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drinks Monday 1 September 08 Edinburgh Reunion in London
Topping And Butch Hit Leicester Square 26-27 September 08
The New Improvisation
I wanted to be involved in serious theatre. Why would I, ACTOR open a book with a black-and-white cover of a man dressed as a scarecrow - hugging two human puppets under a blanket?
by Marcus Markou
There’s a book with a distinctive cover that many theatre people come across in the drama sections of bookshops – and ignore.
I passed on it in my teens, 20s and early 30s – mainly because of the cover. I wanted to be involved in serious theatre. Why would I, Actor open a book with a black-and-white cover of a man dressed as a scarecrow - hugging two human puppets under a blanket?
Improvisation And The Theatre by Keith Johnstone. No. This is not what I had in mind.
I never opened it, never read the first line, or the back. Not until many years later, when I had turned my back on theatre. I’m very glad that curiosity got the better of indifference. The book was a life-saver.
I can’t believe so many actors, directors, writers, producers, designers haven’t read it. Why aren’t we making continual references to it at rehearsals or when we talk about why we do what we do? It articulates – brilliantly - why thousands of us are attracted to theatre. Even the cover makes sense now. Theatre is not perfect. Theatre is raw. It’s at its very best when vulnerable and painfully truthful – even if it is slightly absurd at times.
Don’t get me wrong. I love cinema, television, the net. But with predictable TV and expanding digital horizons, these raw, vulnerable, truthful and absurd components of theatre become especially attractive. Particularly improvised theatre. It’s immediate, spontaneous - and unpredictable.
Great improvisation embodies the best qualities of theatre. That’s why, in my opinion, it can become theatre’s new vanguard. It’s accessible to writers, actors, directors, designers and producers – and all budgets. You don’t need much – two actors and a space. It’s the sporting equivalent of football.
I don’t mean comedy impro. Not Who’s Line Is It Anyway, with dear (but smug) Clive Anderson sitting behind a desk, while funny people invent 100 uses for a police cone. And not devised-theatre based on improvisation.
No, this is something very different. One name is long-form theatre. What’s being pioneered on the fringe of the fringe – and is hugely popular in the US - goes far beyond traditional theatre sports.
It’s dramatic improvisation performance - one of those art forms that could easily tip into the mainstream. It is the idea that actors without a script can spontaneously develop well-thought-out characters, relationships and story during a sustained dramatic performance.
If you’re an actor - why aren’t you doing it? Why aren’t theatre directors and writers falling over themselves to be involved?
It’s not fear. Audiences know what you’re doing, so it’s practically risk-free. They’re already applauding you before you get up - they know that what you’re about to try seems implausible.
You’re starting from a position of failure – there’s no script, no precedent. And when you succeed – Wow. Impro success tastes so much sweeter - principally because there was no script.
Other actors say ‘It sounds great. I can’t believe you’re generating such interesting drama from so little.’ Pause. ‘I’d love to get involved but I just don’t have the time.’
No time to improvise? There is no script to learn. Sure, there are rehearsals – but the rehearsals exist to develop and practise formats. Maybe one hour of rehearsal for every 10 or 20 hours of performance. So for example, an improvised format could look like this:
The relationship between characters A and B is shaken by the arrival of C. The audience chooses which actors play A, B and C, and what they can see out of their window. And the play begins.
You might practise this format and its rules. But there is no real rehearsal period, no research, no tech run, no endless bludgeoning of why the character says this or why she or he does that. There’s no endless, sapping, research into motives and history – the death of spontaneity. You get up and do it - and see what happens.
You quickly work out why things worked (and why they didn’t) - and what rules you need to apply to create drama. You start to unravel Aristotelian principles of drama on the hoof. After you’ve got up a few times in front of an audience, you suddenly realise these universal principles of drama exist. They are inalienable natural laws that reside in us. The improviser unravels them by instinct.
Perhaps A and B should live together. Perhaps they should be siblings, lovers, parent-child, best friends. They can’t be strangers - there has to be something at stake. It may be a relationship of mutual dependence. There should be need unfulfilled by A or B. The need is key – it can be simple, but it must be clear. C can exploit it when she or he arrives in the second scene. By the third or fourth show, you realise that whatever C is going to do in this second scene (in disrupting A and B’s relationship and exploiting the need) he or she had better do it quickly – perhaps at the top of the second scene, instead of building up to it. The drama now lies in the consequences of C’s actions and the fulfilling - or failure to fulfil - the missing need of A or B.
This is a real example – the format was called The Visitor. It was performed over a 12-month period that finished in summer 05 at Neal’s Yard in Covent Garden by Fluxx Theatre Company.
Over the run, the format evolved cast-iron principles. (They’re the same ones that drive all good drama.) The exciting part was the discovery and practice of those principles organically. And finding that even if the rules were the same, the drama was strikingly different each time.
Of course, it wasn’t all great. Some nights were utterly dreadful. But what would you expect? And - as the actress said to the bishop - the nights that were good were very good indeed.
Fluxx an intriguing group to work with. I’ve been a member for a year and half, and it’s had a huge impact. It was founded by the company’s driving force Chris Johnston in the late 1990s. Its structure and aims could become a model for other companies. It’s astonishing how much you learn about yourself, acting and drama - what it is and why it is – when there’s no script. One actor told me ‘I’ve learned more in three months than the time spent at drama school and beyond.’
Chris Johnston: ‘Increasingly, improvisation as performance is becoming more of a feature within the UK landscape. Improbable Theatre recently presented Lifegame at the National Theatre. Companies like Fluxx and The Spontaneity Shop offer a year-round programme of events that are diverse, exciting and challenging.’
Dramatic improvisation performance forces authenticity. There’s no concealed place. You’re either fearless and authentic - or (theatrically) you die. It’s the fastest and most effective way of learning how to act.
So back to that question - why isn’t everyone in the business involved in this affordable, accessible, rewarding medium? It’s not because of fear, time, accessibility, money.
I suspect it’s simply that people don’t know it exists - or perhaps what it really involves. That’s not surprising - because the concept is still evolving. Improvised dramatic performance doesn’t exist as a commonly-accepted idea. Not like opera, or stand-up - or jazz. It’s in the process of being formed. It has yet to tip. But it’s about to.
Improvisation is like life – it teases. You can’t control its outcome. In life, you are forced to exist, moment by moment – and the more you try to succeed, the more success slips your grasp. And with improvisation, whether to improve one’s career as an actor, writer, director - or as a general member of the human race - the amount of confidence and self-esteem that builds is intriguing.
When meetings for acting parts come up, it proves invaluable. You see scripts with new eyes. It’s because you’ve had to rely on instinct. It becomes easier to own someone else’s words. You end up doing what they try to teach you at drama school - you stop ‘acting’.
END
(c) Marcus Markou – 23 September 05
Marcus Markou is an actor and playwright. His Age-Sex-Location (co-written with Richard Redman) was at Riverside Studios (2004). In his other life as an entrepreneur, Marcus and his brother run Dynamis plc, a leading online classified-advertising business.
Fringe Report (c) Fringe Report 2005
Fringe Report (c) Fringe Report 2002-2008
