Improv Bestiary: The Lobotomist

Grampa! Did you forget to take your pills?

You're crazy! How did you get out of the hospital?

You're just drunk, you don't mean any of that!

Maaaan we're so high! I think those were special brownies!

This is one weird dream....

Is there a time for these kind of things in scenes? Sure. Sometimes a person is acting unhinged and it needs to be called out. But I often see this when one improviser is panicking. And they out-of-nowhere endow their partner with unreliability: a really difficult, stakes-lowering attribute. Watch as the scene suddenly becomes a game of how crazy/demented/drunk/high the person can get, and watch how everything before is pretty much thrown out.

 And I know the excuses.  Reality got denied! They said something that's impossible to justify! They weren't listening to what I just said and it got weird! 

Or

What I wanted the scene to be wasn't happening! 

I've definitely seen this move done with a real annoyance from the player, not the character, and that's the real trouble.  I know that feeling when a scene's not going the way you think it should, it can be really frustrating, and the temptation to blow it up can be strong. But doing it can erase all that's come before, and lead to a scene that's just a game of heightening a quirk. You've basically cut out everything that was interesting in one quick jab.

If you're the one made mentally unstable,stay grounded in what's been established.  Going to, heh, crazytown and putting the needle to 11 can be fun but you've lit the fuse on the scene. Be crazy, drunk, whatever, but keep the same investment you had before you were labeled that way. As always, play it real. A crazy but human and  relatable character can be terribly interesting.


PS
And please, for me, if you get called high, do not immediately grab a bong out of nowhere.

Hear my dumb voice!

My good friend and improv spirit guide Brian Gray has started a rad new blog and podcast about improv and I was lucky enough to be on the first episode, Go check it out here. And read his blog, Something to Care About.

What strikes me about the interview is how crazily out of touch I might be about the strengths and weaknesses of my work. I'm a huge proponent of self-evaluation, watching tape and etc, (and I still think it's incredibly valuable) but it now seems like I might have developed a particular lens for watching myself. A distorting lens. So I may be seeing the faults I have decided I already have rather than what's actually going on.

I certainly have a lot to think about now.

Now go take a listen to and look at Brian's hard work!

Improv Bestiary: The Waterfall

An observation on a common, difficult scene:

Player A

Dave, I haven't felt this young in years. Thanks for taking me out.

Player B

You always loved going fishing, I remember when you taught that adult education course on it last year

Player A

Yeah, I did always want to teach...

Player B

You always said that! Even back in elementary school you were dressing up like our teachers! Remember Mr. Carsen, you two had a really strange relationship

Player A

Yeah,  he really treated me like a son, he was a great guy...

Player B

That's why you got that tattoo of his face on your neck...

Player A

Uh, yeah. That I did.

Player B

While you were in prison, for fishing without a license!

Boy, is Player B being supportive. Look at all of that information he's giving his partner! He even brought it back around to fishing! What a rich stew we have now! If only there was a scene!

This pattern I call "The Waterfall". It's a deluge of information in one direction with little regard to the scene. When you're The Waterfall, you can feel good about yourself: you're endowing your partner with so many gifts! The problem is that without taking care of yourself, or allowing your partner to give back, you end up with a scene that is an exercise in describing and inventing instead of  exploration.

Players who are writers fall into this rhythm ( I know I've done it a lot in the past), because what feels like a great round of "yes anding" is in reality a one-man-writing-room. This becomes especially apparent watching performances  on tape.

To combat The Waterfall, and other writer-y beasts, slow down, recenter yourself, limit your words, make the choice to listen.  It's the now that's the most important. Take a breath, maybe busy part of your brain with an informative object, but most importantly run the circuit:  look at your partner and decide what you are feeling, what they are feeling, and then how that affects you. Then maybe say something about it. From your perspective. About you. Right now.

Feel Something, Jerk

I was having an awful week and I was in a terrible funk. Walking to the theater I was talking to myself out loud like a crazy person: "I don't want to do this. I don't want to be here".

I tried to get my mind off things. I sat backstage and tried just closing my eyes and counting, contour drawing, just breathing and counting.  A lot things that looked really weird to everyone who came backstage.

Still: "I don't want to do this. I don't want to be here".

Not the best head-space to be in before a show.

But I went out anyway, and actually had a, amped-up sure, but really satisfying set. I played in a really physical way, much more than usual.  It felt different.  And it made me think.

Playing a character that's indifferent, apathetic, or unaffected is very hard to do. Without emotional commitment things can lay flat, or just circle pointlessly. If you're out there, feel something, jerk.

Similarly: being a performer who feel's indifferent or unexcited is hard. I may have been in a bad place but at least I was  in a heightened state. That energy had an effect on my work and that got me to a place I usually don't get to. It put into perspective all the times that I've just gone out on stage with nothing in me except "Time to do a show".  And that feels like not caring. And that leads to doing work that's at best comfortable, at worst boring. Without the investment it's very hard to be adventurous.

This goes back to how I feel about warming up preshow. You don't have to be doing cartwheels coming out on stage but have some investment in what's going on. Feel something, jerk.

Exercise: Cloverleaf Variations

Working with some groups lately, I've had a lot of fun with variations on the cloverleaf exercise. It's a really flexible game is easy to modify to target different skills.

At it's simplest the cloverleaf just a core scene (ideally a two-person, relationship-based one), then on the edit we start a "leaf" of scenes exploring a theme that was brought up. That one idea can then be heightened and explored before being exhausted and returning to the source scene. Repeat this a few times, and try to make the leaves come from different places.

The variations I've been trying:

• Support the Characters- Make each leaf kind of "slacker"-y. Tag out and work with a core scene character, expanding and exploring an aspect of that character. Try to avoid tag-runs, instead try small vignettes that give detail and focus to their personality. When you return to the core, the player will have a stronger, more nuanced understanding of their character. This is good for teams that might need to focus on non-"gamey" heightening and players that want to deepen their characters.  Allow the core scenes to breathe and be "boring".
• Support the World - Make each leaf an expansion of the world as it's being defined in the core scene. Work with the "If this is true, what else is true" maxim. The leaves should be distant from the source, no bringing the characters along. In fact, the further the away from the setting of the source you can get while still clearly being in the world the better. Return to source scene or let there be a time/space jump or character introduction. You can be freer here, because the focus is on world building and driving creative consistency. This can be good for groups that tend to use very linear or ploty moves, people that wimp out on sticking with choices, or groups that have trouble focusing on what game to play.
• Support to Idea - Make each leaf analogous to the source. This is can happen a lot of ways: same relationship, same "Oh shit" moment, starting with the same energy, following similar narrative points, etc. Then the scenes after that will echo the same aspect that was copied but with increasing intensity,  What has to happen is that the new scenes are, like in Support the World, removed from the core scene's specifics. In this variant allow for, or insist that, the worlds of the scenes to be completely different. When returning, allow for any new initiation, as long as it's clear you're back in the core scene's universe. It could even be a new set of characters in that world, go nuts.  This exercise is good for a lot of the same skills as Support the World, but I think is especially good for groups looking stretch their way of approaching later beats and reincorporation.

I

The Dreaded Writer's Gaze

There's a look that happens when someone completely gets thrown off their game. The face drops, especially the eyes, and the body goes into a tense lock-up (a lot in the legs or shoulders). Usually this comes right after a bizzaro-world offer or a complete and utter denial.

That's one thing. The Writer's Gaze is another, more subtle, and dangerous thing.

The Writer's Gaze isn't like a person getting lost and breaking character. Most times the character remains strong, or even gets stronger. Strong movements are made, although they often devolve into pacing or "look out into the audience" poses...and even though it presents differently, The Writer's Gaze is just as dangerous as completely losing your place.

The Writer's Gaze is that disconnected far-off look players get when they get scared and start inventing. The eyes go up! Or go down! Or go a thousand yards off the horizon. Where they never go is to their partners'.

I believe that physical connectiveness and position have profound effect on the dynamics of a scene, and that if you can tame that part of your game it will pay off elsewhere. When you make a break from your scene-mate and retreat into your own head you've waded into murky waters.

If you're a writer-y like person (I am myself), start to recognize The Gaze, and when you do it. Watch tape: it will really jump out there  (Oh, hey! I keep moving downstage and basically address the audience. Coincidentally  That's when I talk for a minute straight. hmm)

When you feel the gaze coming over you, stop. Take a breath, refocus on the scene. Limit your words. Look at your partner. What you see then is most likely what matters.

Moments before going on stage...

I like getting amped up.

I see people just stroll on stage, and that's fine for them. But I need some intensity. Some esprit de corp.  Getting hands in, touching each others backs, all that silly stuff I think has a real positive effect.

Brian Gray used to always give a little pep talk before Irony City shows, "you're playing with the best people you could be playing with tonight". And I miss it.

If you've gotten into the just sit-and-chat-and-opps-it's-places! routine try some psyching up, some "gotcha backs", some "'Fuck the audience' on three!".  Might not work for you all the time, but a little extra energy never hurt anyone. 

There are grumpuses think it's lame and childish and etc... but you are just getting ready to out and maybe be a anthropomorphic barrel or kitty cat or hyrdogen atom for 20 minutes so why judge?