This week, Zach Simons of the Writing on the Floor podcast was gracious enough to have me on. We talk comedy, the emerging Pittsburgh scene and why Dane Cook got a bad rap (kinda)
Go subscribe to the podcast and take a listen!
Friday, May 3, 2013
Monday, April 29, 2013
Improv Bestiary: The Mirror
The Mirror is a well-meaning but scared improviser. Maybe they're new, maybe they're uncomfortable with their partner,...maybe they've been told they "write too much" by a teacher. The mirror deals with this by going 110% on the Yes and 0% on the And.
Player A
I'm upset with you.
Player B
Yes! You're positively furious! Your knuckles are white!
Player A
You said you were done drinking and I find this?
Player B
That's a bottle! You're angry because you found that bottle I hid!
Player A
You were sober for two years!
Player B
I was sober for two years!
Like its cousin The Waterfall, The Mirror is trying to be supportive but is not taking care themselves. Without giving back, the weight of the scene gets stuck on the back of your partner. And while the The Waterfall comes from enthusiasm, The Mirror comes from fear. They often aren't confident in their choices, or their character so it's easy to just parrot the information that's already out there. It even kind of "sounds right". But it is really hard to play with.
To work on this tendency try exercises they get you out of judging yourself: lights down monologues, aggressive line switching, monologue rants (It's Tuesday!). Or drill the And of Yes And in circles or back and forth. Instilling confidence that they can just go with what comes out of their mouth without thinking about it and that that'll be supported should help break this pattern.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Exercise: Lights Down Monologues
This is fun exercise I use a lot in my level ones. It works on storytelling, listening and support.
Have a back line and choose a player to start a true to life monologue. During the monologue start dimming the stage lights: if you get to complete blackness the monologue is over no matter where it is.
The only way to get the lights to reset is to tag out the monologist and continue the story from where they left off. As the monologue goes on the dimming becomes more aggressive until finally it either reaches total black from inaction or hits a resolution and you black it out.
Like conducted monologue, it works on active listening and being prepared, it additionally introduces the idea of action as support. Plus it gets frantic and fun and the stories get crazy, so it's a nice bonding game.
Play it multiple times... since it's all editing from the line more cautious or shy players might not try as much, gentle encouragement usually does the trick, especially after a couple runs when they see that the story can get nutso and that's ok.
If you don't have dimming lights, I've done this by standing next to speaker and lowering my hand from way up high and if it touches the ground it's over. It's a good workout that way too. Oof.
Have a back line and choose a player to start a true to life monologue. During the monologue start dimming the stage lights: if you get to complete blackness the monologue is over no matter where it is.
The only way to get the lights to reset is to tag out the monologist and continue the story from where they left off. As the monologue goes on the dimming becomes more aggressive until finally it either reaches total black from inaction or hits a resolution and you black it out.
Like conducted monologue, it works on active listening and being prepared, it additionally introduces the idea of action as support. Plus it gets frantic and fun and the stories get crazy, so it's a nice bonding game.
Play it multiple times... since it's all editing from the line more cautious or shy players might not try as much, gentle encouragement usually does the trick, especially after a couple runs when they see that the story can get nutso and that's ok.
If you don't have dimming lights, I've done this by standing next to speaker and lowering my hand from way up high and if it touches the ground it's over. It's a good workout that way too. Oof.
Friday, April 19, 2013
James's Observation
Paraphrased from my friend, and man who knows a thing or two about performing, James Rushin:
Tentativeness and apathy are the two things an audience will not forgive
So feel something, jerk. And feel it all the way to your shoes.
Tentativeness and apathy are the two things an audience will not forgive
So feel something, jerk. And feel it all the way to your shoes.
Friday, March 29, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, March 25, 2013
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!
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!
Friday, March 22, 2013
Improv Bestiary: The Waterfall
An observation on a common, difficult scene:
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.
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.
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