Is Improv Inherently Meta? / Commitment at all Levels
I've been struggling with a concept in improv lately. Recently, it occurred to me that maybe improv is inherently meta. We begin each show by saying, essentially, "Hey we're about to put on a show for you. But it won't be written. It will be all made up on the spot. It will be hilarious not just for its content, but for the sheer audacity of making up an entire comedy act in realtime." There absolutely is that aspect of impressing the audience, like a magician or athlete would. "Will they actually pull it off?"
That aspect is both inherent to the artform of improv and also it's what distinguishes it from other artforms. It is written and acted simultaneously. That fact is what makes it special.
Typically, in art, we use what makes that medium unique to make our art better. For example, in film, the edit (or cut) is what makes it special, so the best films do not just utilize film editing but rely on it. The best comic books rely on the juxtaposition of word and image. And so on.
However, in improv, we are told to "play it real," that is, honest to the reality of the moment of the fiction we're creating. At UCB, even more specifically, we are told that the best improv scenes should look like a written sketch. Thus, the best improv, purportedly, ignores and attempts to hide that which makes it special.
Can that be right?
Could it be by making our scenes more "real" and trying dull the rough edges and make it look like a one-act play or sketch that we are actually making our scenes less exciting and less special and not utilizing that which makes our medium great?
So this thought has been bugging me, because the flipside of that, addressing the audience, going "meta", "pop improv", or otherwise doing silly, uncommitted-to-the-reality-of-the-scene improv can be exhausting or unappealing to a lot of people too.
So what's the answer?
Last night, I saw Jason Mantzoukas and Lennon Parham do a one-hour two-person show, and in watching it, one of the best shows I've seen ever, I finally had an answer.
Levels of Commitment
As I left the theatre with my friends, the four of us all remarked how amazingly "real" and "grounded" the show was. This is of note, mostly, because when I further thought about the show later that night, I realized there were many, many moments that could not be considered traditionally "grounded."
Jason Mantzoukas took a phone call during the show. He addressed the sound booth guy. Lennon Parham mentioned that she always dances (referring to her character AND herself, what she always does in scenes). Mantzoukas went on a extended rant about his diarrhea that could not in any remotely plausible way be considered "truthful" to his character; it was just funny as a comedian's exploration. Lennon and Mantzoukas danced together to "This is How We Do It." Lennon buttoned a scene with a pun that was funny to them (and the audience) but probably not 100% honest to the reality of the moment. And finally, given that one of the suggestions was "hermit," the same suggestion from his legendary impromptu one-man show, he tried as best as he possibly could to recreate his one-man show moment for moment.
Yet despite all the goofy jokes about poop and taking phone calls and recreating an improv show he already did and a silly dance-off and talking to the audience and sound booth guy... the show, in spite of all that, felt incontrovertibly, completely, and indisputably grounded.
Why is that?
Because they committed at all levels.
When we say we are grounded and "truthful," I think we're not just committed to the scene and in the moment. That's just one level of commitment. But there are, I think, actually four levels of commitment.
1) Commitment to the reality of the scene and to the characters. This means giving them voices and opinions and physical mannerisms unique in each scene while also truly following the logic (no matter how weird it gets) of the scene. This is what we traditionally think of by "grounding."
2) Commitment to the audience. In their show, if there was something wrong that the audience noticed, they made comment. (for example, scolding them for going "Awwwww," at the wrong moment, or making fun of the "nerd" who suggested "hermit" again) This is the sense that we, the people onstage and the audience, are all in this together.
3) Commitment to your scene partner, as improvisers. If Lennon did something silly as an improviser, Jason would speak slightly out of character to make fun of her. They communicated not just as characters, but as friends onstage together, trying to put on a made-up show. Lennon (in character) told Jason "don't kill yourself," and Jason (out-of-character) laughed and said, "Actually, that's actually EXACTLY what I was gonna do... That's some group mind right there." Then switched right back into character.
4) Commitment to your individual, unique comedic voice. Jason, while doing his best to play characters, was always completely honest to what he thinks is funny. He would often to go into these exploratory monologues that could verge on the edge of being dishonest to the scene or character but were completely in line with himself as a comedic voice.
To me, that's the key, and that's when improv is at its best and that's why Lennon and Jason's show last night felt AMAZING. They were committed at every level.
I'm still thinking about all of this, and its implications, but having a show as good as Lennon and Jason's, I feel as if there's truth to this idea of committing to the scene, the audience, your fellow improvisers, and yourself. The best performers do it all and the best shows have it all.
-Sean London
Watch Me Perform | Follow me on Twitter! | Coaching
(Part two of three of the Matt Besser interview. If you missed part one, it’s right here.)
This is a fun one. He talks about sub-games, justifications, and walks us through pulling a premise from a monologue and beginning a set. Great stuff.
But first: his thoughts on the note, “Don’t be funny.”
Sean London: What’s your interpretation of “don’t be funny”? Specifically, if the point is, ultimately, to be funny.
SL: So if you’re writing that up, then what would be a good justification for only having sex in the morning?
MB: This is how I talk about justification: if you want to justify something, do it the same way you would if you were in trouble with the cops and you had to lie to them. Because you would come up with the best lie possible because you don’t want to be arrested. You wouldn’t come up with a silly lie. You wouldn’t come up with a jokey lie. You’d come up with the most logical lie possible.
So why can I only have sex in the morning? Well, first off “I have night blindness. So in the dark I can’t see and enjoy my lover’s body.” Then the question would be: “So why don’t you turn the lights on?” “Well that’s too much light, I like a gentle morning light, coming through the...”-- you know what I mean?
And as I’m saying this, I’m building my rationale and my logic. You can come up with a million reasons. “I was sexually molested at night and I associated sex at night with badness.” And all those elements will bring more stuff to improvise off of.
SL: What do you think of the idea that by justifying, you’ve tempered your absurdity? By saying, “I can’t have sex at night because I was molested,” haven’t I made my absurd character less absurd, and thus less funny?
MB: No, I’d say that makes you less absurd so we can hang on with this character more. Otherwise, you would walk out. That’s the thing, [...] if everyone’s silly and absurd, I’m not enjoying the scene. In [good sketches], they don’t have everyone in every scene absurd. You usually have one character who’s absurd and everyone else is very real.
So if I’m the other person in the scene, who’s not the absurd person, and I’m acting and I’m committing to being real, I have to have an explanation for your weird behavior, otherwise, I walk out of the room or I call the cops or somehow the scenes over. Why do I sit there and put up with whatever the crazy behavior is. I have to have a rationale, just like real life. You have to have a reason or you’re just like, “Oh they’re crazy.”
SL: What’s your take on the style of improv where you play looser and are less focused on a single game, but instead you’re patterning multiple games and sub-games? I’m thinking of the style of improv I see with Ben Schwartz or maybe the way Horatio Sanz plays.
MB: Well what do you think? It sounds like you have an opinion.
SL: Sure, my opinion is that I feel that game is what’s funny to the audience. So I think if you play the game and play sub-games, and just keep patterning and gaming, then I think the audience is having a good time, then you’re doing good improv.
MB: The problem with sub-games is: just don’t do it for your own amusement. Yeah, you can do sub-games and it’s possible [that] the more tight you are with your ensemble, the better you can do that. But if you start out a scene and you got 2 or 3 games going on at the same time, then it’s logical that that could get confusing. It could get muddled and become a big, silly mess.
I like to discover sub-games. It’s more like the main game is kinda over, and it’s like, “Okay, there’s another game right there, let’s go to that.” Like tonight, I almost wanted to go to a sub-game about the miniature cakes.
They started talking about mini cakes for awhile and the audience started laughing and that really had nothing to do with the game they were already on. I almost tagged in and became that mini cake store. That would have been pretty much saying, “Alright, we’re done with that game. Let’s move on to a new sub-game.”
I know guys who got two or three things going on, but I don’t think that necessarily makes them great improvisers because they can juggle that, because just as often they’re confusing whoever they’re onstage with.
SL: [I describe a specific scene where someone, unprompted, walked on with a totally different game than the one that was happening.] Do moves like that irritate you?
MB: Yeah. If they throw you off-game. It just makes it where you either have to ignore it or you have to justify it. It doesn’t always annoy me. Sometimes it’s just funny. It depends on how it comes off. If they’re doing it just to get a laugh and at the expense of everything, [then] of course it irritates me. If it seems like it kinda came off organically in the moment, then I think it’s as funny as anyone else does, probably.
Look, when you watch and do improv for awhile, you can tell when a move is selfish or not. You can tell when it’s a total “I’m gonna get a laugh now for me and I don’t care what happens after that moment in a scene.” You can tell when people do that.
SL: So you think good improv then, you’re always thinking about the entire piece? The entire scene?
MB: Let’s say Sean Conroy was playing a little girl and someone came into the scene and went, “Wow, you sure are big and ugly for a little girl.” My guess is the audience will laugh at that. But from the point onward in the scene, we’ve totally undercut the reality of Sean being a little girl. Now we’re all looking at him as a man and we don’t believe him as a little girl anymore. The scene’s totally fucked.
I’ve had someone not from our school, but a famous improv teacher do that exact move to me. I was a little boy though, and he went “Wow, you sure are tall and ugly for a little boy,” and it got a huge laugh, [...] and it totally ruined the scene. That’s not what the scene was about. After that, the scene became about me being a tall, ugly boy. And it’s like, “Oh well, well we can make that the scene every time I play a little boy I guess.”
SL: Right, it’s not organic to that specific scene.
MB: Yeah. So that guy is a selfish improviser, as far as I’m concerned.
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That’s it for part 2! Like what you read? Disagree, agree? Leave a comment below.
The last part is coming soon [EDITED TO ADD: it's up! Click for part three]. Besser talks about what he does when a scene is tanking, his opinion on the monoscene, and what he thinks is the most impressive improv form.
So there’s no reason to be a character unless it reflects your craziness somehow. However, don’t get a support character confused with a game character. Like, I was playing a little girl tonight, right? If I had come out speaking and had gone “Hey daddy!” and spoke in my normal voice, then that’s not good improv. Because I’m not committing to playing a little girl. So I have to take on the character of a little girl as best I can without being cartoonish.
So I hope UCB teachers aren’t saying “Never play a character.” I think they’re saying, “Don’t play a character that comes out of nowhere.”
SL: I think that is closer to it.
MB: Well, that’s just bag of tricks basically. When people pull out characters that they’re just naturally good at. Like I pulled out a character tonight out of my bag of tricks when I was doing the warm up, because I was talking to people about being germans and I brought out my nazi voice. Which I do as my nazi pope. So it’s like, that’s definitely in my bag of tricks. That’s definitely something I feel comfortable [with] and I know I can get laughs at.
If a scene started and I was just all of a sudden my nazi pope and it was apropos of nothing, to me, that’s cheating. And that’s not good improv.
SL: And I would agree with that. So let’s see if I can distill this down: if you’re in a moment that calls for a character, then that’s what good improv is, you should leap to nazi pope. If you need nazi pope, then you’re nazi pope. But otherwise you’re playing yourself?
MB: Let’s say [you initiate] “Hello doctor, can you just give me the straight news? Just tell me what I want.” And if I do anything besides a normal voice there? Then I’m being selfish. I’m introducing an unusual thing just apropos of nothing. I’m just bringing it out of nowhere.
I should use a normal voice and go, “Yes, here’s the bad news. You have cancer.” or whatever. I have to go with his initiation.
But if he had gone, “So doctor I hear you’re the cheapest doctor in town and you’re known as the homeless doctor.” Then I’d be a bad improviser if I didn’t take on a voice and didn’t try to [gruffly] “Oh yeah!” and get a gravelly, homeless type voice. So I have to do a character then. I’m being told by the initiation to be something more than what I am for the sake of a scene.
So yeah, I mean sometimes a character is called for. Sometimes it isn’t. And you can come up with a great character that organically comes from the suggestion. That isn’t a support character; it’s just an initiation. You can start out the scene that way. Hopefully it came from something. [...] It’s not just something I’m good at doing. And to be honest, that’s something a lot of people do.
SL: Well, let me get a little improv schooling from you then. If someone initiates with me, something like “Hey man, stop looking at my test.” My first instinct would be to play a character. I’m always going to listen for my character. So I’m the type of guy who’s a fuck up or a slacker and I *need* to steal off his test. And I’m immediately, going [like a stoner] “Oh yeah, sure.” And I’m immediately going to take on all the affectation of sort of a burnout.
MB: That’s okay!
SL: You’d have to see how it plays out, but does that seem like [a good scene start]?
MB: You have to yes-and until you hit the unusual things. I don’t see an unusual thing there. People don’t like to be cheated on. I’m just yes-anding. If he’s making me a character with his initiation, and you’re like “Well, what is a cheater?” Cheaters are kinda slackey and kinda losers and I’m gonna slouch my back because I’m thinking of the guy who used to cheat off me in highschool--well, you’re yes-anding there. But if you go way past that and become just totally fucking weird... you can’t confuse game characters with support characters.
A support character is doing what is asked of him. He’s just yes-anding. He’s just doing what helps the scene. The game character is a character that is the game. The character is the premise.
You just don’t want your character to be so unusual [that it’s the unusual thing now] and now that’s what it has to be. If it organically happens, it’s fine. If it seems forced in there, it’s like “Oh that guy, no matter what you do with him he’s always gonna initiate a huge character and make it about that.” And there are some guys like that. I don’t want to improvise with you. Because I feel like you’re not playing with me. You’re playing for yourself.
You just gotta yes-and to “yes,” that doesn’t mean “Oh he wants me to [stop cheating].”... the improviser actually wants you to keep cheating on him. So it’d be denial to stop cheating on him. So yes, he wants you to keep cheating because that’s what he wants to explore, people cheating on each other. And you yes-and. You keep adding details and yes-anding until something organically happens. But I just hate it when someone’s like “Hey stop cheating off me,” and [then someone says] “Hey man! I just want to get high off this bong!”
It’s like, “Woah! you just right away forced an unusual thing that just came out of nowhere but your own brain.” And a lot of those people that maybe do characters all the time, if you notice they’re doing the same characters a lot. And that’s just selfish.
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That’s it for Part 1! Come back in a few days for part two of more improv nerd talk with Matt Besser. We’re gonna walk-through how he pulls a premise from a monologue, how he knows what’s a good premise worth playing, and justifications. All very interesting stuff.
-Sean London
Watch Me Perform | Follow me on Twitter!
Related Posts:
Part two
Part three
In the meantime, be sure to checkout:
Improv4humans
Freakdance
