I was talking to the brilliant improviser, Bianca Casusol this week and she mentioned an improv theory with which I immediately fell in love.

In essence, it’s this:

Every school of improv has it’s own style of play, but it’s only during a bad show that we can see these differences in training. Good improv transcends any attempt to delineate it further.

I really took to this idea. Obviously, we’re not talking about the structure of a show. A narrative piece is always going to be distinct from an associative montage or a Harold. What we’re dealing with here is style of play. The way any given improviser navigates the vagaries of a show, scene by scene.

Some schools will champion premise-driven play - where you come into the scene with a strong idea already in your head, others will prefer organic openings - stepping forward with nothing and finding what’s important in the moment. Then there’s countless differences concerning character creation, editing, the reaction you are trying to illicit from the audience, finding the game, playing the game, agreeing what the game is in the first place …

It makes sense that these points of differentiation are strongest in the people who are still discovering the art form. When you’re still getting your head around something, it helps to have a strong set of guidelines to follow. But as you get more experienced, as you learn from more teachers and receive more scenic tools, you realise there are a thousand ways to approach any given moment in a scene.

And, of course, when a show is going badly, we all fall back on the training that is most ingrained within us. But when it’s going well, when it feels like flying, improv can be distilled into a few central tenets shared by all improv institutions - listening, connection, relationship. All the other differences fall away - they are a matter of vocabulary, of trying to find the best way to communicate the same essential truths. That’s why truly veteran improvisers are able to play together in any combination - whatever route they took to get to where they are, they’ve all come to the same conclusions.

I like to think of it like a vaulted ceiling, the individual columns rising up around me, distinct and strong in their individual identities - but arching to meet above me in a single point of agreement that keeps the whole edifice of improvisation aloft.

<aside> 💡 Hey, my name’s Chris Mead. I write an article about improv almost every week. You can get the latest in your inbox by subscribing to my newsletter. Or check out the archive.

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