Scenes Without Laughs

Some of the best scenes I've ever seen are those that are about not getting laughs. When I spewed at the beginning of the chapter, "Improvisation, always different, always the same," doing scenes where you get no laughs is a way to defy this bitter slogan. Having laughs in mind when you go on stage produces a certain mindset: very product-oriented. It has you work in a particular, limited set of actions and words. The product is the laugh, or the need to create that laugh. This product-thinking steers improvisers into certain pat­terns of behavior, and the moves associated with that behavior seem to fit into a certain kind of finite set.

Alleviating the burden of getting a laugh opens up a whole new universe. Suddenly, a moment that would have been joked out is played through. All moments in the scene appear more honest, and points of view and characters are upheld effortlessly.

If the improvisers launch these scenes with high-stakes initia­tions, all the better. It's a joy to see the relationship of, say, two brothers where the first line of the scene is, "Sorry I couldn't make it to the funeral." If both improvisers are in agreement that they are not going to sell out the scene for laughs, that is, play it seriously without joking it out or bailing, improvisation reaches a greater depth.

An average improv scene lasts three to four minutes. A scene without laughs can last seven, never sway from what it's about, and tug and pull in every way imaginable to play itself out. I have seen and performed in scenes like this for over an hour. Practicing such scenes lets you know that you're capable of playing a character and a point of view for far longer than you might have thought. Some improvisers tell me that they run out of things to say or do in a scene. Improvise a scene for fifteen minutes without laughs, and you will learn that it's not that you can't find things to say and do in an improv scene, it's that you can't find things to say and do if getting laughs all the time is important to you. It takes trust and integrity to play this type of scene, and anytime something jokey appears, it sticks out like a sore thumb, a clunker. I talked about acting earlier; well, this is where improvisation meets acting.

Now for the punchline: These scenes are some of the funniest I've ever experienced. Yes, the laughs may or may not come as often as they do in other scenes, but the laughs produced are of greater quality. Quality? Yes, quality—a word not used very often in improv­isation. Quality of funny. Since the improvisers are not improvising with the mindset of being funny, the funny has greater depth and quality. If the improvisers are playing the scene for real and keeping the stakes and what the scene is about intact, the laughs are more organic to character and relationship. They are not cheap laughs, but more intelligent, richer laughs: better laughs.

This kind of improvisation, though, can't be achieved without agreement among the players. When one improviser wants to play this way, but the partner is in a need-to-get-a-laugh mode, the partner is going to pull the rug out from under the scene every time. The improvisers need to agree beforehand that this is the way they'll improvise today, whether in workshop or performance. You just can't pull out a high-stakes initiation in your Bucket O' Yuks improv team and expect everyone to hold it up. Improvisation does most often crave funny, but it sure could use a dose of the honesty and integrity found in improvising scenes without laughs.

Дата добавления: 2015-07-08