The Three Types

A couple of months ago, I did a workshop on the improvised narrative, and ended up getting into a rather heated discussion with some of my fellow improvisers. There statement was that they had performed many Harolds, and that the Harold was finely suited to support a longform narrative; mine was that I had never seen a Harold done well that used a narrative plot based structure. (Also worth noting is an Improv Etiquette lesson learned that weekend – Rule #1: never, ever tell an improviser that the way they are doing the Harold is wrong.) They did present an engaging argument: they have done a number of Harolds in the past and had success using it for plot.

My problem with using the Harold in this way is that the Harold was, in my opinion, never designed to support plot. In fact, few of the strict forms hold up plot, which is why when I teach I use the concept “plot shreds improv”. The problem is two fold; the first is that the opening, conclusion, and group games don't really fit into a narrative easily – they stick out a little awkwardly. Additionally, if the form is being used fully, you wind up with a problem of “three lines some waiting”. You have your A plot, which is hopefully very engaging and interesting, but if you stick to the form, it has to share stage time with possibly uninteresting B and C plots. Or even worse, you have three A plots, none of which ever get resolved or linked up in a meaningful way. Now sure, you can do some other scenes here and there, or shift around the weight of the other scenes, but then you're not really doing a Harold anymore, are you. (Go ahead, call me a Harold Purist, but may I remind you of Improv Etiquette Rule #1.)

My hardliner stance for the Harold arises because, in my mind, the Harold is an extremely unique form, and we should be trying to explore what it can do instead of trying to hybridize it with other non-congruent types. Of all the improv I've seen, I would say all longforms fall into one of three categories: Narrative, Deconstructive, and Constructive. The narrative is exactly what it sounds like – it's the improvised story. The Improvised X is riddled with the narrative types, where X is Shakespeare, Star Trek, Movie, etc. This is the one with plots, recurring characters, increasing stakes, climax, and resolution. If you're telling a story, you're doing the narrative type. The deconstructive forms are ones that are based around a central piece, which will ultimately be used as inspiration for scenes, by looking for meaning in the central piece. The Deconstruction (obviously) is the prime one, but Armando, Living Room are also members of this type. The last is constructive, which is where ideas and meaning are all being generated organically by the group. This is the artsy one, and the only form I see fitting this category is the Harold. It's supposed to be a weird, art piece of longform. This one relies on group mind in its group games and beginning. Meaning is found by looking at the juxtaposition of seemingly unrelated ideas, and is largely up to the audience to discern.

So, is there anything wrong with using the Harold as a platform for storytelling (Rule #1; if you're happy, I'm happy)? Does the Harold support narrative fluidly and easily? In my humble opinion, no, but then again what the hell do I matter? But I would pose this question – aren't there already enough forms that do narrative (and if you want to do that so much, why aren't you?) or deconstructive things? Seeing as the Harold is so unique, shouldn't we see what it can do for us when we really pursue the constructive things it can do? Shouldn't we be equally interested in finding the places we can get to when we embrace the weird, non-linear, organic nature that Harold can give us?

A Reunion

Frequent readers of my blog know that I am an unabashed American Pie enthusiast, so let's not waste any time with a build up, or a fancy intro and get right down the most important question of the new film in the canon, American Reunion: how does the film hold up in terms of my ongoing exploration of its themes of authenticity versus artifice?

But first, a review of the film – Reunion is based around the 13-year high school reunion for the East Great Falls class (don't worry about why it's the 13^th, it's callously explained away with one line of dialogue, so let's not dwell too much on that one particular). Jim and Michelle have settled into a comfortable (read: sexless) marriage with kid, Kevin has a beard and a wife, but appears to be kind of restless with both, Oz has gone on to be a hammy sports show host and a former runner up on a “Dancing with the Stars” type show who is apparently discontent with his raunchy blond girlfriend, Finch has just returned from some sort of globe-trotting adventure, Stifler is a door stop intern at some sort of finance or law firm (maybe even both), Vicky has been living in New York since high school working at something (possible art related), Heather is now a doctor (I guess), Jessica is a lesbian, Milf Guy #2 (seriously how he is listed on IMDb) is organizing the reunion, Jim's Dad is now a widower, Stiffler's Mom is still a milf, I guess, and the Sherminator is divorced.

If that sounds like a lot, that's because it is, and while the formula of having multiple protagonists engaged in their own particular conquests worked in the first film quite well, here it feels a little too much. The difference is that while in Pie there were four protagonists all engaged in their own escapades, the goal was the same for all of them: lose your virginity. Here, everyone has a problem, but everyone's problem is different. (Though surprising, and also maybe refreshing, is a real dearth of sentimentality for “days past” - it's there mind you, but it's cooly minimal. And even more surprising, it's not Kevin dealing with it.) And the whole desire to get the entire band back together for the big finale (choke on this – the theatrical Pie releases now form a Quadrilogy), there's a few too many things going on here at once for the audience to feel concerned or even particularly interested in any of them, and as a result the things that should have some emotional resonance don't.

Now what I find unique about this series is how it exists in a fairly small category of films that explore what it's like for a group of friends to have grown up with from each other, to actually watch a friendship evolve. Other singular films have explored a moment, but this is a unique franchise where we can actually watch that evolution occur. This is particularly difficult for comedies, because a lot of that genre's function predicates on the maintenance of peculiar points-of-view or situations. Could you imagine a 40-Year-Old-Virgin 2? You'd have to get a new virgin. Just look at the backlash to Hangover 2; it is very hard to create a same character sequel without just retreading the same ground.

Now, on to my continuing argument regarding authenticity versus artifice: it's here. Oz is discontent obviously because he abandoned the “real” thing he had with Heather. His new life feels like a farce, because it so obviously hangs on him like a poorly tailored suit, particularly in the way he glumly reacts to people recognizing him for his “Dancing” appearance. Finch has been actually lying about his world traveling (which makes me wonder about the similar claims in Pie 2), a lie that actually lands him in jail. What is probably the most glaring evidence of technology being a crutch is when Stiffler tries the old our-car-broke-down-can-we-come-in-and-use-your-phone, and the wary homeowner inquires why the boys don't have cell phones. Stiffler's response is as succinct as could be desired: “The last time I did this cell phones didn't exist.”

Jim and Michelle are sexually frustrated because of their child, which isn't being honest to each other (in addition to the pre-title sequence built around watching porn on the internet and a bathtub water wand that I already discussed in my article about the trailer, they also try a little bondage as before the end of act II to spice things up). What should be the most important factor though, is the guys needing to be honest about where they are in life; they can't stay up drinking all night, they can't party and tussle with high school age kids, and they are grown up now (maybe the fact that this isn't really a big issue demonstrates how well matured everyone is?) so they can't really have shenanigans because responsibility, that's why. Hell I'm starting to think the screenwriters read my blog (Hey Jon and Hayden!), because the antagonistic high school kids show up on jet skis to antagonize people . But in a positive approval of a non-technology, Luddite stance, the fun, carefree, high-school Bacchanalia takes place at “the Falls”, an unstructured series of bonfires, beer coolers, and camp chairs gathered around a beach and waterfall. It's honestly gotten to the point where I can't think of a scene that doesn't bristle with a condemnation of technology. (I may have issues.)

Still this movie met all expectations, it just seems unfortunate that they were so eager to include a catch-up with everyone that the narrative suffered from an over-burdening. They had managed to bring everyone back for the second film, but it should be pointed out that Oz's story was practically non-existent, Finch and Kevin had very “B” stories, and Stifler didn't have an issue – he was just an instigator, a role that Seann William Scott excels at. The second and third films are really Jim's movies. We do get some nicely pleasant moments with the gang all back together, and this is a group of friends that I, for one, do enjoy spending time with.