Improv, Fashion, and Puppies
Why I Love Transaction Scenes

downrightupright:

I’ll be honest, relationships in scenes don’t help me. They’re helpful to a lot of people, sure, and if they’re helpful to you, more power to you. But for me, if I have some sort of premise, making my scene partner my dad/brother/sister/girlfriend/son/wife/best friend/next door neighbor just doesn’t help me. In fact, it creates complexity where I want simplicity. 

To me, relationships, and other exposition about who we are and where are, are just tools with which to play my game. But more on that later. I’d like to talk a little about scenes without strong relationships and why I love them. I want to talk about transaction scenes and scenes with strangers.

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I couldn’t agree with this more.

Relationships in scenes are meant to help players give each other gifts. Two scene partners who already know each other can make assumptions or draw from their “history” (ie. “Mom, you only drink when you’ve been out cheating on Dad!”). This leads to more declarative statements and less questions, a smart way to build scenes.

However, I see a lot of performers pick a relationship and still treat their scene partner like a perfect stranger. Without giving gifts, a relationship in a scene is no more helpful than being two strangers at the bus stop. It only serves to help you if you do the work, and many improvisers don’t. How many times does the game become “bad Dad” because the paternal relationship was established in the second line?

I think transaction scenes get a bad reputation because when handled poorly, they can lead to arguing. There’s also an assumed timeline that once a character gets what they want (the transaction), the scene is over. That’s why it’s extra important to ask yourself, “If this is true, what else is true?” There are so many unexpected places a transaction scene can take you if you resolve to let action move forward and not argue.

One last note about transaction scenes: because you are strangers, don’t be afraid to gift yourself. Pick a point-of-view and stick to it. Double-down on the unusual thing. Commit to a character. If you’re playing someone’s wacky new landlord in a scene, your partner obviously can’t draw from past “history.” But YOU should know what your deal is. 

Upcoming Shows

Bester Western (The Improv Space). May 25, 8 PM - 9 PM: My excruciatingly funny friend, Mark Schroeder, invited Sean London and I to perform with him tonight at their weekly slot. We’re filling in for Erika and Dave, who both went on vacation and left Mark to fend for himself. It will be a half hour show and since I haven’t improvised with Mark since 201, I’m really looking forward to this one. $5 at the door.

LA Indie Improv Festival (The Elephant Studio). May 26, 11 PM: My team Princess Cake will be the very last team performing at the Elephant Studio for the improv festival, so you could say WE’RE HEADLINING, Y’ALL!!! 

Minor League Harold Night (Artworks Theater). June 2, 8 PM: Princess Cake will be performing a HAROLD, so expect shit to get very, very weird.

Hot Improv Nights (The Complex). June 22, 11 PM: A very fun show put together by a couple great guys. Come see Princess Cake unleashed.

That’s all for now, folks!

zvirby:

Ah, improv. We put ourselves out there, making stuff up, hoping to get a laugh from someone. But laughter shouldn’t be why we do improv. There is something deeper, something more meaningful, something hidden inside that makes the world make sense. Improv is therapy, improv is life. So what happens…

10 More Things You Didn’t Know About Me (Part Deux!)

10) In seventh grade, I did an entire book report where I pronounced the ‘h’ in the word “ghetto.” To this day, I don’t know why Ms. Gratzer never corrected me.

9) I have an almost OCD compulsion to complete things. If I start eating a sandwich, I have to finish it. If I’m watching a movie, even one I’ve seen a dozen times, I have to see how it ends. When I’m filling a trash bag, I’ll scour the house for loose garbage to make sure I’ve used up the entire bag. The more I think about it, the more I might actually have a disorder.

8) When I was 18, I lost my virginity to a 26-year-old philosophy major, who bought us a $40 bottle of wine. Check please.

7) I have a nose ring piercing that I’ve virtually forgotten about. At a certain point, it just became part of my face. See also: wedding photos.

6) I don’t leave the house without a bottle of water. Not because I’m necessarily thirsty all the time. But mostly because I’m terrified of BEING thirsty. There is nothing scarier than being thirsty.

5) I played the flute for most of my adolescence and always placed second chair to this bitch whose name I’ve blotted out. I call her a bitch because she was super talented, practiced for hours, never swore, and genuinely deserved it. Whatever. I hope she got pregnant.

4) I managed to get through all of high school and all of college never taking a physics class, and I deeply regret it.

3) I’m really bad at/good at(?) scratching my scalp for scabs. I can’t explain why, but it really relaxes me. Like, if I can find a scab, it’s going to be a good day. 

2) Most of the characters I play in improv are low-status idiots who THINK they’re high-status. If I had to distill my favorite type of character in two words, I guess it’d be: Jennifer Coolidge. 

1) I’m 25 years old and I’ve decided this is the year I take my first acting class. I’m really looking forward to shopping for relaxed separates.

In Defense of Shitty Jobs

Recently Sean London had a long, thoughtful conversation with Matt Besser about improv. Over the corse of the conversation, Sean mentioned he did not frequent Harold Night at UCB; in fact, he had only seen it twice. But he did regularly attend Shitty Jobs and Cage Match. This is what Matt Besser had to say:

“You’d get way more value from going to Harolds than you would going to Shitty Jobs and Cagematch, I think. Shitty Jobs should just be entertainment for you. [You’re going to get more] out of watching people closer to you, doing what you’re trying to do. And you might say, ‘Well, I’m not trying to get into Harolds. I want to jump right to Shitty Jobs.’ And my response to that would be, ‘You’re not good enough for Shitty Jobs.’ I think you should prove yourself doing a Harold first.


That’s why when you go to art school, you can go, ‘I just want to be an abstract painter.’ Well, the teachers aren’t going to do that. ‘You’re going to do figure drawings in my class. Once you can do a perfect figure drawing, then go do an abstract drawing of a figure.’

I guess that’s the way we feel too. Yeah, you should all want to do Asssscat. It’s the easiest. It’s so easy. But it’s the least impressive. So why do you want to do the least impressive? You should aim to want to do the most impressive. That’s the way I feel.

If you can do a Harold, you can do anything. If you can do Asssscat, you can’t necessarily do anything. If you can do Shitty Jobs, I don’t think you can necessarily do anything…”

First let me say, I understand and agree with the principle belief that if you can do a Harold, you can do anything. In the UCB curriculum, so much emphasis is put on performing Harolds, and it’s easy to see why. It’s an excellent training tool to master pulling premises, second beats, making callbacks and group games. Even sticking to a rigid structure helps players discover creative ways to play and fosters good improv habits.

I also understand the Harold is the showcase form at UCB, and the entry point for anyone who wants to perform at the theater. Hundreds of people each year audition to get on a Harold team, and for many, this is the pot of gold at the end of the improv rainbow. For others, it’s the launching pad to other possibilities - acting, writing, performing, touring. Turn on your TV and you’ll see Harold Team faces featured in commercials, TV shows, movies, and writing credits. A purist might try to pretend getting on a Harold team is the end-all, be-all to enlightenment. But the reality is, we’re all out here in LA pursuing lofty, absurd, and utterly ill-advisable dreams. All passion and reverence be damned.

So this leads me to a matter of values. For fledgling improvisers passionate about UCB and in love (okay, obsessed) with improv, what shows are valuable to watch? What shows should inspire you and what is merely, as Besser puts it, “entertainment?”

What criteria determines value? Why is watching Harold Night considered New York Strip steak, while watching Shitty Jobs is akin to eating peanut butter out of a jar?

And lastly: what makes the Harold the most impressive thing you can do, and who decides that? Other improvisers? Ticket sales? The audience reception?

The first show I saw at the Upright Citizens’ Brigade was Shitty Jobs, and it changed my life. I remember one of the first scenes where Dominic Dierkes stepped out with Sean Clements and initiated: “I’m sorry to hear about your mom.”

With his hands folded between his legs, Sean slouched in his chair and muttered, “Yeah well, she’s a stupid idiot.”

Immediately, DC Pierson tagged them out and approached an invisible podium. “We here at the Holocaust Remembrance Museum would like to introduce our next guest speaker, Sean Clements. Thank you for being here, Sean.”

Without hesitation, Sean stepped out. He cleared his throat.

“Thank you for having me. What can be said, that hasn’t already been said, about 6 million stupid idiots?”

In this moment, the entire room erupted. It was one of the strangest, most irreverent things you could say and yet it somehow felt completely earned. Watching the speed and trust these performers shared was nothing short of pure magic. It was as if they could read each others’ minds and anticipate what the other person wanted. Even going off as little a premise as “my dead mother is a stupid idiot for being dead.”

I have no romantic notions these players arrived at this kind of chemistry over night or without performing many, many Harolds. But the idea that what I watched that fateful night was less valuable, inspiring or impressive is patently untrue. The sold-out audience in that room was AWE STRUCK. You couldn’t quell the energy in that room with carbon monoxide. 

This leads me to think about the first time I saw Harold Night.

In the first scene of the first Harold I ever saw, the suggestion was “dog.” Everyone on the stage huddled together and started barking. The barking led to other strange noises and body postures. As I watched this unfold, with no concept of what an organic opening was, I turned to my husband who looked equally uncomfortable. What… is… this?

The first few minutes of that Harold were so alienating, I don’t think I ever quite recovered. All I could think was this had to be some kind of arthouse, in-joke theatre bullshit I wanted no part of. It made no sense at all, and I didn’t get it. I later learned this first Harold experience was not unique to me. In fact, many improvisers shared similar stories of feeling awkward or turned off at first. It wasn’t until they learned what it was and took classes that they grew an appreciation for it. I’d also like to point out Matt Besser himself has admitted to having a bad first Harold experience.

If the point of improv is not to perform for other improvisers, it must be said that Harold Night is not always accessible to first-time audiences. If an audience doesn’t understand what they’re watching - be it a group of people barking or a pattern game - it’s difficult to connect, let alone, be impressed by what’s going on.

This is not to say that every Harold is insular and alienating. Obviously not the case. This is also not to say that a Harold can’t be pure bliss and just as magical as seeing Shitty Jobs for the first time. But how can you lose yourself in the throes of hilarity when you don’t have a basic understanding of what’s going on? In Shitty Jobs, all the audience has to understand is: “We’re making this up as go along.” Simple. When you don’t know the rules, a Harold can look like seven people shouting disparate words at you.

Will watching Harolds make you a better improviser? Maybe. Will performing Harolds make you a better improviser? Surely.

Will watching Harold Night make you want to take improv classes in the first place? In my case, absolutely not.

Something unique I have noticed about the crowd who frequents Shitty Jobs is that I rarely recognize any fellow improvisers or classmates in attendance. Because it’s not one of the free-with-your-ID shows, it doesn’t attract a large number of currently enrolled students. I point this out because it means every person in the audience has paid to be there, and they’ve sold out every week for almost 3 years. I was introduced to Shitty Jobs by a distant, super religious half-Uncle, who I barely ever see or talk to. It couldn’t be farther from the insular improv-for-improvisers at Harold Night.

The idea that Shitty Jobs is just “entertainment” implies that there is less virtue in entertaining. I’m not sure what the value of improv would be if not to entertain. The fact that their core audience is made of non-improvisers speaks to just how accessible and successful their show is. I realize they break the rules. They play fast. They’ll break commitment to make a joke. Most every set has a transaction scene. They’ll even shoehorn an unusual thing instead of organically finding it. 

But IT WORKS. 

If the rules are there to teach “good improv,” then Shitty Jobs proves that playing by the rules will only get you so far. I agree with Besser you should know the rules before you attempt to break them. But I would also contend that Shitty Jobs’ success is rewriting improv law in real-time. I firmly believe this team is the next generation of modern long-form, and any beginning improviser would be remiss to not learn from them. It’s important to remember that improv is NEW in the grand scheme of things. Del Close and Charna Halpern were teaching modern legends in the early ’90s. There is still so much unchartered territory when it comes to this art form, and I would challenge any improviser who subscribes to only one school of thought (even if that school is pretty kick ass).

Watch Harold Night. Watch Shitty Jobs. Watch anything that opens your mind to the possibilities improv has to offer. And don’t forget: you’re a part of something extraordinary. 

The Pretty Flower

Last night my team Soulmates worked with Ben Rodgers as our coach. Our team performs the Pretty Flower form and if you aren’t familiar, the Pretty Flower is basically a monoscene with tag outs. Other teams that do the Pretty Flower are Dierkes and Fernie, Sentimental Lady, and Winslow. It’s an amazingly fun, challenging form to improvise with its own set of rules. 

There is no way I could tackle the Pretty Flower in one blog entry, nor would I like to (you can’t have all our secrets! Hiss!). But last night we worked with Ben Rodgers on tag runs, which was invaluable coming from a member of Shitty Jobs.

We performed a quick Flower in front of Ben, which he stopped even quicker. “In the first tag out, I felt like you were setting up an idea that we didn’t get to explore. You tagged out, there was one short scene, and then we were back to the monoscene. As an audience member, I can tell you it wasn’t satisfying.”

“Here what I want you to do. When you’re tagging out, treat these tag runs as an opportunity to fall down the rabbit hole. Don’t be afraid to get too crazy because you can always return to the monoscene.”

THE SATISFYING TAG RUN

“You have two people in the first scene: the unusual person and the straight man,” Ben explained. “In the first scene, you want to hit the game very fast. This is a tag run so there is no time to hit the game and let it rest. Play the game and play it hard.”

“If we’ve found a game with the unusual person, what’s another situation you can put them in to play their game? That’s the first type of tag you can do: putting the unusual person in a different scenario to play their game.”

In our monoscene, we learned Dave’s character didn’t like admitting when he didn’t know how to do something and would always pretend he did. So Sean tagged to a new scene and initiated: “Are you sure you know how to eat pussy?”

“Oh yeah! Yeah, of course!”

“Because you’re not suppose to use that much teeth.”

Following the game, I tagged in and initiated: “First time skydiving! Thanks for showing me the ropes, Dave!”

* * *   

“The second type of tag is more exploratory. Who is this unusual guy and what’s his deal? Who are his friends? What is his family like? Where does he work? You can take the unusual guy to a new situation, and explore it. In this type of tag, both people must recognize you’re playing a new game.”

“Once we’re in the second tag, the person on the back line should be actively searching for that next tag. Your radar should be sharply tuned for the next unusual thing. In these tag runs, you want to follow the fun. So if the straight man is actually a little weird in the second tag, tag out the unusual person and call out that straight man.”

“But if you call someone out, be prepared to find a new game.”

In my skydiving scene with Dave, it became quickly clear Dave’s character had no idea what he was doing. My character began freaking out, and Sean tagged me to the next scene.

“So you’d like to return this Groupon?” he said.

“YES! I almost died out there!”

“Well miss, you can’t just come to Groupon headquarters for a minor customer service issue.”

New scene. New game. 

* * * 

As Ben walked us through a satisfying tag run, I couldn’t help but think about how Shitty Jobs plays. All of their tags just follow the unusual person in a scene, which changes from tag to tag. If DC Pierson and Dominic Dierkes are two serial killers on a first date, but Sean Clements waddles in as a duck waiter, we want to know what the duck waiter’s deal is. Maybe in the next tag, we meet his boss who regrets hiring a duck to run this Cheesecake Factory.

But wait? Why would anyone hire a DUCK to run the Cheesecake Factory? Now we follow the boss’ character and find out what his deal is.

“When you’ve taken the tag run about as far as it can go, return to the monoscene and keep those specifics in your back pocket. The easiest way to impress your audience is if you can tie something from the tag run into the monoscene later.” 

The main lessons I took away from our practice:

* In a Pretty Flower, treat the monoscene as your home base. Give your character a philosophy and a point-of-view. This will inspire tag outs.

* During your tag outs, make strong choices. Play characters. Be fearless and follow the fun. Now is the time to play aggressively and play fast.

* If you’re on the back line during a tag run, you are just as much in the scene as your scene partners. Pay attention and be alert for the next tag.

* When you return to the monoscene, keep your transitions clear so the audience understands what’s going on. Return to an action. Use character names. Whatever you explored in the tag out is completed, so don’t start talking about it again. Move on to the next thing. 

* Look for connections at the end of your Pretty Flower. Are there any characters from the tag outs you can bring back? Do we learn one of our characters from the monoscene actually is someone from an earlier tag out? Let universes collide and tie it all together.

The Matt Besser Interview: Part One

My husband, Sean London, got the unique opportunity to interview UCB founder Matt Besser in his car. It’s an excellent interview, and I will take partial credit for helping come up with all the good questions.

Because that’s what marriage is, folks. A competition.

downrightupright:

I recently had the huge honor of interviewing Matt Besser (Upright Citizens Brigade, Improv4Humans, Freakdance) and we just talked strictly improv. I highly recommend checking out his interviews on Improv Obsession and Improvinterviews.com, as I do skip past a lot of “basics” and try to find his opinions on a few more esoteric, specific things.

So without further ado, here it is: part one of my interview with Matt Besser, in which we discuss what he learned from writing the UCB book, playing characters, and what it means to be a selfish improvisor.

Sean London: So one of the things you were talking about was that writing the UCB book gave you new insight into improv. Was there anything where you thought about and learned something new, or changed the way you played and thought, “Oh, I was doing this wrong.”?

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Lessons from Ben Rodgers

On Friday, my improv group practiced with Ben Rodgers as our coach. Ben is the newest member of Shitty Jobs, and we were excited to learn his secrets on fast play. I thought I’d go over some of the exercises we did, if anyone else is interested.

BE MORE SPECIFIC: One of the first exercises we practiced were brief 3 line scenes. One person initiated. The second person responded. Then the initiator responded, clarifying the game of the scene. Immediately afterwards, Ben asked us to do the scene over again and be more specific. 

This time the scene would play out with more proper nouns. “Thanks for meeting me here at this Chilli’s in Little Rock.” 

“No problem, Dad. I wouldn’t miss your birthday.”

Afterwards Ben asked us to do the same scene a third time, and be even more specific.

“Being specific doesn’t mean just saying your burger’s from Carl’s Jr. Try to give your character a philosophy and fill out the universe they live in.” 

During the third interpretation of the scene, Ben would interject “Why?” - whenever a character said something unusual. He prompted us to justify our characters’ actions right up top and keep adding details.

“The more specific you are, the more you’ll have to play with in the scene.” 

HAVE YOU HEARD ABOUT JEFF?: The next exercise we practiced started with two people. The first person would talk about a third character not yet in the scene, asking what their deal was. “Have you heard about Jeff? He’s been carrying around bunnies everywhere he goes.”

The second person would then justify that weird behavior. “Oh yeah. Jeff’s going through a bad divorce. Word has it, the only thing he got in the settlement were those rabbits. That’s all he has left of Judy.”

A third person would now enter the scene as Jeff, and proceed to play the game of “newly divorced guy with bunnies.” Once we’d hit this game a few times, the first person would step out of the scene and the second character would endow them a weird trait.

“Karen is probably jerking off in the bathroom. She jerks off everywhere!”

Now it’s Jeff’s turn to justify the strange behavior. “You haven’t heard? Karen’s an exhibitionist. She only jerks off in public places where she can get caught.”

The first person, Karen, would now enter the scene and play her character game. Then, the last person would step out of the scene, leaving Karen and Jeff to repeat giving a gift and justifying it.

“How much easier was it to walk into a scene, knowing who your character was and how to play their game?” Ben Rodgers said. “Entering a scene with a point-of-view is important if you want to play fast scenes.”

AS A FORMER STUNTMAN: The last exercise we performed began with two people sitting and having a conversation. No characters. No game. Just us being ourselves and talking about everyday stuff.

“Now when I point at you, I want you to say ‘As a former stuntman…’ and continue the conversation,” Ben instructed.

In the middle of a discussion about cereal, Ben Rodgers would point at you and suddenly you’d say “As a former stuntman” and proceed: “breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Especially when you gotta be on set at 4 in the AM!”

No matter what you were talking about, when Ben pointed at you, you were a former stuntman. You had to immediately tie this perspective into the conversation.

He then asked the second person in the scene to start saying “That is no different than when NASA faked the moon landing.” Holy smokes!

This was a really fun exercise. The point was to train that improv muscle of having a strong point-of-view that colors the way your character sees the world. Also resting the game.

“It’s not enough to just be weird. You should be weird in a specific way.”

The main lessons I took away from our practice:

* Enter a scene with a strong point-of-view, and use a philosophy to support it.

* The sooner you know how to play your game, the sooner you can start tagging.

* Give each other gifts, and justify them.

* Be specific - with details and with the world you’re playing in.

To put these lessons to the test, we performed two La Rondes - one at the top of practice and one in the last ten minutes. There was a marked improvement in our second La Ronde after drilling these exercises. 

10 Things You Didn’t Know About Me

Every once in a while, I’m going to do this. Let’s do it!

10) I have an irrational fear of driving. I got my first car when I was 21 years old, and it’s a miracle I’ve never been in an accident. 

9) My family went on many road trips when I was growing up. To pass the time, my father played comedy albums and I became quotably familiar with George Carlin, Denis Leary, John Leguizamo, and Eddie Izzard. Imagine a 10-year-old girl trying to recite a joke about pussy farts, smoking, the Latin experience or Druids. That was me.

8) I’ve lived in Los Angeles for almost 4 years, and for the first time ever, I’m thinking about getting head shots.

7) Because of improv, I have more friends than I’ve ever had in my life. You guys, I used to eat school lunch alone in the library. 

6) I can’t be naked around my chihuahua for a very stupid reason. My dog tries to suck my tits. Not bite. Not nibble. Suck. He’s nursing, and it’s just as awkward as it sounds. My husband finds this hilarious because he’s an asshole.  

5) I cried when I watched “Click”… both times.

4) I have no tattoos, but I battle the decision to get one every day.

3) I miss Nick-At-Nite. I watched all of it. My favorite shows were I Love Lucy, The Wonder Years, Three’s Company, Happy Days, Laverne and Shirley, The Facts of Life, and The Brady Bunch. Does anyone else remember Block Party Summer?

2) I’m the best version of myself when I’ve gotten enough sleep, and am wearing spandex.

1) If I never accomplished anything greater than today, I’d still be pretty damn happy.