Women rule stage at improv fest

A middle-aged man and his middleaged wife walked up the steps of the Exit Theatre and tried to select their seats. Laden with coats, bags and glasses of wine, the man paused and announced as either a warning or a promise, “It’s improv, so they’re going to call on us.”

Last Thursday, April 27, was opening night of the fourth annual Femprovisor Fest, a weekend of improvisation and comedy performed exclusively by women. The festival is the brainchild of human ray of sunshine Jill Eickmann, an improv artist and Oakland therapist. Eickmann co-founded Leela, a San Francisco “holistic improvisation theater company and training center” in 2003 and regularly uses improv in her therapy sessions.

“I’ve been involved in the art form of improvisation for a really long time,” Eickmann said before the festival, listing off her experience in the genre. “I took classes at the Upright Citizens Brigade in New York City!”

It was while studying improv that Eickmann found herself “always noticing the minority of women.” Inspired by a Marian Wright Edelman quote from Jennifer Siebel Newsom’s documentary “Miss Representation” that claims, “You can’t be what you can’t see,” Eickmann created Femprovisor Fest.

“Let’s just make a festival where it’s all women onstage and we make women really visible in the art form,” Eickmann said. “Just to show more women that this is possible.”

Here’s how Femprovisor Fest works: The annual event runs for three days with two shows a night. Each show stars a “FemmeC” (emcee) and three improv comedy teams from around the country. Throughout the festival, comedy lovers could catch 18 all-female improv teams and six FemmeCs. It also gives dozens of performers a chance to connect with peers.

On opening night, Eickmann raced through the halls of the Exit Theatre and answered questions with a big smile. Around her, performers bounced with preshow energy as a dapper gentleman took tickets.

“It’s never been profitable,” said a still delighted Eickmann. “We normally break even.”

Casey Busher is part of Peach Pit, an improv team formed by Leela students. The 29-year-old Oakland resident and part-time comedian has found a freedom in performing exclusively with women.

“I feel like I don’t need to hold back because I’m concerned that someone is going to push a boundary,” said Busher, sitting cross-legged on the theater’s floor before the show. “There are different boundaries working with men.”

Peach Pit teammate Stacie Blanke agreed. “Doing improv generates this deep, deep relationship with each other.”

Along with Rocio Mancia and Jess Matthews, the foursome have grown to share not only comedy, but their lives with one another.

“Because we bonded through improv,” said Busher, “our whole friendship is based on supporting each other.”

Peach Pit was called to the stage. They asked me to join them for a preshow cheer, and I felt very cool. Here’s a confession: A few years ago, I took classes at the Second City Training Center in Chicago. The sketch writing class was a breeze, but improv was terrifying. To Busher’s point, working with men was much scarier than partnering with women. They do tend to have different boundaries — and they do tend to use penis humor a lot. Improv, it turned out, was not for me. I stuck with the writing.

The 80-seat theater was just about full when the show began. It was emceed by Jennifer Carroll’s character, Carol Carroll, a “not bitter” divorcee in a feather boa and genuinely iconic shiny blue jumpsuit. And then comedy team Chick Flick took the stage. They asked the audience to name something one might receive as a gift. As a few folks shouted out things like “socks,” a man in the front row hollered, “Dildo!”

The women of Chick Flick collectively rolled they eyes. The “dildo” guy was subjected to heavy-handed dirty looks throughout the first few minutes of their set. It was clear that women were in charge here. And not only did they get to ignore the cliche phallic suggestion from the audience, they got to shame the suggester.

Chick Flick was followed by Atlanta duo Bree & Clyde. Peach Pit, clad in a loose uniform of red sweatshirts and jeans, rounded out the show. Throughout the night, the teams did occasionally tap the audience for ideas. And throughout the night, no one else came close to shouting the word “dildo” to a stage full of women brave enough and funny enough to show San Francisco that alllady improv doesn’t need your dick jokes.

Not only did they get to ignore the cliche phallic suggestion from the audience, they got to shame the suggester.