the Montreal Improv blog

Dramatic Improv

Warning: this is a rambly, introspective examination of my thoughts on dramatic improv. I’m writing this primarily to straighten out my brain wiggles but maybe it will be useful to someone. Maybe not. Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here.

I started out doing improv in comedy bars- Wait, scratch that. I started out doing improv at a university club, McGill Improv. Then I moved to comedy bars. Short-form was the order of the day and I loved it. I do not have the disdain I have heard in other quarters for short-form games. They’re fun, audiences eat it up and it endures for a reason: it works. I still get a kick out of improv games.

But over time short-form lost its appeal just from sheer volume. I did it for yeeeears. Weekly. Multiples per weekly. So the next challenge was found: The Armando. It’s a great transition form. You can use a lot of the short-form muscles you’ve developed and you start to learn long-form ideas and skills one piece at a time instead of having to tackle it whole. It is the amphibian, emerging from the water to take a gasp at air. Much like evolution, the change is NOT intended to be a “progress towards an endpoint”. It’s simply change. And the best thing to do when improv loses its appeal is to change. So I/we did.

Then on to other long-forms. Having dabbled with improvised murder mysteries, radio plays, improvised plays hybridized with abstract short-form alongside The Armando, eventually, we ended up with the improvised genre comedy. Marc and The Bitter End have successfully made that their bread and butter since they started with an improvised sitcom years ago.

Along the way I’ve learned (what many people knew already) that improv is not only a way of doing comedy but it’s a way of doing theatre (comedy simply being a subset). It took me a while to see it and then another while for that idea to intrigue me. But now it has.

Last year’s improvised tragedy “It’s Not You, It’s Me” went as well as I could have hoped. Working with Dan and Kirsten, we crafted a show that had a nice shape to it, one that told a (sad) story and seemed to resonate with the crowd. It certainly had comedy touches but in the end it was a dramatic tale. Nowhere on the list of goals was to see how funny it would be (really, it was the least funny thing I’ve done on purpose). None of us were sure if anyone would want to see improv if it wasn’t comedy (and doubly so a tragedy). From the feedback we got and it seems there is an appetite for it.

It’s taken me a long time to get to a point where that kind of theatre interests me. Now I think I may be hooked. An idea for another dramatic improv show hit me a few days ago and I’ve been worrying at it ever since, teasing out threads, beating it about the head with an idea bat and I think I’ve got the seed for another show.

I want to explore this space further. I feel like I’ve opened a door and found a great new room full of machines that others have built. But I have no idea how to use them, as though they are from some foreign or perhaps alien civilization. I want to tweak these machines, play with them, use them, misuse them, and see if we can pull an audience into a story that doesn’t have a bread crumb trail of chuckles. I want to use the tools of improv to make the audience feel something other than laughter, to turn the unrehearsed, unpolished nature of improv from a weakness into the strength of surprise and discovery. That’s what I want. Now I just have to try it out on a stage.

- vinny

Guest Writer: Etan Muskat (Toronto)

Etan Muskat is an actor, writer and improviser. He is a member of the improv troupe The Bitter End and co-creator of the Bitter End webseries http://thebitterend.tv. 

“It’s Improv. It’s never gonna be that good.”

I heard these words come out of the mouth of a fellow improviser, during a particularly grueling post-show notes session, and it’s become something of an in-joke for a bunch of us: an easy-out catch-phrase for when you feel like there’s nothing more to be said about a scene, a show, or especially, a mistake. At the time I heard it, it was the ultimate blow-off: “Who cares whether we succeed or fail, we’re just making all this stuff up.” But as I’ve thought about it over the years, I’ve found there’s a kind of wisdom in this statement, despite the gloomy nihilism. 

It begs a question: how ’good’ can improv be? I mean, can there be improv masterpieces, the way there are movies, books, paintings, or plays? Why do we commit ourselves this crazy artform when our greatest achievements disappear the moment they’re over? WHAT ARE WE DOING?

Okay, I’ll back up a step. I came to improv fairly late, at the ripe old age of 25. I had done a bit in high school drama, including a stint in our school’s Comedy Troupe in the 10th grade, but after that I didn’t think much more about it, other than catching the odd episode of “Who’s Line Is It Anyway?”. I went to university to study english, film and art, planning all along to write fiction and draw comics. Both of these activities involved endless hours of sitting alone in a room, hunched over a computer or drawing table, obsessing, perfecting and polishing a piece of work that, if it ever even got finished, may never get seen by a single soul. At the end of the day you can stick the finished product in a drawer and keep it there forever.

After a couple of years at this I was coaxed into trying out a free improv workshop in Montreal, and the rest is history. One thing that was revolutionary for me was the notion of embracing spontaneity. When you write, you feel the need to get everything perfect, every word and punctuation mark (this comes from school, I think). You also feel the need to be totally original in every idea, because of the pitfalls of cliches, and the fear that you’ll be compared to the entire history of literature. And these are valid concerns, but they can be STIFLING! Writer’s block isn’t an inability to think of ideas, it’s a refusal to BELIEVE in your ideas. It’s second-guessing everything.

But how thrilling to be totally spontaneous, having no time for doubt! Rather than torturing myself over whether to describe a character as “ebullient” or “effervescent”, I could just go up on stage, be the character, and smile! There is a freedom in improv that’s exhilarating. When I would get stuck, directors and teachers would say stuff to me like “You know what to do!” or “Just tell us what’s in the box!”, and rather than hum and haw trying to come up with a good answer, I could just say whatever the heck popped into my head! Of course it wasn’t always so easy, but I really WANTED it to be.

In “Impro: Improvisation and the Theatre”, Keith Johnstone says this: “We struggle against our imaginations, especially when we try to be imaginative. We are not responsible for the content of our imaginations. And we are not, as we are taught to think, our ‘personalities’, but it’s the imagination that is our true self.” He talks about ‘freeing’ the imagination, of allowing it to spill out untainted by self-consciousness. Our job as improvisors is to curate what we put IN to our heads, not what we let out. 

Recently I’ve found myself teaching more, and I’ve had a number of conversations with students having the same problem: hesitation. Being afraid to say the wrong thing, because they don’t want to say something stupid and ruin the scene. You can always tell which improvisers are the writers, because they so rarely smile on stage. They are THINKING. And thinking is a surefire way to spoil the moment, like trying to make a joke right before kissing someone for the first time. 

So if I have any wisdom to impart, it’s this: Stop thinking. Be bold. Take risks. Look stupid. Let your demons out. Bug your scene partner. Play. If you’re honest, playful, open and bold, you can pretty much get away with anything you want on stage. And the audience will love you for it.

There are no second drafts in improv, so you’ll never benefit from thinking about what you could have done, should have done differently. Instead, think about what you could try next time.

When I think back on the quote that started this off, I realize that what this improviser meant was: “It’s improv. It’s never going to be perfect.” Now isn’t that an inspiring thought?

Previous guests: Rick Andrews, Kristen Schier, Andy Eninger, Jeroen Van Dyck, Remy Bertrand, Caspar Shjelbred, Sean Michaels, Kareem Badr, RobYn Slade, Ian Parizot, Rachel Klein, Dave Morris, Alex Wlasenko, From the old blog

Guest Writer: Rick Andrews (NYC)

Rick Andrews is a teacher and performer at The Magnet Theater in New York City.  He teaches and performs around the country with The Magnet Theater TourCo, with ensemble Brick, and his duo, The Cascade.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about two words we hear a lot when improvising: “Fear” and “Trust”.  

Fear

One of the biggest hurdles in becoming a good improviser is our fear. Fear and threat are pretty good motivators for all kinds of things. Simple, physical tasks respond super well to fear. If I wanted you to move a bunch of boxes across the room, I could easily get you to move them faster if I made you afraid by, say, threatening you with a whip.

Creativity, however, doesn’t respond well to fear. If I gave you a pen and paper and told you to “write a beautiful poem,” threatening you with a whip if it wasn’t beautiful enough probably wouldn’t lead you to write a better poem. It’ll actually probably lead you to write a worse one. There’s a whole bunch of pretty solid research to back this up.

This is because when we’re being creative, we need to be able to take risks, to make choices that reflect our personal voice, desire, and discovery; we need to be all-around mentally unencumbered by anything other than the creative process. Improv is a creative process, and as a spontaneous one, and one that we tend to do in front of other people in scary situations, it’s pretty susceptible to fear.

This fear makes us worse improvisers. It leads us to say and do things we don’t want to say because we think they’ll get a laugh, or the audience wants to hear them, or they’re the “right” things to say and do.  We threaten ourselves with laughter, or rather, lack of laughter. As improvisers, we often hold an imaginary whip over our heads when improvising. Sometimes scenes feel like a sprint to get the first laugh, as if were the scene to go on for 30 seconds with no one laughing, the audience would simply stand up in unison, give you the finger, and leave.

Trust

To become a great improviser, I think it’s essential that we conquer this fear in some way. The way we do this is by having trust; we put trust in our scene partners, our team, the audience, and ourselves. We trust that they will help us, make us look good, look out for us, etc; we trust that they will help us avoid the things we are afraid of.  The comfort afforded by the trust allows us to be our most creative selves.

When we first begin improvising, we trust specific, singular individuals on a kind of “prove-it-to-me” basis. If we get up there and do a scene with Michael, and Michael seems nice enough and Yes And-ed me and didn’t throw me under the bus, then pretty soon, I’ll trust Michael.

Then, if the classroom or team environment affords it, improvisers might extend that trust to a whole group of people, e.g. “I feel pretty comfy, more or less, with everyone in the class/team. No matter who I do a scene with, they’ll have my back.” This allows us to step out into a scene without fear, because we know that whoever joins us, we trust them. This isn’t always the case, but it’s wonderful when it happens.

Next, after improvisers do and watch enough shows, they begin trusting based on observation, e.g. “I saw Jermaine do that scene, he seemed pretty supportive/good/funny; I trust him.” At this point you might be stepping out with people you’ve never personally played with but still can find the freedom to be creative.

A little more, and improvisers start to trust the process of improvisation itself. When you see quality players come together and jam, they’re more or less putting faith in the process of improvisation, of Yes And, listening, heightening, etc.  “I’ve never played with Tito or seen Tito but, oh well, let’s go do the improv thing and I bet a scene will happen.”

This is closely followed by trust in yourself as a capable improviser. This is great because it means you can confidently improvise with anyone at all, novice or expert, without feeling afraid or stifled. At Magnet in New York we have these great shows called “Mixers” where anyone can sign up and do a scene. New folks who’ve never done improv before are often paired with experienced house team members. From the experienced player’s point of view, they have no idea who this person is or if they’re any good. In fact, they probably have evidence that the person isn’t very good, since most everybody isn’t very good the first time they do improv. And yet, these scenes are almost always fun and funny. It’s not even like the experienced player is “carrying” the scene. They simply trust themselves, trust that if they keep YesAnding and listening, that a scene will happen, and that they’ll be able to find some fun.  

All this trust is so that we can overcome this fear; we trust that these bad things won’t happen. However, for the most part, the worst thing that is going to happen to you because of a bad improv scene is that a bunch of people won’t think that you are very funny. And at the end of the day, that’s not so bad. No one dies, no one gets hurt or sick, everyone who cares about you still loves you, etc. Even for those who make or hope to make their livelihoods off of improv or comedy, one bad scene or show won’t ruin that. Whenever I’m feeling strangely nervous before a show, I try to remind myself of that. It’s not perfect, but it helps.

At the end of the day, there’s probably some combination of a few, many, or all of these things going on when we “trust” in improv. And the more you’re able to face down that fear, trust yourself and others, the better an improviser you’re going to be.

Previous guests: Kristen Schier, Andy Eninger, Jeroen Van Dyck, Remy Bertrand, Caspar Shjelbred, Sean Michaels, Kareem Badr, RobYn Slade, Ian Parizot, Rachel Klein, Dave Morris, Alex Wlasenko, From the old blog

Guest Writer: Kristen Schier (Philadelphia)

Kristen Schier has a B.F.A. in Theater Arts from the University of the Arts and has been working in Philadelphia Pennsylvania as a professional actor, improviser and teacher for many years. She is the Artistic Director of The Philly N Crowd, which a short form improv ensemble. Kristen also teaches, directs and performs at the Philly Improv Theater. Kristen has studied clowning intensively with Giovanni Fusetti. She has also studied improv briefly at The Second City and at the Annoyance in Chicago, Illinois. She has taken workshops and classes with such improv notables as Michael Gelman, Scott Adsit, Christina Gausas, Armando Diaz, Jonathan Pitts, Jill Bernard, Asaf Ronen, Mick Napier, Susan Messing, Tara DeFrancisco,  Joe Bill and Mark Sutton, as well as various members of the UCB and Magnet Theaters in New York City.

What to Do After a Bad Show

If you have been improvising for a while you have probably had your share of good, bad, and, hopefully, great shows. We all want a majority of our shows to be effortless and brilliant. What happens when – well, … when … they … aren’t?

When you have the good fortune of experiencing a great show there is little left to do besides bask in the glory of it. Enjoy it as much as you are able because you will never do it again. Sure, you might do an equally amazing show but you can never do that show again. You will have to keep finding new ways of being marvelous - such is the ephemeral nature of improvisation.

However, when you or your improv troupe have a bad show (and trust me, we have all had them) it can be harder to know how to push through that terrible sinking feeling, and make it a positive learning experience. Most of us just go on making excuses, beating ourselves up, and sadly, not learning from our mistakes.

Here are some things to think about the next time you or your team have a show that didn’t quite go the way you would have liked:  

• Say Thank You

Say thanks to the people who tell you “Great show!” afterward. This may be hard to do, since every fiber of your ego is screaming “I am better than that show, I swear”. I know that this was the one show your Aunt Mable was able to come to, and that if she had only seen the last show - which went so much better - she would have been truly floored. It does not matter. Your Aunt said it was a great show. She probably meant it. Say thank you.

Don’t discount the fact that the audience may have enjoyed the show much more than you were able to gather from onstage. Every audience has different comedic tastes, and ways of expressing their enjoyment of a show. Some audiences are quiet appreciators. At the end of every show bow like you have just done the most brilliant piece of work you have ever performed. You never know, someone may have thought it was wonderful, even if that someone wasn’t you.

I know you. You have great taste and high standards. This leaves you with a great sense of dissatisfaction when your work does not live up to those standards. Remember however, that what you thought was a terrible show may have truly delighted your audience, and after all, isn’t it them you aim to please?

Even if your Aunt did not mean what she said when she told you “Great show!”, she still came out to see you perform, and that is something to be thankful for. Say thank you. You can talk about how disappointing the show was later with someone you trust, and make all the excuses you need to. For now, smile and say thanks. Saying thank you is professional and looks way classier than someone apologizing for daring to create.

• Remember It’s Over

I have heard it uttered by those more experienced than me that one thing good shows and bad shows have in common is that they are both over. Sometimes it helps to remember that you never have to do that terrible show again, especially if you take the time to really learn from the experience. Relax. You will find a million other ways to be terrible.  Remember Sturgeon’s Law that “90% of everything is crap”. You were bound to have a bad show sooner or later. Did you really think you had nothing left to learn, or that you were finally beyond ever having to do a horrible show again? Then I think maybe you are playing it too safe. You are not risking enough. You had better go sky diving to get scared again. Accept the possibility of failure. Daring to fail is akin to daring to be successful. Both are scary and both are a lot to live up to. If you don’t fail big you will never succeed big either. You will be safe and small. 

Embrace your failure, but don’t cling to it, unless you want it to define you.  Look at it plainly and don’t give it too much power over you. It can only truly be “failure” anyway if you don’t learn from it. Otherwise, you have gained knowledge, and that is a victory. Allow the show to be over. Put it to bed and start fresh tomorrow.

• Don’t Let One Show Define You

Chances are you put a lot of pressure on yourself for this show to be good. You wanted this show to be your defining moment. This will be, you told yourself, the show that gets you discovered by Lorne Michaels or any other person you might be trying to impress. Chances are that is why you buckled.

When you perform for a while you get the opportunity to grow over time and develop consistency. One show does not, should not, define you, good or bad. If you allow one show be that important you have diminished yourself, your work, and the art form.

• Learn

Take the notes you are given from your director. Don’t talk back. Take them. I mean it, just shush and take your notes. Good.

I will here posit the virtues of having a director or coach for your improv ensemble. It can be hard to take a truly objective look at what might have gone awry from inside of it. Get a director for your team who does not perform with you, if at all possible, and have them give notes. A good director will be an invaluable resource for growth.

If you do not have a director, but you can still point to something definable you can do to improve on after a bad show, other than “I was in my head,” be cheered! You have found something to actively work towards! However, do not allow yourself to wallow in a general “I suck” mood. Without an identifiable goal to work towards, this kind of mood is not helpful, and nearly impossible to grow from.

• You Don’t Have Control

You cannot change the show that happened. Go ahead. Try. See? Can’t do it. It is this futile attempt at control that may have gotten you in the situation of having had a bad show to begin with. 

Sometimes your effort to blame the bad show on something is really just an effort to a find false sense of control over what happened. If you could only find out what went wrong you could stop it from ever happening again, right? Wrong.

You don’t have control over how a show goes. Ever. I mean, isn’t that what is so frighteningly wonderful about improv to begin with? You cannot determine what happens - you can only accept and support. Sure, there are best practices when improvising, but even they are only guidelines. Sometimes what a show needs most is everything you have been told not to do in your improv 101 class. The undeniable heart of improv is uncertainty.

There are so many factors that can influence the outcome of a show. Think about it. There are soo, soo many - few of which you can control. The space, the audience … soo many. Trust me, the list is long.

Understand, that I am not handing you excuses for why your show was bad. A good performer can intuit these factors and adjust to them. A good ensemble or performer can win over an outright hostile audience in a mere instant. I have seen this done.

I am, however, suggesting that you may have done everything right, or you may have done everything wrong, but the bottom line is that you do not have complete control over any of it.

Improv is a collaborative art form. Even if you are a solo performer you have to acknowledge an audience’s role in your performance. You cannot take full credit for everything that goes well, and you cannot take full blame for everything that goes wrong. Otherwise improv would be a formulaic science and we could read a book about how to do it right, and be done. Completely boring. In fact, the closest we might get to science is the erratic alchemy that is the chemical reaction between performer(s) and audience, composed of mostly mysterious elements. The sooner you learn that you cannot control everything that happens is the moment you are freed from worry and you open yourself up to the possibility of great failure, and by extension, great success.

Ironically, when you relinquish responsibility for everything that happens on stage you take more ownership over what you can control – which is simply how you respond. You can choose to refuse or to accept. When you take more ownership over your response you are likely to realize you have the opportunity to find fun in any situation. The terrible offers from your scene partner, or from yourself, with a healthy dose of humility, become fuel for brilliance, rather than judgment. When you are having fun you are probably fun to watch, which means you are probably having one of those rare things performers call a great show.

Enjoy the opportunity to play and be careful not to trade it for a pile of worry, judgment and fear. When it is over, let it go. Remember only that you are brave, and human.

Previous guests: Andy Eninger, Jeroen Van Dyck, Remy Bertrand, Caspar Shjelbred, Sean Michaels, Kareem Badr, RobYn Slade, Ian Parizot, Rachel Klein, Dave Morris, Alex Wlasenko, From the old blog

Guest Writer: Andy Eninger (Chicago)

Andy Eninger is the Head of the Writing Program at The Second City Training Center in Chicago, and performs his solo improv form “Sybil” all over the world.  He will be appearing next at IMPRO International Improvisation Theatre Festival in Amsterdam in January 2012.

8 Reasons Why I Love Working With Improvisers 

Over the past twenty years, I’ve worked with thousands of improvisers.  Sometimes, we were doing actual improv stuff - shows, classes, playing giant tomatoes for a corporate event.  Sometimes, we were improvisers in daytime drag, freelancing in our ‘day jobs’ while taking classes at night and performing on the weekends.  Through it all I’ve realized that improvisers are great people to be around. Even if I’d never discovered improvisation, I think I would gravitate toward improvisers for their many qualities. They may not be tidy, but they’re very entertaining, and they have specialized skills that make life better for everyone.

1.) They know how to say ‘yes, and’
Improvisers are good at saying ‘yes.’ More than that, they’re good at saying ‘yes’ and then building on a idea.  They take pleasure in heightening a bit, pushing a game, or exploring a line of thinking - usually in hopes of being the first one to the funny comment about something.  Improvisers make YOU feel funny by jumping onboard your idea.

2.) They make good listeners
As much as they love to talk, the best improvisers make great listeners.  This is because they know they’ll only be able to make fun of you if they pay attention to the details.  Still, everybody loves being deeply listened to…at least until your personal revalation gets ‘called back’ in a bit 30 minutes later.

3.) Improvisers have your back
If you go down in flames in a scene or in a stressful moment, improvisers know to take one for the team.  Sometimes this means getting you off-stage so you can recover from a bad scene; sometimes this means stealing your potential date the moment you’ve been shot down at a pub.  Nonetheless, they are there to fill the vacuum you made when you sucked, and for that, you should be thankful.

4.) Improvisers are forthcoming
Improvisers are not afraid to tell you about themselves, both in real life and in made-up improv-character life.  “Let me tell you about my gluten allergy…” is not so different from “I bet you’ve never seen a man with lava-feet and ice hands like THESE.”  The same instinct that can feel like a curse when you’re trapped at the office party can be a gift on stage.

5.) They see the humor in everything
They say that Comedy is Tragedy plus Time; Improvisers are so ambitious, they like to cut out the “time” part.  Nothing is off limits.  The bright side is that you always have a support network that can bring you up when you’re feeling down.  The down side of this is watching your improv team gleefully launch a thirty-minute longform inspired by an audience suggestion of some inappropriate recent international tragedy. 

6.) Improvisers are better than a Twitter Feed
You think you know what’s trending?  People who ask for suggestions from drunk strangers every night REALLY know what’s on the public’s mind. Want to know what’s ‘hot’ right now? Ask an improviser.

7.) Improvisers are always up for a beer
After years of late night shows, late-night rehearsals, and late-night beers after late-night shows, improvisers are conditioned for late-night action.  Want a beer on a Wednesday?  I bet your improviser friend is up for it.  Heading home late from work and want to blow off steam?  Text an improviser - they’ll be there for you.  Of course, you may have to sit through their late-night show first…

8.) You never have to worry about who’s going to pay for drinks: You are. (Hey, at least it takes the guesswork out of your evening.)

If I was going to be stuck on a desert island with one person…I’d choose an Engineer. Maybe a Doctor.  But otherwise, in this world that moves too quickly and takes itself too seriously, I’ll take an improviser any day. 

Previous guests: Jeroen Van Dyck, Remy Bertrand, Caspar Shjelbred, Sean Michaels, Kareem Badr, RobYn Slade, Ian Parizot, Rachel Klein, Dave Morris, Alex Wlasenko, From the old blog