The art of facing the unknown: Lessons from Improv 101
Whether you’re stepping into a new role, solving a hairy problem, navigating a tough conversation, or otherwise venturing into unknown territory—the rules of improv can help.
A few years ago I spent a month in Los Angeles, and on one of my last days there, I signed up for an improv comedy class. I’d been intrigued by the prospect for a while, ever since a friend in the film industry once told me at a party, out of the blue: “You’d be good at improv.” Despite my utter lack of theatre or comedy experience, I wanted to at least give it a try.
And what better place to take an improv class than L.A., land of the silver screen and acting classes on every corner? It seemed like the perfect comfort-zone-stretching activity for a girl who has never been especially eager to be on a stage or performing in front of people (gah, the pressure! the spotlights! the crowds!). So I swallowed my anxiety, searched for a class online, and paid $45. Game on.
This, my friends, is how I found myself in Improv Comedy 101.
I arrived at 10707 Magnolia Street in North Hollywood on a balmy Tuesday evening. There was a dimly lit parking lot, a squatty little building, and a small sign: Actors Improv Studio. I turned the knob and stepped into a narrow, carpeted room with a dozen chairs clustered at the back. The walls were papered with 1990s comedy club posters. At the front of the room, a red velvet curtain hung behind an unpretentious open area lit by four stage lights.
“You must be Erin!” the instructor called from the back of the room as I joined the nine others who were already seated, chatting or eating Red Vines or checking their phones. Clearly, I was the new girl — I soon learned that most of the others were regulars in this class, which met weekly. A woman with dark braids and sparkling eyes leaned toward me conspiratorially. “It’s only my second time here,” she offered, grinning. “I have no idea what I’m doing, either.”
“Okay, everybody up,” said the instructor, a lean, middle-aged guy named Bill with an expressive face and close-cropped brown curls. “Move through the space.” (I later discovered that Bill is Bill Applebaum, founder of the studio and a Second City Chicago alum.)
There was no introduction, no “welcome to improv class,” no “here’s a basic framework” or “this is what we’re going to do tonight.” Just…“get up and move through the space.” Um, what does that even mean? But we all stood up and gamely stepped onto the tiny stage area. People started walking around, weaving in and out, some waving their arms or stomping their feet, like a class of kindergarteners just let out for recess. I followed them, awkwardly. We’re just getting loosened up, I guessed. Getting comfortable with being on stage.
After a few warm-up drills, we moved on to a series of fast-paced spoken exercises — still with little or no explanation from Bill. I was a deer in the headlights, blank-faced and dry-throated; totally out of my element. I had no idea what the rules of this whole improv game were, and was annoyed that nobody was telling me.
Finally, I realized why: because—hello!—this is an improv class.
Right. The whole point of improv is that you start with little to no information and have to figure things out as you go, in real time. You figure out what the situation is by being in it, by responding to what you see and hear, and to what others say and do. It’s the process of figuring it out that builds the scene. It’s problem-solving that is physical and visceral and immediate. It’s about instinct; more body than brain. A continuous unfolding exchange. A dance of input and response.
Okay, I thought. Here we go. This is what I’m here for, right? To improvise.
“Improv is about character change. The characters in a scene must experience some type of change for the scene to be interesting. Characters need to go on journeys, be altered by revelations, experience the ramifications of their choices and be moved by emotional moments.“ — David Alger
As the three-hour class rolled on, I started to feel more comfortable. Even though every single exercise was new to me, I got used to just being in the moment, entirely unprepared…and being okay with it. I loosened up. I began to say whatever came to mind when it was my turn, without weighing or filtering it first.
I could see the transformation in my classmates, too. As they relaxed, they got better. Everyone became funnier and more aware; quicker, and more themselves. By the end of the night, we were doing entire two-person improv scenes on stage, under the lights — and many of those scenes were actually really funny. Impressive, I thought, for a roomful of non-actors and definite amateurs.
As humans, facing the unknown freaks us out, so we usually try to avoid it. Or at least, we avoid thinking about it. The thing about improv that attracted me is actually the same thing that freaks me out: it’s choosing to enter, willingly, into a situation where unknowns will be thrown at me and I have to respond. There’s no passing, no careful consideration, no “let me think it over.” If you try to plan something in advance, it will almost certainly flop. Careful, rational decision-making — an aptitude many of us have built our lives and careers on — is not even a part of the equation here.
Improv demands that you respond, in the moment, or the scene doesn’t go on. If you don’t react quickly, the conversation dies. The story ends right there.
But when you do respond? More often than not — I was surprised how often — certain fantastic and rather beautiful things happen. There’s synergy, and little epiphanies, and punch lines that land when you aren’t even looking.
“This is the joy of discovery,” Bill told us, in a moment that caught me with the weight of a truth not confined to the comedic. “This is what we delight in.”
You see, the scene keeps changing. And for the actors in a scene, it’s a continual discovery of that change: layers of new information adding on to one another.
More than anything else, improv is a discovery of the unfolding relationships between the people on stage. And here’s why we delight in it: because it can go anywhere. The fact that the scene can go anywhere, and that not even the players themselves know where it will go — this is what makes it fun to play as actors, and it’s what makes it interesting to us as humans. It’s not only fun for the audience to watch, but it’s also fun for us to discover.
Us. The ones who are in the moment. The ones living it.
Here’s something else I learned from Bill: as an improv performer, you’re actually not the one telling the story. Or, more to the point: you’re not steering the story. You’re simply discovering, and letting the audience in on your process of discovery. And that’s where the story really happens. It takes shape in each person in the audience, individually, as they connect with and respond to what you’ve discovered.
I love this.
After my one night on the improv stage in North Hollywood, I couldn’t stop thinking about the experience. What I learned in that one class has changed the way I look at a whole range of things: venturing into unfamiliar territory, personally or professionally; collaborating on projects; navigating tough conversations.
It turns out that an improv mindset is incredibly helpful when applied to lots of situations in regular, off-stage life. Here are the ground rules, from improv guru Del Close‘s Eleven Commandments for Improv:
- You are all supporting actors.
- Always check your impulses.
- Never enter a scene unless you are NEEDED.
- Save your fellow actor, don’t worry about the piece.
- Your prime responsibility is to support.
- Work at the top of your brain at all times.
- Never underestimate or condescend to your audience.
- No jokes (unless it is tipped in front that it is a joke.)
- Trust — trust your fellow actors to support you; trust them to come through if you lay something heavy on them; trust yourself.
- Avoid judging what is going down except in terms of whether it needs help (either by entering or cutting), what can best follow, or how you can support it imaginatively if your support is called for.
- LISTEN.
Pretty much all of life is improv, after all. We take what comes at us, and we figure out what to do with it. The beauty of putting on an improv mind is this: by embracing the unknown and rolling with it, we can create opportunities for truly fantastic, surprising, serendipitous things that no one saw coming.
And this is the fun part. This is what we delight in.
Game on.
—
About the Author: Erin Rufledt helps organizations develop their brand strategy and story and bring them to life with design. She’s the founder of Luminary Lab, a design and strategy firm that works with companies big and small to align their vision, their customer experience, and their marketing to win more business and clearly communicate about the work they do.
Originally published at the-reframe.com on September 12, 2017.
