The improv blog with attitude.
Recently I saw an inspiring TED Talk (is there any other kind?) that really spoke to the improviser in me.
Listen to what Kim Young-ha has to say, especially when he talks about silencing “the devils” that seek to suppress our art. It’s the same thing Jill Bernard refers to, when she tells us to “improvise faster than you can think.”
Click here or below to watch.
Christian Capozzoli is an actor/improviser/instructor, member of the fiercely funny 4Track, and author of Aerodynamics of Yes: The Improviser’s Manual. We asked him a bunch of stuff, and he was nice enough to answer.
P&C: Why did you decide to write Aerodynamics of Yes? Is there a specific audience you wanted to reach?
CC: I’ve been touring and teaching for about five years now, and often I’ll come into town and have three hours to squeeze in an entire methodology. It’s a pretty big undertaking.
I know that my workshop is all about moving and reacting, but that leaves very little time for the students to take notes. It’s hard to read a billboard on a bullet train, and I’m asking them to play Where’s Waldo? So I wrote the book primarily to supplement my teaching – go back and unpack each lesson with time and care.
I suppose I did it because I also like to write. By no means do I think I’m saying anything new. I’m saying the same old stuff, just I’m saying it my way.
As a Master of Ed and Lit, I try to take into account all types of learners. Some need to move on their feet, others need to hear it explained, or tether it to a metaphor; some just need to see it written down pickled in prose.
P&C: Your book covers a wide range of topics, from improv fundamentals to scene work to formats. How long do you think it takes to truly master these things?
CC: You don’t. It’s forever. The more you do, the more you realize how much more there is. Or how choices can be made in minutiae: from sentences, to words, to syllables, and the gaps between when we speak, the heat and weight of what we say, every second, gesture, eyebrow lift can be filled with choice, colouring our scene.
And just when we learn to react in the now, moment-to-moment or second-to-second, then there will always be nano-seconds.
Improvising with Peter Grosz, I was amazed at how fast he was. How quick and textured. Speed is relative of course, but I don’t know that we ever master it. I think we just get comfortable with that speed, more familiar with these synapses, and we get more comfortable being present and making choices. So comfortable or Zen that it looks like mastery to others.
The less hippy dippy answer: 10 years of time, discipline, performance, rehearsal, and failure would be a good foundation to feeling competent.
P&C: Who were/are your mentors or heroes in the improv scene?
CC: Susan Messing – she uses all of her brain to be funny.
Heroes, in this order: Paul Scheer, Rob Huebel, Brian Huskey, Zack Woods, Jason Mantzoukas, TJ and Dave, John Lutz, Peter Grosz, Dan Backedahl, and Scott Adsit.
P&C: What’s the one thing you see being taught today – or not being taught – that irks you most?
CC: Anytime improv comedy forgets it is on stage, it irks me. Live theatre should be theatrical.
P&C: You say “Improvisers would rather be right than foolish.” How can improvisers get over that need to control?
CC: They have to be willing to fail. Unfortunately, we hold stage time and scenes so precious that we put too much pressure on ourselves.
Repetition is key. Let yourself be wrong. Scenes are a sine wave; they don’t have to start a specific way, they need only begin and invest in information and it will work.
P&C: You cover 4Track form in the book. How did it come about, how did you develop it?
CC: I was in a master class with Kevin Dorff. We hit on the idea of making scenes grow, [of] protecting energy.
I was also really into The Eventé, so I suggested we do a high energy-matching scene, followed by a character extraction to a series of tag-outs. It worked and evolved from there.
P&C: Many teams come and go, but a handful stay around long enough to become almost legendary. What makes a great team?
CC: Confidence, connectivity, trust, exposure to new things, agreeing to play a piece the same way!
Aerodynamics of Yes is available for download on your iPad or iBooks. Click here for iTunes or here for the Kindle edition.
Oh, man. Few things are sweeter than seeing regular, everyday people transformed by the power of improv.
As comedian Albert Howell points out, this video beautifully illustrates the importance of principles such as Be positive, Say “Yes,” and Make your partner look good.
We dare you not to smile:
http://gawker.com/lame-leno-skit-turns-unexpectedly-amazing-thanks-to-inc-499730705
“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.” – Henry David Thoreau
Photo © Corbin Smith
Cameron got let go (“restructured” in advertising parlance) a couple of weeks ago. And while we never could have predicted it when 2013 began, it’s quite possibly the greatest gift he’s ever been given.
When we met 15 years ago, Cameron was a bright young intern and I was a disillusioned senior writer.
“Don’t waste your time in this stupid fucking industry,” I said, even as I helped him put his portfolio together.
Not long after, I was fired (sorry, “restructured”), and Cameron was still unemployed. But I was totally smitten by this incredibly smart, incredibly funny person who, it turned out, was also incredibly anxious.
Slowly, I learned that Cameron had a deep-seated fear of crowds, strangers, going out in public, and pretty much anything that involved the unfamiliar.
For seven years he sank deeper into anxiety and depression. And yet through it all, his sense of humour shone like the sun through a summer storm.
Whether he was imitating a cheesy boy band video*, or re-enacting some bizarre thing that happened at work, I’d be doubled over with laughter.
“You should be a comedian!” I blurted. But almost immediately, I dismissed it. It was too far fetched, given Cameron’s fragile physical and emotional state.
Finally in desperation we saw a psychiatrist, who suggested Cameron learn improv.
I balked. Cameron couldn’t walk to the subway without having a panic attack. How the hell was he supposed to get up in front of strangers and be funny? But Cameron surprised me by finding the courage to enrol at Second City, and I went with him.
One day in Level A, we were learning “Make A Story” when the teacher pointed to Cameron. He looked down, shook his head, then threw up his hands in defeat and mumbled “Squirrel?”
Everyone laughed, and the teacher said, “See? The comedy gods gave Cam the word ‘squirrel.’ And it’s perfect!”
That was eight years ago.
The support and encouragement we received from instructors, the friends we’ve made, and the things we’ve learned have changed our lives completely.
I was going through some old files last night, and found a performance review from Cameron’s old workplace. It was during the dark days, just weeks after he signed up for Second City.
His boss commented on Cameron’s shyness and poor presentation skills, then made some notes for improvement, ending with the words, “Improvise. Take chances.”
Sometimes the universe is telling us something, but we don’t listen because we’re afraid.
One more thing:
A week before he was let go, Cameron put together a workshop. The theme?
Courage.
We may not know what the future holds, but we’re letting go of needing to control it. And trusting that it’s in the benevolent hands of the comedy gods.
*(“Tonight” by Soul Decision)
This video is like crack for me. No matter how many times I see it, I’m in awe of just how much Jon Hamm can wring out of a single syllable.
A great reminder that it’s emotion, not words, that matter.
Click here or below to watch.
Laura Bailey is a hilarious improviser, stand-up, sketch comedian and song bird who’s hawked her comedy wares from Toronto to Chicago to New York City and Chapel Hill, North Carolina. She hosts and produces femme phenom, Chicka Boom, with Jess Beaulieu. Catch Laura’s solo improvised musical, Unplanned Melody on Saturday, April 13, 10 pm at The Black Swan.
Photo © Jeff Higgins
At some point in your “career” as an improviser, you will probably be called upon to participate in a “jam,” also widely known as a “complete and utter clusterfuck.”
Both novice and expert improvisers are routinely thrown off by The Jam. I cannot think of one improv class I have taken where, after learning a technique, some frustrated classmate has not lamented to our instructor, “But how could I possibly do this in a JAM!??” Sadly, I have never heard a great answer.
As with all improv, there is no magic formula for success in The Jam. Certainly familiarity with your fellow jammers helps a lot, but in its absence hopefully these tips will help you to at least enjoy yourself a little/not be an asshole.
1. Relax. Don’t take anything personally. As Todd Stashwick would say, “Improv is all toilet paper.” Should your precious offers be ignored, in reality there is nothing you could possibly do that will even verge on being important enough to be angry about. No one is trying to ruin the scene; believe that everyone who is improvising is doing their best the whole time.
2. Lower your expectations. A Jam doesn’t always have to suck, but OH BOY are there a lot of things working against it. Linda decided to play through her shingles and can’t actually move. Claudio has elected to be a coffee table in every scene for some profound reason that no one gets. Susan won the lottery spot to play with the Second City Main Stage cast, and she is FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.
My point is, the Jam is going to be as good as it’s going to be because not everyone is on the same page, and that is largely beyond your control. Don’t beat yourself up about it.
3. No touchy-touchy. For the young, white, sexually-repressed improv majority, a hand on the shoulder is just fine, thank you very much. If you don’t know your fellow Jammers that well, do not attempt kissing, hitting, lifting, licking, pushing, pulling, or any other such physical behaviour on your scene partner’s body.
Don’t yell in his face or spit on him. And for all you handsy motherfuckers, this is not “da club,” it’s an improv scene.
People improvising are vulnerable because they are trying to go along with what’s happening. Be respectful and don’t touch a stranger on stage in a way you wouldn’t touch them offstage consensually.
4. Be Positive. When it comes to The Jam, I recommend taking “Yes, And” literally. Getting into an argument with someone you don’t know is almost certain death for your scene. Not only are you trying to improvise with someone, you are also actually making a real first impression on another human being.
When speaking to an acquaintance, you wouldn’t open with, “Hey fuckface, where’s my dinner?” Despite this being a classic improv initiation, making this sort of offer right off the bat to a stranger has a similar effect to saying the real thing. Especially rude is throwing in “subtle” improv notes like “You’re not listening to me.”
An easy way to avoid making your fellow Jammer hate you is to simply back up whatever she says 100%. Just tell her why her ideas are the best thing that ever happened to Cat Island, meow. Why not? The people you play with will love it, and so will the audience.
5. Fill in the Gaps. As the Jam gets rolling, you should notice what’s happening and what’s not. Goofballs are doing ridiculous characters with bad accents. Newbs are not initiating. Every scene has eight people coming out off the top. If nothing else, just do what is needed.
Cartoon characters need a voice of reason. Point at a Newb on the back wall and just start talking to them. Or hang back, pick one person in the scene you want to riff on, and tag out the other seven people soon. And for God’s sake, EDIT. This isn’t to say you can’t go big and get your ideas out there. As Susan Messing says, “If you’re not having fun, you’re the asshole.” Just allow your ideas be motivated by what the set needs. You’ll end up challenging yourself in new ways by playing roles you don’t normally play.
6. Have ideas and set up clear games. There’s a point of contention in improv as to whether or not one should initiate a scene with a premise in mind, or develop a game organically with your scene partner.
Whatever your preference, in The Jam nobody knows what anyone thinks and all bets are off. No one has the faintest idea what to expect from anyone else. So, when you let your fellow Jammers know what to do, it’s as if you threw a life jacket to a drowning school bus.
You will never see agreement happen faster and with more gusto than when someone initiates a “Boardroom Idiots” scene in a jam. They know they’re being directed, and they are all just glad to have been thrown a frickin’ bone.
Was there a monologue or opening to the set? Draw any scene ideas you can and initiate them shamelessly. In a jam, it’s hugely supportive to have people who act like they know what the fuck they’re doing and actually including other people at the same time!
7. Don’t be a hero. Don’t go into the Jam thinking you need to do your best work. Most likely you will be outnumbered there. There will be some jams that where you need to do a lot (see: Newb Jam), there will be some where you need to do very little (see: Goofball Jam).
It’s easy to think of your time in these scenarios as “carrying the whole show” or “not getting a word in edgewise.” Think of it more as, different jams will need different things, and you can choose to do those things or not. Personally, I find it way easier to do what is obviously needed than to think of something else.
Somewhere in our pasts, either on stage or in the audience, we have all been horribly, irreparably scarred by The Jam. It is a rite of passage no improviser will turn down – especially if it means you can play with your heroes – yet it is also thought of disdainfully as the place where good improv goes to die.
Competing styles seem irreconcilable. Robot Ninja Pirates bleep-bloop through your pretend fairy rose garden that tells the future like it’s nothing. And yet, some Jams still manage to have moments of brilliance.
As clichéd as it sounds, all you can do is try your best and have fun. Wait a minute, what if you did that all the time…?
Photo © Dan Epstein
“Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It’s self-conscious, and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can’t try to do things. You simply must do things.” – Ray Bradbury
Rodin’s The Thinker is a powerful piece of art. But notice the posture: it’s downward, internal, closed off.
That’s great for contemplating quantum physics or dissecting Pearl Jam lyrics, but terrible for improv.
If you find yourself staring at the floor, or thinking about a scene, you’re in your head. So how do you snap out of it?
Start by breathing to get you back in touch with your body.
Jet Eveleth teaches an exercise that uses breath to reconnect you with your body and your character. Try it the next time you’re stuck on stage.
Inhale deeply and as you exhale, make a sound to accompany the breath. It could be “Aaaaaaaaaaah” or “Hhhhhuuuuuuuh” or “Whooooooooo” or whatever comes out spontaneously.
Use that breath and that sound to organically create your character’s response. For instance:
“Hhhhhhhhhhhow did you know it was my birthday?” (delight)
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa thousand tulips? You ordered a thousand tulips for our wedding?!” (shock/surprise/fear)
“Ffffffffffffffffffffuck, I burned the risotto!” (anger)
By feeling your response, you’ll avoid overthinking.
Photo © David Shankbone
“I pretended to be somebody I wanted to be until finally I became that person. Or he became me.” – Cary Grant
This TED Talk is empowering, not just for improvisers, but for every…uh…body.
You’ve probably noticed when you take on a physicality that’s different than your normal one, your character takes on a life of its own.
I’ve propped one leg on a chair, resting my elbow on my thigh, and suddenly become Dick Cheney, a pirate, or a motivational speaker. What’s more, my character’s words flowed effortlessly.
It turns out there’s a scientific link between physicality and personality, as Amy Cuddy explains. You can even use it to boost your confidence in as little as two minutes (good to know if you’re nervous before a performance).
Click here or below to watch this fascinating talk. Thanks to Mike Riverso for sharing.
It’s not called a “comedy of perfects.”
Perfection is boring.
Stop trying to get it right.
Start making more mistakes.
