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The improv blog with attitude.

Posts tagged improv scene work

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Photo © Crista Flodquist

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

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

Object work is a simple way to take your scene from meh to mesmerizing.

Watch a master improviser onstage, and you’ll swear you can actually see the banana they’re peeling, the stick shift they’re driving, the roll of duct tape they’re wrapping around Grandma’s dead body.

On the other hand, bad object work can destroy the reality of a scene like nothing else.

We’ve all seen tables get walked through, floor mops that come and go, and razor-thin cigarettes inhaled between two fused fingers.

When you give your objects weight and mass, it instantly grounds you and makes your movements more deliberate. It also paints a more vivid picture for the audience.

One of the biggest go-to’s in improv is drinking (insert AA joke here). For some reason scientists have yet to explain, we drink improv beverages through our thumb.

“Watch how you actually drink from a can or glass, then watch how most improvisers mime it. Just try drinking with your thumb in your mouth.” – TJ Jagodowski

Become an observer, starting with yourself. Notice how you do everyday tasks. Practice the movements with and without the physical objects.

When you’re bored with that, go people-watching. Someone who holds their cigarette with their index curled over top is very different from someone who holds it cupped beneath their palm. We all have our little quirks. Try on someone else’s for a change.

A lot of people try to get through object work as quickly as possible in order to “get to the scene.” But if you take your time and invest in whatever activity you’re doing, it can actually inform your character. Or become the scene itself.

Which is funnier: A guy taking off his clothes in two seconds, or watching a guy unbutton his shirt, unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants, and finally remove his underwear while his doctor puts on gloves, one finger at a time?

It’s the anticipation.

When you take your time with objects, your scene partner has time to process what’s happening too.

Say you’re in a scene where you’re on a date. Instead of flipping a pull-out bed instantly and throwing your scene partner on it, the struggle becomes turning the couch into a bed. Removing the cushions. Trying to lift the rusty metal frame. Smoothing out the wrinkled old sheets while your date – and the audience – watches.

As Joe Bill says, “You don’t have to put a shelving unit together in ten seconds.” In their workshops, he and Mark Sutton teach that, “Improvisers spend a lot of time on stage moving things around, and not enough time letting things move them.” That’s great advice.

Like the song says, it ain’t what you do, it’s the way that you do it. Look at TJ holding a glass while he’s on the phone (below). The way he holds it speaks volumes about his character (in this case, a housewife with a fondness for cocktails).

Cheers.

Photo © Sharilyn Johnson