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Julian Frid is an aficionado of the art of improv and the founding member of Sex T Rex. He’s performed on stages across North America, and is a student at U of T, focusing on the structure and cognitive effects of storytelling, specifically in film. He is proud to say he consistently pays improv teachers good $$.

Teaching improv at U of T, I’ve encountered many people who want not so much to be improvisers (in the sense of going onstage to improvise regularly), but to use the tools of improv to hack social sitches.

Does this work? Debatable. I don’t see the “after,” just the “before,” but improv games tend to loosen people up and teach all those Batmans out there to consider the question “Why so serious?”

The greatest thing I think these classes teach is respect for creative (weird) people. Teaching the course, I can see the status shift from being closed off and knowing what is “good” and what is “not.” At the end of eight weeks, these people wade into scenes and give their fellow performers wide-eyed attention. It brings out the child in them, though I’d never tell them that outright.

These students are less concerned with comedy than with possibilities of game, of exploration, and getting to do what they’ve always wanted to do. I had a student who loved the idea of opening up a closet and having a live bear inside. This was a frequent but hilarious occurrence.

For students like this, improv is a novelty. As an improviser, and after watching a fair amount of improv over five years, I wonder how much of a novelty it remains for some, when all we see is people and chairs.

Depressing? Hopefully not. After examining and practising an art like improv, one, even though they may not be able to articulate it, gains a nuanced and elemental understanding of the art. How to move the people and the chairs to make the most entertaining arrangement or dynamic possible.

Good film is best when it remains good even when muted. This is because elementally, film is images moving on screen.

Improv is elementally people with chairs. Our whole life is people with architecture, furniture, navigating and using these spaces. Improv requires exploration.

Photo © Joe Pack

Mick Napier says, “Do something.”

I say “Buy this book.”

Do it.

It’ll be the best $15 you’ve ever spent.

(Those Star Wars figurines? That new Kanye album? The KFC Double Down for you and your date? They can’t do what this book can do for you. Seriously.)

So why should you spend an improviser’s fortune?

Because.

Because it’s the best goddamn book on the subject – and it’s funny.

Because Napier, founder of The Annoyance Theatre, knows what he’s talking about.

Because if you want to have fun, feel freer onstage, and stop second-guessing yourself, Improvise. Scene from the Inside Out is for you.

I love the ideas in this book so much I’m thinking of getting them tattooed on my arms. Or maybe Brailled. Sure, I’d have to learn Braille, but I could run our fingers over my forearms onstage, and people would think it was part of my character’s deal.

Napier would hate that of course. Not the “having a deal” thing; he’s all about that. The tattoo/Braille Cliff Notes thing. Mick Napier abhors rules.

“‘Don’t you have to know The Rules first before you can break them?’ 

I’ve been asked that question a few hundred times. It’s usually a student who has already spent $2,658 on improv classes. (People like to justify their expenses.) I wish I could provide comfort, but unfortunately the answer is ‘No.’

I do not believe one must learn The Rules in order to break them.”

Wow.

When I first read that passage, I’d been learning improv for about two years. My mind was swimming with advice and admonitions. If I started to do something in a scene, I’d remember a reason not to. In short, I was so fucking far in my head it’s a wonder I could see the stage. If he could help people like that, then maybe, just maybe there was hope for me.

Improvise. Scene from the Inside Out offers a different way to play, one that starts with trusting yourself. It covers a wide range of topics and situations, including:

  • two-person scenes
  • group scenes
  • entering scenes
  • techniques to achieve richer, more layered scenes

It even has exercises you can do on your own. (Or in front of ol’ Vader and Jar-Jar, if you want.)

Reading the book for the third time, I still laughed out loud. As Homer says, “It’s funny ’cause it’s true.”

Everyone I know who’s trained with Mick came back a more playful, empowered performer. If you can take a class or intensive at Annoyance, I highly encourage it.

In the meantime, do something. Do yourself a favour: Buy this book.

Photo © People and Chairs

 

Improv4Humans is the brainchild of UCB’s Matt Besser. Every week he takes a suggestion from twitter (@MattBesser) and creates a show with kickass guests for your non-viewing pleasure. I especially enjoyed Horatio Sanz, Dominic Dierkes and Sean Clements as Lindsay Lohan and two businessmen. Say no more.

From the poetic non sequitur of “Wistfulness & Kevin” to the downright mystifying “Dudicle,” Besser and Co. leave no suggestion unturned. Check out the always-amusing results on iTunes here.

Image © Improv4Humans

Rob Norman is an actor, improviser, director, and a writer for Sexy Nerd Girl. He’s also a Second City alumnus and four-time Canadian Comedy Award nominee. You can catch Rob performing at Comedy Bar with the testosterone-infused improv juggernaut Mantown.

I don’t know you (or maybe I do; it’s hard to see your face past this dense, ethereal veil known as “the internet”) but I’m going to guess what your problem is: You don’t have any money.

That’s obvious. You’re reading a blog about improvisational comedy. Only a working comedian trying to unlock the secrets of their craft would think that’s a good use of their time. Or you’re a very, very bored poor person. Either way, you should probably be on Craigslist finding a real job. Shame on you.

Onstage, your improv-related problems are idiosyncratically linked to whatever psychic inadequacies you possess. Each show is a battle fought with internal reminders: Stop trying to control everything. Build on other people’s ideas. Be more vulnerable. Stop trying to be entertaining. Create scenes that make sense.

Despite knowing what you should do, it seems you can’t help but repeat old habits. So for the next fifty kilobytes, let’s abandon the idea of doing “good improv.” Instead let’s focus on improvising more efficiently. After all, you have limited resources (stage time, energy, the audience’s goodwill).

Great improvisers seem to float through scenes without ever wasting a single line of dialogue, while struggling newbies flail about aimlessly, creating superfluous information that only serves to confuse everyone onstage. So how do you focus on the essentials in a scene?

Player A: Oh no, Jim! My best friend of fifteen years. Look, this nuclear bomb is about to explode.

Player B: Quick. Let’s try to fix it!

Player A: Yes and…we did it.

Player B: Hooray!

Great “Yes anding.” Unfortunately, I couldn’t care less. Why do we put so much focus on imaginary things? I don’t care about the nuclear bomb. And your special effects are unimpressive (the drunken audience’s imagination plus your mime skills do not a good scene make).

I also don’t care about the story. If the bomb blows up, it’ll irradiate an imaginary mall and kill two made-up characters (that no one cares about) with a fictitious backstory that probably wasn’t compelling to begin with.

But there is something real happening onstage: the dynamic between you and your scene partner.

Behaviour is what draws us into your scene. It’s the only thing we see onstage and recognize as true.

You’ll be a better improviser when you stop seeing what could be (or should be – all those helpful improv rules you’ve learned) happening onstage, and start reacting to what’s happening right now, in front of you.

Player A: Here’s my test, Dad. I think I failed.

Player B: That’s terrible. You’re grounded until your marks improve!

Does this sound like a decent improv scene to you? Do it onstage, and watch what happens. At worst, it bombs. At best, it bombs with some funny moments. But why is that? Both players are adding information in a simple fashion. They’re developing the scene together.

The problem is, the star of this scene isn’t Player A or Player B. It’s about some imaginary kid (don’t care) and his grades in school (I also don’t care). For the most part, real kids in real schools living real lives don’t care about their grades. Why would you want to make that the focus of your scene?

An improviser’s only job is to create a dynamic between the characters onstage. It’s how you’re affected by your scene partner that pulls us in. Each time your partner adds information, ask yourself, “Do I love or hate what was just said?”

Player A: Here’s my test, Dad. I think I failed.

Player B: Go fuck yourself!

Whoops! You’re not choosing whether you love or hate your scene partner in their entirety. This is equally boring. It creates a dynamic that exists entirely in the past. You’ve already made a firm decision about your scene partner and there’s no room to build (or heighten the pattern). Instead, think “Do I love or hate what my partner just said?”

Player A: Here’s my test, Dad. I think I failed.

Player B: Oh that’s the worst! Now you’re not going to amount to anything!

Player A: It’s only a test…

Player B: I can’t believe you think that. You’re a failure and naïve!

Great! So each time Player A speaks, Player B is affected personally by it. And Player B has chosen to hate it. But the reverse also works.

Player A: Here’s my test, Dad. I think I failed.

Player B: You are so brave for telling me!

Player A: Dad…

Player B: It takes one hell of a man to look his father in the eyes and admit he failed. I’m going to buy you a car.

Player A: I’m fourteen.

Player B: But with the integrity of a man in his eighties!

Also great! Do you see how both of these examples are happening right now? It’s not about the failed test, it’s about how a kid tells his Dad he failed the test. Do you see how both players are forced to immediately respond? Everything else: characters, environment, action, story – are just by-products of being in the moment. And the context of your scene is an imaginary (and often accidental) construct generated by actively playing the dynamic.

And that’s something you can easily create. Try it. Let your scene partner speak, then decide to love or hate that idea. Once you’ve mastered that, expand “love” to any positive emotion (contentment, admiration, lust, comfort) and apply that to your partner. See what happens when you use the same technique with negative emotions.

In the end, there are two kinds of improvisers: Players who invent information. And players who discover information.

You can make a scene happen, or let your scene happen to you. If you focus on creating less, you won’t have to improvise in the future or the past. You can spend more time with your scene partner. Onstage. In the moment. Inside of the scene. And less time reading improv blogs on the internet. Seriously, you really need to find that job…

Photo © Kevin Thom

Peter Sellers often improvised on set, and director Stanley Kubrick encouraged him. Many takes of Dr Strangelove were ruined by actors corpsing at Sellers’ antics.

With three roles in the film – as Group Captain Lionel Mandrake, American President Merkin Muffley, and Nazi physicist Dr Strangelove – his performance is nothing short of awe-inspiring. But my favourite moment of ad libbing is from the movie Lolita, where Sellers plays the pompous playright, Clare Quilty.

With the tiniest gesture – boredly checking his watch while his dance partner twirls – Sellers reveals his entire character. It’s a powerful reminder of how much information physicality alone can convey.


Just like it sounds.

This is a fun, physical warm-up to help you stretch your muscles and get silly with your fellow players. Reeeeaaaalllllly slow down your moves, for safety, and to exaggerate those punches, elbows, and classic roundhouse kicks to the head.

Last one standing is Chuck Norris.

Photo © Kevin Thom

A lot of famous voices on this tribute to the father of longform improv, Del Close. Thank you to Susan Messing for bringing this to our attention on what would’ve been his 78th birthday.

Josh Bowman is a professional fundraiser, storyteller, comedian, improviser, and blogger. He also writes for tenthingsivelearned.com, The Huffington Post, The Good Men Project, and improvises around Toronto, including regular shows with Opening Night Theatre and Surprise Romance Elixir, and when he tricks other better improvisers into performing with him.

Note: Any scene can be terrific if it’s played enthusiastically and intelligently, but generally when I see players initiate any of the scenes below, it doesn’t end well. PS: I’ve done most of these myself. Blergh to me.

  1. A married couple arguing because the husband came home late from work. He was likely having beers with “the guys”
  2. People just arguing in general for no apparent reason
  3. Somebody teaching somebody else how to be cool
  4. Any combination of two or more of the following: robots, pirates, vampires, Jesus, explosions, time travel, a funeral
  5. Somebody on the toilet sitting beside somebody else on the toilet, talking about toilets
  6. People waiting for the bus
  7. “This is the best (blank) ever!!”
  8. Somebody calling somebody else fat/ugly, and helping them be prettier
  9. Too much talking
  10. Scenes where people keep saying “I don’t understand!” “I don’t know what’s going on here!”

As an advertising writer, I struggled for years to “find the funny.” Every brief brought on a cold sweat and the fear of failure, of never having another good idea. It wasn’t until I learned to relax that writing became easier. The more I stopped worrying and focusing on the problem, the faster ideas came.

“I can never get used to the fact that most of the time it looks like you’re doing nothing.” – Roger Sterling to Don Draper

I’ve found the same to be true in improv. If I hold on tight to a preconceived idea, there’s no space for the unexpected. When my ego tries to steer the scene (and fails), I end up where I started: in my head.

When you let go, something amazing happens. You say and do things you could never have planned. Things that surprise your teammates, the audience, and you.

One of my favourite commercials of all time is this Holiday Inn spot (below) featuring actor/improvisers Jerry Lambert, Roy Jenkins and Nat Faxon. A director who worked with Jenkins told me the line “I hope so” was improvised. When I heard that, I tried to imagine the spot without it. Impossible.

The writer knew to let the actors play.

Clients will always try to fill 30 seconds with sales talk. It’s my job to leave enough space in the script for some magic on the shoot day.

That goes for improv too. Just because you have a 20-minute set doesn’t mean you have to fill every second with jibber jabber. Let the scenes breathe, and invite the comedy gods to speak. Even if sometimes that means not speaking at all.

Photo © Brian McConkey