Illustration by Pablo Lobato
Long before Canadian Mae Martin became a successful comic, actor, singer-songwriter and podcast host, they were an awkward teenager trying their hand at improv.
In the first instalment of a new series called “Joy Diaries,” the 38-year-old multitalent – who stars in Netflix’s new show Wayward – explains why improv remains a source of pure bliss.
I get a lot of joy from laughter. So it’s a pretty amazing privilege to make people laugh for a living. Energetically, a standup stage is a really cool place to be – when it’s going well. When it’s not, it’s a pretty solitary place. You’re up there all alone with your unchecked stream of consciousness. If you bomb, there’s no one to blame but yourself.
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That’s why even though I love standup, and I also do music and scripted stuff, the thing that brings me pure euphoria is improv. I started with improv classes at the Second City in Toronto when I was 13 and fell in love with it. But I stopped doing improv in my 20s because I was really focused on standup and I wanted to be cool. I’ve since learned that worrying about being cool is the enemy of comedy, so I’ve come back to improv.
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I know it’s kind of nerdy, but I just love improvising – especially with friends. I have people I’ve known for 20 years through improv, and there’s nothing better than when we improvise these ridiculous scenes and get into the flow together.
The other night, for example, we improvised a true-crime documentary. I don’t know why or how we possibly got there, and I couldn’t believe all the tropes that lived in my head. You don’t realize how much of pop culture you absorb sometimes, so things come out of your mouth that you’d never expect and you use vocabulary you didn’t even know you had. I was the murderer, of course.
Performing as part of an ensemble is so blissful and freeing, because even if you box yourself into a corner story-wise and things go off the rails, someone can jump in and save you. Because of that, you can be more uninhibited and you don’t have to be afraid to look stupid. You probably will look stupid, actually, which is kind of the point. Improv takes me away from worrying about my image and back to being silly and having fun.
It’s a lot like you’re a kid again, playing house or something. Improv’s really about tapping into that childlike sense of play. Not as easy as it sounds, but when you do it well, people want in. We take suggestions from the audience, so they’re part of it, too. Ideas get pulled out of the bucket on little slips of paper. Anything can come out of the bucket.
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I do a monthly show in L.A. at Largo, a beautiful old theatre with a rich history. The backstage is covered with pictures of all the comedians and musicians who played there over the years and all these twinkly Christmas lights. Elliott Smith, my favourite musician, played at Largo; his piano and guitar are still there.
I can look out into the audience and my heroes sometimes just appear. I’ve seen Adam Sandler, Jon Stewart and Sarah Silverman just show up, because the owner, Flanny, has been around for so long. Everyone knows Flanny. He’s this Irish guy and legendary comedy club booker who’s been like a surrogate family member to me since I moved to L.A.
I’m sure everyone’s telling you their happy place is somewhere serene in nature, but if I had a happy place, it’d probably be doing improv on the stage at Largo. Sometimes I can’t believe people actually pay to come and watch me play with my friends. It feels like I’ve cracked the matrix.
As told to Rosemary Counter
