If these sound like elements of a bizarre and complex game, they are. The game is called improvisational comedy, and Marilynne McKay, professor of dermatology, is having the time of her life learning how to do it.
McKay, a 15-year Emory faculty member, enrolled two months ago in an improv class offered by Whole World Theater in Inman Park after performing in a staged reading as part of Women's History Month in March. Her role in the reading began at the annual dinner of the President's Commission on the Status of Women (PCSW), where she happened to end up sitting at the same table as PCSW member and theater faculty member Leslie Taylor.
"I mentioned to Leslie that it would be fun to be in something in theater," McKay said. "She immediately told me about the staged reading that was going to be part of Women's History Month and that I would have to try out for it, of course. I said, `Oh, that's no problem. I've been teaching for years. I prefer to speak to masses of people.' It was the wine talking, of course."
McKay submerged herself in the script in preparation for her audition, rehearsing her lines at every opportunity. "The character needed an Irish accent, so I rented Irish movies and watched them the weekend before the audition," she said. "It was such fun that I asked [Theater Emory Affiliate Artist] Brenda Bynum if there were other opportunities. I got home one night, and there was a message from Brenda that improv classes were starting."
Although the word improvisational implies a completely free-form type of performance, improv performers use a number of conventions in their work. One of those conventions is a two-person skit in which each sentence must begin with a progressively different letter of the alphabet (1. Afternoon, Sam. 2. Boris, good to see you. 3. Coming to the party tonight? 4. Don't know yet, maybe.). "The audience is keeping track of what's going on, so you have to be pretty good when it gets to X and Z," McKay said.
Another convention is known as sit-stand-lean; whenever one performer sits, the other two must alternately stand and lean. "It's fascinating how you can impose an outside, even silly order like that," McKay said. "But it stretches your mind. You have to be aware of what your fellow actors are doing, because when the skit starts, you have no idea who is going to lead, where you're going, the character you, or they, are going to be in. If someone gives you a suggestion by saying, `Hey mom,' you may have been planning to be the plumber, but now you're mom. You've got to be very flexible and go with it. I think it's great exercise. It's not exactly relaxing, but it's invigorating."
The improv class McKay attends is the first of four progressively complex courses. At some point in the series of courses, students decide whether they want to take the plunge and do improv in front of a live audience at Whole World Theater's performance space, located in the back of Louie's on Peachtree Street in Midtown.
McKay said she has learned from both public speaking courses and practical experience that "the audience wants you to do well. The audience is never your enemy." She said this also holds true for student audiences in the classroom.
"I think there are a lot of teachers who know that `haminess' works and they enjoy teaching because of it," said McKay. She hasn't yet made a final decision on whether she will do improv in front of an audience. If her level of haminess has any influence on her decision, Atlanta audiences probably won't have to wait long to see what is most likely the only dermatologist in the city performing improv comedy in the back room of a bar.
--Dan Treadaway