Your Funeral

[beardedlamb]

When I was in Florida scouring the internet for new games to use in classes and curricula building, I came across one called "Your Funeral." I have a vague recollection of seeing this in a Maestro many years ago, but I can't remember much more than that.

It goes like this: It's a solo exercise where an actor walks, as a ghost, through their own funeral, interacting in any way they desire with people from their lives.
I can see this being very funny and effective if the actor could choose a character and have funny little one-sided conversations with characters from their make-believe life. I either misread the directions or am just too much of a sadist to play it that way. I've been playing where the actor plays him/herself and has died just after this rehearsal on the way home, and [plunk] they're dropped in their own funeral as their own ghost.

I've used it in rehearsals a few times since moving back and it's been really great. I just wanted to share what I thought were the most useful revelations the actors have discovered.

1. the realness of "going there" can really move the audience, and imps who are comfortable with getting dramatic can tap into these emotional pathways in their scene work. take it seriously. respect the environment. respect each other. you want grounded? this is the most grounded.

2. the more the actor sees his/her loved ones, the more we see them. tender space work rubbing a child's head, putting a hand on a loved one's knee. this inevitably shows the audience what your miming just by way of your own intensity. if we attack our spacework with the same intensity and really see it in our scenes, the audience will too, especially if its something the audience is familiar with like a ham sandwich or a flat screen TV.

3. the game is especially difficult for actors with children for obvious reasons.

4. if this game is going to be done, it must come with the caveat that not everyone is required to play. you never want to push someone into such a vulnerable place if they're not willing to take the first step. explain the game and say, "no one has to go if they don't want to. we can move onto something else if no one wants to try it."

5. this can be an excellent bonding exercise for a group that is not new to each other, but needs something to get them over a hump into a new area of ensemble (maybe after 6 months or so of working together. maybe). there is a bit of psychology on groups that suffer together and how they stay together longer and care more for each other.

6. an essential skill for the actor is garnering empathy from the audience, otherwise they will not care about what happens to your character. this game is a shortcut to buckets of emotion and sympathy from the audience.

7. this game, like any good art, can be excellent therapy. it also makes everyone in the room immediately want to call their mom, which is never a bad thing.

8. for actors looking for more from their improv, this game is a great way to get to places that mean more and impact more. what i've seen in these rehearsals recently has been 1,000 times more memorable than the wacky nurse character i played last night who i will nearly instantly forget. this is not a coincidence.

9. bonus: this game can be played by yourself in your bedroom. no one has to know.

[beardedlamb]

also, anyone who has played recently and wants to talk about this game from the inside out, that would be awesome. i've personally never done it and don't know if i could.

[Brad Hawkins]

also, anyone who has played recently and wants to talk about this game from the inside out, that would be awesome. i've personally never done it and don't know if i could.

Well, in my case, I found it hard not to slide into in-joke land. One problem with using my real life is that all the people at my funeral would also be improvisers. I find I have a tendency to go jokey rather than sincere when talking about people who are guaranteed to be known to the people I'm performing in front of.

[Ryan Austin]

I'd definitely like to try this some time. Sharing something personal onstage always kind of appeals to me. I also like the suggestion to use it as a group bonding exercise. That would be a very difficult and emotional rehearsal.

[Jessica]

This was pretty gut wrenching for me, mostly just because of the space I'm in right now. We played it last night, and afterwards I asked my troupe to come hang with me for a little bit because I was just sort of an emotional wreck.

I honestly don't know what kind of scene I played, but it highlighted some things in my life that I really seriously need to change. So it was great therapy. It might take a little while before the actual improv effects come to life.

I would recommend doing this last in the rehearsal so people can bond together afterwards. And it was a great bonding tool. I feel like we left last night and opened up to each other in ways that we hadn't before.

Also, if you have kids, tell them that you love them. Seriously.

Seriously.

[Rev. Jordan T. Maxwell]

i've only had the experience of watching this so far (everyone decided to stop at the rehearsal we were doing it in before i got a chance to jump up...in truth, i hesitated the first couple of times. i can do grounded and dramatic. i wasn't sure that was a place i wanted to go in that room at that time. now i wish i had.), but it was heartbreaking from the outside, both to watch someone go through this emotional journey (the players who got up before we stopped are incredibly brave and bold and fucking WENT there!) and to accept the reality of the premise..."this is my friend. they are dead. my friend is dead." and realizing, somewhere in this imagined space, i'm sitting there. so, yeah, tears and hugs abound after.

[Halyn]

I got to do this at the last Process rehearsal at the end of March, which was only a few weeks after going to my friend Evan's funeral. Evan did high school theater with me at Leander, and was an amazing actor. He founded our improv troupe with my bestie Caitlyn, and was incredible at it. That was my first organized improv show that I performed in, and I loved it. He had the best sense of play, and was always messing with people and forcing them to swallow his ridiculous and dry sense of humor. He was studying at Evansville (which was obviously a huge joke between all of us) and was finishing off his Junior year, when in early March he killed himself. This was one of the worst experiences I've ever gone through, as he is only a few months older than I am, and I had just lost my Uncle to cancer in January, and of course my father last August.

When Jeremy asked us to do this exercise, I absolutely wanted to do it. John Ratliff went before I did, and it was astounding, and heartfelt, and beautiful, and sad.

I talked a little to my dad, uncle, and friend, but not much. I felt them standing and sitting behind me, and I felt myself looking out into a church. I felt uneasy that my funeral was in a church, because as a Baha'i we don't have churches, but there were bunches of flowers in every shape and color, so that made me happy and content. There was a casket, but it was closed.

I wanted to ask Evan why, but I don't think I did. I'd been asking myself that question, and Evan in my dreams, so it didn't feel necessary. And also it felt like I was about to leave with them- to heaven or wherever it is people go after they die.

I treated it like I had just died, and I selfishly snagged the opportunity to tell people what I wanted to be hearing from my passed loved ones. I tried to send the message that I was still there, whenever they thought of me, saw something they thought I might like, I was there in memory, and that was a wonderful thing. I talked about how my friend Amelia from high school who's dad took his own life 7 years ago, didn't believe this to be true. She said that Evan is gone, and memories aren't good enough. I wanted to share that I don't think that's true, and I'm still here.

I wanted people to know that I loved them, and that the improv community at large is responisble for my every day happiness, and that I loved each and every person I saw in that church. I started crying at this point because I realized I could lose someone in this church next. I wanted to just hug them and hold on to them. I wanted to stay in this scene forever, and laugh with my dad, my uncle, and my friend. I wanted to ask my dad so many questions, but I knew I probably wouldn't get much of an answer, and so I just continued trying to send a message to everyone in the church.

I love you, and even though you are there and I am here, I will see you someday again, and until then, you need to go on laughing and smiling with me the same as you ever did, when my questions pop into you head, answer them, be peaceful and calm, and try to be happy, and love and go for everything and everyone you want, don't waste time by being trivial, scared, or silent. I love you. I love you. I love you.

And then I heard music, as I have always wanted awesome music that made me happy to be playing at my funeral, and I said, "Oh hey, I love this song!"

And so with my tears on the stage and down my face, I ended it where I wanted it to end. I'm terribly grateful I got to do this exercise. It helped me with so much I've been sorting out, and it helped me feel calm.

I hope this made sense, I'm not a very good writer, but this is really what I remember about the experience and I wanted to share. <3

[Ryan Hill]

I'm so pleased that Jeremy posted this after coaching it with In Our Prime last night. We want grounded and he gave us the right exercise. It was intense and a wonderful exercise. Everyone in the troupe has kids.

I went first. I was quiet and watching quite a bit. I looked at myself in the the casket a couple of times and grimaced. Then I watched everyone come in and named them as they did. What made it work was actually picturing the people.

Mom and Dad were first. Not too tough, but I did really feel it. Then I think my sisters and their kids. Made one comment that unintentionally got a laugh here, "I have so many fucking nephews," because I do. That was followed by "Ugh, the little ones," when I wondered how a five-year-old would feel losing their uncle.

Of course the hardest one was my son. I can't remember exactly what I said, but it started with, "I'm sorry buddy..." Then there was an interesting mention of his mother being there and crying, a very complex relationship as you might imagine.

I was really feeling it at this point.

Then I started thinking about my newish relationship and having Jen walk in and that was just too much to navigate. So I held up my hand as in "stop" to Jeremy and the rest of the troupe and said, "I'm done."

I didn't go as deeply as I wanted to. I really felt like I had more to say to my son especially.

Watching other troupe members talk to their small children was gut-wrenching and beautiful.

I was happy that I was mostly worried about how my loved ones would handle my death and I wanted to comfort them.

It bonded us even further as a troupe. We were comforting each other and talking about the details after. Even bonded us quickly to our new coach.

Amazing exercise. I totally wanted to call my whole family and everyone I loved. Very therapeutic for me.

[Gloria]

Time for me to chime in. I did this last night with IOP as well and I went after Ryan; I am still raw from it today. I immediately texted my kids afterwards to tell them I love them. I didn't get on stage good before I was crying so hard I couldn't talk. I had moments where I wanted to stop because I was self-conscience or embarrassed. I didn't because there was more I wanted to tell my kids. Both my kids are young and the thought of leaving them at this age breaks my heart, so to be faced with what I would say if it happened, just like that, was overwhelming. As I sit here typing this I am crying about it. After all that blubbering I still highly recommend this exercise. I am never afraid to cry, on stage or off, but with the intensity that came with it last night, I feel less scared to be even more vulnerable on stage. After I was done ( but could have gone on for an hour talking to everyone) I did only what I can describe as woke up to see the emotion in those watching and that's when I realized that being vulnerable on stage is worth it to truly connect with your audience. As most of us do, I use humor to block emotional connection or lighten up an intense situation, but the payoff from staying where you are when emotion arrives is priceless. Thanks for listening.

[Gloria]

I forgot to also say thanks to Jeremy for taking us there. What a great exercise for bonding. I love those guys, but last night I feel like we stepped a few steps closer to each other and I am so grateful for that. Thanks for being so vulnerable guys.

[Mike]

I tried this, however I did have a number of problems:

1) Due to personal reasons, I have arranged to be cremated right after death, then my ashes sent to California where they will be disposed of in a group ceremony - so there's no real funeral that will be held.

2) When I did try the exercise, I came up a complete blank. Not because I feel that nobody would show up to my funeral, but because I don't hold funerals or memorial services in high regard. People come out to pay their respects to a corpse and in some instances these folks talk shit about you in life. I've always been of the mind that if you can't speak well of the person when she/he is alive, don't speak well of his corpse.


I tried this at least three times and got lost in the exercise.

To be honest, I guess it's because I keep my distance from most everyone - family included, which can give the impression I'm cold and distant or that I am not that friendly. I'm just not that great at being anyone's friend or family member, and a lot of times by keeping to myself to avoid acting like an ass or acting awkward and stupid around folks it may be taken the wrong way. So as a result of this behavior, I'm at a loss and can't really get as much out of this game as everyone else can. And I think that this could be a really good exercise to allow you to grow as an improvisor. It's amazing to see how each person reacts to this format.