From Spymonkey to Actual Monkeys
I did a clowning course with Spymonkey in September and I am still absorbing the week (it was great, go and do it). My main note was to show my pleasure more, which is not surprising to me. I used to be really shy, and I still get shy in large groups sometimes. Performing standup and improv helped me to change that a lot, but it was not my habit to show emotions freely. So it was a big lesson to learn that when I started and I’m still working on it. I used to find the idea of showing emotions on stage terrifying, and it can still be intimidating but overall I’m grateful I get the chance to practice it and do something that I love. It’s really useful for characters and its fun to explore that on stage.
Showing my pleasure. That made me think about people I have seen sharing their pleasure. All the great teachers I have had, at school and later, all the best speakers and performers- they all obviously love what they are doing and love to share it. It’s a good path to follow.
What does this have to do with human evolution?
I read an article in Scientific American Mind (Vol 25, No.5) called Let’s Talk, that made me think about how performances work. It’s about the common rules of languages across the world and what they tell us about human communication.
One difference between human and animal communications is that animals rarely require a response. For example, if a chimp shouts an alarm call it doesn’t expect another chimp to reply, but a lot of our communication directly requests a response. “Hello, how are you?”. If you don’t get a response you get confused or annoyed at the other person for ignoring you.
But I think sadly a lot of communication is mixed up in real life. Not a lot of our cultural dialogue is about vulnerability and honesty so we learn to close it off. People drop hints and talk sideways then get surprised when nobody understands. Then we go to the movies or a theatre to see raw honesty played out in front of us. That’s back-to-front way of doing things.
So in my humble opinion, combining the teachings of Spymonkey and current linguistic evaluations of the true nature of human communications, I deduce that showing pleasure is a really pure form of communication. It’s saying “I am enjoying this,” and inviting the audience to come along for the ride. It’s weird and its humbling to do something that is essentially asking people to accept and trust you, as you are. It’s not always comfortable but it is always effective.
What’s your pleasure?
(I also love story-telling so check out my Epic Tales workshop this Wednesday in London. Only £5 for a taste of my secrets. Full details here.)
The first in a series of musings on comedic duos.
R2-D2 and C-3PO. I was thinking about why I prefer the original movies to the later prequels, and the difference in these two is a good example. I won’t go into a lot of detail about episodes 1-3, that has been covered in detail elsewhere, but I will pick out an incident that exemplifies why I don’t like the prequels.
There is a scene where the two robots are going through a factory and R2-D2 knocks 3PO into the works and they get knocked about. 3PO gets his head pulled off, later it falls down into the floor and he says “I’m beside myself!”. It’s funny because its true figuratively and literally. It’s also not funny because its meta and you can see the scriptwriter being clever. Personally this is the kind of meta-humour that really turns me off in improv too, its always a distancing from what is going on.
On the other hand the comedy in episodes 4-6 comes soley from their relationship and personality. They were originally planned to be bickering bureucracts, that dynamic survived their transformation into droids. R2 is headstrong and not afraid of anything, 3PO is anxious and terrified of everything. They are the perfect odd couple.
The really great thing about them is that the audience can’t understand R2, which is a pretty brave thing to do if you think about it. 3PO is the straight man, R2 is the quick-witted one who always has a cheeky comeback, and the audience rarely finds out what it is. Imagine an episode of Morecombe and Wise where you had no idea what Morecombe was saying, only Wise’s reactions would sell the humour.
It also makes me think about scenes in gibberish where one character can speak normally and translates or reacts to the other person. I know I always prefer it when an improviser reacts as if they can understand because it adds a whole new texture to a scene.
Which reminds me that the straight man role is incredibly powerful in comedy. You can make anything funny just by having a characteristic reaction to it. It makes me think about sudden reactions and how they can totally flip the meaning of the last sentence in a scene.
I think this study is great. It shows that innovative engineering breakthroughs tend to come in small steps, rather than in large leaps.
By recording conversations and analysing them they found that brainstorming sessions work on the principle of ‘Yes and’. One person proposes something, which sparks off the next step from somebody else, and it continues until they reach a completely new idea. An idea they could not have come up with on their own.
That’s group creativity and I think it’s fascinating to see proof of it in technical fields. It is something that I already believed, that ‘creative’ and ‘scientific’ fields are just overlapping parts of the same human endeavour- an enquiry into how the Universe works and what we can do with it.
A great article about improvising stories and how to connect to the audience. Concise.
Practicing improvisational comedy for a couple of years has granted me the experience of created hundreds, if not thousands, of stories alongside my friends. Along the way, I’ve stumbled upon some principles of storytelling help me to elicit strong reactions from an audience, whether it consists of a two or fifty people.
Make the audience care about your character. If the audience can’t relate on some basic gut level to your character, then everyone is going over their weekend plans in their heads instead of listening to what you have to say. Give your character a very human quality, so they feel like they know the character; ideally, they feel like they have hung out with your character for the duration of the piece. Give us the gritty; others will enjoy ticking off a checklist of virtues and vices
Include enough details to relay your experience on a visceral, nearly-tangible…
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I watched a video on YouTube by Eric Thomas, the hip-hop preacher.
He said something unusual. To paraphrase, he said:
“You matter. I’m saying that because some of you may never have heard that.”
It’s strange that people don’t say that more often. I know people like to say it with actions, but there is something powerful about hearing that raw phrase, ‘You matter’. There are two things that strike me about this, the power of the obvious and the power of the hidden.
This is something I have learned. People avoid being direct and obvious, so playing a character that is obvious is very unusual and almost always very funny or very touching. Usually it can be both.
Basil Fawlty in Fawlty Towers. His reaction to everything is to freak out, you know he is going to freak out and yet it’s still funny. Him trying to hide things from Sybil is also funny because you know that she will find out. I think that series plays the with tension of hiding and revealing excellently. His well-known interaction with German guests is a great example of the power of the obvious. He says exactly what he’s doesn’t want to say and winds himself up into a ridiculous frenzy. Imagine that scene where he says nothing and maybe just made jokes outside their earshot. Absolutely no drama.
It’s hard in the beginning to play characters that hide what they want, because often people don’t pick up on it. I think you need to work with other improvisers for a while to learn how to read each other. It’s not impossible though, its very close to how we live. Hiding what we want from ourselves or others.
You could try this experiment, stand in front of a mirror and say to yourself “You matter.” Then see how you feel about that. Is it weird and uncomfortable? Is that because you don’t often tell yourself that you matter?
If you aren’t positively acknowledging yourself, then what are the hidden things you say to yourself instead?
Watching random videos on Youtube is a great way to find new inspirations. Why was I listening to a hip-hop preacher? That doesn’t matter. What matters is taking something fascinating away from it.
More importantly: You matter. Just because you might not say that to yourself or hear it a lot doesn’t make it less true. Especially in a creative field like improvising drama and comedy, your voice matters.
I like museums. I just realised a particular reason this lunchtime. I’m working in the back office of a museum at the moment and I headed out to the exhibits for a break. It was immediately relaxing because I just started wandering and peering at stuff, whereas I don’t feel that freedom when I walk out from an office into the street. I was allowed to be.
If you walk around the street peering at things like the architecture and objects around you, then people assume you are a tourist. That or they follow your gaze because they assume you are looking at something unusual. Yes, I am looking at something unusual, The World. There is only one of it.
It is strange that we create specific zones where we engage with the world. I feel the same way when I watch a movie, I become more sensitive to the ambient sounds of locations like pubs and train stations. When I am actually in those locations I don’t hear 1 percent of that information. Unless I stop and listen. Then I hear it all and it passes through me like the wind rustling trees.
That’s what makes things come alive on stage as well. When I stop and consider the imaginary terrain and the events around me I am drawn into it more. It’s fun.
I like museums because they are a socially acceptable place to walk around peering at stuff. I like improv because it’s a socially acceptable place to walk around being affected by stuff.
I have a vivid memory of one of my very earliest improv workshops. It was a seven-day intensive class taught by Dylan Emery, culminating in a performance of an extemporised musical. I look back on those days with great affection. Due to the fact that I had no idea what improvisation was, I made mistakes with greater confidence than I ever have since. It was the steepest learning curve I have experienced in my life.
During one session, Dylan had noticed a tendency (which, after all these years, I have yet to overcome 100 per cent) of rehearsing my words in my head before allowing them out through the front of my face, so he side-coached the scene by yelling out ‘New choice!’ after everything I said. Everything. The great thing about this was that I was unaware that ‘New Choice!’ was a well-worn shortform game and exercise designed to take you to an uncensored and unprepared state of mind. But in my ignorance, I simply assumed that everything I was saying was wrong, and that he was discounting every line I came up with in an attempt to steer me towards the perfect line. The memory of myself sweating and struggling, thinking to myself, ‘What on earth does he want me to say?’ makes me smile now. But eventually I reached the end of the list of things my brain could think up in advance, and Dylan was able to coax something genuinely spontaneous from me, perhaps for the first time in my life.
I was thinking back to that episode the other day after running a rehearsal with Luke. It’d been a while since I’d run a rehearsal, so beforehand I sat down and prepared ten different exercises to help us approach our chosen topic, which happened to be ‘creating strong initiations’. I wanted to make sure we had plenty to do, and that we wouldn’t get bored. At the rehearsal, we blasted through these exercises, and each one gave us a little glimpse into a particular technique, a way of thinking about how to create strong initiations.
But afterwards, I couldn’t help but think that we’d have achieved more if I’d just picked one or two exercises and we’d drilled them continuously for two hours. For me, exercises like ‘New Choice’ and ‘Endless Box’ only seem to work if they go on longer than I want them to. In fact, I often find that it is necessary to get bored of an exercise – to go through and past that moment when I’m starting to wonder what the purpose of it is – in order to reach the point where the rational part of me has entirely given up, and I’m learning with my instinct.
So while it’s fun to come up with lots of different exercises – which might be useful if I were introducing a new group to a range of things for them to go away and practice – I’m learning the value of taking a single idea and pushing it just a bit further than my comfort zone allows. Everything was like that when I was first starting out, and it was amazing.