48 avenueJANUARY.18
I would just have to volunteer at the shows and come to
their improv classes and if I did okay there they would
start me out with a 10-minute Theatresports game.
That is the key to the Loose Moose philosophy, the
great democracy that anyone can get on stage. They let
people on stage before they were ready, and, well, you
are never really ready for the for first time, until maybe
after the first time and perhaps not even then.
The classes were held once a week in an upstairs
space just off of 8th Avenue. I leapt up those stairs
scared out of my mind. It was a grimy little studio,
even by punk-kid standards, out of which Kathleen
Foreman warmly taught us the tenets of improv: don’t
try to be too interesting (no problem there); don’t try
too hard (a rule I have broken constantly, though, at
least considering that rule has led to me making a
living in the arts); and, of course, don’t say no. This
one is tougher. It creates good scene work but, in life,
could land you in rehab.
Keith Johnstone was a genius from England who
wore Ski-Doo boots well into spring. He had everyone’s
attention by never demanding it. He taught me to notbe attached to my ideas, despite my inclinations to be-
lieve that my ideas were all I had and all that separated
me from the others. I learned that in improv the true
pleasure is in making your partner look good; that is
when it works. No one knew this more than my cohort
Mark McKinney, who would walk on stage, watch what
you were doing and then just fold in. He’d never panic
— unlike me, who looked like a flopping fish trying
to jump out of your boat. I watched him and cynically
thought (remember I was half cynical) that I needed
him to be my friend. More importantly, I needed him
to be my creative partner.
We did Theatresports for a while but were driven to
write our own ideas. And Keith let us. His whole enter-
prise was based on the purity of improv, and yet, he let
a group of ungrateful upstarts do written sketches. No
one ever read them or came to a rehearsal, they just let
us. Dennis Cahill and his wife Deb Iozzi, in particular,
could have shut us down, but they only encouraged us.
They gave us their most valuable commodities: their
stage, their audience. As young men, we never fully
realized how generous this was.
We did our sketches after Theatresports for free.
It went well (oh, the luck of the young) and soon we
were charging admission for “Late Nite Comedy.” Then
people started coming just for our show. Some nights
we even outdrew Theatresports. Being young and
dumb in equal measures, we never understood how
this could have rankled the old guard. Unbelievably,
no one ever complained.
As the months went by, we packed that theatre doing
sketches that one day would become part of the Kids in
The Hall oeuvre. Eventually, we decided we had to move
to Toronto to “make it,” walking away from the home we
had been given without pause. Loose Moose even housed
our “important” last shows with a true sense of pride.
After the last show, John Gilchrist (the company’s
general manager back then, who would go on to be-
come a prolific local restaurant critic) pulled us aside.
We thought we were in trouble for the mess we’d left the
green room in, but no, we weren’t. Instead, he pulled
out an envelope. Inside was a cheque for $4,000. They
had been saving up all the money we had made without
telling us. They thought we might need it to make the
move to Toronto (wow, were they right). It was the most
generous gift from an organization that had already
given us so much.
And they keep giving to the thirsty audiences and
performers of Calgary, welcoming them the way they
welcomed us. The company has nurtured so many
talented people. Many have gone on to other things
and some, like Dennis Cahill, have stayed and kept it
great. Somehow, after all these years the moose keeps
smiling, ready to share a drink and make us laugh.CLOCKWISE FROM
TOP McCulloch (right)
during his Loose Moose
years with Theatre-
sports teammate
Graeme Davies.
Loose Moose founding
member and current
artistic director Dennis
Cahill, photographed
on location at the com-
pany’s current space in
the Crossroads Market
building.
Co-founder and former
artistic director Keith
Johnstone (right) and
Cahill performing an
“arms scene,” with
Tony Totino visible as
Cahill’s arms.
Loose Moose archival photos by Deborah Iozzi; Dennis Cahill photograph by Jared Sych