Let’s not get caught trying to be funny.

Chris Gethard

However, the impulse to be “funny” in a scene is also very tempting. As any improviser can attest, a minute on stage without a laugh can feel like an eternity. I’ve been in class shows where we have “funnied” it up for an audience’s enjoyment at the detriment to our scenes. Unfortunately a lot of this “if you’re not getting laughs, you’re failing” comes from my own insecurities as a performer. We are performing improv comedy right? Comedy is about laughs? Laughs are about jokes? Without laughs you’re just two people in a big black box standing in front of an audience right?

Cue mug out to the audience.

Yes, we are trying to perform comedy, but I’m starting to change my opinion on what comedy is, or more to the point, how the comedic element in improv operates in scenes. Is it enough to throw funny lines into a performance? Develop a funny character? Put the scene on mars in a log cabin with robots? Or do we want to build up the scene, through truthfulness, into something which fundamentally emotes humor, pain, and pathos?

Yeah, that’s right I wrote “pathos.” What of it?

And so, in my daily troll through the IRC I found a thread that addressed just this issue entitled Realistic Improv. While the post goes off on a few tangents, the most distracting being the supposed difference between NYC improv schools, it does have some wonderful words of wisdom, the most profound of these by Anthony King, UCB NY’s Creative Director.

In my opinion, good improv should not be about winking to the audience or just focusing on laughs - not ever. However, it’s also not necessarily about being “real.” It’s about being “truthful.”

Now, the types of characters/relationships/situations/scenes the improviser is choosing to be truthful about, and the truths an improviser chooses to explore, as well as how that truth is explored, ultimately comes down to style and sense of humor. The best improvisers I know can play fast and slow, they can play “realistically” (as you define it) and broader (as I presume you define the opposite). Some improvisers are also better actors than others (Christina Gausas, for example, is an excellent actress and she is able to use those tools in her improvisation). Some shows also lend themselves to slower, more “realistic” play (Gravid Water, is definitely one of these shows because a huge majority of the scene is already defined by the actor’s scripted lines - which are, more often than not, incredibly “realistic.”)

But UCBT’s focus on the game of the scene has absolutely nothing to do with these choices in style of play (game is about what we play, not how we play). And good, interesting games are not math problems - they are patterns of behavior that arise out of this truthfulness.

I know I often encourage my students to start their scenes in more recognizable, “realistic” situations (say, a mother and son talking in the kitchen on a college break) rather than more strange, clever situations (say, an alien and a Q-tip playing Plinko) because it’s easier for us to play the truth of a situation we find easily relatable than a situation we have to strive to comprehend, and therefore easier to build patterns of behavior. But there’s equal truth to the Q-Tip’s desire to win Plinko as there is to the mother’s desire to connect with her son, and both of those truths will be decided based on the sense of humor of the improviser, and hopefully the improviser will play them both as “truthful” as possible.

I won’t make the claim that you never see bad improv from performers who should know better. Sometimes the temptation to get that laugh is very high and I have seen a lot of hilarious bad improv. But that old Del quote is right, “Just because they’re laughing doesn’t mean we’re succeeding.” And I think you’ll find that the majority of good improvisers may not always play “realistically”, but they are striving to play “truthfully.”

He then continues.

I think it’s important to remember two things:

1. Everyone you see performing at UCBT (and other stages in NYC) are still learning. You can learn equally from success and failure (both while performing and watching). Hopefully our performers succeed more than they fail, but if they are failing because they are taking risks and working to learn new things - that’s pretty awesome.At its core, the UCBT teaches truthfulness and game. That doesn’t mean both of those things are always present on stage (they are, afterall, the ideal), but it’s what our performers are striving for. The main requirement for staying on a Harold Team at UCBT is a obvious, active desire to continue to learn.I remember being in Level 3 and having ridiculously long IM conversations with people centered on, “has an improv scene ever made you cry?” Some improvisers are really interested in that kind of improv. Some are not. But there is nothing about UCBT’s philosophy that excludes it - which I know is true because there is no way you’re ever going to cry if what you’re watching is not truthful and rooted in behavior (i.e. game).
2. This shit is an artform, yo. That means we’re all going to have different, sometimes clashing, opinions about how to approach it. As you improve and learn more, you’ll have all kinds of opinions about this approach. That’s awesome and necessary. Try them all. Get as much varied experience as possible. Find what works for you. Then get really good at that approach. Discuss it with everyone who will listen. Get in arguments about it. Then try someone else’s approach and work to get really good at that too. The last thing you want to do, though, is cut yourself off from other people’s ideas too quickly.

*Highlights added by me.

Punctuating this mass of performances were the UCB 4 themselves, who got on stage frequently to talk to the audience and answer questions. That for me, was one of my biggest highlights of the marathon. I must have heard Ian Roberts talking over 3 hours about life, love, and improvisation and the majority was truly brilliant. When the 4 got on stage together they really did seem to transform the space. While they really were performing bits the entire time, the energy was contagious.

From all this watching, I began to compile in my notebook a list of lessons I was taking away from each performance I saw. It was interesting to be actively thinking about what I was watching rather than just deciding if I liked what was happening on stage or not. It reminded me of a quote Rob Riggle dropped earlier that week:

You were a reader before you were a writer.

J.D. Salinger

Meaning that you have to experience as a viewer what you love, to find out what it is you enjoy, before you can do it. Which strangely was echoed by Matt Walsh later that week:

Own everything you are learning.

He was speaking about not only just taking loads of classes without question, but to develop your own philosophies. Improv is not a static medium, it is up to each improviser to take the lessons they are learning and to make them their own.

Below are the notes and lessons I wrote in my marathon haze. These are just things I thought about and are no way some sort of guide for improvisers. I urge you all to read them, agree or disagree, and come up with your own ideas about what you believe.

2007 Del Close Marathon Notes

Do what interests you, not what you think people want

Matt Walsh responding to Kate Spencer’s question about staring your own community or theater.

You are an improviser. If you can’t parody and be well read, you have no business being in this room.

Ian Roberts quoting Del Close

2007 Del Close Marathon 20 Performance Lessons

1. Make this the day something happens - If this were a TV show, why would we be tuning in today? This shouldn’t be another humdrum day in another humdrum life.
2. Start in the middle - drop the exposition, get to the meat as quickly as possible.
3. Don’t draw attention to yourself on the back line - Looking confused, judging, scared, or even too laughy can betray the work being performed on stage. You must, at least, look like you know what is going on on stage at all times.
4. Enter the stage calmly - Jumping around and rolling on the floor can give the audience the wrong impression that you are begging for laughs. Enter, greet the audience, and stand in backline.
5. You got space, use it - It’s a big black box, remember to step away from the wall. There’s a line 1/3 the way from the back called the “line of hesitation” - cross it
6. Knock, Knock. Who’s there? 2 doors and a curtain - Why invent a door, when you have 2 doors on stage? Get used to thinking about using them, even in classes where there are no physical doors.
7. Remember stage picture - Sure you can put a car (4 chairs) straight down the center of the stage, but what about going horizontally? It’s 100 times more interesting for an audience, especially when they have seen 42 car scenes before you that go centered.
8. Game is the most important part of an improv scene - forget big characters, wacky situations, or jokes. Be honest, find the game, and play it.
9. No Jokes - When you tell a quick joke you cheapen everything you’ve built thus far and everything you will be creating from then on.
10. Explore, stop inventing - what’s the difference with exploration and invention? Exploration is when you are on game, invention is when you are off it. If you are adding information to heighten the game that’s perfect. If you are adding information because you don’t have enough material, listen harder up top. The game of the scene was probably in your first 3 lines.
11. Ground your scenes - Going to crazy town right off the bat removes the stakes of a scene, which in turn gives us nothing to contrast our comedy against. “Blue doesn’t show up well on blue.” Start grounded and trust in the game.
12. Belong on that stage - Own the fucking stage whenever you step onto it. -Mick Napier
13. Support to play the game, not to showboat - You enter a scene from the back line to heighten the game, or to support the scene taking place - not to steal the focus.
14. Silence is golden - Don’t be afraid of scenes with little or no talking. (ie - Delta Force 2’s silent Jet Ski scene) Silence is a natural stake raiser.
15. Who are you? Where are you? And Why am I watching you? - yup, yup, and yup.
16. Earn the Right to go “Meta” - Sure it’s fun to jump out of a scene, especially in front of people who appreciate it, to commentate on improvisation, but if you constantly break scene to draw attention to the mechanics of the scene, you cheapen everything and it becomes a parlor trick.
17. All suggestions are transformative - Even “potato”. Respect your audience and the time they took to give you something to transform into art.
18. Stay away from gimmicks, especially one’s that can hurt people - This is going to sound pretty rude, but I think it needs saying as it was the one performance during the marathon that really bothered me. We are celebrating one of the most important people in improvisation, who believed improv could be more than just fodder for other performing art forms. I’m pretty sure he’d be rolling in his grave if he knew you were amateurishly riding a unicycle inches away from injuring audience members and yourselves. Don’t get rid of the name, just loose the unicycles and grow unibrows.
19. Wait for the initiation - Coming into a scene with too much energy or information can sabotage your scene partner’s initiation. If you are entering onto a stage with a performer who has made an initiating move, keep your body neutral until you have heard their line, or you sense that they require some additional information from you. Coming into a scene with too many specifics can often step on the toes of your partner and throw a scene off completely. You have to allow your partner’s brick to be placed, before you know where to add your own.
20. Have fun - There’s nothing to worry about. Everyone in the audience wants you to succeed, take your time and enjoy the ride.

That’s it. Hope you enjoyed my little notebook of thoughts. Thanks again for all of the staff that made this year’s DCM so seamless. See you all next year.

Recently I had the oddest sensation about my improv - it just wasn’t working. Not working in the broader sense, that scenes were consistently turning problematic. I would go into scenes and for one reason or another they would fizzle out into a not so funny mess. My forward motion stalled and my scene partner and I would stare blankly at each other looking for another direction in the scene we might have missed. What had happened to my improv skills? Where did they go? And more importantly, could I get them back?

Truth be told, I have heard this from a lot of fellow students and I believe that everyone who improvises will feel this from time to time. The ol’ improv slump. What causes it? I do not know, perhaps it’s focusing on the other parts of improv like raising stakes, developing characters, or strengthening game. Perhaps it’s just the process of growing as an improviser. The good news is, that fixing it wasn’t really that difficult.

Going Back to the Basics

With all these “advanced” improv classes I’ve been taking, it seems inconceivable that the most important lessons I learned were in that first improv class I took back when I had more hair. Basic agreement or “yes and” is the cornerstone to all improv and while I had been agreeing in principal, I was also adding conflict into scenes in the same breath. I would often start my scenes in the beginnings of an argument.

“I can’t believe you lost the dog.”
“You know I hate pot roast Susan.”
“Wow, I can’t wait for this movie to be over.”

While none of these statements are in in of themselves “bad improvising” they do start you off on negative ground instead of positive. They also put your partner in a defensive position by default.

“Yes and” is not just a statement, it is a philosophy. To “yes and” is to “open doors instead of closing them” as Christina Gausas recently reminded me. It is the process of agreeing to the situation and to move it forward. The “Yes” is to agree to the situation; the “And” is taking one more step forward, through the door, in a scene.

How You And, Is What Defines You As An Improviser.

It is the simplest, most concise statement on the process of improvisation I have ever heard. Unfortunately it was not me who said it, but rather Christina Gausas. It was in fact in Christina’s Group Game and Openings Special class, at UCB NY, that broke my slump. Yessing a situation, is the most important skill in improv, but it’s the “And” that really defines you. It’s the “And” that makes the scene and puts your mark on it.

What broke my slump was being reminded about the joy of not thinking too much and just entering a scene, blissfully agreeing to all the realities put in front of me and anding them. Really anding them with juicy, meaty, specific detail. It’s a pretty simple lesson that perhaps I should of remembered, but just in case you’ve forgotten, “Yes” it and then “And” it.

Finally my Improv 201 class, at UCB, is starting to come together. I’ve been having a rough time in class from the first day. I started Improv 201 directly after 101. In fact, I started 201 one day after finishing 101. This lack of time to reflect, sort of threw off my improv game. I jumped into 201 unprepared that the change in teaching styles and curriculum would effect my abilities, but it did.

I’ve always prided myself on having very little inner thought about my improv. I really try not to edit, think, or pre-plan my scene-work. Just jump out and hope for the best. My motto in improv has always been “dare to suck,” meaning that you have to be prepared to fail in order to be able to succeed. This motto had worked until I hit 201, where the sucking really wasn’t the problem, but rather the daring.

In Improv 201 there is emphasis on “finding the game” or “the game of the scene” and as much as I appreciate this notion, I believe this notion is flawed. “Finding” in my head means searching. Searching means thinking and thinking is definitely, analytical, left brain territory. Improvising I have always equated with the intuitive and creative right brain. Thinking about the game, automatically snaps me into my left brain, and in effect, turns off the improv side of my brain. My scenes have suffered as a result.

Then last class, I had a epiphany. “Finding the game” can have multiple definitions. While finding can mean “to discover (someone or something) after a deliberate search” it can also mean “to discover or perceive by chance or unexpectedly.” This was the definition I was looking for. “Finding the game” is too simplistic a description of what should be “notice, by chance, a game.” Granted, “Finding the game” does have a much better ring, but it’s important to understand that the purpose in not to look for the game, but rather to notice it when it passes by. This change in thought completely changed my scene-work.

It’s also important to note here, the change in semantics from “the” to “a”. “Finding the game” means there is one game to be found, and often frightened me into thinking, “Is this the game? Or is it the right game? Or is it just a game, but not the right one.” Contrarily, “finding a game” means, while there may be a lot of games out there to find, your job is just to find any one of them. It changes the performer’s relation to the game and allows them to move forward in their scene-work rather than spending time judging the game they have just found.

I got up on stage in class and started improvising, letting a scene unfold. Right off the bat my scene partner negated the reality of a very detailed scene I had built about the Mediterranean, and instead of letting it throw me, I noticed a game. I built more and more elaborate locations for her to nock down, and she did. After the scene ended, the teacher even noted that the negation of my scene-work could have been disastrous, but “Luckily, he knew what he was doing.” While it was a small compliment, it filled me with a true sense of accomplishment, that I had taken a step forward in my improv education and finally got what “finding the game” is about.

Status, in improv, is how your characters hold themselves. These mannerisms are some of the most basic tools used in improvisation as they define characters and situations very quickly without much effort. The effects of status are also very subliminal, and can have profound effects on an improv audience.

I would encourage you all, when you are next in a public place, to enjoy the act of people watching and study real people’s mannerisms.

Link: Status as defined by the Improv Encyclopedia