Talking Improv

It seems that every time I explain longform to someone, I use a different analogy or description, so I’ll try and nail down a simple one here:

“A team of performers gets just one word or phrase from the audience and performs a variety of improvised scenes loosely based off of that one suggestion.”

Regardless of what form you’re watching on a particular night, you can expect that the team will at least get a suggestion and do scenes based off of that.

Of course, you could go into greater detail with the person you’re explaining longform to, touching on openings and games and what-not, but this is a pretty good jumping off point. If they want to know more, they’ll probably ask anyway. They usually do.

Absolutely 100% I consider myself an actor first.

The way I see it, comedians, on the whole, have a catalogue of material prepared.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been so off-put by short form for so long. When you keep getting those same suggestions, you eventually start repeating jokes. If not that, then you tend to do “that character” that you know will hit over and over again.

To me, that not only takes the fun out of being spontaneously creative, but the improviser at that point is starting to lean heavily close to being a comedian.

I will say for the record that there’s nothing wrong with considering yourself a comedian. But to me, I want improvisers to let the humor come out of the reality of the moment and not try and go for the funny.

To awkwardly transition, I have a family who knows I do “comedy,” but sometimes they’re fuzzy on the fact that it’s entirely improvised comedy. When they tell me a funny story/joke, they without fail will say something along the lines of “You can put that in your comedy show!”

*Groan.*

I also like to see myself as an actor who improvises because it puts me in that mindset that, when necessary, the scene doesn’t have to be funny. It can be a serious or touching moment between two characters. I’ve touched on that subject a bit which you can find here.

We all wish the good times would never end, but as the ever-positive Robert Frost penned, “Nothing gold can stay.” I’ve thought about this question some, and here are a few scenarios where leaving a group is an option:

• When the group no longer seeks to challenge themselves. A team should always try to strive for their very best and try new things. If not, then why stick around?
• When there are irreconcilable personal differences between group members. This broad scenario can be anything from outside-of-group spats/feuds to no longer feeling like you can trust your fellow performers on stage. Sticking it out without trust makes for a toxic environment.
• If you feel that you need a new change of scenery. Leaving isn’t always because something bad has happened. There are greener pastures elsewhere. Hell, even The Beatles had to stop at some point.
• If you personally cannot commit fully to the team. The cliché term for this is “A chain is only as strong as its weakest link.” If they’re all giving every effort and you’re half-assing it, why bother to show up? If they’re all half-assing it too, see reason number one.