The Improvisation Playbook

          When I talk to people about joining my classes in improvisation, the first thing they think of is either Clive Anderson’s BBC show or Drew Carey’s American version of Whose Line Is It Anyway? They picture the redoubtable Ryan Styles, the incomparable Colin Mochrie, the outrageous Wayne Brady, and countless other brilliant regulars and guests. How could they possibly compete with the likes of them? Who other than these geniuses could come up with such incredibly hilarious stuff on the spur of the moment?

          I’ve got some news for all of you: Even our Messer’s Styles, Mochrie, and Brady fall on their faces. (Fans of Colin Mochrie know that, when performing “Hoedown” or other musical-form improv and backing himself into a corner, he will sometimes simply collapse in the middle of the song.) Sometimes they hit home runs right out of the park, and sometimes they swing at it, clip the ball off the edge of the bat, and the ball conks them squarely on the temple. And like all the best improvists, they laugh right along with everyone else and chalk another one up to the category of, “Well, it was worth a try.”

          Here’s another bit of information that I’ll bet you didn’t know: The United States version of Whose Line isn’t necessarily as spontaneous as you might have thought. My friend Chris told me of a taping that he went to. He saw a great many flubs and failures that day—about as many as one would expect in any ordinary improvisational comedy show on stage—except that the players were given multiple opportunities to riff on the same theme. The best comedy was kept for broadcast; the rest of the (by Chris’ estimate) seven hours of taping went the way of deleted digital data.

          Let me be very clear about what I’m saying here. I’m not condemning a television program for wanting high ratings, nor am I condemning the players for getting second chances at their material. (How many times have I been a participant in a live show and then, several hours later, wished that I’d had the presence of mind to say the joke that finally occurred to me after it was far too late?) Neither am I giving short-shrift to the brilliance of the players on the show. (As someone is no doubt pointing out as they read this, “When were you last on the show, Tristan?!”) I am saying only that what you see on the television show is truly the best-of-the-best stuff, and that is in part why it seems so intimidating to the rest of us.

          Improvisation is not about coming up with the Funniest Joke Ever Told every single time. It’s really great when that happens, and you’d be surprised just how often it does happen. However, as strange as it may seem at first glance, that really isn’t the whole purpose of improvisation. It’s not necessarily about being funny, either—or more exactly, it’s not about trying to be funny. It’s not about one-liners, it’s not about great punchlines, and it’s not about being the most entertaining clown on the block.

          Back when I was working with Dave Howell-DePew at Third Coast Comedy, I took a peek at his notes for the first class. He made the note that “True improv is not JUST a game; it is getting on stage and performing without any preparation or planning.” That was really good, and since I’m one of those guys who has to try to improve just about everything, I took a more New Age swing at it. Here’s what I came up with:

          Improvisation is about the instantaneous creation of truthful moments, made directly from the inner brilliance of each cast member and reflected by the inner brilliance of every other cast member.

          Was that pompous enough for ya?

          Don’t panic, I’m only kidding—or, more accurately, I’m exaggerating. Improvisation could be defined that way; it’s just a wee bit wordy, don’t you think? Let’s cut to the chase, yet keep the really important parts of the definition in place:

          Improvisation is creating the truth without a script.

          Any collection of words may have so much truth in it that it can heal, hurt, antagonize, empower, inspire, crush, intrigue and amuse. In this way, any script—whether it be Peter Shaffer’s Equus or Bud Abbot and Lou Costello’s Who’s On First—has its own power. The secret of the actor’s craft is to find the truth in those words and let it shine. (The truth of Who’s On First? That’s easy: The truth that language, which is supposed to be a tool to communicate with others, can be precisely what prevents us from