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Improviser Jess Lee sits down with podcast hosts Puss and Kooch to talk about her thoughts on improv as it relates to theater, the expectations placed on women by society, and general budgeting tips for living in an expensive city.
Jess Lee on Heavy Flo with Puss and Kooch
The following interview has been edited for length and clarity. To hear everything Jess has to say, listen to her podcast episode.
The value of Jess Lee’s past selves
I lived in a suburban, idyllic place in Washington state. I grew up there for almost all of my life, except for this two-year period when we moved to a tiny village in the Cascade Mountains called Holden Village. It’s an ecumenical Lutheran retreat center. It used to be a mining village, and it was bought by the Lutheran church. It’s run by volunteers, and it’s inaccessible by road. So you take a boat 40 miles up and then a bus into the village. A hippie Lutheran community runs the village for people who come there for it to be a retreat center.
How old were you when you moved to Holden Village?
I moved there when I was 11 and lived there until I was 13. My family was part of the group of volunteers. There are a couple paid positions at the village, which were the directors and a pastor. They run things, but there are all these other supporting roles that need to be filled. So my dad, who is a family lawyer by trade, was the fire chief and head bus driver. And my mother, who was then a labor and delivery nurse and is now a NICU nurse, was the post eye and head librarian. Then there were folks who worked in housing because when folks came, they had to stay somewhere, and it had to be cleaned.
We had folks who worked in the kitchen because we all ate together. We ran on hydroelectricity, so there wasn’t enough power for everyone’s ovens to work. And there was a tiny school up there that was deemed remote but necessary. It was a three-room schoolhouse. There was the high school (seventh through twelfth grade) and the elementary school (kindergarten through sixth). There were two accredited Washington teachers who lived up there and taught the children. And I was one of those children, along with my siblings and a couple of other kids.
What are your impressions of doing that? How do you feel about it?
We moved there because my dad was spending so much time away from the family. We’d gone there on a retreat before, for a week in the summer. And my family needed to take a sabbatical of some sort. But I ran upstairs screaming when my parents told me we were moving because I was going into seventh grade, and they were ruining my entire life.
So when we moved there, at the time I hated it. Because I also got up there, and there was one other girl who was my age. And of course, she was beautiful and skinny and outgoing. So I couldn’t even “win” in the village. So that was really hard.
And it’s just really dark there because it’s in the actual mountains, like peaks that have snow on them year-round. So at a certain point, the sun doesn’t come over the mountain for most of the day. So it was just dark, which is depressing to me.
I hated it at times, but I also feel like I learned so much there. And I got to learn how to be part of a community. They would let kids lead services and do things that no one else lets kids do. So I learned a lot, but I hated it. And we stayed there for two years.
How was it reintegrating afterward?
It was weird. When we came back to Vancouver, Washington, I had options for where to go to high school. I could have applied to go to the Vancouver School of Arts and Academics, or I could go to the public high school close to our home. One was smaller, and one was 2,500 students. I wanted to go to the one with 2,500 students because I don’t like being told what I’m allowed to do. And I felt like, by going to an art school, I would be told, “You have to choose this, and you have to be this kind of human.” That isn’t necessarily true, but I don’t like any semblance of that.
So I went to the public high school, and it was completely overwhelming. I didn’t allow myself to read for fun for the first semester because I thought no one would make friends with introverts, and I couldn’t be an introvert.
I stopped reading and tried to make friends. And then at Christmas, my grandma gave me To Kill a Mockingbird, which I had somehow never read. And I read it in a day and was like, “I’m allowed to read now. I can read and have friends.”
Where did the idea that you couldn’t read come from?
I think it partially came from being at the village, where I was the one who would go and read, and the other girl my age was the extroverted one. So in my own mind, I felt less than.
One aunt once said something like, “Stop reading those books, and go play with kids. That’s what you’re supposed to do.” But I was like, “You have different books than we have at home, and I want to read all of them.” So I think that was when I felt like I had to be extroverted to make friends. And then I made friends, and then I was allowed to read. And now I read. It’s my favorite.
It sounds like, in that time frame of being in such a small community, you started to look at things in a binary way. This is winning, this is losing. This is extroverted, this is introverted. This is friends, this is not friends. This is acceptable, this is not acceptable.
I see why you’re saying that, but I think that started earlier, and then our stay in the village solidified it in some ways. But the experience of being in that village—which was more accepting and inclusive than where I was living in Vancouver, Washington—opened my world in many ways.
But before then, I feel like a lot of women learn lessons along the lines of, “This is what you’re supposed to be as a woman, and this is what you’re not supposed to be.” So I think that binary came a little earlier. And ultimately, Holden opened me up to feeling more confident eventually. But in the moment, especially the first year, was really hard.
I think it’s very impressive that you hold all these different emotions inside you, to be this very generous, warm person, but then also go to bat for values you need to protect. And it’s because you’re protecting yourself. You’re speaking for your younger self when you speak to other people.
My younger self did the best she could with what she had. I also like to apply that to myself six months ago. I’m like, “She’s just doing the best she could with what she knew at that point. And we’re going to do better now.” But I don’t ever want to hurt the people I’ve been. Because whether or not they were right or good or shiny or sparkly, I get to have the life I have today because of them. And ultimately, I think it’s a good life. It’s not perfect, but it’s really good. So I have to respect my inner ancestors.
That reminds me of an episode of Broad City where they’re trying to figure something out. They say, “That’s for our future selves to decide. We’ll let those two figure that out.” I just thought that was so interesting, and it ties into what you were saying. You’re the same person, but you’re recognizing that a past or future self is maybe a different part of yourself. But they still bring value.
It’s making me think about how we usually panic and worry about what’s in the future. And sometimes it’s useful to think or plan ahead, and sometimes you’re like, “It doesn’t make sense for me to try to make that decision right now.” Your future self will be more prepared to be able to do that thing that you’re not sure about. Your future self will have had those experiences already, so they’ll be able to make that decision. We need to respect our past selves and trust our future selves.
Entering the comedy scene in DC
When I moved to DC, I didn’t really jump right into the comedy community. I tried to just start going to shows. I enjoy people, but I don’t enjoy the phase of meeting new people. But I know I have to do it to get to the part that I like.
So I would go to shows and try to meet one person afterwards. Then I tapped into anyone I knew in the Portland community to see if anyone knew someone out here. And someone from the theater I’d grown up in in Portland knew Mark Chalfant. So I was able to set up 30 minutes with Mark to talk about my background and ask about space.
Luckily, Citizens’ Watch was having auditions soon after that. I also ended up meeting John Windmueller, and he told me King Bee had an open spot and invited me to play in to see if it would be a good fit. And that was, for very good reasons, the last time anyone got put on a team without an open and clear audition process. So, sorry everyone. I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair, and I didn’t know it at the time.
What’s your improv background like?
My improv background is primarily in narrative and long-form improv. It’s based in—but not confined to—the Johnstone and Spolin schools of thought. Many folks in DC talk about game, and I’d never heard that term until I came to DC. So the style of improv I was brought up in was different.
Can you explain those schools of thought you were trained in?
So there’s Keith Johnstone, who wrote Impro, and Viola Spolin, who’s actually the mother of improv. The people I learned from learned from Keith Johnstone and Viola Spolin and Ruth Zaporah.
Viola Spolin took theater games and ideas and started using them to help folks who were immigrating to a new country better connect to the culture around them. And that’s crazy cool because improv is meant to connect people and help you in real life. That’s the basis of it. She had an impact on Chicago improv in some way, but honestly, I’m not someone who successfully reads improv books.
It’s like when someone tries to describe an improv show after the fact, and they’re dying laughing as they’re talking about it, whereas you’re just like, “Sounds like you had fun.” Sometimes improv books are like that for me. I love being coached, and I love teaching and workshops, and that’s how I learn improv best. When I read it, it doesn’t usually stick with me much. If I’m trying to learn something, I want to do it with my body, and I want someone to tell me if I’m doing it right or wrong or what adjustments I could make to make it more right.
I’ve tried to be a really good improv student and read the books, but I never finish them. I’ve only finished Jill Bernard’s Little Book of Improv Wisdom. It’s truly a tiny pamphlet, and it has everything you need to know in it.
Does that influence how you coach people in improv?
I tend to be a very action-oriented coach, so I don’t want to talk about improv for a long time. I want you to have as much play time as possible. So I make people do scenes at the same time. I have everyone get into pairs and find a space in the room, and I give a challenge or directive and then let them just go for a minute or two. Then I pause and check in and do little notes, and they rotate partners and then do things again and again. Because when I’ve been in learning situations, I want to do it. I can handle one or two classes where we sit and watch two people do a scene and talk about it. But I need that mixed up with actually doing the thing and practicing it so I can put notes into action.
When you do those exercises, it’s like getting reps in. When you practice for a sport, you’re probably running drills for a while. You’re doing these exercises that are going to help you later. And then at some point, you scrimmage. And the coach is telling you the strategy and giving you feedback. So when I think about a practice or a class, what I want is some drill time in pairs where you’re working on the skills and drilling it. And then I want a scrimmage, so I want to do the show or the format. And throughout that, I want feedback and notes and strategy.
I love that other people love reading improv books. I practice imperfection, and this is me practicing it. Improv books don’t do it for me, so I don’t do it. And that means other folks will be more expert about certain things than me, and that’s okay.
Maybe a student will school me because they’ll ask questions I can’t answer. But I’m fine with a student having more book knowledge about improv than me. That’s great. It’s probably helpful. I don’t need it. I don’t want it. I don’t need it to achieve, with improv, what I want to achieve with improv.
I respect that some folks love to nerd out about improv in that way, just like I respect that some folks are going to go to shows literally every night of the week and nerd out in that way. What I want to be mindful of is, people come to improv for different reasons. Some folks come because they want to master something hard. They want to know the most about it. They want to be the funniest person on stage. Some folks go because it’s the only time of the week that they play.
What is improv for Jess Lee?
I want to create something with people that has never been created before. I don’t care so much if it’s funny, but I want the audience to lean in or recognize something. I want them to be engaged with it in some way. So if it’s laughter, that’s great. If they get really quiet, that’s great. If they lean in, if they gasp, whatever. I want them there with us. And then other than that, it’s all icing. But it’s not the cake.
What are some moments where you felt that the most, where you realized the audience was leaning in and where you felt like you were doing what you wanted to do?
One of the shows I was in in Portland was called “Bats in the Belfry.” We explored mental illness in a variety of ways through this show. There was a scene where I was playing someone with bipolar who was in a manic state. It wasn’t funny, and it wasn’t sparkly or cute.
It felt like the audience was right there with us as we figured out what this person was about to do and what this state meant. At a certain point, all I had to do was keep doing what I was doing because it became less about what my character was doing and more about how this character impacted everyone else there. And I feel like for mental illness, if you have that in your family, it’s amazing how much everyone simply shifts and adjust to it without even realizing it. So that was a moment that felt amazing.
There were also moments in Citizens’ Watch where we alternated between the audience laughing hysterically to it getting really quiet and serious, and then a lot of nervous laughter because someone would say something almost funny. And I love that.
Citizens’ Watch blew my mind. I had never seen improv in that way, like the way you used the lighting and music. It was narrative. I didn’t think improv could be that. I would love to hear you talk more about that.
It was amazing. I think improv can do basically anything theater can do, but we often limit it to comedy. For some shows, it is about the laughs, and it is a comedy. But for some shows, it’s about the drama or the tragedy or both. It’s really fun when you start thinking about improv that way. And it’s more inclusive of different kinds of improv, as well.
I know I have my preferences, but it’s like sports. People get really specific about the kinds of sports they like, but at the end of the day, it’s people moving while you watch them. And that’s what theater and improv are: people move, and some folks like it. It can be any kind of improv. It can be short-form, long-form, narrative, slapstick-y. We already see all these differences by watching people who have different styles. I love that there can be so many different kinds of improv.
We talk about the boundaries of improv a lot, but I love that idea that improv can be anything. You can push it. And if you listen to each other and truly follow your feet, it’s interesting to see what that turns into. Plus, what we consider long-form improv just started in the 1980s, so 40 years ago. It’s a very new thing. So why are we constraining it to this one idea?
Because then we can get it right. If we say this is the right kind of improv, and the goal is X, and that’s what you’re supposed to be doing, then we get to try to be right. And then we get to judge other people’s improv. We get to say, “You’re not doing it right.” But if someone’s goal with improv is literally to just connect with other humans and they don’t care how good their performances are or they’re not trying for laughs, you don’t get to decide if it’s good. They’re doing it, and they’re getting what they need from it.
That makes me think of auditions, where people decide what’s right and what they want or don’t want. It would be interesting to just sit and experience how somebody plays and how it makes you feel as you’re watching something. That could really change the game.
Lisa Kays said something in a diversity meeting back in the fall that has stuck with me. She was talking about inclusion and she said something like, “Every theater has to decide what its goal with improv is.” So if your goal is to have really amazing, high-quality shows that make people laugh, then the way you teach an audition will look different than if your goal is to impact a community through an art form. When she said it, she didn’t put judgment to it. But she said we do need to figure out which one we’re trying to do and be honest to that.
I say that as someone who loves having kickass shows. I love it when the audience loves it and there’s lots of laughter. It feels so good. But I also feel like improv is something that should be accessible to everyone, especially since it began as a social tool to help you connect. The goal shouldn’t always be performance. That’s also why I’ve done a lot of work with improv. The goal doesn’t have to be performance. The goal is trust and generosity and collaboration, and that’s slightly different than just a kickass show.
Going back to the idea of learning styles, no one’s wrong. No one’s wrong for wanting to do improv in a comedic way, but they’re not wrong doing it another way, either. But we like to be able to determine what’s right.
That might be a slightly (really) DC thing. But also, it’s everywhere. (But it’s also pretty DC-y.)
Thoughts on moving to Denver
I’m nervous to meet new people because I don’t like that stage. But we—my dog and husband and I—knew when we moved to DC that we’d probably only be here for three to five years. We would have been surprised if we’d stayed longer.
I got this job last year that I really love, and I get to work for the same company out there because have an office out there. And we will be closer to all of our family, which is amazing. And I need and want to be closer to them.
What are you bringing from your three years in DC to Denver?
I think I’ll bring more musical improv skills. I’d done musical improv before DC, but I got to coach musical improv here and then be on iMusical. And I haven’t actually done this here, but I’ve learned more about how to direct and produce shows, which is exciting to think about. That might be something I explore.
Jess Lee’s advice on financial solvency for improvisers and humans
If you cannot afford to hustle and go to all the improv shows like other people and go out for drinks afterwards, that’s okay. You still get to be a valued member of the community, and you can find other ways to interact and ask people to choose cheaper things. Or just be honest and say that going to five shows isn’t in your budget this week, and that’s okay. Sometimes it’s expensive. And we shouldn’t shame people if they don’t go to stuff or don’t do things because of that.
It sounds clinical, but if my goal is to have connecting time with people, I don’t need to go get drinks after a show. If your goal is to actually connect with people, then find ways to actually connect with them. That doesn’t have to mean saying yes to everything.
So if they say, “Do you want to go to this show?” you can say, “No, but I would like to grab a PBR afterwards,” or, “Do you want to go on a walk this Sunday?” or “Do you wanna hang out beforehand at my house?” You can find small ways to spend less—apparently this is a budget lesson, as well—to achieve the same thing.
Don’t compromise your long-term financial stability to please people. Spend the money where it should be spent. Know where your money goes. Create that budget spreadsheet. Let me know if you want one. I will send a template for a tab-by-tab monthly budget spreadsheet to anyone that emails me asking for one. Know where your money goes, and spend it on things you actually care about. That’s the advice I leave to DC.
Thanks for getting wet with Puss and Kooch
Tune in next week for an interview with another former DC improviser, Katie Ozog!
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