<aside> 💡 Hello. This article is part three of a series I’m doing defining the kind of improv I love (and by comparison the things I’m not so keen on).
You can check out part one here and part two here.
Allons-y!
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I love improv that moves. I have very little interest in standing next to my scene partner on stage, looking for all the world like a human tribute act to the number 11, and speaking at each other. This kind of improv happens when we’re too in our heads, too focussed on saying words and being clever and funny and interesting.
We forget that the vast majority of human communication is non-verbal. Improv should define the environment around the characters. Players should be aware that their bodies, their proximity, their gestures, their facial expressions are all communicating meaning constantly. Please have the interesting conversation - but don’t do it 50cm apart from each other, cheated 3/4 out towards the audience, arms by your sides. You look like window dressing.
Improv should aspire to interesting stage pictures. Try to bring the impossible on stage - chase sequences, alien invasions, complex maths equations, telekinesis. And more than that, even in domestic scenes, remember that when we speak to each other we’re alive with tiny movements that let out partner know lots of interesting extra information about us, about our characters. One of my team mates called our body language a director’s commentary of the scene. I love that.
Improv is about making your scene partner look good. Not about singling yourself out for admiration. Play like you’re a massive flashing neon sign pointing at everyone else on stage. Marvel at their brilliance, set them up for success at every turn, react to their offers with emotion and heighten the impact of what you see them trying to achieve.
A good improv audition is a bunch of lovely performers trying to get everyone else picked for the show. It’s a confusing but wonderful sight to behold.
In fact, I’ve seen many groups of superstar improvisers entirely fail to cohere into anything resembling a team precisely for this reason. They are all incredible performers but the ego gets in there and everyone is suddenly out for themselves. Don’t be like them - set your sights on elevating your scene partner’s moves and trust that they are doing the very same thing for you.
Interesting one, this. I think restrictions make for better shows. It may seem from my previous dichotomies that I’m in favour of freedom and a lack of rules at all levels. And broadly speaking I am, but I also believe this - what we actively choose to leave out of a show shapes it just as surely as what we ultimately include.
The key is to make the decision with agency. Actually, decide together what the restrictions are rather than letting them be decided during the show at random.
I was first taught this by my excellent Improv Life Partner Katy Schutte when she directed me in a show called Silly String Theory. She directed us to only improvise scenes that could happen in real life. Initially, that meant that vast swathes of possible scenes were no longer available to us. But as the rehearsal process went on, we realised that this restriction gave the show a unique flavour. That the choices we were making were more cohesive and interesting when we had to keep the scenes grounded. From that time on, I was a convert - I think it’s always worth having a conversation about which improv tools we’re keeping near at hand, and which ones we’re leaving on the workbench for this particular show.
I don’t really have much to say about this last one. I was being a little glib, I think. I just want scenes to have a ring of truth to them - they are always fiction, but they should feel true.
The best improv scenes are discovered, not created.
<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.
I’ll be continuing with the concluding part of these improv dichotomies next week.
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