I need to pause my ongoing tribute to the Hideout Theatre to direct my love cannon elsewhere. The hits keep coming for the Austin improv community: Shana Merlin has announced that the Merlin Works Institute of Improvisation—its full name, which I love—is ceasing classes and shows after 22 years. (Not shutting down completely! See below.)

As I’ve mentioned, Shana was both a college buddy and my very first improv teacher at the Hideout Theatre. I don’t know what a “mentor” is, but if I’ve got one, she’s it. It’s a certainty that many of the nuggets of improv wisdom that I share today come directly from her.

Shana founded Merlin Works in 2003 as her own personal Hideout spinoff and set up classes at Salvage Vanguard Theater (SVT) on Manor Road, a converted industrial space that was home to all sorts of eclectic artist groups. I always thought the name “Merlin Works” was inspired, as was its logo, conveying magic and whimsy—the best in the Austin improv community, in my biased opinion. 

Those early days were in many ways the best ones. Merlin Works ran Sunday-afternoon jams at SVT that were incredibly well-attended (over 50 some weeks!) and frequently served as auditions for Gnap! Theater Projects, Shannon McCormick’s company that cranked out one delightful production after another. When I returned from my five years away from the improv scene, Merlin Works and Gnap! were what I returned to, performing in everything from improvised 90210 to improvised steampunk to improvised Philip K. Dick. Some of my very favorite improv memories are in that theater.

Flattering at the time, but inevitable in retrospect, that Shana recruited me as first a TA, then a full teacher for Merlin Works. I remember the nerves I had running my first-ever Merlin Works Sunday jam by myself. Before long I felt like part of the family of weirdos at SVT.¹

And then the march of progress came for Salvage Vanguard Theater—the building was sold and the various creative groups were scattered to the winds, many never to re-form. The owners renovated the building for office space, only for it to sit empty and unused for YEARS afterward, an insult to the artists who’d been run out. (Today it seems to be occupied by a software startup. Cool.)

Shana had expected that Merlin Works too would simply close, but managed to find a bit of a golden parachute: ZACH Theatre, Austin’s pre-eminent theater company, who offered up their classrooms and stage for perfectly reasonable rent. The newly reformulated Merlin Works had a monthly showcase, Merlin Works Second Sundays, that always featured a student showcase, a guest troupe from around the community, and the Merlin Works faculty. Over time I performed in all three capacities, typically co-hosting the night with Shana.

The MW faculty also got a rebranding as part of the transition, calling ourselves the Known Wizards. It was a delightful doubling-down on Merlin Works’s magical identity. To this day I’m proud to call myself a Known Wizard.

Not long after, Shana invited me to a fateful lunch where she floated the idea of hiring me as the dean of the school—essentially the XO who was responsible for filling classes and keeping students happy and coming back. I’d never been a dean; who has? But it was an incredibly flattering offer. I got my kevin@merlin-works.com email account and dove into the role with gusto, working closely with Shana and her long-time administrator Karina.

I ended up completely refreshing the curriculum for the first three levels, a major project that I’m still proud of. One of my best innovations was also one of the smallest: the idea to give every student who graduated all six levels of Merlin Works a magic wand as a memento. We were the envy of the Austin improv scene for this.

When I think back on my years as dean, I think of the frustrations as well as the successes, probably natural for anyone who keeps a small business going. Every month I stressed over class numbers, show attendance, and keeping our Wizards happy. Only rarely did I feel completely satisfied with how I was doing. I guess the kids would call that feeling “hustle.” To me it was like a car whose engine was constantly making noises that I needed to diagnose and fix.

But as I constantly remind myself, for every frustration, there were ten or more moments of sheer joy in the classrooms and on the stage. The engine was still running. I myself was having magical moments and connecting with lovely people, many of whom I still call friends (Chase Coffield, Tatiana Jitkoff, Jillian Summar, Tyler Lane, Cené Hale²). We made all kinds of giggly noises together in those portable classrooms at ZACH, and my only sadness is that my memories of those days have grown hazy, as they must.

One evening in March 2020, I taught a typical free-intro class. When I checked my phone two hours later, I had notifications that (a) the NBA season was postponed, (b) SXSW was canceled, and (c) Tom Hanks had COVID. That was my personal “this is some serious shit” moment—we all had one. Much to my surprise, it was also the last improv class I ever taught in Austin. So it goes.

Merlin Works took a few stabs at Zoom classes during lockdown, but my heart was never really in that, and by the summer I was planning my move to Europe. In December we had a virtual farewell show that, as it happened, occurred on the night before my flight to Amsterdam. (Memorably, I performed it from my room at the Driskill Hotel.) The Known Wizards gave me a marvelous, perfect gift that sits proudly on my office shelf today.

Merlin Works carried on without me, gradually shifting to its third home (Creative Action on the east side). Like a healthy breakup, I felt happy to let it go its own way without checking in too often, and so I’m unqualified to write its history since 2021. But recently, Creative Action lost *its* space in the name of progress (same old story), and combined with some other complications, it was time for Shana to call her school a job well done.

It sounds euphemistic to call this a conclusion rather than a failure, but LOOK AT THAT HISTORY. Thousands of students have come through Merlin Works, had a great time, and occasionally found their new favorite hobby. To be such a big part of it was one of the high points of my long improv career.

Important to note that Merlin Works isn’t ceasing operations. Shana is continuing her corporate improv training, something she’s one of the very best at. I’m happy that great name and logo will still be flying (with an equally cool domain name: merlin.works!) But I can’t fail to mention the impact that the school had on me, and I hope on many others. 

1. Fun fact: I would frequently set up for improv class in the theater while Adriene Mishler was setting up for yoga class in the lobby. I always encouraged her to take improv; she always encouraged me to try yoga.
2. The fact that Cené and I independently moved to Amsterdam and became good friends all these years later is one of the weirder social turns in my life.