Improv Rules

Improv Rules

I have been immersed in the craft of theatrical improv for several years.  I practice, I read, I take classes and yet I make the same mistakes over and over again.  By this point it should be second nature, but it isn’t.  I can’t seem to remember the rules.  The rules are not complex.  There are only two of them and seem so simple; “yes, and” and “make your partner look good.” One rule requires listening.  The other requires putting another’s wishes, thoughts, actions, before your own, the Golden Rule applied to improv.  

Easy, right?  I mean, I am a woman.  I have been listening to others and their needs all of my life.  I have been subjugating myself and my desires to my parents, husband, children, boss, employees, family, and friends as well.  My life’s purpose has been to be a good listener and good supporter, a cheerleader and team player.  It has always been about others and their story.

Improv seems to be proving me wrong.  So let’s review the rules.   

Rule 1:  Yes, and

“Yes, and” in improv means that when  interacting with another player accept whatever they may say as truth, react to it, and then add something to it.  In giving back a story develops. 

For example:

Player A:  I’m so happy you brought me here to this beach.  

Player B:  I thought you’d like it.  The beach was Grandpa’s favorite place.  We buried him over there behind the dunes last October.  You did such a great job digging that hole.  

Player A defines the place where the scene takes place.  Player B takes the place and adds the fact that the two players are related (Grandpa) and there was an event there (burial).  Player A can now take these pieces and add the next part of the story.

Player A:  Went deep on that hole, at least ten feet.  We had to get him and his wheelchair in there…plus his dog.  Who knew the crazy dog would get to Grandpa’s dinner before he did.  Dumb thing fell dead before Grandpa had even one bite.  Thank God you were there, Mom.  

A story, albeit gruesome, is taking shape.  

That is the rule of  “yes, and”.

Rule 2:  “Make your partner look good.”

Player B could have gone off on a whole story about the two of them at the beach.

Instead she dropped a few tidbits of potential problems and let Player A take on the next step.  

Player A restrains himself as well.  He adds to their relationship, the dog, wheelchair, and potentially poison.  At this point he too could take over the scene, but adds just enough and then points the action back to Player B.  

This is the rule of “make your partner look good.”  

So how hard can this be?  I am finding that my listening behavior and my consideration of those around me are not quite the same.  I keep sticking myself into the action before I let the other have a chance.  I know what happens next and I am sure it will be the best idea.  Hear me, darn it!

Listening isn’t just hearing.  My listening skills revolve around the physical auditory reception of the spoken word, or the visual perception of body language.  I listen with the internal response “yeah, but” playing in my head.  I hear what you are saying, sorta, but this is what I want to tell you.  Most of the time you are talking I am formulating what I am about to tell you back.  Furthermore, in my advancing years, I am finding that if you are speaking I am trying to keep an list of what I want to say in return and not forget what you started talking about in the first place.  My response is more than likely to be disjointed and unrelated as I’ve not fully engaged with you.

Rule two:  make the other person look good.  I’ve thought I’ve done that as well.  I’ve dressed up the best of ‘em.  My kids always looked great.  I made sure they had the best teachers, the best friends, the best grades, the best coaches, etc.  My husband was the smartest, the most talented, the best partner, etc.  Everyone in my circle thought I had the perfect life and perfect children and perfect marriage and perfect job.  Why?  Because I was in the middle of it, of course.  I was busy making these people look good and shiny.  They were the medals on my motherly/wifely/womanly sash of accomplishments.  They were my pride and joy.

 

Actual listening is a pure act of love.  It is fully falling into the other’s presence.  It is pulling them in with your head, heart, and soul.  I heard it described as “lean in”.  The hard of hearing elder says, "What did you say dearie?” as she leans her ear into the speaker’s face.  The physical act of leaning directly into the other can facilitate really hearing the other person.  Staring into the other’s eyes is another way of connecting.  If I find myself redirecting my eyes away from the other’s eyes, I am mentally composing my response, or denying the other’s message, or in the most awful case, being dishonest, not being truthful in my interaction with them.  Which leads me to rule 2, making the other person look good.  It is simply not possible to make the other look good, feel comfortable, or just feel heard if you are not connected. 

   I am a woman and have been properly wired.   As a little girl I  was taught these rules: tell the truth (if it doesn’t hurt anybody else), be needy (life is hard, you need help), and be small (don’t make a fuss).  But these characteristics did not make me strong.  (Women are the weaker sex, remember.)  What if I  tweak these rules into something much more powerful?  What if I stated them as:  Tell the truth (your own truth), be needed (encourage, engage, and enlighten the world with your presence), be vulnerable (open your heart.

     From this place a strong, supportive, positive character (and human being) can emerge.  I can "yes, and" hearing only truth from my scene partner and respond honestly, not contrived to be something the audience wants to hear.  I can make my partner look good because I fully understand they need me.  Mistakes happen and these mistakes can help us grow or see the world from a new perspective or accept our mortal frailties.  Vulnerability is the thin layer between the world and me.  My job is to keep that layer just thick enough to hold my unique spirit but not so thick that the building story can't know my uniqueness, my own special gifts, that only I can offer. 

  Let me go all John Lennon and utter the words, "imagine..."  Imagine if we believed and knew these tools heal? Imagine if these tools could save the world?  Imagine if, as women, we took time, or better yet, took the chance, to look into each other's eyes.  Could we begin to see the power we all share?  The power to rewrite our stories, to build them together?  We can build our story, where each of us adds just enough to give the other their part, their intelligence, their heart in the grand collaboration, the story of our human experience.  We can approach every encounter with yes, I hear you.  Hear me, too.  We are strong, honest, and can be alive and fully present in our creation, together.

April 24, 2016