The improv blog with attitude.
Photo © People and Chairs
We can improvise anything we want on stage. Anything at all.
So why, as TJ points out, do we so often reach for the same old clichés?
“Experience what’s happening now, and make your surroundings real. You don’t have to invent an environment: it already exists.” – TJ Jagodowski
When you stop playing safe and really focus on what you and your scene partner have established, you’ll open up infinite new possibilities.
Cheers to that.
“It’s not a toomah!”
“La-dee-da, la-dee-da.”
“Coffee’s for closers.”
“Is it safe?”
“May the Force be with you.”
“Big gulps, huh?”
When you read those words, I know you heard the actor’s voice in your mind. Not just the timbre, but the emotion.
A few simple words can sum up a scene, a character, a play, or sometimes, a whole TV series. And as Schwarzenegger proved, you don’t even have to speak a language fluently to make a lasting impact.
Photo © Klapi
While we don’t recommend you rely on catchphrases as a crutch, they can often be useful in defining your character.
The next time you blurt out something on stage, take note of what you said and how you said it.
A word, a phrase, or even a sound (like Annie Hall’s “La-dee-da”) are so much more powerful when accompanied by emotion.
You can explore and heighten whatever you said, or simply repeat it.
For two extreme examples of character and catchphrases, check out Tommy Wiseau’s disaster epic, The Room, and Community‘s Magnitude character.
Improv Side Note: Jack Nicholson’s “Heeeeeeeere’s Johnny!” from The Shining and Robert de Niro’s “You talkin’ to me?” from Taxi Driver were improvised. Now try to imagine their characters without them. Impossible!
My boss saw two brothers, aged 4 and 8, being interviewed on Breakfast Television. The host asked what they wanted to be when they grow up.
The older brother answered “A dentist.”
The younger one blurted:
“I wanna be a dragon!”
As we get older, logic starts to rein in our imagination. Improv is a chance to let it run free again.
The next time something crazy, unexpected, or illogical happens on stage and your left brain wants to justify or “correct” it, ask yourself: Would you rather be a dentist, or a dragon?
(Also the best time to listen, feel, add information, keep the scene about, support what’s happening on stage, audition, jam, take a class, stop taking classes, put together your improv dream team, ask someone you admire to mentor or coach you, create a show, or pursue anything that’s been gathering dust in your soul.)
Director/artist/enfant terrible Tony Kaye once enraged a roomful of ad people who’d come to hear him speak at the Clio Awards. He walked to the podium, leaned in to the microphone, and said…
“Trust.”
Then he walked off, to booing and hissing.
Now Tony’s a weirdo, no doubt about it, but he did have a point.
On Saturday, my team and I did a set based on the show Roseanne.
We all loved having such clear-cut characters from the outset. I played Roseanne, and it made me realise the importance of having a point of view or “deal.” It freed me up to respond in the moment the whole show.
At one point, I was in a scene that got swept. Everyone moved off stage right except me; I walked stage left and stopped, because I’d forgotten this particular stage had no “off stage” on that side. All it had was a wall, a chair, and more stage.
Instead of panicking (a fave go-to of mine historically), I sat in the chair with my back to the wall. Even though I was clearly visible to the audience, I decided just to stay quiet and observe the players who’d taken centre stage.
DJ (played by my teammate Chris Besler) and Darlene (Maria Hajigeorgiou) discussed their sister Becky’s departure in the previous scene. Then I watched as “DJ” mimed opening his bedroom window, and exited the scene.
Now Maria was alone onstage. A beat went by and I heard myself say, “Looks like it’s just you and me, Darlene.”
She spun around and looked at me. “Mom! Have you been here the whole time?!”
I wouldn’t have made that move a year ago, and it felt amazing to have the courage to stay put, shut up, and when the time called for it, take focus. Most of all, it felt great to be supported by my team.
Trust yourself. Trust your teammates. Trust in the unknown.
Trust.
P.S. After the show Maria told me that in one episode, Roseanne actually hid in Darlene’s closet. How cool is that?
Corgi In The Forest as Jackie, Darlene, Becky, Dan, Roseanne and DJ – Photo © Caroline MacGillivray
We’ve written before about commitment to character, and how great acting really ramps up the comedy in a scene.
Nowhere is that more obvious than in the Hitler “Downfall” meme.
The juxtaposition of topical, satirical dialogue with the original film’s superb performances and direction creates guaranteed hilarity every time another version is created.
And while not every improv scene can reach these heights, honing your acting skills is something you can always work on at rehearsals and shows.
In the meantime, enjoy this latest iteration at Rob Ford’s (or should we say, the City of Toronto’s?) expense.
Photo © Janna Giocoppo
Life is absurd.
If you doubt this, just spend five minutes on YouTube, CNN, or public transit.
Weird shit happens everywhere, every day. So why do we try so hard to make improv scenes go the way we expect them to?
The answer is usually fear.
Fear that we won’t know where the scene is going. Fear that our partner won’t understand our offer, or we won’t understand theirs. Fear of the unknown.
But isn’t that why we do improv in the first place? To do something we’ve never done before, and will never do again.
When we visit new places, try new cuisine, go to an art gallery or watch a movie, we want to be surprised. And improv is one of the few art forms where the actors get to be as surprised as the audience.
The conscious mind loves to control things, and our ego wants us to believe we need to control things in order for them to turn out OK.
For a long time I feared not getting certain, specific references on stage. (Let’s just say I stood on the sidelines nervously observing Mortal Kombat scenes.)
But how much funnier is it when someone doesn’t know the reference?
Suppose I endowed someone as Iron Chef, Geoffrey Zakarian.
You think the audience wants to see a perfect impression of the Chopped judge? If they did, they should’ve stayed home and watched the Food Network.
Maybe you’ve never heard of him, and the first thing that pops into your head is, “Zakarian…sounds Hungarian.”
Awesome. And if your idea of a Hungarian accent sounds more like the Swedish Chef, well…Bork!
Think about the best scenes you’ve ever done for a moment. The ones where everything felt effortless, and you never wanted it to end.
However those scenes started, I’ll bet none of them turned out the way you expected.
When you let go of your improv steering wheel, you connect with something deeper than your conscious mind can fathom. It’s the same state of flow that artists, musicians, authors, sculptors, dancers, and even scientists tap into when they bring something awe-inspiring into being.
The more you can open yourself up to that state, the more you will be amazed.
For inspiration, check out: 42 People You Won’t Believe Actually Exist.
Photo © People and Chairs
“Edit with your intuition. Listen to your body.” – Jet Eveleth
It’s Harold night.
You’re standing on the side, watching a scene that’s been getting huge laughs. It’s so hilarious, you’re not even thinking what beat this is, or which character you should bring back, when suddenly…
everything goes to hell in a badly-mimed handbag.
The performers, on fire just moments ago, are now strangely quiet. The audience is even quieter. And the only sound is your own heart thumping as you wonder, “How the fuck do I edit this?”
Or you’re watching a scene that started out shaky and went downhill from there – but still you’re rooted to the spot.
Or maybe you’re actually in a scene that’s well past its best-by date. You find yourself calling for a newly-invented character, miming a noose, or just screaming for help with your eyes for someone to PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST, EDIT. THIS SCENE.
If any of these sound familiar, here are some techniques that can help. I guarantee your fellow performers will thank you.
Photo © Mike Riverso
Some people say you should edit on a laugh. That’s not a bad thought, but it isn’t a must. Especially if the scene you’re watching has clocked seven laugh-free minutes already.
The best time to edit is almost always before you think “Someone should edit this.”
Replace that thought with “I should edit this.” Better yet, just stop thinking and edit. Starting with the…
Sweep Edit
The granddaddy of improv edits, the sweep often gets a bum rap for being boring, safe, or amateur. Say what you will, but when shit hits improvised fan, a sweep edit will get you out of the way of flying feces every time.
There’s really only two things to remember:
1. Stay in front of the players you’re sweeping, and
2. Jog, don’t walk.
Otherwise you might be mistaken for a walk-on character. And the only thing worse than a scene that’s tanking is a scene that’s tanking with one extra person, aka a clusterfuck.
Sweep 2.0
Some people put their own spin on a sweep.
Improv duo Scratch uses a 360-degree spin to let the audience (and each other) know when they’re new characters, or in a new location.
And we’ve seen a few people put a skip in their first step as they sweep to a new scene. It’s a nice little touch that communicates the performer’s enjoyment along with the audience.
Now that you’ve got that down, the wonderful Jet Eveleth teaches a bunch of great techniques, including…
Vocal Edit
This is one of my faves, because it’s so versatile. All it requires is stepping out and taking focus, either with words or a sound.
Let’s say the scene on stage takes place at a vet. You could edit by making animal sounds. (This could also work as a swarm edit – see below.)
Just make sure to stay downstage, and be loud enough so that you take focus, to make it clear you’re editing.
Maybe the vet scene referenced a song. In that case you could edit by singing the song as you move across the stage.
Now anyone can bring the same song back as an edit, or a song from the same artist, genre or era.
Narrative Edit
You can edit with a brief narration, spoken as you walk confidently from one side of the stage to the other:
“Meanwhile, in a basement in Idaho…”
“A hundred years later…”
“And as the sun set on the horizon, meth lab owner Bryan Hobbs was just waking up…”
The narrative edit is similar to a sweep, but leaves the rest of the team with the gift of a location, character, or other new information.
French Edit
Also called an organic edit, it simply means making a clear, strong initiation as you enter to begin a new scene:
“…and that’s how meringue was invented.”
“This place is filthy!”
“Has anyone seen my bandana?”
Or whatever.
Enter the scene with energy, and you’ll lift the rest of the show with it.
Monologue
You can always edit by stepping out and starting a monologue, until you’re tagged out or edited.
Unless you’re doing a monologue-based set though, this probably isn’t your best option. I’ve seen Harolds where one person did a random monologue, and it stuck out like a sore thumb.
Monologues work best when they’re brought back, either by one person or several.
Swarm Edit
This makes an awesome stage picture, because it involves multiple players. The idea is to move in and edit as a group.
Anything can be a catalyst.
Paloma Nunez initiated a great swarm edit with Little American Bastards. One of the characters on stage started crying. Paloma entered from stage right, saying “Drip…drip…drip…” while making falling teardrop motions with her hands.
The rest of the team followed a beat later, saying “Drip…drip…drip…” and making the same motion. It looked great, and started a whole new scene seamlessly.
You can swarm silently, or with words or sounds. Use your physicality to heighten the effect.
Internal Edit
This is a subtler form of edit, where you change the scene you’re currently in.
Let’s say you’re in a scene where your character’s on a blind date.
You could break the fourth wall, turn to the audience and say, “That’s when I knew I could never really love Brad.”
You could then move downstage and start monologuing, or narrate, or scene paint a whole new scenario.
Or, you could take on the voice and physicality of a totally different character, then begin a new scene as that person.
Line Repetition
This comes courtesy of Dave Sawyer from ImprovBoston. (See our post on the Snatch Edit)
If a scene is dragging, you can take any line of dialogue that’s just been uttered and repeat it as you walk on stage. Use your volume to take focus and let the performers know you’re starting a new scene:
Player 1: I got some vanilla ice cream. You want some?
Player 2: I’m lactose intolerant.
Player 3: (walking downstage, louder) I’m lactose intolerant…but I love Scientology!
You can also repeat a sound from one scene, and heighten – or morph it into something new – to start another.
Sometimes It’s Good To Be An Asshole
One of my teachers said, “When the audience is laughing, you want to be the asshole who edited the scene too soon.”
Trust your gut to know when it’s time to edit. And before you second-guess yourself, just remember Ben Stiller’s Starsky character and “Do it.”
A very talented director told me recently how he lost a job to another very talented director.
“I imagined the creative team throwing my treatment in the air, then high-fiving each other in slow mo. This is the music that’d be playing.”
He held up his iPhone and the trippy, hypnotic sound of Love On A Real Train filled the air.
My art director and I laughed out loud, and I started imagining all kinds of other silent, slow-mo scenarios to go with that music.
When you slow things down – I mean really slow – you don’t have to try to be funny.
Just last week I saw an amazing slow motion, silent scene at Comedy Bar.
Standards and Practices were doing the short-form game “One-Minute Movie,” and the audience suggestion was Inception.
When the lights came up, Cameron was spinning alone in the centre of the stage, Isaac just kept saying “Bonnnnnnnnnnng…Bonnnnnnnnnnng…Bonnnnnnnnnng…” into the mic, and the brilliant Mark Andrada added a slow-mo strobing effect on lights.
At the one minute-mark, Cameron swayed ever so slightly, like DiCaprio’s spinning totem, and Mark cut to black.
It was a jewel of a scene in a night of hilarious stuff.
It got me thinking how fun it would be to create a soundtrack just for slow-mo scene work in rehearsals.
The repetitive, acid rock opening of The Who’s Won’t Get Fooled Again. Scott Walker’s weird and wonderful Montague Terrace in Blue. David Bowie’s Cat People. Radiohead’s Subterranean Homesick Alien. Jay-Z’s 99 Problems.
What would be on your slow-mo playlist?
People and Chairs 