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Posts tagged improv comedy

Photo © Janna Giocoppo

Photo © Janna Giocoppo

“Everything I’ve ever gotten has come to me when I stopped trying to get things, and focused on finding and performing in my own voice. So, make sure the bulk of your time is spent on projects that are truly unique to you and keep you up at night with excitement, not projects that showcase your castability.

I’d also say don’t get married to one path. I see a lot of people who let the fact that Second City or SNL has not hired them cause them to become bitter and/or quit comedy. I think it’s healthier to set goals like, ‘I want to be working with friends and producing interesting comedy for a living sometime soon,’ than ‘I need to get Second City Mainstage by 2012 and SNL by 2015 or I’ve failed.’

Lastly, don’t spend any energy worrying about what other comedians have been hired for, whether they deserve it, whether their last joke was good or not… Just worry about your own stuff and do your best to enjoy all the hilarious people out there without judgement. All easier said than done.”

Source: Live From New York It’s Saturday Night Live blogspot

We all have emotional reactions to things.

Certain things just make us smile, or give us chills, or make us fly off the handle. It can be something as big as who won the election, or as small as our internet connection being slow.

Unfortunately, we often leave all that behind when we walk on stage. There’s tendency for improvisers to just stand around talking. But when you feel on stage, the audience will respond emotionally, too.

Oscar Moment is a great game for reminding us that anything can provoke an emotional reaction.

To begin, two people start a scene, with or without a suggestion.

The scene proceeds normally, then the Coach/Director (or an audience member) yells “Oscar Moment!”

That’s the cue for the last person who spoke to snap into high gear and heighten, emotionally. Think Jack Nicholson in A Few Good Men, The Last Detail, The Shining, or, well, just about anything.

Player A: I watered the plants.

Player B: Oh right, I forgot.

Audience Member: Oscar Moment!

Player B: I’m always forgetting. Stupid, stupid, stupid! It’s like someone took a vacuum to my head while I was sleeping, and sucked my brain right out of my earhole. I’m a big, fat, fucking, forgetful loser! I’ll always be a loser!

Or whatever.

The more banal the line that leads to the Oscar Moment, the funnier the results. Once the player has reached their emotional limit, the scene continues until the other person gets called on to emote.

You can choose which emotion you want to heighten in the moment. Mr Forgot-To-Water-The-Plants could have gotten angry, frightened, even lusty, for example.

Variation:

You could also play the game à la William Shatner – however you want to interpret that.

(Thanks to storyteller Sage Tyrtle for the link.)

Photo © Kevin Thom

Photo © Kevin Thom

Photo © People and Chairs

Photo © People and Chairs

I got this pillow because it reminds me of pretty much all of my favourite improvisers.

Regardless of their improv training or background, when they get onstage they’re not thinking about rules. They just play.

Cameron was coaching Jason Donovan a few years ago, and he told me proudly how Jason killed it in a competitive jam.

Players had to perform a scene, then do the same scene again, and again. Each time, one person would be eliminated by the audience.

Jason won by doing the same scene but coming in as a different character each time. While everyone else was trying to remember exactly what they did the time before, Jason went in as a robot. Or talked in gibberish. Or whatever.

He didn’t think, “The rules say we have to do the same scene, the same way, every time.” He just had fun. And the audience loved it.

Reminds me of this great quote from Greg Hess, courtesy of Jimmy Carrane:

“Cook County Social Club was just five buddies trying hard to make each other crack up.”

Sir John Hegarty is one of Britain’s leading creative minds. (How many ad men can you name who were knighted?)

In a recent interview, he talked about how creative teams inspire each other – but he could just as easily have been talking about Harold teams:

“Bill Bernbach, back in 1959 or ’60, whenever he did it, he put an art director and a writer together. He put two different kinds of brains together. That was so fundamentally important. It wasn’t just that they were two people; it was he put two different types of people together. And those people rub up against each other.

As I say to the teams here, ‘Look, don’t switch on the computer in the morning. Switch on that person sitting next to you. Because you will have a unique conversation. Nobody in the world is gonna have the conversation that you’re going to now have. And out of that conversation will come things.’

So inspiration will come from what you’ve done, what you’ve seen, what you’ve looked at, what you did over the weekend, what you saw last night. When you were walking home you saw this, that was funny, you did that, you saw that, you heard that person say this… All of those things become part of your vocabulary as a creative person.

And if you’re not doing that, if you’re not going to art galleries, you’re not reading books, you’re not reading magazines, you’re not going to the movies, you’re not picking up on all this stuff that’s out there…you’re depleting your creative assets. You’ve got to keep feeding them all the time.”

Talking with your teammates is a way to bond, and a quick pre-show chat will often add colour and specificity to your set when the things you talked about find their way into a scene.

So if a rousing game of Big Booty isn’t your idea of a fun warm-up, try turning off your iPhone and connecting with your teammates instead.

What do you do to stay creatively juiced?

Photo © Kevin Thom

Photo © Kevin Thom

Photo © Adrianne Gagnon

Photo © Adrianne Gagnon

If you’re a regular improviser, my guess is that there are two elements of the improv universe that keep you coming back over and over.

The first is that it’s fun. Being up onstage helping to create something out of nothing that delights an audience is a pretty spectacular feeling. Not only that, but you are surrounded by kind, hilarious and unique fellow improvisers, whom you quickly build friendships with, spending many nights laughing over drinks while recounting the insane moments of that night’s performance. “I can’t believe we kept bringing back Dr. Fart Sandwich!” you’ll say to me, and I’ll agree: I can’t believe it, either.

The second aspect of improv that has you trudging through bad weather to do a 20 minute set for 5 audience members is this: you want to get better. Beyond the joy of getting laughs and living in the moment, you have a desire to improve your craft and become the sort of performer you look up to. Let’s talk about how to do that. I apologize in advance for doing most of the talking.

In his book Talent Is Overrated: What Really Separates World-Class Performers from Everybody Else, Fortune magazine editor Geoff Colvin theorizes that those who truly excel in any area of life engage in something called purposeful practice. Purposeful practice is just what it sounds like: it’s practice with a specific goal in mind. Using Tiger Woods as an example, Colvin argues that Woods does not just mindlessly hit golf balls for hours on end, hoping he will improve through sheer repetition. He works relentlessly on minute aspects of putting, chipping and driving the ball – often getting worse before he gets better – in order to achieve the ultimate aim of becoming a more well-rounded professional.  He’s also doing it to get laid.

And so it goes with improv. If you want to become a better improviser, you need to be able to honestly assess where you’re at, identify what you need to work on, then use your stage time effectively in building up a specific skill. Yes, taking classes can help, but if you are not actively training yourself to understand why some improv choices are stronger than others, you are mostly wasting your time and money. No matter how great your instructor, she can only give you exercises to do and feedback to consider: it’s up to you to internalize what she’s saying.

But here’s the good news: the opportunity to grow as a performer is all around you. If you are fortunate enough to live in or near a city with a large comedy community, you are truly blessed with the possibility of watching some of the best improvisers in the world perform for you. Every night. For free. Rather than simply watching them passively and marveling at their brilliance, look for what they’re doing. Maybe someone plays hilarious original characters, or is brilliant with ‘game of the scene,’ or, even better, can sit in real emotions and be genuinely affected. Add these tools and hone them in shows of your own.

But how do I hone these skills, you ask? Simple: you fail. A lot. You fail spectacularly and brilliantly. You do cringe worthy scenes with a dumbfounded audience that sits in hideous silence. You feel intensely uncomfortable and wish this damn scene would just end already. But you persevere: you’re going to portray this Scottish bartender as realistically as possible, damn it! And you learn through this. And your brain starts to make distinctions. And you grow.

That’s mainly what I had to say, but I’ll leave you with a few additional thoughts on getting better and improv in general.

  • If you sign up for an improv class, I beg you: take notes. Six months after the course ends, you will have forgotten 90 percent of what you were taught (I made that percentage up, but you see my point). Review these notes early and often. Internalize them.
  • You are an improv free agent. Your improv team is temporary and will soon break up. That is not to devalue the experience, however: use the time you have with your team to learn how to work with performers of varying playing styles. And build lasting friendships, too, of course!
  • Want a practical tip on how to become a better improviser right away? Here you go:  stop walking into scenes. If you watch enough improv, you’ll notice that walking into scenes is almost always a terrible choice, and is by far the biggest pitfall of intermediate improvisers. Yes, there are some wonderful and hilarious walk-ons that enhance things, but this is usually pulled off by very high caliber players. Want to help out with the scene? Sweep it.
  • Replicate real human behavior on stage. Not every audience member will appreciate your super-specific Star Trek: Deep Space Nine references (even if they should, because it was a great show) but everyone can identify with an overworked mom, an emotionally distant dad or a controlling….cousin? Sorry, it’s late.
  • Want to know your improv secret weapon? It’s you! Your life experience and personality is unique to you and you alone. My best imitation of you would pale in comparison to the genuine article. Show us who you are and let us into your heart.
  • If you can do all this and incorporate Dr. Fart Sandwich you have mastered the art form and can move on to Ultimate Frisbee or something.

Jordan Kennedy is an improviser in Toronto. He’s not the best improviser around, but he’s got a little better over time, so he thought he’d write about it.       

Photo © Chris Frampton

Photo © Chris Frampton

Guy: So what’s your team called again?

Girl: Cat Deeley’s Pajamas. We’re an all-lesbian team.

Guy: Awesome. Wait…so…are you…?

Girl: No. I just have short hair, and the Artistic Director assumed.

Guy: Cool, cool. We have a team like that at our place. It’s an all-black team.

Girl: Really? Are they good?

Guy: Oh, he’s amazing.

Waiter: Welcome to Denny’s.

(pours water, leaves)

Girl: What about your team, Lannister…?

Guy: Calrissian. It’s me and three other guys. We do like a Deconstruction-style Game of Thrones thing, with a bit of Sit, Stand, Bend.

Girl: Sounds fun. Have you been together long?

Guy: A couple months. To be honest, I’m really kinda over this town. I’m thinking of moving to New York or LA. Maybe Winnipeg. I don’t wanna get pigeonholed.

Girl: I love your Boba Fett shirt, by the way.

Guy: Thanks.

Girl: I like that it’s spelled “F-e-t-e” and he’s having a party.

Guy: Got it at ComiCon. The guy who voiced Jar Jar Binks signed it, even though I asked him not to.

Girl: Uh, did you just check us in on Foursquare?

Guy: Yeah, why?

Girl: I sorta skipped rehearsal to be here. Told them I was sick.

Waiter: All righty, more water! Will there be anything else, or just the bill?

Girl: Could we get some menus?

Waiter: Right. Fuck. Sorry. Hey…are you on Lannister Calrissian?

Guy: Sure am. I’m Jeremy.

Waiter: Nick. I do improv too! Me and three other guys have an all-Mediterranean team, Freaks’n’Greeks. We do a kind of lights-on Bat with a bit of Sit, Stand, Bend.

Girl: Sounds fun.

Waiter: You should come. We’re opening for The Romeo Academy.

Guy: That’s crazy, I was just talking about him.

Waiter: Yeah, dude’s awesome. He’s black, you know.

Guy: I know…though I’d be friends with him even if he wasn’t!

Waiter: Great Boba Fett shirt, by the way. ComiCon ’08?

Guy: ’09.

Girl: I wish I had a burger right now.

Guy: And I wish I was a lion tamer.

Waiter: Zing! Monty Python’s Vocational Guidance Counsellor sketch.

(the guys laugh, high five)

Guy: We should get together sometime.

Waiter: I just added you on Facebook.

Guy: And I checked you in on Foursquare.

(they do a complicated bro shake)

Girl: Um, I guess I’ll just…

Guy: Yeah, you do that.

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In this beautiful TED Talk from Rebecca Northan, she talks about how improv teachings mirror what we do when we’re in love.

 

Learning long-form was like smoking my first joint.

It took me a while to get the hang of it, but all of a sudden…BAM! I felt like Lisa Simpson at Duff World (“I can seeeee the myOOOOOOsic!”).

It was awesome. But then a funny thing happened.

After having some great shows early on with my team, our Harolds started to suck.

Image © nobodyssweetheart.com

Image © Dyna Moe

Our coach had a very specific approach to the Harold. We spent months just doing organic openings, while he quizzed us on identifying the “theme.”

When Cameron watched my team perform, I’d ask him afterwards what he thought.

“It looked like you were working up there.”

Not having fun. Not entertaining the audience. And certainly not being in the scene. We were doing everything “right,” but our shows were marked by hesitation and worse (in my opinion), trying to be clever.

The more I tried to analyse sets, the worse I became as an improviser.

I missed edits my body told me to make, forced connections or failed to make others, and spent a lot of time staring at the floor.

It wasn’t until I discovered the organic, respond-in-the-moment style of improv taught by David Razowsky, Jet Eveleth, Susan Messing, Todd Stashwick, and Greg Hess, among others, that I found a way of performing I understood.

It was intuitive, not intellectual; physical, versus formulaic. Most of all, it felt effortless.

When I told my coach how I’d seen and made connections without trying, he shrugged. “Anyone can connect the dots after the fact.”

It made me think of The Artist’s Way. In it, Julia Cameron talks about writing a screenplay. There was a gun in the opening scene and she didn’t know why, but she listened to her muse and wrote it in. As she neared the end of the script, everything came together and the gun made complete sense.

I realized my coach and I had fundamentally different ideas about long-form…and that’s OK.

That’s why I think it’s incredibly important to experience different approaches. Even if you love the way you were taught, it’s good to see how other people play.

A Harold By Any Other Name

Cameron and I took a workshop a few years ago with Charna Halpern, to learn a form called Cat’s Cradle.

Like the name suggests, Cat’s Cradle is a flexible structure that can take many different forms. UCBT describes it as “a fluid, unfolding symphonic long-form of living environments with all performers onstage all of the time.”

It can incorporate just about anything: singing, scene painting, group physicality, silent scenes, monoscenes, monologues…the list goes on.

There’s an opening, but no set beats or group games, per se. The structure is as simple or as complex as it needs to be.

“Cat’s Cradle,” Charna told us, “is a Harold.”

She went on to say that the “training wheels” structure of Opening, First Beats, Group Game, Second Beats, Group Game, Third Beats was just her and Del’s way of teaching people callbacks and connections. It was never intended to be a rigid format.

This was very exciting to us.

Suddenly openings could be anything, not just monologues or organic “whooshing.”

Beats and group games were a choice to be made in the moment, not something that had to be planned ahead.

If the co-creator of the Harold was saying it was more than just a set structure, then the sky was truly the limit.

“Life is a slow Harold.” – Truth In Comedy

In the end, I don’t think it matters where or how you learn the Harold. Not really.

The nuances may be different (at iO, the characters and relationships are heightened in Second Beats; at UCBT, game of the scene is heightened), but the basic structure remains the same.

What matters, once you’ve grasped the basic principles, is that you continue to learn and grow, and stay open to new possibilities. Including the possibility that what you learned is not the only, or best way, to do a Harold.

Organic or structured, left- or right-brained, as every Harold demonstrates, we are all connected.

The Book of Harold

Truth In Comedy is the Penguin Classic of improv books. I’d only ever done short-form when I read it, and it was a year before I did my first Harold, but I knew I wanted to learn more. If you’re just beginning your long-form journey, this is a great place to start.

Hot off the presses is the Upright Citizens Brigade Comedy Improvisation Manualnow available from the UCB Store. Written by Matt Besser, Ian Roberts and Ian Walsh, it includes explanations of the Harold and other long formats.

The book is designed for beginners, as well as experienced improvisers, and with the surge of interest in long-form worldwide it’s sure to become a bestseller.

Another recent addition to the canon is Long-Form Improv: The Complete Guide to Creating Characters, Sustaining Scenes, and Performing Extraordinary Harolds by Ben Hauck.

Frustrated by the way the Harold was taught to him, Hauck decided to find his own method of teaching and performing it. Using a combination of games theory, mathematics and military strategy, he developed an approach that reveres structure above all. Among other things, Hauck recommends:

• Getting the “who, what, where” out in the first sentence

• Taking care of your scene partner before yourself

• Bringing back the same two characters from First Beats into Second Beats

• Monitoring scenes to ensure they have “bilateral agreement”

I confess to breaking out in hives around page 5. Structure is one thing; rules are another. That’s not to say his approach doesn’t work. Judging from the book’s reviews, it works gangbusters. It’s just not an approach that works for me.

As for learning Harold structure, Joe Bill likens it to driving a car.

First, you’re unconsciously incompetent. Then you become consciously incompetent. Next, you become consciously competent. And finally, you’re unconsciously competent.

Such mastery might take months or years, depending on your instructor, your skill set, and your Harold team’s chemistry.

The good news is, once you’ve learned the basics you can start to develop your own style. You might even want to create your own format. The Bat, The Movie, The Living Room, The Deconstruction, The Beast, Armando and many other forms were all inspired in some way by the Harold.

Click below to see one of the best Harolds ever captured on film, performed by legendary iO team, The Reckoning.