Improvised comedy is one of my very favourite things to do. I get an incredible buzz from standing up in front of an audience with no idea what I or those I’m on stage with are about to say or do. When it works and the audience laugh, it feels like real magic. When it goes wrong, you can just forget it and move on to the next scene or game. There’s no lines to learn and people who don’t do it think you’re awfully brave and clever. What’s not to like?
There is one downside. In the UK, a lot of people aren’t really sure what improv comedy is (unlike in the States, where it has a much wider and more appreciative audience, particularly in cities like Chicago, which is pretty much the birthplace of improv comedy). You try to explain it to British people without using the 5 dreaded words and you just get blank stares, till you give in and say, ‘It’s a bit like Who’s Line Is It Anyway?‘, at which point they go, ‘Ooohhh, riiight…’
Yes, it is a bit like that, but there’s so much more. Whose Line is an example of what’s known as short-form improv – short games with different sets of rules, which use suggestions from the audience to give the improvisers a starting situation or characters to play, and normally have no thematic connection with any of the other games in the show. And even then it’s been doctored for a television audience. Don’t get me wrong, I love the show, but it really is the tip of the iceberg when it comes to showing you what comedic feats can be achieved through making stuff up as you go along.
Watching short-form improv live tends to be a much more exciting experience. For a start, you can make suggestions along with the rest of the audience, which makes you a part of the show. There’s no way it can be edited to make it look funnier – anything can happen, which makes it seem a lot riskier. When a performer makes a mistake it can be just as funny as if they come out with the perfect one-liner. There’s a real sense that you’re in on the joke with the people on stage, and the performers feel that vibe with the audience too.
Then there’s long-form improv. This works more like a play, with a suggestion from an audience member (sometimes just one word) triggering a series of scenes which are connected – through characters, plot, theme, whatever. Long-form can take you (whether you’re performing or watching) on some really strange journeys, but (usually) it somehow manages to tie everything up by the end. Most of the time, even the actors don’t know how this happens.
There’s lots of other kinds, and improv troupes all over the place are constantly experimenting with new ways of doing things. I’ve been lucky enough to perform in shows that have mixed short- and long-form techniques, as well as improvised musicals and 12-hour improvathons.
So, yeah, I love it. In fact I meant to talk more about my personal involvement in it but I went off on an improv comedy tangent instead (which is why I’ve called this ‘part 1′). If I have piqued your interest, and you happen to live in the Brighton area, come and see the improv troupe I’m in, Off the Cuff, performing this Wednesday evening at the Brunswick pub in Hove. I reckon you’ll love it too.
