Patience and Spontaneity

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Almost without argument, one could say that the heart of improvisation is in spontaneity; by it's very definition, improv is merely theater that is performed without a script, therefore, to paraphrase Huey Lewis (and the News), the “Heart of improv is still unplanned.” That's just the name of the game, as soon as you start planning stuff, and honestly trying to achieve what you've planned, it's no longer improvised theater, it's just plain theater. Improv teachers go to great lengths to achieve spontaneity and true artistic inspiration (because this is what improv really boils down to – you can do anything you want, so you need to be free to do anything you want.) Most of what is done, especially to beginning improvisers, is in the name of speed: Story, Story (Die), Dirty Hand Randy, New Choice, etc. are probably some of the most truly improvised games (at least in the short form sphere) because they are intended to move so quickly that the player doesn't have time to plan. You either just let your brain run wild and with abandon, or you get left behind.

The problem with this is it is essentially a crutch we hand to people: just move quickly and it will be improvised. The problem here is that experienced players don't need that crutch anymore – they are capable of stepping on stage and acting without thinking or pre-planning, only they have been trained such that they will step on stage and run so quickly through even the most complicated transactions that they don't really improvise any more. Generally speaking, this kind of speed is okay in the slam, bam, thank you ma'am world that is shortform, where the emphasis is not on artistic exploration but on entertainment, and where that kind of energetic, fast-paced scene work thrives especially well in “games”. But as you move into long form (where you do a scene that may last three minutes still, but you may have to come back to, or make run an entire thirty minutes (I've seen it done, nonbelievers)) that no longer has the gimmicks (or referee or MC to bail you out) that kind of speed works to your detriment.

Longform requires more patient, discovery-based improv, and as my mother and I can attest, you just can't enjoy the sights when Dad is driving past them at 70 miles per hour (a condition which I now believe may be genetic – sorry passengers). Give a group of new-to-longform improvisers a scenario (any scenario really), and they will be done with it in a blink. Give the same scenario to experienced improvisers, and they will take their time exploring every single, tiny moment, and not just tediously waiting for the next big thing to happen, but really enjoying themselves in the pace of normal life. This is where really improvisation lies: moving slow enough that you can actually enjoy and discover things about your partner, scene objects, or environment. A shortform improviser flows from his head, while a longform improviser flows from everything.

I saw some improv last weekend that definitely fits this bill: no one would argue that these were energetic improvisers, capable of editing with abandon, and fast, too. In thirty minutes they probably did 20 independent scenes, but it wasn't entertaining. Sure, the dialog was improvised (at least I hope it was, scenework that bad had better not been written out ahead of time and approved) but it was just manic (well that and nobody was working together, but that's a subject for a different essay all together). My point is this: scenes don't have to fly by and ninety eleven miles an hour to be interesting or even improvised. The easiest way to get yourself out of a “pre-thinking” mode is to truly focus on only the last thing that was said. All improv really should be is a series of reactions to different stimulus, just true, honest reactions. And that's the whole point of using speed as a training tool in the first place. Quick thinking, and just react. And don't rush, or you'll miss all that pretty scenery.