I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of head & heart improvisers. It’s a gross simplification but it’s nice way to start thinking about different ways of being on stage.
And when I say that I mean being on stage, rather than being on stage - which is a subtle difference I find myself unable to convey through grammar.
To recap, the idea in brief - improv performance is a spectrum but at the extreme ends of the scale are head improvisers and heart improvisers. Let’s look at each of those in turn.
Also known as robots, technicians, writers, architects, brainiacs, overseers, blueprinters, megaminds, masterplanners, scripters, editors, big picture thinkers (I may have made some of these up)
Head improvisers are concerned with the show as a whole. They think about structure and theme. They craft lines of dialogue to convey meaning and advance plot. They often play close to themselves in terms of character and rarely show a huge range of emotions. They are witty. They adore word play and clever references to art and science. They reincorporate elements from the beginning of the show. They remember names and locations that have been established previously and repeat them often. They seek cohesion in their art.
Also known as pirates, artists, performers, clowns, free spirits, clouds, unicorns, jackanapes, pucks, playmates, fireworkers, jennys-in-the-wood, the fae (I’ve DEFINITELY made some of these up)
Heart improvisers are here to have fun. They run on stage without much of a thought for what has come before or what might come after. They seek connection with their scene partner above all else. They try to understand, compliment/ contrast and elevate them. Heart improvisers play big characters who feel big emotions. They glory in new voices and new physicality. They might not remember what they just named your character though. They are like quicksilver on stage - fluid, shiny and always on the move. You can’t take your eyes off them. They are the actors and the anarchists. You don’t know what they’ll do next.
The theory goes that you start your improv life towards one end of the spectrum and your journey to becoming a fully rounded player means seeking the unfamiliar territory of the other extreme. So technicians find warmth and spontaneity, and clowns find structure and theme.
It’s all bollocks of course.
Like any system which seeks to put humans in neat boxes or string them along graduated webs of metrics and matrices - it’s all gossamer thin stuff that flies apart the moment you breathe on it too hard.
But like Myers-Briggs, the Enneagram, or that BuzzFeed quiz about which Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle you are - it tells us unequivocally that people are different. They think differently, they experience the world through vastly different lenses and that means they will make art differently.
And crucially, it gives us a vocabulary to begin to discuss those differences.
No-one improvises with just their head or their heart. We’re all swimming in the waters in between - using skills from both archetypes all the time. In a scene, we might intuitively feel an overwhelming sense of love towards our scene partner whilst also noting that a love story might be useful to the plot.
I’ve become interested in the idea that I often use more technical aspects of the craft when I’m off stage watching my fellow players and then when I step into a scene, I try to let the writer part of me go and just play with a full heart.
Head on the backline, heart on stage (wish that rhymed).
That means trusting that the thinking I’ve done offstage will passively influence my choices as the character onstage. It’s something I’ve been experimenting with recently and I really like the freedom it gives me. And a bonus is that it requires me to pay absolute attention when I’m not in a scene.
Because it’s also useful to think about ways that head and heart improvisers are similar. And for me that comes down to being a good listener. Head improvisers listen so they can build cohesive worlds and bring back relevant elements later in the show. Heart improvisers listen to their scene partner’s ever-changing point of view with dedication so they can respond with authenticity.