The Abyss of Status

As a second entry into my series of Things That I Have Learned Doing Improv That Were Ill Understood And Yet Still Taught To Me, this week we will be discussing status. Status is the dynamic between two people as expressed in how they either command or acquiesce to each other. Improv teachers say that well defined, big status offers are interesting and powerful to watch. A teacher and a student traditionally have a fairly large status chasm between them, because the teacher is in charge, and the student(s) have to follow the teacher's instructions. (This is, as is turns out, quite necessary, as anyone who has ever tried to control a large group of underage children and also teach them something). The teacher and the principal also have a fairly large status chasm between them, as the principal is the teacher's boss (and can also fire the teacher). When discussing two characters, we usually say that one character is “high status” and the other is “low status”, though bare in mind that these are only relative terms.

A high status character is usually more still (little head movement, gesturing, definitely no fidgeting or nervous twitches), speaks and moves with brevity and purpose, is comfortable, and makes themselves seem bigger or taller.

A low status character is usually more fidgety, nervous, rambles, tries to keep distance from others, and tries to make themselves seem smaller.

Ultimately, status is a relative measurement of how more or less in control, and confident a character is (but always compared to a second party). We typically associate high status with police, judges, bosses, soldiers, while low status are usually employees, students, or children. The examplar exercise for this is the card game – affix a playing card to each player's forehead so that they do not know what they have, and everyone treats everyone else based on what they know about other people, with Ace being lowest and King being highest. At the end, have everyone get in a line of increasing status, and then take their card down and see how well they did. The concept of establishing status is very Johnstonian (and as a result the people I see teach it the most are either Johnstonians, TheaterSporters, or ComedySporters) and is often one of the first concepts taught to new improvisers. Establish the status, establish the scene.

There is nothing inherently wrong in pursuing strong status at the start of a scene – finding out who the boss is and who the employee is tells us a lot about the relationship, dynamic, and setting of the scene with very little effort. However, the way the concept is taught is often to make big status offers (“I'm the King, you're the peasant.”) which, while very edifying, make scene management very difficult. One of the most common questions I hear from improvisers is how to make a scene last longer – and often the answer is one of status. A scene between a king and a peasant has a very large abyss of status – the king is very high, he is, after all, ordained by God to be the supreme ruler of the kingdom, whereas the peasant is, quite literally, a nobody (no offense to any feudal era peasants who may be somehow reading this – now back to the field!). As you stare into an abyss of status this deep, know that it stares back into you.

What you can do to make your scenes last longer is to narrow the abyss of status. The slimmer it is, the longer, richer, and more interesting your scenes become. The first strategy is to make offers of slim status difference between you and your scene partner. The vast majority of truly amazing scenework I've seen has been between two equals (for example, friends) – you may not feel like the scene is going anywhere, but it is – it's just not going as fast as would with the king and the peasant, a dynamic that has a lot of power, but can't necessarily continue forever, and often will burn out much sooner. The other tactic is what often termed a status shift or switch, but is often just a narrowing of the status abyss. The boss and employee are talking, and the boss admits he's broken up because his wife is sleeping around – now the boss is closer to the same level as the employee, and they can communicate.

This all really boils down to the capacity to be changed, that is, your character's capacity to be changed by what's going on – static environments are boring, dynamic environments are exciting. That's why your big status offer stalemates the scene after 60 seconds – a high status boss who won't be changed preserves the status abyss, and it swallows you whole. But show me the king who is conflicted about being supreme ruler and confides in a lowly peasant or two guys sitting around drinking beers commiserating about women mistreating them, and you'll see a chasm that can be crossed, and it will seem all the more interesting for it.

Group Suck

There was an improv article that I found circulating the internet a while back, written by Adam Felber, titled “Why Improv Sucks” (the article can be found here, for those who want it in its original context: http://www.improvresourcecenter.com/mb/showthread.php?t=1075). The article is a fairly succinct missive about the many shortcomings that improv has that continue to prevent its professional evolution, and one point in particular stuck with me, if only because I've written on a related topic about a year ago (you can read it in my archives in August 2010, “Expert or Fun?”). I'll only paraphrase Adam's point here, which is that improv groups have a unique organizational structure, by which he means (and I agree with) that unlike in other endeavors, under-performing, weaker members are often allowed to remain on a group's rosters forever effectively hindering what the group can ultimately do.

Now obviously, being an improviser himself, I'm sure Adam is aware where this attitude comes from; it's the “Theater of the Heart” concept put forth by Close. In order for improv to be successful, we had to train people to cherish and celebrate each other's ideas on stage, or scenes would never form (or just one or two railroading individuals would control everything and everyone else would just follow along). This “treat others like geniuses, artists and poets” (as well as “yes, and...”) conceit extended from the stage into the organization, which was great, because that helps encourage along the “group mind” books are always going on and on about. Groups have to be more than people holding each other at a detached, professional distance to achieve the level of powerful artistic intuitiveness that leads to great improv – they need to be open & available. (This quest for group mind, I believe, is largely the reason for the current immobility of membership – I disagree with Adam's notion that “there's too few good improvisors [sic] around”; that may have been true back in 2001 when Adam wrote the article, but I see too many talented people for that to really be a valid argument anymore. Alternatively, it may be because, as Carrane and Allen put it – we're “too nice”. Or even more, that improvisers see themselves as so different from “real acting” as to be more accepting of mistakes – the “populist”, “accept all mistakes as offers”, or “acting-is-bad-because-actors-are-snooty” theories. I personally think that there is an unfortunate spiral of having a flippant attitude towards improv – there are too few that take it seriously, and too many who just see it as a whatever hobby – the latter, majority viewpoint has more people adhering it, and tends to make even people in the former camp switch sides.)

However, we've allowed that to extend into a family-oriented dynamic that overrides our professional sensibilities about making good art. I had a conversation with a fellow improviser who is a member of a group that has that kind of people-don't-leave-except-by-their-own-accord dynamic, and he told me how much he loved being a member of such a group because it meant not having to worry about getting kicked out of a group – essentially, he liked the fact that he could coast once he got in (alternatively, he could continue to work hard, and he does because he's a good improviser, but not everyone will have the same work ethic). That group as a result has a some really talented people, and some real clunkers, but no system to foster creative or talent growth, other than a wish and a prayer. The plus side of this approach, it should be noted, is that no one needs to feel afraid of failure, because nothing bad can happen to you in such an event (side question: is that such a good thing – improvisers are lazy enough as is).

But this is the other side of Adam's rub – if members are never removed, even if they under-perform (like my friend likes), then the group suffers by having a few weak links, but because new people can't be brought in, then improv suffers (because you're not putting the most talented people together – you're splintering your talent pool). My friend compared this to groups he was familiar with in NYC (though the comparison holds true to other large cities as well) where getting in the theater is a struggle, as is staying in it – though this fosters growth and does not allow “coasting”.

Now, I am by no means am going to tell you what to do (but you're likely interested if you've read this far), but you're two option are thus: 1) value friendship, fellowship, and fraternity or 2) value talent, productivity, and skill. Notice at no point did I say that the first option is wrong in any way. I have a friend who has been practicing once a week for the last seven+ years with a group and they've never done a show. There's nothing wrong with that; it's just a bunch of people who like the artistic outlet and the social aspect, but don't need to do the whole show thing. If you take option one though, you can't be upset about your group not exceeding expectations and breaking new ground artistically – you have to be happy with the people you have, whether they're an “A+” improviser or a “D-” who's just doing it because he has time and it's fun. (It should be pointed out that even your iO or UCB or Second City rosters aren't immune – but the difference is that new additions are heavily vetted, and those that are at the point that they don't have to worry about being removed have been doing it for a great number of years, and are usually, let's face it, really good.) By the same token, option two isn't automatically right – it certainly won't make you any friends among those you don't deem up to snuff – but getting the best people together is how you make the new cutting edge, and hopefully you won't forget to still love and cherish each other once you get there. Though do read my previously mentioned article – even in a superstar team, you'll still need to grind the whole thing out and stick with it.

It would do well to remember that even under option 2, we still have a duty to our fellow improvisers that we share the stage with to be supportive, and to still look to play with people we enjoy the company of (see my previously indicated article). We can still strive for constant improvement, push harder and farther in our craft without being snooty, self-absorbed blowhards. Got a player in your group who's not working like everyone else is? Push them harder – make it clear that the group wants to keep moving, and they'll either step up the game (which is awesome if you like playing with them) or both parties will realize that it's time to part ways (which sucks if you like playing with them). Improv is still a team sport if you're taking it seriously, and the whole team will have to go along pushing it up to the next level for it to work.