Fear Manifests Nothingness

I first have to make a confession: when I first said in a discussion with Karen, "Fear manifests nothingness," I had an inkling I was making words up, but they still seemed to say what I was trying to get across. That being said, the Cambridge Dictionary does, in fact, define nothingness as, "a state or place where nothing is present, or where nothing important is present" (emphasis mine).

Bridging, blocking, babbling, asking unproductive questions; these are all examples of ways we express our fear on stage. If we look at the issue with a critical eye, we can see that a large part of our fear is fear of change.

Fear of change creates resistance, and this resistance presents itself in the forms mentioned above, among others. When we give into our fear and resist change, we are unlikely to create anything of value in our scenes. Acceptance (that old familiar, "Yes, and..." attitude) manifests story, scenes, and characters that move everything forward in a productive and cooperative manner. Fear grinds things to a halt, manifesting nothingness.

An extreme example of fear of change involves an improviser being faced with their own character's imminent death on stage (we've all been in that position ourselves.) An actor who gives into their fear of change will do everything in their power to avoid that death, causing the scene to lose any power it might otherwise have had. 

"Fear of change creates resistance"

An improviser who gives into and accepts their character's death has a powerful effect on the story; will the audience be appalled, saddened, amused, or happy at the death of the character? If you've created a strong character and set a believable environment, you have the ability to pull the audience along with you and elicit whatever response you want. Don't let your fear take that power away from you.

Die, already.

Happy improvising!

Intelligent Design

The following is an excerpt from our book, 

"The 5 Elements of Improv":

Intelligence affects a number of aspects of a character’s expression. A highly intelligent character will speak and act in a very different fashion than one of low intelligence. Characters will display their intelligence through how they speak, what they say, and the choices they make.

Avoid the mistake of assuming that because you have chosen a doctor as your character’s profession that they must, by default, be of high intelligence. We once (very briefly) had a doctor who was not only an exceptionally poor listener, but was also quite uninformed in basic matters of medicine and nutrition. When called on his lack of knowledge, he became rude and combative. The moral of the story is this: there are doctors (lawyers, police officers, architects, politicians, professors, etc) who graduated at the bottom of their class. Embrace this fact, and enjoy playing intelligence (as well as any other characteristic) against what is assumed for a particular profession. The audience will enjoy seeing the dichotomy, and you will have more fun building a scene with a character who is not defined by a cookie-cutter mentality.

"The moral of the story is this: there are doctors (lawyers, police officers, architects, politicians, professors, etc) who graduated at the bottom of their class."

A note of caution regarding the portrayal of low intelligence characters: there is a tendency to cause these characters to talk and act like useless idiots, good only for a few laughs. To do so is to waste an opportunity and is a cheap way to avoid responsibility for driving the scene forward and supporting your partner. The internal and external lives of low-intelligence people are just as rich and vibrant as those of other intelligence levels. They necessarily manifest themselves differently, as the components of their lives are likely (though not always) different from those of smarter people. This could, in fact, apply to any intelligence level. The point to take away from this is to be careful not to fall into the stereotypical behavior of any aspect of your character. Play to the top of your character’s intelligence; stupid people don’t know they’re stupid. Explore the infinite possibilities available to you, and surprise the audience.

Happy improvising!

Like a Chainsaw in a Barbershop

The best comedies all have one thing in common: the characters who populate the story take everything that happens absolutely seriously.  Whether they are busting Zuul, attempting to land a pilot-less airplane, or questing for the Holy Grail, they do so with a mindset of absolute sober sincerity. Whether the comedy in question is the erudite pomposity of Noel Coward or the physical absurdity of the Three Stooges, it's all played with a metaphorical straight face; no mugging allowed.

If the characters in our comedies were to react in a manner unbefitting the situations in which they found themselves, the illusion would be broken and the suspension of disbelief would be shattered. For a comedy to truly succeed, it is imperative that the characters react to and interact with their own reality, no matter how ridiculous or insane, in a consistent and logical fashion.

Watching an improv scene unfold with the suggestion of "hair," we saw a customer enter a barbershop and sit down. A bumbling barber enters the scene. After examining his customer's hair for a moment, the barber grabs a chainsaw and starts it up. So far, nothing is necessarily going off track. The customer, however, does not react as someone would when faced with a murderous chainsaw-wielding barber. Instead, he turns his head calmly and comments on how nice the barber's "new chainsaw" is. 

Everything then goes downhill precipitously.

Countless appropriate reactions could have presented themselves; perhaps a blood-curdling scream from the terrified customer, followed by a hearty laugh from the barber as he gets rid of the chainsaw and explains it's a joke he plays on all his new customers. Not exactly brilliant theater, but appropriate within the context of the platform they created. 

Instead we watch as the barber fumbles about for a moment, suggests that perhaps he shouldn't use the chainsaw, and then lets it disappear from his hands, to evaporate into the ether. The scene meanders on for a bit, but nothing of note is accomplished. There is no miming of actual barber shop behaviors, no discernible characters, and no adherence to the environment created. In fact, there is so little environment created that there is little if anything to adhere to.

The point to be made here is to create your reality, stay true to the reality you've just created, and behave within that environment as characters naturally would. Will all characters behave as normal humans would in all situations? Of course not.

Not all characters

are

"normal" humans.

They must, however, behave in accordance with the character construct you adopt in order for the audience to accept your characters as "real" within the context of the scene. The audience may not consciously sense when an actor is not being true to the reality of the scene, but you can be sure they will sense it subconsciously, and that fact will color their perception of the scene, causing them to 

lose focus and drift.

The best comedy is played in all seriousness, from every insane minute of Monty Python to every childlike moment of Pee-Wee Herman's quest to recover his bike. Strive for that mindset, be true to the reality you create, and the humor with come of its own accord. 

Happy improvising!

How to Kill Your Scene In One Easy Step

There are few things more annoying while working an improv scene than to craft a character or create a reality out of thin air, only to have it bulldozed by a player who is either A) not playing attention, or B) not willing to give up control. Oh yeah, there's also C) they're looking to be "funny."

The importance of chivalry in improv simply cannot be emphasized enough.
   

One must respect the creation

of another and accept it and all

that goes with it, or you will 

never be a strong improviser.  

Fail to do so often enough and no one will want to play with you.  There is enough uncertainty built into the structure of improv without adding more to it.

So...when someone creates a character, acknowledge that character and build yours along with it.  It is of primary importance that you listen to everything that is happening on stage.  That bears repeating: listen to EVERYTHING that is happening on stage.  A good improv actor will drop clues as to who she is; if she comes out, assumes a lower status than another character and calls that character "Miss," then you would be right to assume that person may be a servant or caregiver.  To then try to endow that character as "Mother" would be inappropriate and dismissive of the groundwork already laid by your fellow actor.

Beware the improv actor who tries to control a scene at all costs; he will, without a doubt, twist your character and environment to suit his purposes.  If you start a scene by speaking in a "Yoda" voice and say, "Hmmm...Late you are!"  he will reply, "Now, Jeff, stop using that accent; it's not that good."  This is a fear response.  The actor in question does not like giving up control, so he will try to make the other actor seem "crazy," or "stupid."   

In order to dilute his 

fear of the unknown, 

he will deny the reality 

created by his fellow actor

 and insinuate his own 

reality onto the scene.  

This makes for poor, uninteresting improv scenes.  It also makes for fellow actors who will either not trust that actor, or will simply give up and let the fearful actor control all the scenes.  Audiences can sense choices made from the standpoint of fear, and they will not respect them.

Learn to let go.  If you have a gun and another character takes it from you, put your hands up and, if need be, allow yourself to get shot.  Don't pull another gun out of your pocket.  You created a reality, the other actor respected it.  They may have taken your gun, but they didn't point at it and call it a banana or a water pistol.  Be chivalrous.  Allow yourself to be changed.  The audience will appreciate it.

Happy improvising!