A Writer's World

In An Evening with Kevin Smith, Smith said something along the lines of “the writer creates his ideal world when he writes.” For him then, he said that apparently in his ideal world, people have endless conversations about pop culture and relationships. By that same token, in Tarantino’s world, violent criminals wax philosophic and then maim each other, and in Scorsese’s criminals try desperately to keep a clear conscience in the face of doing bad things for family. Pretty cool actually. The writer allows us a brief peek into not how he sees the world, but how he wishes the world could be.

I’ve read and heard a number of times, from countless sources, that the improviser is more than just an actor in a play. The improviser is the actor, director, editor, stuntman, costume designer, set designer, and writer all in one, doing every conceivable action simultaneously. Well, if we’re technically writing our play, in the moment, then by extension of the previous corollary, then we are also showing the audience our ideal world (albeit a mutually agreed upon and group derived ideal world). This is one of the things that propels improv from just jokey stuff into a much more meaningful experience. Or as Jason Chin once said, “You have to have an opinion about what you’re talking about.” It’s not enough to merely explore mousetraps (very basic scenes; I mean, how many scenes can we have about mousetraps?) we need to explore what mousetraps are symbolic of (I don’t know, stifled domestic life?) but also to have an opinion about it. The audience doesn’t necessarily have to agree with it, but that’s okay, because stuff that you’re opinionated and passionate about makes for great improv.

Now, what I’ve said is no big revelation. I haven’t exposed any great mysteries about improv, or art, or life (not the least of which because I don’t presuppose to have any). But here’s what is important; the first rule of writing is “write what you know”, so the improv corollary is “improvise what you know”. It’s not really a big surprise that most improv pieces revolve around relationships and superheroes; look who is improvising them. When I was playing with my college group, we invented and modified a number of games to make them more superhero-esque. Why? Because were a bunch of comic book nerds. That’s what interested us. My San Diego group, the Ugly Truth, struggled for a little bit when we tried to experiment with more slow, dramatic improvised scene work. Obviously, things weren’t going well because we weren’t improvising what we liked. Show me an improv group that is struggling with a new form or technique, and I’ll guarantee that they’re doing something they don’t enjoy.

Without a doubt, I’m a big advocate of fun first when it comes to improv. A group that is enjoying what they’re doing will be immensely more watchable than a team that is doing something meaningful and hating every minute of it. Or rather, we’re not all Scorsese or Tarantino, some of us are just Smith. Find, as a group, what you enjoy, are passionate about, and interested in, and the rest will follow suit.

A Cult

People get really put off by the word “cult”; my group, the Stage Monkeys, when it originally started in Louisiana, was (and still is) called the Cult of the Stage Monkey, but when it moved to Mississippi, dropped the “Cult” part, because nearly all of the Miss is in the bible belt, and they don't take to kindly to that kind of talk down there. But improv is in general, a cult itself, and not just in the way that other folks have pointed out before (we make you pay money, we steal your time, we make you more open, emotionally bare weirdos), I mean we are a cult of personality.

Even outside of the near religious reverence of people like Del Close (who does have a shrine at the iO Chicago, for Del's sake) – we revere the people that are involved in it. There are certain people, whose personalities are magnetic – players we love watching, regardless of what show we're watching them in, in fact, we may even prefer to see them in low-concept shows so that we can just watch them. I'm as guilty of this as anyone; you tell me Greg Hess or Blaine Swen or Dave Hill or -stop the presses- Bill Arnett is in a show, and I'm there – I don't even care what they're doing. That's a cult of personality: the devotion of a group of people or community to a single person, based solely on the fact that they are them. A religion built on someone's persona.

Now, in contrast, I just started playing in a community band and noticed something that I had really forgotten about bands – the melding of disparate voices into one sound (“one band, one sound”, to use my Drumline parlance). It's really there in the name: band, ensemble, etc., you have a bunch of very different sounds, that all work together to create a song. Now some instruments are stronger than others (trumpet, trombone) in their big, splashy (often brassy) sounds, while others are cooler, more mellow instruments (saxaphone, clarinet) – but the point is that the entire sound of the group isn't derived from a single voice; it's all the tones working together that complete the sound – it is the very nature of the myriad instruments working together that you can make music. Sure, you can still play some songs without some instruments, but you need all of them working together (and in the right balance) or what you're playing isn't complete.

By the same token, it's important that groups of improvisers recognize the need to have a “complete” ensemble to make “complete” improvs. You can't have an orchestra made of just english horns, and you can't have an improv group made of just smart-witty improviser types. We often lose sight of this when recognizing good improv, in focusing on one particular solo, and forgetting that it was the tubas and bass clarinets that finished the picture. And I say this being well aware that being in two-man improvs, it is all about the cult of personality. Two people can't just be playing the bass line; they've gotta carry the melody and the harmony just to make the song go. You watch a two-man improv, and you buy into the cult of personality: you're saying that what these two people do is interesting enough to sustain your attention.

The Onion's AV Club pointed out in a recent article that rock is currently a post-decadence period: we built nearly the entirety of music (and movies, and a lot of other art) on the backs of artists. “A gross display of power” was how they put it; popular musicians with easy access to money, drugs, and women, and in a lot of ways, we celebrated them for it. Sure, we want them to put out good music, but we also want to see how outrageously oppulent their mansions were, although, the AV Club does point out that now being a “rock band” is discouraged among rock bands. Look at the virtual indiffference to film like I'm Still Here, that follows the faux-destruction of Joaquin Phoenix. These are artistic endeavors nearly more focused on the behavior of the people making it than what they're actually making.

But it's that exact same reason that I am always more impressed to watch a group of people put something together than I am to watch a two-man show, it's just plain harder. You get more people, you add more voices to the sound, which both makes the work harder and at the same time more complex, distinct, and diverse. You are no longer relying on two people to do a duet or an accompanied solo, you're watching the whole orchestra folding themselves into each other to create a rich ensemble piece. Which isn't to demean or diminish the work of a great duo of improvisers, as that has its own inherent difficulties, but its to say that there is a difference between a note and a chord. When you diminish the inherent power of the individual, you heighten the value of the collective – the group mind, or in this case, the group sound. But remember that your group is playing a chord, and every instrument should be utilized to fill it out.

An Open Letter

*Writer's note: I wrote this article about three years ago - I had just saved it because it is a vitriolic, but I also needed content today. Though it is directed to one person, the point I believe is endemic to more than just this one instance.

Dear White Shirt Guy,

Hi there! I saw your improv show last Saturday night; I was the guy in the third row, center stage who wasn’t laughing (more on that later). It might help if I point out that I was sitting next to the two older couples who wouldn’t shut up and left fifteen minutes into your set. They may have had the right idea.

Now you may be asking yourself: “Why am I being targeted for this letter?” Well, there are a couple of reasons, the first of which is that you were one of the two hosts, and therefore I assume that you are in some semblance of in charge of the group. Additionally, you are undoubtedly the most handsome member of the team. Now, I may not be gay, but I do appreciate and respect handsome looking fellas. And you are definitely aware of this fact, as you fulfill the role of “handsome leading guy character” in every scene you’re in.

Allow me briefly to emphasize that last point. You see, what I really mean to say is: every single scene. I’m not sure if you’re aware of the fact, but you were in nearly every single scene. At first I sort of suspected it, like when you’re walking past a window and you think you see two people having sex out of the corner of your eye. But just like my two lesbian neighbors, I had to stop, and step back to see if my initial observation was correct. (It was, and they were. And boy were they going at it.) I started paying very close attention to you, and you were in every god damn scene.

I reckon you fancy yourself as the guy to beat in your troupe. You’ve probably been doing this for a couple of years, and in the tiny fishbowl that is the San Diego improv scene, you’re kind of a big fish (perhaps a halibut?). But I’ve seen this kind of thing before. You feel it’s your duty to make all the scenes funny, and by god, you’re the only man who can do it. Problem is, you’re not very funny, and you play the same character every time. Now, I don’t want to come off too harsh; after all, there wasn’t a single person I saw that entire night who was particularly funny, but I’m singling you out, because at least your problem can be fixed.

Improv is a team sport, man. There is no quarterback, no point guard, no Queen. Now, I’m a big proponent of people playing their group roles and group strengths (you’re the good-looking one, okay), but I have never seen a scene be saved and only rarely made funnier by the addition of another player. And trust me, I have tried. My friends have tried. I have seen the experiment played out in the laboratory of the stage over a dozen times, and it never works. If a scene isn’t going well, the best thing you can do is just edit it. If it is going well, then leave it the hell alone.

Very respectfully,
Dude in the third row, center

Soft Skilled part II

A few months back, the New York Times reported on Dr. Verghese, a physician who is trying to revive the lost art of the physical examination of patients[1]. As may come as no surprise to anyone who has spent any time in a hospital – either as a patient, visitor, or medical professional – modern medicine has largely been reduced to tests. The MRI, CT Scan, X-Ray, Ultrasound, and a million other fancy instruments and other tests have begun to be repeatedly and exceedingly relied on for the diagnosis of ailments, and for good reason; these instruments can shed light on things that previously could not be seen (not without surgery anyway), but the good doctor's problem is that these instruments, no matter how useful they may be, have begun to be relied on more than good old fashioned observation (an over-reliance, even). (As Dr. Verghese says: “What's the most important part of the stethoscope? The part between the earpieces.”) The powers of close observation of the patient, from what you see medically, to what's around them, can be infinitely useful in understanding the patient, shattering the concept of the “therapeutic distance” and replacing it with something bordering on connecting and caring.

The point here is that we as improvisers cannot survive on stage using a “therapeutic distance” (perhaps an “empathetic distance” in improv parlance). I wrote about what I call soft skills a few months ago (you can read it in my archives, Oct. 2010), and I mentioned that in a blog written by Jason Chin, he bemoaned the idea of going to get a beer after class being the anathema to no group mind, but what I think Mr. Chin's issue is assuming that group mind will be the ultimate goal of such a trip. Now, I won't argue that you're not going to get group mind out of just pounding drinks with your classmates (sorry), but you will become more comfortable with them. Soft skills are not synonymous with group mind – quite the contrary. Group mind is that capacity to follow the invisible drum beat in your group, to accept and work with mistakes as though they were intentional, to understand where your fellow players are going; what an audience often sees as “mind-reading”, or more appropriately to act as if you were one entity, as opposed to a bunch of individuals. Soft skills and group mind do have some overlap, and one may help the other, but they're not the same thing. (At least, that's what I think Mr. Chin doesn't like about the concept; I may be dead wrong.)

Let me reference another New York Times article, one that analyzed research that found that people with sisters were more like to consider themselves “happy” than people who did not[2]. The knee jerk response is that it's because women are more likely to be open emotionally, whereas men are not. However, what really appears to be happening is not that women are more open (because research has shown that time spent talking, regardless of the topic, makes people happier), its that women are more likely to talk more often and for longer periods of time than men. This is what we're doing when we go to the bar with our fellow improvisers (or really anyone). It should be noted that it doesn't have to happen at the bar, just seems that's the way it works out. (What does that say about us as people?) It's not that its the drinking that spurs the soft skills, its the spending time with people, playing games, go-cart racing, or just talking that allows us to become better, more connected people, which in turn helps us be better improvisers.

So then what are these skills we want to acquire? Well basically the concept boils down to players being willing to be open and accessible to each other. I just finished reading Johnstone's “Impro for Storytellers”, and he lists at the end what he sees as qualities players have when they are working well together: “They're taking care of each other and being altered by each other. They're daring, mischievous, humble, and courageous. They're being themselves, rather than fleeing from self-revelation.” (For counter-point purposes, here's what he sees as “bad”: “Being negative (e.g. killing ideas). Fighting each other for control. 'Planning' instead of 'attending'. Wrecking stories for the sake of easy laughs.) What I was struck by was how much those don't just sound like “My list of things that make a good scene”, but more like “My list of qualities that make a good player or group of players”. Especially take note of that middle one: “daring, mischievous, humble, and courageous”, these are qualities that hard to foster in a group of strangers, but if your group takes the time to spend with itself, these qualities come naturally as you get comfortable with each other. (Picture any long-time friend of yours, and even if you haven't seen them in years, you know that if you got together it would be “just like old times”. Or, the proclivity of some people to get back into relationships with people they've previously broken up with (even if just “for benefits – seriously, some guys have all the luck).) Studies have shown that happy people tend to be more creative problem solvers, making decisions faster, with less back-and-forth, and are better at combining material in new ways and to see the relatedness between things (sounds pretty useful for this improv thing, just sayin')[3,4,5,6,&7]. Johnstone also refers to what he calls the kinetic dance, which I find to have a lot of similarity to what I'm calling soft skills (not the least of which because it's a better sounding name).

The kinetic dance is the existence of the “threads” that connect all the players – it's the little, almost intangible and for the most part unquantifiable little physical things we all do: how we hold our hands, our bodies, our heads, how far apart we stand from each other that allow us to maintain our various statuses and dynamics with all the people around us. (Imagine two people talking in an office. A third person enters – how do the previous two people react to accommodate the new addition?) This dance exists outside the stage, but often can be lost when we get on stage – but this kinetic dance is the same soft skills that allow us to react spontaneously to each other. Spending time with your fellow players helps strengthen these threads so that they don't disappear under the watchful eye of the audience – it makes for more playful, more attuned teams.

Footnotes

[1] Grady, Denise. Oct. 11, 2010. “Physician Revives a Dying Art: The Physical.” New York Times.

[2] Tannen, Deborah. Oct. 25, 2010. “Why Sisterly Chats Make People Happier.” New York Times.

[3] Greene, Terry, and Helga Noice. 1988. “Influence of Positive Affect upon Creative Thinking and Problem Solving in Children.” Psychological Reports, 63, pp 895-98.

[4] Isen, Alice M. 2001. “An Influence of Positive Affect on Decision Making in Complex Situations: Theoretical Issues with Practical Implications.” Journal of Consumer Psychology, 11 (2), pp75-85.

[5] Isen, Alice M, K. Daubman, and G. Norwicki. 1987. “Positive Affect Facilitates Creative Problem Solving.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 62 (6), pp. 1122-31.

[6] Isen, Alice M., Thomas E. Nygren, and F. Gregory Ashby. 1988. Influence of Positive Affect on Subjective Utility of Gains and Losses: It Is Just Not Worth the Risk.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 55 (5), pp. 710-17.

[7] Isen, Alice M., and Robert Patrick. 1983. The Effect of Positive Feeling on Risk Taking: When the Chips Are Down.” Organizational Behavior and Human Performance, 31, pp. 194-202.

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.

Expert or Fun?

I recently lost two players in my improv team for identical reasons: both people told me that they felt that were now so good that playing with the rest of the team was a waste of time for them. They indicated that they were now too talented to be working with their team-mates. This of course is disappointing: no one ever wants to hear that their fellow improvisers no longer want to spend time playing with them, especially when someone tells you you're not good enough – what a blow to the ego. This of course is one of the ultimate dichotomies of improv – talent versus playability. Or rather: is it better to find team-mates that are in equal or greater talent than ourselves, or work with who we're with?

I would never begrudge someone the desire to push their talents and improv limits in pursuit of better, more challenging work – I haven't had many, but I've had enough of those moments, the ones where everything goes right and all the disparate elements seem to run together into a critical mass, and step off stage charged by that feeling of, for lack of a better word, magic. Those moments remind us why we do this in the first place, and that rush is improviser's equivalent to heroin – it's what keeps pushing us to achieve more challenging and interesting pieces, and its my hope that every improviser will feel at least one of those just once. But the question is, should we be so hard up to play with other talented folks that we treat ones we consider under-talented with such callousness? One thing I've noticed is that everybody wants to be on a Trophy Wife, or a Beer Shark Mice, or a Cook County, or a Deep Schwa, but no one wants to actually exert the effort required to reach those points. Those teams I just named have been playing for five plus years together, with few, if any, cast changes. Just those guys and gals, every week, stepping on stage together, everyone yearning for the same thing. You, unfortunately, can't just walk on to teams like those. I'm reminded of a statistic I've seen quoted at least four times in as many weeks that it requires 10,000 hours of dedicated practice to master a craft. We often tend to forget that, and blame other people for “holding us back”. The problem is, if everyone only played with people that were already “good”, then there would be no new improvisers, because we all suck in the beginning.

Let us not forget that improv is not just about being the talented, funny independent proprietor of the craft, and that easily half of the entire craft of improv is about learning how to work with others. Improv is, and always will be, a team sport – one where a group of people work together to create a product greater than the sum of the parts. Sure, there are one-man shows of improv that exist, but nothing will ever match up to watching a group of people playing together to create a mutual art piece. It's this half of the craft that is often under-taught, because you can't really teach how to be a good troupe member. But make no mistake about it's unending importance in everything you do in improv, we love to watch these teams perform not just because they are funny people as individuals (as they often are) but also to see how funny they are together.

Now that having been said, you should never stay in a group you don't enjoy being a part of. As I and others have said, look for people to play with who you wouldn't mind being stuck in an elevator with. If your team passes that litmus test, then stay with them; the most talented person in the world who is an insufferable prick will always be remembered as a talented prick, but there is no replacement for a good attitude and someone you enjoy being with. It's only when we value talent over personality that we run into trouble. You certainly don't want to be known as the “guy who only plays with people who he finds talented”, sure people may be flattered at first with your seeming honor, but deep down everyone knows that your loyalty is skin deep and you will be the first to run when the going gets rough. And if your team members can't trust you and be open with you, you'll only ever do the kind of shallow, vapid improv you were hoping to avoid in the first place.

Remember that talent is only half the game, and the other half is learning to love the people you're on stage with. They were willing to risk their selves with you, the least we can do is offer the same in return.

Lessons Learned

Next week, I will have been teaching and coaching my first group for exactly one year – exciting times. I thought it might be a good idea to go back and share what I feel I have learned from teaching these new improvisers. These are my lessons learned, and maybe if I had read this article this time last year, things would have been easier, but there's no reason others can't learn from this – experience comes cheaper second hand. Coaching, directing, and teaching are all peculiar skills for the improviser, in that there isn't a class to learn it from, and even most improv books only dedicate a single chapter or part of a chapter to the subject. Even Spolin's fantastic book is more concerned with learning the craft with the end game being putting on a scripted play of some sort. (And teaching children. Are improvisers like children? Discuss.) Instead, I feel like this sub-artform is a melange of what we have seen other people do and sheer terror, or to paraphrase Astronaut Jon McBride: a director who doesn't have any fear probably isn't operating his troupe to its maximum.

Be prepared for disappointment – unless you are fortunate enough to operate a group that is sponsored by a theater, you won't have a regular practice or performance space. Despite all attempts to secure said space, it will always fall through. Practices will be inconsistent in the beginning, schedules will get in the way, practice spaces will be lost and replaced with who knows what, so just be prepared to face the inevitable that things will never go as planned, or even an approximation of that.

Set goals and objectives – this is for two reasons: one, without anything to measure against, you can't know how you're doing. Attempting to compare your group to any other group is tragically misguided, because no two groups are alike, and those variables can never be accounted for. Second, as the director, you need to have good solid answers to questions. “I don't know” is acceptable (provided you can come up with an answer after a little research), but the director is the steady hand that guides the group in a single direction. Instead, decide what you want to see, and keep nudging the group to that destination. Give options, and you might as well not even be there. Also, if you don't set goals, how will you be disappointed when you don't make them? (see #1)

Try and find a few people you like – improv is a team sport, and a social activity, and you're going to have to hang around these people at least once a week for a few hours. This is the great thing about starting your own group outside of any sponsorship – you don't have to keep people you don't like, and you shouldn't.

Let the reins out a little bit – so much of improv is figuring these things out for yourself; there are a whole bunch of things that you just can't teach, and you just have to work the puzzle out on your own so that you can see how it fits together. The director should never be “mom”, and hopefully one day they'll be able to run off on their own.

You are responsible – I don't mean this in the sense of “show up on time, prepared”; (you should be doing that anyway). What I more mean is that you are Dr. Frankenstein, and this is your monster – be prepared to deal with your creation. After you've set your goals, given your objectives, and let out the reins, don't be surprised to find that you've created exactly what you wanted, and maybe you wanted things a little different than what you ended up with. Ah, the hubris. Sadly, the director is responsible, and you get what you ask for.

Some people can't be saved – Hi, Hubris again. Remember me? We like to come in thinking that we'll be cowboys and astronauts, taming the wild frontiers, breaking new ground, and making every person in the group an integral and talented member of a well oiled and imminently watchable team. Sadly, you can only help the people who want to be helped. Focus on the people asking you for help, and hope the other ones will come around.

And would I do it again? Oh, hell yeah.

What's in a group?

If we take the presumption that I have made and assume that small groups are capable of self organization, but also that each person will divine their own place, then what do these groups look like? Nobody tells these groups how to organize or what jobs they each will hold, but invariably each person will eventually find their own niche. Successful group dynamics do not arrive where everyone is doing the same job and eschewing other jobs. Somebody has to dig the ditch just as someone has to wear the suit. Even ant hills have workers, guards, caretakers, builders, etc. I did some research and have found what I believe are the classic group dynamics. Its important to remember that there is no dynamic hierarchy or status in these groups – they transcend status (or rather they have to, otherwise its not a lateral communication). So even though someone may play “leader” they're not actually a “boss”.

Two people.

Undoubtedly the simplest group structure. This is the bare minimum required to achieve a group mind, but each person has a lot to do in order for the group to function. At this level groups self organize into opposites: straight and absurd, extrovert and introvert, etc.. This basic “versus” interplay of two different points of view is central to the entire group organization from this point on, but it this level it is its most bare. Classically you've got Laurel & Hardy, Abbot & Costello, but more recently I point to Sheldon and Leonard from the “Big Bang Theory” or Michael & Michael from the web series “Black 20”. The straight man never points out the absurdity; they understand they can't change their friend, they just try to put the fires out.

Three people.

This level has the greatest difficulty in self organization, because the tendency is for it to devolve into a two on one situation – that is to say a pair and an other. The pair teams up and attacks the other, who has no chance, because he's outnumbered. This is an unestablished swarm. A group at this size now actually has options, but at minimum will organize into emotive, reason, and mediator figures. The driving figure is typically represented by the mediator; their role is to act as an inbetween for the two opposing view points in the rest of the trio (this is usually portrayed in fiction as an actual leader role, but it doesn't have to be). Think Alvin from the Chipmunks, Athos from the Three Musketeers, Moe from the Three Stooges. Reason is still playing the straight man, roughly, and is responsible for being the voice of reason, they look at the world in hard, clinical terms – objective and absolute. Reason is typically represented by an individual with high intelligence or unique skills, think Simon, Aramis, and Larry. Emotive is lead by his heart, easily swayed, gullible, and outgoing; think Theodore, Curly, and Porthos, respectively. The emotive is the humanist one – subjective, thinking about the moment at hand. Together, you have emotion, reason, and practical or in Freudian terms: id, superego, and ego, respectively.

Four people.

Logic would dictate that at this point any disagreements would result in stalemate, but in a 2006 study done by the University of Michigan, both three and four person groups reached unanimous decisions roughly the same amount of the time (about 75%). This means that four person hierarchy must develop so that all input is arranged in a way that the correct choice is the only logical one. Self organization yields the following roles: head, hands, heart, and feet. Hands is now the driving force: the leader, ambitious, passionate. Feet is now the voice of reason, he keeps the group grounded, and is calm, rational, and reliable. Heart is the group's cheerleader, responsible for being optimistic, extroverted, and enthusiastic. Head is kind, thoughtful, and creative – the think it through first and look at the angles kind of person. The Ghostbusters are undoubtedly the group to beat; Peter is the hand, Ray the heart (Peter even says “Ray Stanz, the heart of the Ghostbusters”), Egon the head, and Winston the feet. In American Pie, Kevin, Finch, Oz, and Jim are the hand, feet, heart, and head, respectively.

Five People and Up.

Five person dynamics are difficult, and from this point a definite focal point of leadership is almost required if only to act as a funnel for the group's energy to run through. Typically it's a leader, his right hand (who usually serves as an opposite to the leader, but is his friend, so notice again that we have the basic two man dynamic again), the strong, silent one, the smart one, and the heart. Best example is “The Goonies” - Mikey the leader, Mouth as his guy Friday, Brand as the strong big guy, Data as the smart one, and two people pulling the roll of the heart – Andy and Stef. Even better, “Star Wars”: Luke is the leader, Han his right hand (Luke is honorable to the cause, Han to the money – opposites), Chewie as the big guy, two robots as the smart ones, and Leia as the heart. Often the female – especially if there's only one – will be the heart of the group.

From this point on, jobs get more complex – generally the larger the group, the more complicated the dynamic, and the more doubling up of roles.

Special thanks to TVTropes.org for invaluable research and also for providing yet another avenue to burn hours upon hours of time that should have been spent actually writing this thing.

The X-Men Factor

Last month, I was in Bloomington, IN for an alcohol toxicology course, and shortly after I arrived, the program director gave a brief orientation, where it was revealed that the local college, Indiana University (A campus I would describe as “Harry Potter” meets Gap commercial – old, very English castle-like buildings, and not an ugly person on campus. I seriously believe you have to submit a head shot when you apply.) was home to over 50,000 students. As I realized that colleges are one of the biggest breeding grounds for improv groups, a quick search yielded IU's premier improv group: Awkward Silences. I was pretty excited about getting to see a new group that quite frankly I would probably never get to see ever again, but my second discovery was that it was the week before finals, so sadly no show the week I was there.

I did check out their website though, and I found a cast page where I discovered what I believe is an exciting new improv game: Guess the Archetype. An archetype is a system in writing where characters are essentially filled in by generalizations. For example, in “Star Wars”, Luke is the hero, the Emperor the villain, Obi-Wan the mentor, etc. An archetype is essentially a job in a story: someone may be a unique character, but when it comes down to it, he is the “comic relief” (or whatever) to the story. One of my theories regarding improv groups is that each member is a unique element, a specialized cog even, in the greater machine. Each one, though they may play different characters on stage – from goofy to heart-wrenching – in the tapestry of the group they each have a different role. Think about your group of friends (or maybe even the cast of a TV show or movie that is an ensemble piece) and you can figure out which one is the horn dog, the jester, the wallflower, etc. My point is that once an improv group hits its stride, that blessed Group Mind running in full, six-cylindered harmony – you can figure out what each person brings to the group, i.e. what role they play. This often carries over into scenes, where you can usually guess what each person is going to do for a scene or piece. Part of it is just the shorthand way we deal with the world – our own personal comfort zone.

So I found myself looking at the cast page, and tried to figure out, based just on a minimal amount of bio information and a head shot, what each person was in the group machine. (I encourage you to check it out too: http://www.awkwardsilencecomedy.com/) Here's my guesses, and if anyone from IU, or better yet the Awkward Silences ever reads this, tell me how I did:

Sean Liston – Leading man. Probably plays bosses, cops, presidents, teachers a lot. Classic straight man/hero.
Anthony Smith – The smart one. High reference level, puns, big words. Dry, yet goofy sense of humor.
Ben Gagnon – The horn dog. Lots of dirty humor, sex jokes, curse words. Every character he plays is normal, just dirty.
Layne Dixon – Leading lady. Plays a lot of sweet, nice characters; wives, girlfriends, mothers. Very cute.
Ryan Brown – Party animal. Plays his scenes the most physical of the male members.
Dan Haddad – The lovable oaf. Funny, easy-going sense of humor, sprinkled with a fair amount of nerdy, probably superhero, references.
Blair Dietrick – The quirky girl. Plays a lot of strange, quirky characters with accents and physicality – the whole works.

As an added bonus, I'm providing Guess the Archetype: Home Edition. Recently added to the Stage Monkeys San Diego Facebook page are five head shots of the current members, so to everyone reading, I want you to go on, take a look, and see if you can guess what each person brings to the group (what their archetype is), and leave it in the comments section here. Winner is the person I feel has correctly identified the most correct roles. Check back here in two weeks to see who the winner is, and thanks for playing!