THINKING ABOUT IMPROV

Hello, My name is Broni. I'm always thinking about improv. I teach in Melbourne, Australia. This is where I'll be sharing my thoughts about the art form and the beautiful weirdos who do it, including, mostly, myself and the lessons I've learned teaching and performing. I should add, some may know that I'm in the education director at The Improv Conspiracy, however, while many of my views may be in line with those of that company, they are my own, and should be judged as one person's opinion. Which could be very wrong. And Yep, I called myself beautiful. 

[thinkingaboutimprov]

Assume it’s all connected

I was surprised to learn recently, that this simple way of approaching long-form shows that I have utilised for years was not the way some folks were thinking.

When performing long-form, assuming it’s all connected is a simple adjustment you can make in your mind from the second the show begins.

You can go into shows already knowing that everything you are about to discover is related in some way. 

This means you can know that everything that is happening is connected, and you’re only job is to find out HOW... Rather than to find out IF. You don’t have to force connections when you KNOW that it is connected. If you play knowing that it’s all connected, the connections have a better chance of being authentic and organic and will become opaque to audience.

If you’re waiting to find out IF... then you run the classic risk of forcing late show connections and creating a scene where inexplicably every character from the show has ended up in the same prison cell or something wild like that. 

[thinkingaboutimprov]

Group Games; Pallet cleanser? Sure... but not arbitrary.

If you know me at all, you know that I have a love-hate relationship with the power of language and how certain words or terms can be so easily misunderstood, both in life and in an improv context. 

When it comes to teaching improv, if we aren’t careful, or clear, certain colloquialisms can be more detrimental than helpful to a learner. 

Todays gripe is with the term ‘pallet cleanser’. 

INT. IMPROV CLASS ROOM - NIGHT

It’s the first time I’m teaching the Harold to a new group. I’d like to discuss the topic of group games, and I want to gauge the prior knowledge that exists in the room. I ask “What’s a group game?” and 1-3 people yell out “a pallet cleanser”. I grimace. 

BLACKOUT.

I don’t think they’re wrong, necessarily... but a group game is so many things before it is, merely, a pallet cleanser. The way the students throw the words out of their mouth also infers their feelings toward Group Games; they are flippant, meaningless, a chance to be silly, arbitrary.

I’m going to generalise here, but it’s a generalisation born of many years of experience where only a handful of delightful exceptions apply. So many improvisers fear group games (and openings). They disguise their fear in some semblance of an opinion about them, most having spent very little time analysing, consuming or experiencing them to have a well-rounded one. That’s how you get all of those improvisers with 1-2 years experience telling you they hate group work, think it’s dumb, think it adds nothing to a show, think they’d be better off devising their own form because they are scholars.  (I have been this guy too, don’t worry)

Why do we fear group work?

Because it is complex. There are so many variables that make it hard to be great, or at least consistent, at it. 

Put me in a two-person scene and I am right at home. Doesn’t matter who the other person is. They could have zero experience and I feel safe, like we can make something. I only have two people to trust, them (easy) and me (a bit harder; the inner critic is the devil). But then put me in a scene or game with 7 other people, very different story. It can feel like chaos. 

So, I get it. The teacher calls it a pallet cleanser to downplay the stakes and because we want it to be fun to do, and fun to watch. I’m downplaying stakes all the time! That’s because, let’s be real... there are no stakes. We are adults playing make believe. None of it truly matters. The fact that I know I’ll survive after the worst scene of my life is what helps me do mostly good scenes all the time, because I don’t fear the bad ones, because there are no stakes. 

But a student... their inner critic is filling their mind with all manner of fake stakes, so their teacher does what they can to put their mind at ease and get them into a playful state. They call the group game a pallet cleanser so that what seems hard can be approached care-free.

TL;DR + THE POINT OF THIS BLOG

Introducing group games as pallet cleansers makes improvisers approach them as such and therefore group games feel pointless and hard to do, and then we get scared of them, so then we say we don’t like them, and then we do them out of obligation instead of joy.

A group game is first;

an opportunity to interrogate the suggestion from a different angle. AND/OR

solidify or question the current theme of the show. AND/OR

show a part of the world that is begging to be shown.  AND/OR

Comedic AND/OR

ALL OF THESE THINGS AT ONCE

Then, at the same time it can also be;

a chance to check in with one another

a chance to be a bit silly / more abstract

dumb as hell

fun

so much more

a pallet cleanser for the audience

We can approach it playfully knowing it should feel fun and pallet cleansy but the thing I’m seeking to quash with verbosity is that the qualities in that second list should be products of the first list. The second list should not be the stimulus for your group games.  

That’s all. As you were. 

N.B; If you and your team think anything in the improv that you do is pointless... you should interrogate it, seek to understand it in its entirety, and if your team still believe it to be pointless, stop doing it. I’d truly prefer your Harold have NO group games than obligatory ones. 

I once again point you to the Reckoning Harold. The title of the video is hyperbole, I don’t agree with it. BUT, when it comes to group work it is aspirational stuff. 

[thinkingaboutimprov]

Your scene doesn’t need to go anywhere.

"I wasn't sure where to take it" "I was worried it wasn't going anywhere" "I didn't know where we were going"

You've been in a class and you've heard someone say this or you have said it yourself.

This is the burden of your story brain.

We are raised on story. So we think that, for a scene to be interesting, it has to have a story. So, in turn, it has to go somewhere. In pursuit of interesting we erroneously think that we have to tell a story, forgetting the fact that by committing to our scene and our characters, and responding truthfully to what's happening, and trusting each other that we are the story and we are exactly where the scene is supposed to be/go/whatever.

Stop trying to tell a story. BE THE STORY Same can be said for characters.

For example: Lets look at the classic 'we broke something and mum is coming home soon' scene (admit it, you've been in this scene). This scene is already an example of a classic panic-move, and that is that it starts with a problem that (we think) needs solving, and, to the inexperienced, a potentially problematic accusation up-top. Neither of these things are actually scene killers, unless we let them be. But, in my experience, this sort of initiation does come from the assumption that our scenes need to tell a story.

Trying to tell a story

Player A: Oh no, Miranda. You smashed mums favourite vase and she's going to be home soon. Player B: Oh shit. She's going to kill us. Okay quick, let's hide it. Player A: (sweeping up glass) Yep... maybe we can get down to the shops and buy her a new one. Player B: Great, I'll steal dads car keys (Now these players don't know how to transition to the stealing keys part of the story so instead...) Player A: Oh shit.. but we don't have our license.

These players are trying to tell you stuff and plan their way out. Their brains want to give this scene a cracking beginning, middle, and end. But they passed up the emotional content of this story. The fact that their mum is going to kill them <-- That's the story. This is not the story of the replaced vase. It's the story of the doomed sisters.

SO, instead you can consider;

Being the Story

Player A: Oh no, Miranda. You broke mums favourite Vase Player B: Shit, I know! Mum is going to kill us. Player A: it was nice knowing you. Player B: Truly... an honour. Player A: I'll treasure the memories of when this family was a happy one. Player B: So many lovely road trips... Movie nights... Player A: ahh our movie nights (pours a drink) let us enjoy one last milk, little sister. Player B: (sips a drink) Mmm this is a good and cold milk. Player A: I would never dare serve you a warm milk at a time like this.

This scene is silly. But it's not trying to go anywhere. It's trusting and investing in where it is.

Your scene is already where it was going. The sooner you trust that and stop trying to make 'interesting' happen, the sooner you will, in fact, be interesting.

[thinkingaboutimprov]

Good Writing, Good Improv

Have you heard “Bad writing, good improv?”

I bloody reject it, my friends. 

It’s become a licence for people to speak like big weirdos. It’s also often put in place because we aren’t trusting that folks can listen. 

We have time to speak like normal humans and listen for context clues as to who we are, or where we are. If an audience can understand that we are siblings at home when I say “Mum’s out tonight” *as I pull a beer from the fridge* then my scene partner can too. 

We don’t need to say “Look, as your brother (yuck), I’m just saying I think we should take advantage of having this house (yuck) to ourselves”

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never told anything to my brother that needed the preface “as your brother” and rarely do I refer to the room I am in when I speak to people. 

Start thinking about how a writer would establish a relationship. We can do this in improv as well. 

GOOD WRITING IS GOOD IMPROV.

BAD WRITING IS BAD IMPROV.

I’m in a better mood than this entry suggests.

[thinkingaboutimprov]

VOICE OF REASON

The voice of reason should be making the scene easier & more fun for the absurd person. 

Not harder and less fun. 

So absolutely, push back at the absurdity... but in a way that lets them BE MORE WEIRD.

Help them discover why they do it. Offer new things in the base reality that might be good for them to latch on to to heighten their game.  

IF, THEN is the responsibility of everyone in the scene.

Don’t just be a NO ROBOT.

[thinkingaboutimprov]

COMMITMENT

You’d be forgiven for not truly knowing what commitment means in improv. I think the seed of the confusion begins in early level 1 classes. You're doing some big emotional reaction exercise, and you started really going for it. Your teacher got excited for you and yelled “YES, COMMIT”. That caused you to really up the ante and you started crying like a clown and they rewarded you for it by cheering you on, over and over, with that word; COMMIT. I believe at this stage, what was being cheered for, was the fact that you were committing to this class, you were committing to this exercise, you were breaking out of your shell and it was excellent. This is all valid. 

Later in upper level classes, you’re working on chunky sized scene work, your teacher asks you to commit and you become one of two people. The first is the person who responds to that note by beginning to perform some sort of cousin of the clown like emotional response that was rewarded in Level 1, that is loud, and weird and absolutely untruthful and makes no sense in the context of the scene. The second, is the person who does nothing and hopes they get away with not applying the note. 

I only just recently became conscious of how vague this note is to receive. 

I’ve been asking improvisers to commit forever. But a few weeks ago, I finally asked “do you know what I mean when I say commit?”. I was met with blank stares. 

I mean any number of these things - and golly, way more.

Exist in the space like it is REAL. Exist like your name is not {{ Sarah }} and you are not {{ improvising }} and you are not in {{ Improv Class }}.  You are {{ Judith }} and you are in a {{ meeting }} in the {{ board room }}.

Care about the other person like they are REAL.

Hold objects and use them like they are real and not just some wishy washy thing you think is required to make a scene but is really just making you look like anxious salmon. If you’re sweeping - HONOUR THE BROOM, BABY!!

For real, object work is not mandatory to make a scene work. But if you’re going to do it, do it for real! It goes a long way to whisking you & your audience away on a magical journey to another world. I’d absolutely prefer ZERO object work, to anxious salmons. 

React truthfully like the junk being said to you is really happening. 

And so much more...

Heres the thing, the more you commit, the easier improv gets. You won’t miss your opportunity to frame and react to unusual things... you won’t find yourself scanning every line of dialogue worried you’re going to miss it, because it’ll smack you across the face, because you are Judith, in a meeting, in a board room and what was just said to you was WILD!

Thanks for your time. 

[thinkingaboutimprov]

I can’t believe this wasn’t my first post.

I share this video roughly once a term with my improv students.

[thinkingaboutimprov]

Make Choices

The only wrong choice is not making one. 

[thinkingaboutimprov]

The Ancient One on Improv

[thinkingaboutimprov]

Who’s Open?

(Another blog I wrote for The Improv Conspiracy back in 2016)

TRUST, and what we can learn from the 1990s Chicago Bulls From a lover of improv and a Chicago Bulls fan serving his confirmation bias

As I was listening to the Jon Favreau episode of Improv Nerd today, he brought up something that engaged me for obvious reasons. Today of all days, on the day my beloved Chicago Bulls were eliminated from the playoffs, he brought up Michael Jordan.

During the late '80s in Chicago, the best basketball player of all time entered the league and suddenly the whole western world started paying attention to the sport. Jordan was electric, entertaining and just so damn talented. As Favreau notes - in the '80s, Jordan’s numbers were huge. He nearly averaged a triple-double in his first five years around 30 points, 8 assists, and 8 rebounds. For basketball nerds, this is pretty great. But the Bulls still weren't winning. It wasn't until the early '90s when they did some recruitment and brought on a coach who changed the culture and put the focus on the team rather than the individual.

With this shift, Jordan's personal numbers went down, but the team’s went up. As you may or may not know, they went on to dominate the '90s winning SIX championships.

There are many individuals from that era whose names we may know: Charles "Round Mound of Rebound" Barkley, Karl "The Mailman" Malone, Gary "The Glove" Payton, Reggie Miller, Patrick Ewing, etc.  These are still considered some of the greatest players of all time but none of them won championships because they were up against a team they couldn't beat.  

There’s a nice little video clip here titled - Who's Open?

It's a snapshot of the Chicago Bulls third title victory. It was Game Six against the Phoenix Suns. It was the lowest scoring 4th quarter in NBA finals history. Only 9 points had been scored in total. All 9 points were scored by Michael Jordan as the Bulls cut the Suns lead down to just 2 with 14.1 seconds left on the clock. If the Suns can stop the Bulls from scoring in those 14.1 seconds, the series goes to a 7th game. But if the Bulls can score, they tie the game with a 2-pointer or win the Championship with a 3-pointer.

On the Bulls roster is a man named John Paxson. Paxson isn't considered a star, but he’s had his share of moments. In 1991 he had a wonderful 4th quarter against the Lakers that lead to their first Title.

This time, as said, only Jordan has scored in this quarter. At the time out, as is noted in the clip, Michael was asked by coach Phil Jackson "Who's open?". Jackson was telling Jordan to serve the moment, not the ego. Serving the ego would be forcing up a shot over defenders to be the hero. Serving the moment would be finding the open man. Jordan could have been forgiven, perhaps, had he decided to take the shot himself. After all, he was the only player on the court who had proven able to score so far in the quarter. However, as you can see in the clip, Jordan finds John Paxson and Paxson wins them another title with a 3-pointer.

You need to sacrifice your ego and trust your team.  

John Paxson has talked a lot over the years about how integral it was for Michael Jordan to trust his team on their way to their first 3 championships. How being trusted with those must-go-down shots gave him the confidence to hit them.

How can we better serve the moment?

Are we willing to sacrifice our egos?

The best improviser in the world doesn't compare to the best team. Improv is all about working together to make something you can not make alone. Something you couldn't have created without the group-mind. Solo improv shows are fun, sure... but do they demonstrate the truly wonderful tenets of improvisation?

I'd certainly watch Michael Jordan run some drills alone on the court. It'd be great, but it would really pale in comparison to watching the Bulls work together to decimate some of the best players to ever play the game. Their play was like a beautiful dance

It's an interesting mental rewiring that we are told to do in our Level 1 improv classes: make your scene partner and team look good. By making your team look good, you look good. It's not about my ideas, it's not about their ideas. It's about our ideas.

How do we achieve trust with our team?

Scholar and public speaker Brené Brown says that originally she believed trust was built through grand gestures, but through research discovered that trust is built in very small moments.

Some highly achievable small moments in improv include:

Stepping out immediately to join someone initiating a scene

Supporting a player who has made a weird or unconventional choice in a group game

Side supporting a struggling scene

Editing with a smile

Treating perceivable “mistakes" as gifts and playing with them

Making eye contact in warm ups

Allowing a fellow performer some time to contribute without rushing to talk or fill the space

When trust is present we achieve our best work.

“Trust is choosing to make something important to you vulnerable to the actions of someone else." - Charles Feltman

We make every idea we express in an improv class or show vulnerable to the actions of our scene partners. No scene is wholly one performer's creation. We need each other, so we have to trust each other. Why are you being so judgmental? You don’t want to lose the Championship to Charles Barkley, do you?

If you step out with me to do a scene without hesitation, I’m jazzed. My energy lifts and I feel you there with me. I know you’re on board with my idea before I've started. We're together in this moment.

Sometimes I'll say something that will startle my scene partner, and they become silent. I could freak out in this moment and ramble to explain myself, which would kill the moment. Or I could trust them and wait, sitting in the moment for a while to give them the space they are asking for. If I allow them that moment, they are likely about to knock my socks off with their next line of dialogue.

I've seen a team made up of reserved, quieter players do amazing shows by trusting and supporting each other in every moment. This makes the team loud, bold, and hilarious while each member contributes equally and are fully trusted by each other.

When trust is lacking the work suffers.

"Distrust [is when] what I have shared with you, that is important to me, is not safe with you." - Charles Feltman

Have you felt distrust in scenes? Those scenes where you could slice the fear with a knife as a scene partner spits dialogue with you in a "you better understand this or I'll be upset" way? What a moment killer. What a judgment inducer. Right?

I have experienced distrust when I've stepped out to initiate and felt the hesitation of my teammates to join me. It's stifling. I wasn't judging my idea... but now that I'm on stage alone you'd better believe I've started judging every word out of my mouth. I can't do my best work in this space. I'm no longer present.

I've watched great performers lose trust in their team and try to do the show themselves. I've felt a lack of trust from teammates speaking over me in fear that I wouldn’t "yes and" them in the way they wanted the story to go.

I've certainly made mistakes myself. I've not trusted scene partners in the past. While trying to overcome my judgement of their ideas, you bet your life they felt the lack of trust. They were made to realise that what they shared with me, which is important to them, was not safe with me. Neither of us were in the moment, and golly the resulting scene sucked. This is my fault. Not theirs... I’m the one that didn’t trust their idea.

I go through lots of little obsessive phases with improv. They are mostly tiny things I focus on for a while like forcing myself to stop opening fake bottles of whiskey on stage. Right now, trust is on my mind. I notice it all the time. The performers who impress me the most are those I can see trusting their team. Not the loudest or “funniest” or boldest, but the ones who are present in every moment giving the show and their team and the moment what it needs.  They are Michael Jordan in the final 10 seconds against the Suns in 1993. They are serving the moment, not their ego.

Next time you’re looking for a joyful improv moment, don’t make it all about you. Instead, ask yourself who’s open to share it?

[thinkingaboutimprov]

Your inner critic is lying to you. You did it.

(This is a blog a wrote back in 2017 for the Improv Conspiracy. I still stand by the bulk of it, except Small Car has become Swing Set, and Alex has become our wonderful friend Caitlyn on tech... Still, Mario Caitlyn and I love talking about the show at a bar after the show)

You just did a show! You did it. You did the thing. You were there, with your team, in that moment making something that didn’t exist before. You really did it!

I'd like you to allow yourself to get off stage happy with just the simple fact that you did a thing.

Was it great? Maybe, maybe not. Some people might think so, some might not. You might not. You might, but someone else in your team might not. You know what—who cares!? It’s ethereal and it’s gone now. "If it’s not easy, you're learning and that’s amazing” (Ward, J. 2017).  A so-called "bad" show, whether it’s just you or the whole damn theatre who thought it was bad, is no reason to be sad! There will be another one. And another... and another. You’ll get better, and better and better.

I've had shows ruined by getting off stage and hearing someone on my team spitting fire at themselves, or worse, me, for the show being bad. Life is too damn short for that! I want to be great, I really do, I work at it every day, I obsess over improv all the time. I really give a shit about this art form. I truly find beauty in the process of improvisation: two humans interlocking and finding the show together in a moment is up there with my favourite things, ever. However, if I perform some real potent garbage, which I feel like I did as recently as last Saturday, I need to learn from it and I laugh at it. I learn nothing from hating myself for it.

Scott Williams, a master Meisner teacher from the UK put it to me like this:

- Your inner critic is the loudest voice in every room. - Your inner critic lies to you. - You believe it. - You can’t work while it’s talking to you. (Williams, S 2016)

Occasionally I request that students politely ask their inner critics to wait outside the building until we are done for the night. They can have a big chat with their critic on the tram home from class if they want, but for now we have work to do. While your inner critic gasbags at you unrelentingly, I guarantee you, there are people in the audience impressed that you just improvised that! They don’t want to come out of the theatre and have their perception that you did well crushed by your self-deprecation when they thank you for the show. You just did that! Be proud of your work.

(SIDE NOTE: Talk to your audience. They just gave you their time. Spend a few moments longer being available to them. Chances are, if you’re feeling blergh, they feel very differently about your show than you do.  Let them say “good show”: this is fun for them, and if you learn to accept that comment and say “thank you", it’s great for you too.)

You just played a character you never expected. You just sang a song that didn’t exist moments ago. You just made someone’s day a little bit brighter with your playfulness. You did it.

From a coaching point of view, your coach can’t highlight to you all the things we can work on if you’re beating yourself up. I personally don’t like kicking the wounded. Plus, you’re already upset… your inner critic is talking too loud and won’t let you listen to your coach, and that coach actually knows way more about the show and your personal performance than your silly inner critic who LIES AND IS WRONG. If you come out of your show looking at all the positives, and recapping with your pals all the fun stuff that happened, then you and your coach will find it much easier to speak constructively and critically about the show. Remember that we are training to laugh in the face of failure. Stop forgetting that!

You just created spontaneous theatre of the moment. It’s no walk in the park. What you did is impressive. Some people saw what you just did and thought "I could NEVER do that". You were winning the moment you stepped on stage. You did it.

Here’s what this post is not about: I’m not suggesting that everything is rosy and every show is good. I certainly don’t think every show is the best that we/I can do. I’ve never ever been in or seen a perfect improv show and I doubt I ever will. Despite that fact, I love the chase. This is about acknowledging that a perceived bad show is not the end of the world, and if we are open to it, it likely holds keys to a greater understanding. Shut your inner critic up so you can find the lesson.

You just spent time with pals making theatre. People laughed. You chased whimsies and did things you never knew you were going to do. Celebrate. You did it.

My team Small Car’s usual lighting/sound tech Alex Chilton has likely seen more of our shows than anyone. He’s seen us at our best and at our absolute worst. We have performed some real dirt on stage, and he was there for it. Whether I loved a show or felt like it was a pile of trash, I can’t wait to laugh about it with Andrew and Mario, and I can’t wait to talk to Alex because I know he won’t lie about his opinions. He’ll either talk about the great bits, or commiserate and share his thoughts about how or why it was as rough as it was. I can’t wait to get a little bit of his insight into what I can learn from a performance. You see, I won’t ever perform at the same quality that would suit my taste. The endless pursuit keeps me hungry for it. If I learned everything there is to know about improv and knew that I'd be guaranteed to kill it every time I stepped on stage, I’d find that boring.

Instead, I celebrate that I just did it. My pals and I did it. We did the thing. I’m so lucky.

I believe that we learn better when we are happy. An improv moment you can learn from is not a moment you need to be frustrated about. You expect a lot from yourself. Good on you, noble warrior. Just don’t do yourself a disservice by being unhappy when you feel you don’t do your best. This is the best moment for you to learn how to do better next time.

This is also not a "happiness is a choice" fluff piece. Choosing happiness in everyday life is easier said than done sometimes, but don’t let this wonderful art form be tied to negative self-talk. This is a place to play, this is where you work on your whimsies, and this is where you get to win!

You’re an artist, and you really did it!

https://youtu.be/grK2IrVKylY

[thinkingaboutimprov]

Get your phone out of your pocket.

If you are at an improv show and you see a performer with their phone and/or wallet and/or keys (the evil trinity) in their pockets, know that I am somewhere vomiting. 

We are making theatre. Pretty please. 

If you want me to explain why, I will. But I don’t think I have to. You get it. 

[improvnonsense]

Maybe When Giving Notes

Maybe when giving notes we should check the following things and note them in this order:

1) are they listening and reacting and understanding each other?

2) if yes, are they committing to their own choices?

3) if yes, are they creating a world that seems truthful rather than just silly?

4) If yes, did they find a game and hit it?

And you don’t address later questions until they’re doing the previous ones. Like that. Instead, I think coaches/teachers note the thing they are interested in regardless of what the actual problem is. That’s not fair or true what I just said. It’s a worry I have.

This topic deserves way more thought than the time I just spent typing this.

[thinkingaboutimprov]

I love Will, and I think about this brief blog all the time. 

[thinkingaboutimprov]

Conflict vs. Argument

It happens all the time, at least once per term that I teach, or in the first session with an indie team. I’m watching an incredibly talented and hilarious performer suddenly start stammering their way through an agreement they aren't enjoying because they denied an impulse to do something else and now they are improvising like they are walking through molasses, and when I ask them any version of “what’s on your mind?” Or “how are you going?” Or “how is this feeling?” Or "what’s up?”, so often their response is a big sigh, or a frustrated quick release of some form of “I don’t know what to say because I don’t want to cause a conflict.” I’ll usually, cruelly, ask the question that by now I know the answer to “what’s wrong with conflict?” And they’ll tell me that [insert teacher] told me to avoid conflict at all costs.

That teacher was not giving the wrong note the day that they said that. Language fucked them, OR you’ve twisted their specific note into a broad one. I was teaching a level 5 Harold class once, and a performer, who consistently delights me, was playing a character robbing the Louvre with her accomplice. Mid-robbery, a disagreement began while standing at the Mona Lisa. This performer froze up and I asked what was up. She said “I wanted to smash the Mona Lisa, but that would be conflict”. Everyone in the room was like “Smash that fucking Mona Lisa”. One of the worst things you can do in improv is judge a move before you make it. You’ve stopped trusting yourself. As the old adage goes, jump and figure it out on the way down. They smashed the Mona Lisa and it was the scene was injected with energy, it was alive again.  She was free again to follow whatever was inspiring her about the scene and not honouring some misunderstood note from some teacher sometime in the past. Here’s something about notes… If your teacher has ever told you to NEVER do something, it’s my opinion that they didn’t really mean never. There is no room for such brash absolutes in such a malleable and constantly evolving art form. Maybe they mean never (in exactly that scenario which you may never come across again). But also, sometimes, your teacher didn’t say NEVER, but you have turned a note about a specific instance into a broad stroke lesson along the lines of “never do that again, you’re a bad person for ever having done it even once”. Again, I see this all the time. I ask a student a question, and their response is some historical note that has stuck with them and is making them act in a way that is everything but truthful in the scene. 

Whether your teacher specifically told you to avoid conflict in all scenarios, or whether that’s how you interpreted what they said, I want to suggest that we are misusing that word. Language, in case you haven’t gathered, is important. I think it’s important to note that conflict in drama is different to an argument. In drama/comedy/whatever you’re making, let’s use conflict as a noun. Not a verb. Your characters are incompatible with each other, or with nature, or with themselves. That does not suggest they are arguing about it. It just suggests they are incompatible. They are in conflict, not in an argument. 

Here are my top 3 tips for avoiding an argument but living in whatever conflict you discovered.  These, along with every other tip I’ve ever given is subject to change as I’m constantly learning from the incredible number of scenes I’m seeing and performing. These are simple examples. As improv goes, there are a million nuanced ways in which this could go better or worse. 

1. Consider your status.

Here is how a silly scene at a Fuggtown training played out. We all loved it! (FYI: Fuggtown is a House Harold Team at the Improv Conspiracy that I have been coaching for 2 years, they have taught me a lot, and hopefully, I have done the same in return) Santa played by Elizabeth (endowed by Zach) Elf played by Zach Santa was a tyrannical leader and the elf was trying to overthrow. Zach made himself physically smaller than Elizabeth to show his status in relation to her. They were in conflict, but at every turn, Santa won because both players agreed. In essence, the exchange was this. 

Elizabeth: “I have the support of all the children in the world. How do you think they’ll respond, knowing the elves are against Santa?”

Zach: “gah, damn you, Claus” 

Elizabeth: “you’re all small. I can crush you all anyway”

Zach: “gah damn you, Claus”

Zach was upset and remained, throughout the scene, in direct opposition to Santa. As a character, he didn’t stop being mad or in conflict with Santa. But as an improviser, he was in agreement with Elizabeth about who would prevail in this scene and it allowed Elizabeth to be a more absurd Santa. Later in the scene, he contributed to the heightening of her tyranny, but this is where he began losing.  Results: A very simple and good time. Which hints at number 

2. Don’t try to win (This is so counter-intuitive to most human beings)

Another scene featuring Elizabeth, this time with Dale. Elizabeth had brought a horse into the house. Who knows why. 

Dale: “Oh I’m so mad”

Elizabeth: “I’m sorry, I should have told you about the horse and that I would move it into the study” 

Dale: “no no it’s my fault I should have just not asked you about it, I’m just mad that I know about it”

Elizabeth: “no I’m sorry I let it track its shit through the house”

Dale: “I should have given you a real place to house a horse.” 

Again, absolutely in conflict - but this time both actors are taking the blame instead of trying to win which is delightful to watch.

3. That accusation is an endowment.

Someone just call you a dickhead? How fun.. be a dick head. Don’t fight back… they just offered you the gift of being one. Own it. Have fun. An example from the indie team So Fresh last time I was coaching them. 

Nikita: “You think you’re so smart” 

Diego: “Thank you, I knew you were going to say that” 

Nikita: “oh you did, did you? Gah you’re so annoying” 

Diego: “Oh I know, I can appreciate where you’re coming from”

Diego took the gift of being “so smart” and played above the argument while continuing to let Nikita be mad at him. In fact, he fuelled her emotion instead of trying to change it.   

As Dave Razowsky would say “The argumentative person has been cast. Role’s taken” 

FYI: When we are still establishing a Base Reality… I think we should still aim to be on the same page, before discovering if/how we are incompatible with each other.

[thinkingaboutimprov]

Playing “believable”

Ever had a teacher tell you they don’t believe you? Or that you need to be more believable?

They are asking you to be more truthful. Believability is on them... it’s up to them to believe something, just as it’s up to them to find something funny, or sad, or whatever. 

You don’t have control over what they believe. But you do have control over your own authenticity and the truth of the scene. 

This goes for your dialogue, your emotions, your character work, etc etc. 

Teachers... stop telling student’s you don’t believe them. I can’t act on that note... tell them you felt they weren’t being truthful. 

[thinkingaboutimprov]

I want what you want to give me.

I’ve done a lot of shows, and one of my favourite feelings still is when my teammate tells me why I’m doing what I’m doing. Just the other night, at the very top of a show, no one had said a word, and I was cutting a pickle... I began crying... I don’t know why... Millie Holten told me to get over my divorce, and all of a sudden I knew exactly who I was. The rest of the show fell in to place from that moment. Just think for a second about how much less helpful “why are you crying?” would have been, and that’s the kind of thing I see all the time.

I see a lot of students, hedge through their scenes fearful of contributing the wrong thing. Their self-assessment is usually some version of ‘I didn’t want to mess up what was happening’. Not knowing that they killed what was happening by hesitating. 

I’ve told students this anecdote so many times it feels like it’s my own story, so it’s good to get it down here so that when I’m old someone can show me that I’m lying when I say it was me. 

Back in my first year of improv, myself and a few of my friends looked up to this particular improviser who, in hindsight, knew about as much as we did at the time, but had this calm confidence about him and we all wanted to impress him, who knows why. He was on an unnecessary pedestal.  Really, no one need be on an improv pedestal, it makes you play bad (that’s another blog). After a particularly rough show, my friend Lucy said to this guy “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what you wanted” his response was simple, and a huge learning moment for Lucy “neither did I”

Look after each other baby.