlle Doliveux. It’s gonna be rad!

Mailing List

If you want to be notified when the book is available, please join this mailing list. You’ll be the first to know what’s going on with it’s publication. I’ll also send a few updates on the publishing process as they are kinda fun and interesting in a nerdy, under-the-hood sort of way.

We work too hard at the top of the scene. We think we need to figure out everything in the first few lines. Are you my mother? Are you my boss? Are we on a bank heist? Are we on the playground? Is that a cane in your hand or a magical staff? Do we need to know everything? No. We don’t. And the audience doesn’t care if we come up with some amazing back story.

The audience wants to see our behavior. They want to know how we relate to each other. That’s what a relationship is.

I’m weak and you are strong.

I’m calm and confident, you are jumpy and nervous.

I’m an optimist, you are a pessimist.

You need to be mothered, but I can’t do it because I’m repulsed by you.

You are the bully and I’m scared, but I’m going to stand up to you as best I can.

We are both so excited to see each other that we are jumping up and down like teenage girls.

I am trying to seduce you, and you are shocked.

These are all things that can be established in a very short amount of time. Sometimes we can walk on stage and feel it immediately. We notice it in each other’s behavior and how we feel. The audience sees it too. It’s clear and simple and right in front of us to play with. But instead we walk on stage worried about the who, the what and the where. Get out there instead and worry about the how.

“But, what about the game?”

Behavior is a game. And context is important. Yes, that is true. But instead of spending all your time worrying about yes anding the context, start with behavior and let the context tumble out. It will. You might need to practice it, but it will.

I’m weak and you are strong, and then it tumbles out that you are a private in the army and I am your drill sergeant.

I’m calm and confident, you are jumpy and nervous, and then it just spills out that we are breaking into a safe and you are the safe cracker.

I’m an optimist and you are a pessimist, and you are also my physical therapist.

You need to be mothered, but I can’t do it because I’m repulsed by you,and I’m also your mother.

You are a bully and I’m scared, but I’m going to stand up to you as best I can, because you are the IT guy whose job it is to fix my laptop damnit!

We are both so excited to see each other that we are jumping up and down like teenage girls, and it’s a reunion of cellmates… in a prison.

I’m trying to seduce you, you are shocked, and you are my wife.

I’ll let you in on a secret though. Sometimes the context can simply be the most obvious and straightforward. You are the bully and I’m scared, and we are both just kids. And if we play the behavior and develop this relationship–this way in which we relate–often it’s pretty damn funny too. Yes, the strange context can help make it weirder and funnier and perhaps works better if you are writing a sketch, but the behavior is what keeps the audience watching. Behavior without much context can be fascinating. Context without behavior is boring.

“Great! Now we have a scene. What do we do next?”

The same thing you have been doing. The opening moment is the scene, at least for now. Just play it. Just be the thing you were in the beginning. That’s all you need to do. Do that for a few minutes, it will come to a climax, the audience will laugh, and your teammates will edit.

There, that’s not so hard is it?

See also Let your scene partner provoke you and Emotional Yo-yo.

I’m going to start this post with a truth that no improviser wants to hear but every improviser who’s been at it for more than a few years already knows. Namely, that, more likely than not, you are going to, if you haven’t already, hit a stretch in your improv career where, no matter what you try, no matter how you practice, no matter how much you beat yourself up or, on the other hand, how much praise you get for how great you are, you will be, at best, merely competent at your craft. And you will feel it. And it will seem impossible to get out of. And it can last a long, long time.

The first several months of learning improv—especially if you have a natural ability to think on your feet and don’t get nervous on stage—is a thrill. You’re connecting, you’re making moves, you’re getting laughs. You knew you’d be good at this! SNL here you come!

And then, reasonably, this feeling tapers. You move up through the levels and the people who stay are as poised and quick-witted as you. You get cast on your first team and after a few shows of beginner’s luck fueled by adrenaline and all the friends and family you brought to watch your “comedy debut”, the thrill starts to fade and you’re left with just the work ahead. Your “go to”s start to get boring, predictable, even to you. Some days you kill, others you bomb, and you can’t seem to get a handle on the difference. You try to reach deeper for new material, new points-of-view, a fresh perspective, and sometimes they come, but often you feel tapped. Maybe you’re no good at this after all, you think.

This, my friend, is the Vast Plateau of Competency. You’re not doing badly. And a lot of the time you’re actually pretty good, which is what makes The Plateau all the more frustrating. You can see the people below the plateau not being able to make the moves you can to set up a scene for basic success, to feel a general sense of comfort on the stage, to know how to “find the game,” to “heighten,” to “hit the button.” But ahead of you is a precipitous rock face, and at the top of it stand the people you admire, waving and smiling and doing what looks like effortlessly brilliant work, and you can’t seem to see how you get there from where you are. Will you just be “pretty good” forever?

Keep moving forward, is the easy answer to this dilemma. Even plateaus have their occasional dips and bumps, and you’re in for lots of small bits of growth and regression along the plateau. In fact, the closer you get to that cliff upon which your heroes stand the more you’ll see that the path there is much bumpier than it first appeared, and that there’s no magical, easy route up it.

That’s all lovely as extended metaphors go, but here are some practical suggestions to help you not get stuck and continue to grow while living life on The Plateau:

Embrace slow, unsteady growth. When you first hit The Plateau and realize you’re not as good as your Level 4 teacher maybe led you to believe you were (Don’t blame her; it’s her job to build you up!), you might feel the desire to surround yourself with peers or even people a little worse than you to get that initial rush of success again. Don’t do it. Now is the time when you are ripe for growth. Get in a practice group with people who make you feel humble. Be a student. Be a listener. Live in the ups and downs of your jagged growth and don’t be embarrassed by it. This might mean people “at your level” but who do things you can’t or don’t. Or it might mean a group of people a generation up from you who see your potential and don’t mind you struggling a bit to keep up. Whatever it is, put yourself in a learning stance. Your ego will feel fragile and needy on The Plateau, which is all the more reason you need to reframe its desire for quick affirmations with a craving for subtle, meaningful growth if you want to make real progress.

Take the focus off the laughs. It’s time to give that muscle a bit of a rest. It’s what powered you through classes and your first Harold team. You were so funny. You could always save a scene with a well-timed gag. But you were leaning on that, and it can’t hold you forever. Not only that, but it’s probably become a tool of panic in lots of ways—Can’t quite make choices that seem “good”? Fart joke your way to sweet relief. So let go of funny and give yourself more nuanced, harder-won goals. Acting goals. Connecting goals. Living in the moment goals. Find new footholds. The way is up, not leaning back on what’s worked for you in the past.

Quality over quantity. The Vast Plateau of Competency is the place where you most likely to find yourself doing too many projects, cast on too many teams and shows, spending all your time at the theater or in that dank basement practice room. It’s good to get reps, but here’s the problem with this strategy: you’re often just interacting with everyone else on the same plateau. Because they all have the same idea you do—to work and work until they have a sudden breakthrough. So sure it’s five different practice groups and three duos, but it’s just a round robin of the same people you came up with and keep working with (in fact maybe some of you are actually just directing each other, which like, why?) And because they’re not generally people who are new to you, you have the potential to reinforce each other’s bad habits or pigeonhole each other into the roles you played in class that aren’t serving anyone’s growth. Instead, look for slightly less but more diverse experiences. One practice group with your friends that makes you feel comfortable and gives you confidence, a master class with an instructor you respect, an indie team with players you admire. And it’s okay if you’re only doing one thing for a few months—better that than filling your time with a group you resent that just reinforces your bad habits just to say you’re “doing something”.

Don’t direct or teach; not yet. It’s like people in a stagnating marriage thinking a baby will be the solution to their problems. You’re antsy, you’re bored, and you’re starting to resent your own work, so this is the perfect time to teach it to others! Slow your roll and try changing up your learning and performing routine first. There will be time to teach, I promise. Maybe even further along on The Plateau (it’s vast, guys!), when you start to see the climb ahead of you more clearly and you have a better sense of what you’re aiming for. If teaching and directing is a goal of yours it’s reasonable to try to work with or be taught by or shadow teachers whose style you like and want to emulate so you can start to develop the voice you might use later to teach others. But don’t jump into teaching mode now just because you’re looking for something new. For now, keep the focus on your own growth—your future students will thank you for it.

Maintain your non-improv life and relationships. When you’re living on The Plateau it’s easy for that to be all you see. You have built-in friends, built-in activities any night you want them. But that also creates a feedback loop of shows, then drinks after shows where you talk about the shows (No one loves talking about their shows more than people on The Plateau), then later in the night, the drunken show pitches to each other followed by the drunken stumble home after closing the bar. It’s fun and new and self-reinforcing, but it becomes an echo chamber. All that doing and talking about improv can sap the well from which you need to draw scene inspirations, character points-of-view, authentic relationships. Incidentally, this is probably why meta-“we’re doing improv” or “we’re in a movie” scenes happen so much on The Plateau. Get out of the theater once in a while; breath some non-improv air. It’s good for you, onstage and off.

Now this is all good advice, and probably sounds pretty reasonable and doable, but here’s the hard part—The Plateau is exactly the place where you’re going to feel pressured to ignore it all. Everyone’s going to want to be in a group with you because all your friends are looking to fill their time too. People below you looking up will see you as an expert and ask you to direct their indie team, which will be flattering and seem fun. As you start to get noticed in your community, you’ll start getting more accolades and opportunities you’ve been waiting for, and you’ll want to say yes to them all, regardless of their relative merit or your readiness for them or how well they fit your style or aesthetic or artistic needs. Your theater or community will give you enough to do so that you never have to spend a weekend night (or a Thursday, or a Wednesday) wondering what to do or being alone with your miserable thoughts again. All of this feels great, and comes from a well-meaning place, and doesn’t need to be rejected out-of-hand, but it can lead to some unhealthy internal responses, such as a sense of entitlement that these opportunities are what you “deserve”, a belief that if this is what everyone’s doing then it must be the correct path and pace for optimal growth, or a fear that if you don’t do all these things it you’ll be left behind.

None of this is true, of course. If anything, a sense of “entitlement” inhibits a growth mindset. Nor is there one best path toward your comedy goals, nor will you be left in the dust simply because you said no to that one cagematch team that ended up having a five show run. Every person is unique, and so is their path to growth.

It’ll be hard to stay disciplined—you’ve been taught for the last year or two to say “Yes!” and now you need to find it in your heart to say “No, thank you” to make room for the opportunities that will best feed you. You’ll need to balance the pleasure of belonging and succeeding with the longer-term desire to achieve personal growth that lasts, and the desire for quick rewards with the knowledge that real growth is incremental, not flashy and sexy and immediate.