How to be the Greatest Improviser on Earth Read online

  Meaning: nothing is happening now, and the scene is dying. The student is setting up a moment that isn’t here yet. In fact, it won’t ever get here.

  Instead, you must see what is already happening and report it. Like this:

  ● You’re sitting down at a table, so you decide you must be at a restaurant, and begin miming that you’re eating. That’s happening now.

  ● Roughly at the same time, you see your partner is smiling at you, so you feel that you must be on a date and you smile back. Ooh, something is afoot.

  ● You notice that in doing this you feel kindly to the other character, so you think, maybe I’m in love with this person. And out loud you say “I love you,” to let your scene partner know what you’re thinking. You just get right to it, so that it’s happening in front of the audience’s eyes.

  ● And because your scene partner was watching your eyes, he/she knows how your character feels, looks down and takes the moment in, and then looks up and says, “I wish I felt the same way.”

  When you are present, you report what is happening. You are always in the middle of the moment. You feel it and make an assumption about what must already be happening, which also means, by the way, that you always assume something is happening. When someone says “hi,” it’s never just “hi.”

  You shrink your scope down. Instead of thinking ahead 22 minutes, or even two minutes, you look around you at the current moment.

  “Now” gets bigger and slower and richer and more evident.

  You turn into a Sherlock Holmes of observing the present instant. From a snapshot of a moment, you can make decisions about what you feel, what the other person must be feeling, and what must have happened to get us here.

  It’s not where you’re driving, but what the car ride feels like now, what you feel about the passenger, the song on the radio, and the landscape you can see right at that moment.

  You’re constantly waking up into worlds that already exist and trying to fake it. There’s no point in planning ahead, because everything is constantly changing.

  You observe and react—honestly and directly—and wait for your partner to do the same, and then you’ll have something else to observe and react to.

  The future vanishes! It’s weird and cool and oddly soothing .

  Become The Most Riveting Person On The Stage

  You will know that you are truly being present when this happens: you become the most riveting person on stage.

  They say you can’t teach charisma. But you can, and I just taught it to you.

  Be fully present, and the audience will watch you like a hawk.

  It doesn’t matter how good an actor you are. Or how “naturally charismatic” you are. If you are honestly communicating how the current moment feels, in an authentic way—no matter how clumsily or awkwardly—the audience will pay attention to you. People will magically give you space. Yes. It happens.

  I saw a show a million years ago with a nervous, bulldogging man and a quiet, confident woman. He started the scene as a husband on a fishing trip with his wife. He was complaining about the weather and demanding a beer and asking her why she picked this day to go fishing, all the while not giving her time to answer. She had time only to peep things like no and yes and “Boy, it sure is rainy!”

  In his defense, the guy was more nervous than actually bullying, but the effect was that his scene partner couldn’t get a word out.

  But she was so much more confident as an actor! She did everything physically. Her eyebrows popped up when he revealed that the weather was bad. She looked a bit sad when he said the fish weren’t gonna bite. When he asked for a beer, she leaned over into a cooler and plucked a beer up in sharp, funny movements. I remember she clutched the can just at the top with her fingertips, letting the imaginary can dangle as if it were a gross thing she didn’t want to touch. And when she handed it over to him, and he absent-mindedly took it as he rambled, she gave a quick nod of satisfaction to herself, and at that the audience laughed.

  She was in the scene. She was a specific character. She was cool and calm and confident and specific. She was having fun. She was funnier.

  And all the while he was talking, we were just watching her.

  That woman? MERYL STREEP . No, I’m kidding. I don’t know who she was. But I remember thinking that’s the way to play with a stage hog: you ride the wave in front of you, instead of looking ahead for a different one.

  See It Land, Let It Land

  A good note for being present is see it land, let it land.

  You make a move—verbal or nonverbal—and wait to see it land in your partner’s face before you keep going. That’s “see it land.”

  And when your partner makes a move, you feel it and show your feelings. Just a bit. A little smile, a little nod. That’s “let it land.”

  Improv often feels like a series of couplets. You move, they move back. They move, you react. You both provoke reactions in each other, like two poles of a battery.

  Be Comfortable With Silence

  Another obstacle to being present: people talk too much. New improvisers routinely talk until they are interrupted. They think talking equals confidence.

  Stop talking. Let there be silence after you speak. That’s when your words are absorbed.

  Stop talking, maintain eye contact, and let stuff sink in.

  Reps

  Students in my classes will often ask for “hard notes.” They want the hard truth on what they need to do to get better. I generally do not oblige.

  The hard truth is often simply: learn to act like a normal person.

  Ever see what happens to a person when you point a camera at them? Their face goes into a fake frozen smile. Their spine stiffens. I’ve seen people unconsciously bend their arms so they look like robots, and also inexplicably tilt their heads far to the side. And these are the changes that happen just for a still photograph, something we all actually have a decent amount of practice doing.

  In improv we’re asking you to move around, talk, and make things up, all while being watched. This is all before we even worry about being interesting, surprising, or funny. Just the basics of existing like a natural human being are incredibly difficult at first.

  But these basics are essential if you want to be funny on stage. You have to look comfortable and natural in the unnatural world of an improvised scene.

  Another challenge: people, in general, are bad at words. You have a feeling, and then your brain has to do some amount of work to miraculously translate that feeling into words. And then the recipient has to take those words and complete the even harder task of translating them back into feelings.

  Recently in class I saw someone forget his own name. Remembering other people’s names is very hard, I know, but I had assumed retrieving your own name from your brain would be simple. Still, during a names warm-up, one student, when he was supposed to say his own name, went, “Dave. Wait! No, I mean Sean.”

  He was flustered. It’s the start of class, and he feels the weight of everyone watching him. Everyone is like that when they’re learning. Even veterans are like that on certain days. Words are hard.

  Another time I saw a scene that went like this:

  Player 1: Could you keep it down? Your drums are really loud.

  Player 2: I’m sorry. I just… it’s that I have a gig tomorrow.

  Player 1: You’re keeping up my wife and infant son. What’s your problem?

  Player 2: Nothing! I mean, I love infants.

  No one says, “I love infants.” Maybe you say, “I love babies!” or “Babies are so cute.” But no one in the course of a normal conversation says, “I love infants.” For that matter, no one says, “You’re keeping up my wife and infant son.”

  Now, on one hand, that kind of awkward phrasing is part of the fun of improv. You word things slightly “wrong,” and it’s a gift you use to have fun on stage. But when you’re starting out, almost every single thing you say is peppered with awkwardness. The uni
ntentional game of every scene, when you are learning, is “these people sound insane.”

  It’s normal. Your chords aren’t wrong, you’re just looking at the frets and taking a long time to get your fingers into place. You’re heading down the court in the right direction, but you’re looking at the ball while you dribble. The music starts, but you don’t start dancing for several measures, and when you do you’re behind the beat.

  That’s okay! You’re learning.

  But there’s no hard note that gives you comfort on stage. No teacher, exercise, or book. It’s just reps. Repeat, repeat, repeat. It is the most reliable method for getting better. More and more of your real self will become available to you as you keep at it.

  Be Present Exercises

  60 Seconds of Silence

  Think of your brain as an excited puppy, trying to race ahead to the future. Here’s an exercise to get it back to the present.

  Two people up. They get a suggestion and then assume a starting position. Something not too big is best—a hip cocked to one side is better than a big crouch while screaming. The people should be able to see each other. No stepping downstage and gazing out over the audience.

  Then they wait 60 seconds. No object work. The scene isn’t starting. They just wait 60 seconds and regard each other. After 60 seconds, the teacher says “start,” and they do.

  60 seconds on stage is a hugely long time. At first your brain is racing: you’re thinking of ideas of how you might start the scene. You pick one. Then you don’t like that idea and you change it. Then you’re trying to guess what the other person is thinking, and you change your mind again. You become self-conscious about your posture and adjust it.

  Then you start to settle. You’re still thinking things, but it’s less frantic. You start to settle on a vague, not-quite-locked-down notion of who you are and how you are feeling as a character. The self-consciousness and panic boils away. You relax.

  Then, you’re calm. You have a general sense of the dynamic—I’m nervous; she’s stern or I’m excited; he’s also excited. Ideas float into your brain, but now they’re like pieces of paper gently floating on a breeze, not gunshots at your feet commanding you to dance.

  And then the scene starts. You will be listening well for the first time.

  Don’t worry if the scenes begin a bit slowly. They will quickly become very compelling and good.

  Only Numbers

  Two people up. No suggestion. They do a scene where they only say numbers, in order, to each other.

  So the first person says, “One.”

  And the other person responds, “Two, three, four?”

  And the first person says, “Five! Six! Seven.”

  No repeating numbers. If someone goes “Eight?” you don’t respond with “Eight.” You respond with “Nine.”

  At first people will try to communicate very specific, very literal things. Someone will be trying to say, “I’m mad at my husband. He was supposed to meet me here!” but they can only say, “One! Two, three, four! Five!” They are gesticulating a ton and trying to make “two” equal “husband.”

  But that doesn’t work. You can’t re-use numbers, so there’s no way to make any number mean anything. And we can’t see your “husband,” so there’s no way to know that you’re talking about him.

  The other person can only tell that you’re upset, so they adopt a soothing tone. “Six. Seven.” They are trying to calm you down.

  Then, you stop trying to make specific points. You just start responding to each other’s tone. If “six” and “seven” are said in a soothing way, then you calm down and say, “Eight, nine, ten,” in a sort of “you’re right, you’re right” tone.

  Dialogue has a music to it, and that music communicates a lot. Being present means being in touch with that music.

  Variation: Each person can only say one number. This forces you to use silence and tone to get feeling out of just one word.

  Doing “Zip Zap Zop” Correctly

  If ever there were an improv exercise that seems as if it doesn’t need explaining, it’s the classic Zip Zap Zop. It’s the simplest of all improv warm-ups. Class stands in a circle. One person claps in the direction of someone else and says “zip.” The person clapped at claps simultaneously with the clapper , then passes the motion on by clapping at someone else and saying “zap.” And then that third person claps at someone else while saying “zop,” and then that person claps at yet another someone and starts over with “zip.”

  The next time you do Zip Zap Zop, notice how often you are startled when you are clapped at.

  Someone claps at you and says “zip,” and you give a very small start. “Whoa,” you quietly say before continuing the exercise by clapping and saying “zap.” You had sunk into yourself and detached from the moment.

  All that happens in this exercise is people saying “zip,” “zap,” and “zop,” yet those actions continually surprise the people doing it.

  This is what we’re up against when we are trying to be present. Your mind is constantly trying to pull back from the current moment, sneak to somewhere deep inside yourself, and just watch.

  But you need to be present, ready to respond. Bend your knees ever so slightly, lean forward, and be in it.

  Warm-Up Scenes

  This isn’t even an exercise, but if you want to get better at being present, leave time at the start of every practice for a simple batch of warm-up scenes.

  Everyone up. Two at a time, you do scenes. A new suggestion for each one. The coach calls “edit” after about a minute. No walk-ons, no tag-outs, no support—just a series of short, two-person scenes. No notes either. Just do a batch of scenes. You go until everyone has done two.

  Allow yourself this time to warm up and get comfortable. I’ve never seen a class that didn’t get better with 20 minutes of mostly uninterrupted scenes near the top of a practice.

  Word Association / Follow the Follower

  Here’s another simple exercise that will anchor you to the present moment. It’s good for a warm-up at the top of a practice, before you start doing scenes.

  Everyone gets up and forms a circle. Then there are two parts.

  First part is “word association.” The teacher picks someone to start. That person points at someone else in the circle and says any word or phrase (“traffic light,” “stone,” “acceptance”). That person then points at someone else and says whatever that term makes them think of.

  Specific (“suitable match,” “ferocious appearance,” “south of France”) is better than general, but it’s more important to just keep it moving.

  Second part is “follow the follower.” After about 20 seconds of word association, someone in the group makes a big physical move—preferably in reaction to whatever was just said at that moment, though it’s more important to just do it when it needs to be done. If someone has just said “carpentry,” then someone else might make a hammering gesture and make the sound “clang.”

  Once the person has made a physical move, everyone switches into a nonverbal “follow the follower.” That means everyone just physically copies each other so that the whole group is repeating a physical action. The group continues to copy each other, letting the group’s action morph quickly and easily. (I describe “follow the follower” in more detail in the “Be Brave” chapter).

  Then, after about 20 seconds of physical movement, someone stands up straight and points and says a word or phrase. The whole group snaps back into a circle and does word association again. After 20 more seconds, someone makes a big physical move: back to follow the follower.

  Alternate “words” mode with “physical” mode for roughly four minutes.

  By alternating between verbal/analytical skills and nonverbal/physical/animal skills. this exercise helps you integrate the responses of your logical left brain and your more intuitive right brain. The two sides inform each other. When the group finishes their first physical round and returns to words, they will be
energized and the choices will come more easily. Once they come back to the physical, after words, they will be more specific and fluid with their physical choices.

  You’ll be focused on the present, no longer thinking ahead.

  Be Changeable

  I have a completely unfair test that I try on people to see if they would be good improvisers.

  I offer the person a mundane thing, like a piece of gum or a glass of water, or even a pen. “Hey, want a glass of water?” or “I’m going to go get a sandwich—you want anything?” (If the person says yes, then I can’t do the test, and I just give them the gum or whatever.)

  But if the person says no, I immediately ask, “Why, are you scared?”

  This test is funny because most people will instinctively say, “What? No, I’m not scared.” They say this even though the question does not make any sense. Of course they are not scared of gum. Really what they are saying is: “I don’t quite know what you mean by that question, and in fact I don’t really know what’s going on, but I will tell you this much: I am not scared.”

  People who are naturally good at improv will instinctively adjust themselves to the absurdity of the question. They say, “Yes, I am scared.” Or maybe they’ll say, “Yes, very scared, in fact.” Really good ones will change their face to actually look a little scared.

  They just adapt themselves for the fun of it.

  If someone does that, and they’ve never studied improv, I will tell them, “You should take an improv class. You’d be great at it.” And they’re like, “Were we talking about improv?” And I say, “No, and also I don’t have any gum.”

  This section is about being changeable. It is a skill uniquely important to being an improviser. All actors learn to be present, but the improviser also becomes equally adept at being changeable.