Periodic reminder that the Hideout Theatre is continuing to raise funds to move to its new home: if you haven’t, or haven’t in awhile, donate a few bucks here.

For all my time at the Hideout, I was a supporting player there in a lot of ways. Some of my improv pals would be shocked to hear that I went something like ten years without ever being cast in a mainstage show, despite over a dozen auditions.

I’m not bitter about this…and I’m aware that makes it sound like I’m bitter about this. But I’m not. Here’s some unsolicited advice: the next time you’re not picked for a show, scan the cast list and decide which of those players you honestly, in your heart of hearts, think you’d do better than. Maybe you’ll find somebody, but I never did. The bench of talent at the Hideout was deep and wide, including players (Shannon Stott, Cat Drago, Bill Stern, Ace Manning, Rachel Austin) whom I was lucky to get to watch, let alone play with. 

That rambling intro is just a bit of background. Let’s get on topic and go back to 2016, when my longtime improv pal Peter Rogers¹ announced his directorial debut on the Hideout mainstage: “Fiasco: An Improvised Crime Caper Gone Wrong.”

Though technically an adapted format—based on the role-playing game of the same name and heavily inspired by Coen Brothers movies—“Fiasco” was a departure from the stereotypical “Improvised [Popular Franchise],” which admittedly is an easier sell. Per my rambling intro, I figured I had a distant shot at being cast, but I felt drawn to help create this; and so I pitched myself to Peter as an AD, exchanging my shot at performing for a shot at directing. In his usual thoughtful way, Peter gave me a Zoom interview and agreed to bring me onboard.

The “Fiasco” audition proved my hunch right. For a full day, dozens of improvisers filed through the theater and delighted us to no end. This made the casting itself a nerve-wracking experience—Peter, Roy, and I sitting on the Hideout stage at the end of the day, arranging index cards with the auditioners’ names. But the ensemble we finally landed on was undeniable, ranging from stalwarts like Chuy Zarate and Erin Molson to total newcomer Monica Martinez (still a Hideout student when she auditioned). 

Peter’s smarts are well-documented. I strongly recommend his improv essays, where he’s dropped tens of thousands of words on directing improv—everything from running auditions to collaborating with tech. I’ve shared and heeded many of his nuggets of wisdom over time, but my favorite is this: The director’s job is to tell people what the show is. Important subsequent advice is to then get out of their way, or “let them cook,” as we say nowadays.

Part of how Peter followed his own advice was to cede some of the nuts-and-bolts rehearsal work to his trusty AD, which gave me valuable reps at running warmups, giving notes, and offering an outside perspective. Peter took a wild swing that I just loved: we actually performed the entire show at the very first rehearsal. This could’ve gone horribly awry, but our amazing cast killed it, and our collective confidence got a huge boost. Years later when I directed “As Seen on TV,” I stole this very idea—and yep, my cast killed it, too. 

The tagline of the show was “Powerful ambition and poor impulse control.” In that spirit, Peter frequently coached the actors to make the worst possible choice. (Surrounded by mob thugs? Pull out a gun!) Do you know how fun it is to watch smart players play stupid characters? But this was no goofy bar-prov show; the stupidity was paired with grim, dramatic scenarios that created an incredibly distinct tone (again, think Coen Brothers) where you often didn’t know whether to laugh or hold your breath.

The “Fiasco” show format wasn’t far off from simply playing the role-playing game onstage for an audience. It opened with a character monologue followed by a La Ronde—that’s a circle of short two-person scenes that introduce the characters and build out the world. Each scene was inspired by a prompt projected onto the back wall—“Rivals turned teammates,” or what have you. I habitually sketched the La Ronde into my notebook and then kept adding to it, producing some weird diagrams of the story being invented.

One of the Hideout’s many strengths at improv production is elevating the crew to the same level as the cast. Mediocre tech, like a bad umpire, can pull you right out of the show, whereas committed, rehearsed tech can double your enjoyment of it—and you might not even realize why. The crew on “Fiasco,” led by tech ninja Lindsey McGowan, was universally in the latter category. You might be surprised to learn there were four improvisers crammed into the booth simultaneously working lights, music, sound effects, and the projector. Their choices, both subtle and bold, made the moments of tension onstage that much more tense.

Perhaps it goes without saying after so many words, but the show was just spectacular. The actors built motivated, multidimensional characters (with a healthy pinch of Coen-Brothers goofiness) and wove them all into multi-arc storylines, week after week. The game’s creator, Jason Morningstar, actually traveled to Austin to see the show himself and I dare say we did him proud.

One of my photographic memories of “Fiasco” doesn’t even involve improv. It was a moment mid-show (don’t even remember which show) when the lights faded on the prior scene and two players started to initiate a new one. They were quickly interrupted by Michael Joplin as he charged across the stage, waved them off, and pointed out a different player to join him onstage.

Like Eric Heiberg’s masterstroke in “Waiting for Batman,” this was by the book a “bad” improv move, the kind of thing you might see from the worst student in your improv class. Don’t force a story move, I might say. Treat other players’ ideas as better than your own. But Joplin’s absolute confidence in knowing just where the story needed to go next was dazzling. 

I call out this random moment because it exemplifies how fucking thrilling it was to be a small part of this production. When I wasn’t gasping at the spectacularly poor decision-making by the characters, I was gasping at the skill on display.

(Pics as usual by Steve Rogers Photography.)

1. Peter started improv just a few months before me and so has been present for my entire improv career. Small-world trivia: we were briefly coworkers at National Instruments.