Improv-able Cause: What can you learn from a good course?

Backstage West
July 11 2005

By Jean Schiffman

"Let's get onstage right away," says Rebecca Stockley to the beginning improvisation class at BATS Improv. I toss aside my notebook and join my 18 or so classmates, mostly thirtysomethings with acting experience ranging from some to none.

I last took an improv workshop about a gazillion years ago, and amazingly I've blocked out all the humiliating moments and remember only what fun it was. You, too, can have fun learning these techniques; they will probably also invigorate your scripted work.

BATS in San Francisco is the West Coast's largest center of improvisational theatre training and performance, entirely committed to pure improv--no sketch comedy infiltrates these hallowed grounds. British-born "Impro" guru Keith Johnstone is its reigning deity; his bons mots are freely quoted, and he shows up in person to teach each August.

Our first exercise is "anarchist volleyball." We toss a bouncy, lightweight ball randomly around the circle. This is an inauspicious beginning for me. Of all sports, I've always hated volleyball. When teams were picked at school, I was one of the last to be chosen. It's all flooding back....

But Stockley quickly tells us one of the major rules: When you miss the ball, you run into the center of the circle with your arms held high above your head, grinning insanely and shouting, "I screwed up!" And everyone cheers. Soon enough I'm It, and it feels...fine. Maybe I won't have scary P.E. flashbacks after all.

"In improv, mistakes are viewed as gifts, not tragedy," explains Stockley. "It's about not punishing yourself, or tensing your muscles, or judging yourself when you mess up. All that gets in the way of the improviser." Of course it also gets in the way of the scripted actor. "You know when a director gives you notes, and you go, 'Oh, s***'? You feel that somehow you were lacking because you got a note," says Stockley. "But any creative artist is more likely to soar if there's plenty of room for mistakes." She suggests an alternative mindset for receiving directors' notes: "Oh, yeah, I want to try that!"--making it about the process, not the product.

Stockley's life changed when she took an improv class in Seattle. She went on to co-found BATS and was the dean of its school from 1992 to 2003. She has designed improv programs for Oregon Shakespeare Festival, American Conservatory Theater, and Stanford University, is the improv and acting coach at Pixar Animation Studios, and performs regularly. "Coming from an acting background, I had to learn to 'un-act'," she says. "I had to get back to me, figure out what my impulses were. I was so used to creating script and character reality that I didn't often generate ideas. I'd say, 'But my character wouldn't do that.' There's no place for that in improv."

We pair off, instructed to find things we have in common with our partner that can't be perceived by merely looking. Steven and I both have mothers born in Brooklyn. We switch partners. My new partner and I both love foreign films. We switch a third time, the challenge now being to do it nonverbally. "Jump into the void!" urges Stockley.

After that, we scuttle around the stage, clumping into freeform huddles of like-minded souls: "Everyone who likes dark chocolate over here!" "Everyone who's owned by a cat over here!" "Everyone who's ever shoplifted over here!"

All of this is very cozy and amusing, but what's it for? Stockley explains that we're warming up physically and vocally and learning to focus our attention. More than that, the exercises are engendering mutual trust, creating a safe environment. As we switch partners and identify with groups, we bond with new people and find points of connection. She says if we don't create a safe environment here, it will be hard for us to be creative and let go of the safety devices we've installed in our brains over a lifetime.

Rules of the Road

This leads to a discussion of the basic no-no's of improv: "blocking" (in BATS terminology, saying no or denying the reality of the imaginary scenario) and "driving" (forcing your own ideas instead of sharing the control). "We have learned our entire lives to say no," Stockley notes. "It's about human survival. It's the way we stay safe and in control." Don't speak to strangers. What part of no don't you understand? Learn when to say no. In improv, those deeply ingrained rules must be tossed aside. Improv is all about "yes, and"--accepting the offer and enhancing it.

Not blocking, says Stockley, is the hardest thing for improvisers to learn. She quotes Johnstone: "People who say no are rewarded by the safety they obtain. People who say yes are rewarded by the adventures they have."

We partner up again and create stories by taking turns supplying each word. "If your story isn't working, try something else," says Stockley--a good rehearsal technique for scripted acting also. In my story, a man named George murders a hairdresser in a salon in Alaska. "What works in this exercise is what works in improv," declares Stockley. That means sharing control; going with the flow--even if it's not your preference; influencing your partner's choices with facial expression and tone; listening; choosing action verbs; and being entirely in the moment. "The great narrative skill is bringing back anything that's already been named," she says. "It closes the circle that's been opened. Johnstone says an improviser is like a man walking backwards: He doesn't know where he's going, but he knows where he's been."

And she reveals the key to improv success: "Make your partner look good." Surely this works for traditional acting, too.

Stockley clues us in to a few other things. When improv goes bad, it's because one person is doing all the driving, or because you feel disconnected, or because the muse simply isn't visiting. When it's at its most blissful, it feels like a shared lucid dream--a dream in which you know you're dreaming. I think that's how any kind of good acting feels from the inside.

We're cautioned to keep our hands free because words and ideas flow better that way--something about how, in the brain, the centers for hand gesture and verbal ability are very close together.

Noise Factor

After a break, we toss a ball randomly around the circle again, but this time it's an imaginary ball, and we do it while simultaneously exchanging funny, impulsive noises. The important thing is to connect with the person you're catching from and pitching to, and give up the urge to control. "This takes the attention off you and places it on the other person," says Stockley. "If you want to control everything, be a playwright," she adds, hastily apologizing to the one playwright in the class. This exercise also helps us learn to focus all around the stage.

We follow that by practicing generic sound effects: ghost, jungle, rooster. The ability to do sound effects can be a very useful skill for an improviser, and Stockley tells us about websites from which we can download sound effects for practice.

One of our last games of the day, "Bibbity-bibbity-bop," is a progressive exercise, increasing in complexity. It's also our goofiest--and the hardest for me. Much simplified, it goes like this: The It in the center of the circle moves randomly from person to person, shouting any one of several magic phrases. If a phrase is shouted at you, you must instantly strike a preordained, complicated pose with sound effects, and simultaneously the people on each side of you must strike accompanying, prescribed poses. "Pirate!" shouts It, and I flail, struggling to remember the drill--stand on one leg, crook one finger in the air, place my right hand over my left eye for an eye patch, and croak, "Har, har, har!"--while my sidekicks frantically paddle an imaginary boat. I fail, but I know what to do: smile, wave my arms overhead, yell, "I screwed up!" and run to the center of the circle. Now I'm It. Okay, what are those magic phrases again? My head may explode. But I'll tell you what--I'm not thinking about anything else in the entire world.

"This is about being ready for anything--being present, being committed, [having] clarity," Stockley confirms. And once again, it's about being cheerful in failure.

"Why," I ask her, "is improvisation always so darn much fun?" "Because it's play; it's let's pretend," she says. She reminds me about playing tag as a kid and feeling real fear when running, real relief when escaping. And hide and seek--those butterflies in the tummy when you're hiding behind the piano and trying not to breathe. "We adults, when we play, there are restrictions, rules, a certain way to grip your racket," adds Stockley. "Improv is what children do. We're hungry for it. It's completely addictive." BSW

BATS offers many summer classes, including a four-week intensive. Visit www.improv.org for information.