improv notes

[mullaney]

A good game of the scene should slap you across the face. It should not be difficult to uncover. It shouldn't take much intellectual effort to decypher. When a good game emerges in a scene, everyone on stage will likely see it. Even the audience will recognize it, although they might not be able to articulate what it is that they notice.

With this in mind, I have been telling people lately, "If you don't know what the game is, stop playing it." It's quite common for people to be doing a scene and to have half an idea what the game is. They think their game might have something to do with "strawberries" for instance. So they keep inserting "strawberries" into the scene without really understanding what was interesting about the first time that "strawberries" came up. Most likely the game really hadn't emerged yet and they began to heighten something that wasn't really a game. Once the scene falls into this trap, it's unlikely to work itself out.

Instead you should be more patient with your scenework. Just react in the most intelligent way appropriate to your character without regard to what the game is. When the game finally does slap you in the face, you'll know it and then you can play it.

 

[mullaney]

Be more like PSE

I had the pleasure of sitting in with Possible Side Effects a few weeks ago, just before the new year. I had wanted to play with them for some time and realized that this would be my last chance to spend a Saturday in Jersey for some time. They had extended an invitation to me before and so when I asked them if I could play that night, they graciously let me.

I have to tell you that PSE is the team to beat when it comes to support. I arrived at the venue about an hour early and most of the members were already back stage. They were playing "smack ball" which is basically just hitting a wad of paper around in a circle. But the real warm up was just them catching up with each other, telling stories and finding reasons to playfully tease Rebekka about her smack ball prowess. It was such a relaxed and friendly atmosphere.

After smack ball, there were other warm ups, some energetic, some relaxed. There was a discussion about what forms they wanted to do that night. They seem to know about half a dozen forms well enough to do them on the spot. Right before we went on stage, they did what many teams do, they told each other that they had each others back. There was a level sincerity, however, that made me know that they were very serious about it.

This was all well and nice, but what really impressed me was what happened at half time. We went backstage and it was obvious that everyone felt it wasn't their best show. But they weren't down about it. They didn't feel compelled to talk about what they could do better. They certainly didn't point fingers or moan about their performance. Instead, they started spontaneously complimenting each other. They picked out moments that they liked and told each other what they were. Again the atmosphere was warm and supportive, and it made me anxious to get back on that stage with them.

So ask yourself this... how many times have you walked off stage, knowing your team had not done their best and taken the time to compliment your teammates on what they had done well? And I'm not talking about the teammate you really like, the one who is your best friend on the team. I'm talking about spreading that love across the whole team. I know I don't always do it. It's too easy to focus on what I could have done better or be bothered by what a teammate could have done differently.

 

[mullaney]

I was doing some give and take exercises tonight with "Number 1", one of the newly created Harold teams at UCB. We were working on the Jingleheimer that I described in the Improvisation forum a few days ago (thread 3624). In the exercise, each person tells a different story a few sentences at a time with the focus shifting back and forth between them.

In one particular instance of the exercise, there was a tendency to cram in as much in as they could when they got the focus. They would say 7, 8 or 9 sentences when only 2 would have sufficed. Once a couple people started doing this, everyone started doing it. It's hard to give up focus after a couple of sentences when everyone else seems to be holding on to the focus as long as they can.

So I stopped them and told them to continue, but they could only use one phrase at a time. This seemed to fix the problem quite quickly. As soon as people knew they would get focus back soon, they were fine with keeping their individual contributions small each time. The end effect was that their work became much more a group effort and less about individuals waiting to take their turn.

I think this is an analogy of sorts to how some teams or players play. They take focus and keep it until someone takes it back. They cram as much as they can into the scene while they hold the focus. This ends up encouraging others to do the same. The end result tends to be a performance that isn't about a group mind as much as a collection of individual performances.

By contrast, players who take focus less frequently, who give that focus up generously and who use the focus sparingly when they are given it, end up having the reverse effect on their teammates. They all start spontaneously being generous to each other on stage and the end result is a performance that is more about the group than the individual.

 

[mullaney]

Random advice to new teams

I sent this in an e-mail to the members of Number 1 and Team A (now The Syndicate). I thought you might like it too:

Lastly, just a note to stress that making a good improv team is about trust, commitment and support. Make it your business to support your fellow teammates both on and off stage. Choose to like them and how they play. Look at any differences in play styles as an asset. Don't criticize each other or give each other notes, THAT IS THE JOB OF YOUR COACH. Do compliment each other whenever someone does something in rehearsal or performance that you enjoy. Lastly, it's good to hang out with each other whenever possible. It may sound crazy, but there have been teams that actually have had sleepovers. Hmm, what else? Don't sleep with your teammates, and if you sleep with one, for godsakes, don't sleep with two.

 

[mullaney]

The Big "7" - 4. Be Vulnerable

I started working on an essay that I called The Seven Essential Principles of Good Scene Work a while back, but then I thought of 8 and got stuck thinking about the other two... Here they are:

• Be honest
• Be real
• Be specific
• Be vulnerable
• Be smart
• Be impulsive
• Be supportive
• Be aggreable

Be Vulnerable

When improvising a scene, you need to be vulnerable to your scene partner. You must take personally the things that they say and the information that they establish.

An argument is the opposite of vulnerable. Your scene partner says, "I think you are a lieing cheat." If you respond with an argument, you are not letting yourself be affected by your scene partner's words. Instead choose to make your scene partner's character important to you. If someone you cared about said that to you, it would hurt you. Let it hurt you on stage.

If your scene partner is being intimidating, be intimidated. If they are turning you on, be turned on. If they are being complimentary, be flattered. If they are being hurtful, be hurt. If they are being friendly, like it.

To become vulnerable, you must become in tune with human behavior, and learn to trust your gut reactions to that behavior. You must learn to take it personally. For instance, if your scene partner is upset, assume that they are upset at you.

 

[mullaney]

I have my ninth principle: be patient

and maybe a tenth: be confident (or as Mick Napier would say, "Fuck your fear"). This might change cause it is related to being impulsive I think.

btw, these are what I would consider "pre-game" principles. Every student of long-form should try to master these things as soon as possible. In a way these are more important than the game in the early stages. If you can play in a way that embodies these principles, the game will come much easier, and your scenes are likely to be interesting even without well developed games.

 

[mullaney]

Mother and fighting

Last night I got to sit in with Mother. What a great time! They were down to four people and they asked me to sit in. I had a blast. That was one of my most fun improv performances since I moved to NY. How delicious to do long, slow scenes with them in that first half.

About two years ago while I was teaching level 1 classes, I became obsessed with the idea of being agreeable in scene work. For years, I thought that I had understood agreement, but watching my students struggling in their beginning scenework, I realized that many of the problems at the beginning of scenes could be fixed by simply being agreeable. For a while that was almost all I was stressing: "Don't fight at the beginning of your scenes, ESPECIALLY over stuff that's trivial. Be agreeable. And don't use fighting words as your initiation."

I knew it wasn't an original idea exactly, but I didn't think I had ever heard it put just like that before. Well low and behold I read in MJC's journal (goldfish boy) a couple days ago.:

avoid introducing arbitrary conflict and argument

try to do the best job you can at getting along until/unless a real reason for conflict appears: there are many, varied reasons to agree!!

Be as agreeable as possible

That was something Del said in class 8 years ago. I may have been in that same class. It seems I likely did hear someone tell me this before, I just forgot about it for a few years.

Ok, so let me rant about this a little bit. When you start your scenes, stop picking fights! If you pick a fight over whether or not you should wear that tie, that's all the scene is ever going to be about--at least until you figure out a way to give up that fight. If someone tries to pick a fight with you, give in immediately and see what else happens. I never want to see another scene about whether or not scambled eggs are better than poached eggs. I never want to hear people arguing about whether or not to rent Titanic. Stop fighting about whether or not you should paint the walls beige. Who cares? Not me. You want to know why that scene just sucked? Cause you were arguing over bullshit.

Ah... that felt good.

Now, can you fight in your scenes at all? Sure, if the fight is earned. Sometimes there are damn good reasons why your characters will be at odds with one another. But don't start your scenes that way! Especially when its the first time that we see these characters. Give them room to find something interesting before any conflict begins. And you might find that you can create really good scenes without any fights at all.

I think that is one of the reasons I enjoyed playing with Mother last night. In my first scene with Jason, we played two characters who were very similar. It was a long scene with barely any conflict. Damn it was fun. So many other moments in that show were fun because the characters were getting along, not fighting. By not fighting right out of the gate, we were able to find so many fun details about our characters.

 

[mullaney]

Teaching

Yesterday in my level 4 class we did silent Harolds. Delaney calls them "non-verbal" Harolds and this time around I adopted that. It's a better indicator of what I'm after whenever I ask my students to do silent scenes. I'm looking for people to communicate with one another non-verbally. It can be so utterly facinating to see two people behaving honestly toward one another, observing the behavior of their scene partner and reacting to it based on what their gut is telling them.

I think students struggle with silent work however. Most have a lot of difficulty figuring out how to interact without using words. It is certainly more difficult to communicate certain aspects of your scene without words. They fall back on overdone mime and mouthing words that they would say if they could speak. It's hard to trust that unadulterated and honest human behavior is enough for an audience to watch. It really is. It can be quite beautiful too. It's also just hard to figure out how to do it.

It's hard to watch students struggle with things. Not that my class didn't have some success with silent Harolds. They certainly found some interesting things, but at times they struggled as well. I guess thats my idea of this class though, to constantly throw challenges at the students so they can learn by struggling; to make Harold an intriguing puzzle to solve, not a stale blueprint to follow.

My level 3 class was struggling with openings. We would do these wonderful creative, physical warmups where they were genuinely connected (thank you Susan Messing for dreaming up Busby Berkely in your tub). Then as soon as we started doing, "openings", they became stiff and confused.

I tried giving them notes:

• Always be taking small steps forward--you are never stuck.
• Join in with whatever the group is doing without question.
• Put your focus on being a part of the greater group, not on what your are going to say next.
• Your opening is your first opportunity to create something, don't waste it.

Notes and clever exercises often don't do the trick. Good openings require experiential knowledge. Students need to see good openings to know how to do them, or they need to be a part of them. I finally decided to do something that I rarely do, I just jumped in and did some openings with them. This seem to work better than any side coaching could have. It was pretty fun too. I miss doing raw organic openings.

The principle of always taking small steps forward has been helping me a lot lately as a performer (thank you Susan Messing for dreaming up Caligula in your tub). In almost every scene that has worked, I've concentrated on taking small steps forward, not on the game per se.

 

[mullaney]

In waves

It's uncanny how interesting Harold is to teach and to coach. I've been coaching and teaching it for 6 or 7 years now and it still can be exciting. It seems to come in waves though. I seem to have my best inspiration as a coach when working with a team the first few times. Or while being coached myself. Fortunately, both are happening at the moment.

I came up with some fun new exercises when I worked with Dr. Awesome last summer. Anyone who has done "a Flock of Awesome" in my class in the last couple sessions now knows where I first used the exercise.

There was another exercise I thought of while working with them. One person stays in the middle and does a series of 2 person scenes with different people. Each time the new person comes in with a specific character. The person in the middle must match that character in every way they can. It's a great way to get people to try on new characters, especially since their teammates will likely know what characters are a stretch for the person in the middle.

I've also had a lot of fun coming up with new things this session. I've been coaching one of the new teams, "My Kickass Van." And my goal for working with them has been to get them creating things as one unit, to develop the sense of a group mind. I think it's crucial that a team early on gets used to creating things spontaneously as a group. Scenework can come later.

So to help with this idea of group mind, I've been throwing as many group exercises at MKV as possible. We've been making dreams, websites, amusement rides, dances, songs, art installations. Anything I can think of, and many of them are brand new exercises.

One of the things that I've found key to making these kinds of games really work is to get the players specifically yesanding each other. There is a difference between adding a detail which is directly inspired by something that happened just before it and adding a detail which simply fills out the world of whatever you are creating. Both kinds of details serve a purpose. The latter is useful when you reach a dead end of a particular avenue of exploration. But to get to really juicy things, most of what you add should come from direct inspiration.

For a long time I was player coaching Ice-Nine. Not something that I recommend. Not that it went badly. I think it worked rather well for a time. However, there is no substitute for having an outside eye. We started working with Seth Morris about a month ago and it has already made a big difference in our shows and rehearsals. I love going to rehearsal and being coached. Besides I almost always walk out of rehearsals with new ideas for exercises.

It's ironic that a couple of months ago, I felt spent as a coach. Most of our Ice-Nine rehearsals were spent tweaking our "Character Wheel" Harold. I rarely had a game plan or any original ideas during rehearsal. Now that I'm not coaching us, I suddenly have a bunch of new things that would be cool to try.

 

[mullaney]

Wide eyed

It's so fantastic when someone who is primed for it sees their first good Harold, or just good long form. A few years ago, I had the priviledge of performing at a college improv festival in Amherst. It was while I was directing and performing with the IO Road Show. We went to UMass, did some workshops and performed as the headliner of the festival.

It was an awesome experience. Most of the audience of about 200 kids were visiting improvisors or improv enthusiasts. Very few of them had seen a Harold or a monologue deconstruction, the two forms we did that night. I remember the show being a fairly good one and that it was very well received. I remember a standing ovation, but part of me thinks that may be my memory playing tricks on me.

In any case, we were surrounded by eager college students after the show asking questions about long form and Chicago. It was extremely satisfying since my primary reason for starting the Road Show was to be a kind of Johnny Appleseed of Harold.

One thing that has been great about that night was the fallout. Shortly afterward, several of the students who hosted us moved to Chicago as Mission Improvable and began their long team/coach love affair with Liz Allen (she taught a workshop in Amherst that I'm sure was spectacular). I also have run into a number of people who were at that show and who now do improv in New York and remember that show clearly. (I had a similar experience with several Georgetown improvisors who now study and/or perform at the UCBT.)

Yesterday, Delaney and I did a workshop for a college group from Emerson. They have been working on Harolds, using Charna's book as their source, but until last night, they had never actually seen a Harold. Delaney worked on realistic and truthful scenework with them and I did a bunch of group mind/game exercises with them. But I think watching Neutrino and The Swarm last night was more valuable to them than our workshop. They finally saw in action all of these principals that were simply concepts before. It was very cool to talk to them afterward, to see that, "I get it now!" look in their eyes.

Next they watched Mother's show and that only added fuel to the fire. In the "Dream Life" half of the show, Mother asks for the name of real person that someone knows in the audience and for one article of clothing that they closely associate with that person. Well, it was one of the Emerson kids who offered up the suggestion and the name he gave was one of the other people in the troupe.

What was eerie about it, apparently is that Mother ended up creating a bunch of details about the fictitious version of the name they were given that were dead on. They established that he was a high school wrestler and that his girlfriend's name was Gina. These tidbits happened to be true about the real person as well. It was as if the facts were just pulled right from the collective unconscious, like some psychic magic trick. It seemed like the college kids were pretty blown away by all this.

I remember hearing a quote, I think it was by Rachel Dratch. She was being interviewed about doing the same Second City show night after night and was asked how does she motivate herself to do the show. She said something to the effect that it might be the 150th time that she has done the show, but for someone in the audience it will be the first time they see it. It might be their one trip they make to Second City this year or it might even be the only trip they ever make to Second City. It better be good for that one person.

All of us share this same responsibility. There are a lot of us out there that have done 100's of Harolds, maybe even a few of us who have done long form in front of an audience 1000+ times. But there is almost always someone in the audience who is seeing it for the first time, and our responsibility as a performer is to them.

 

[mullaney]

Finding the rest of the game

One of the things that I learned from Miles Stroth was how to find the ebb and flow of a scene. He used to teach a template of how a game might work which was something like this:

• Character A wants something from character B and asks for it.
• B promises to do it.
• A accepts the promise and relaxes, but then
• B breaks the promise and does something else to thwart the A’s desire.
• A figures out that they aren’t getting what they want and asks for it again.
• B promises to comply and the cycle starts over.

It was a very “instruction manual-like” way to look at certain types of character interactions. And it took me about 9 months to be able to actually do what Miles described in a show, but this template taught me two things:

1. When my scene partner asks for something that my character doesn't want to give, it's better to appear to give in and then find a creative way to thwart the other character than to simply argue about it. Actually, there are lots of good ways to deal with it, but simply saying, “I won’t do that!” is perhaps the lamest choice.
2. Many games work best by having an ebb and flow to them, by having a rhythm that resembles a sine wave, where the game interaction of the characters has several steps which cycle around creating circles of behavior.

Somewhere along the line, I started describing this second point as finding the rest in a game. Too often characters start a game based in conflict and then both scene partners try to get what they want without pause, without variety and without discovering anything new going on. Their heightening resembles an ever escalating slope rather than a more interesting cycle with peaks and valleys.

Here is a simple example of what I’m trying to describe. First a scene with a conflict:

HUSBAND: Come to bed, honey.
WIFE: I don’t want to come to bed, I’m busy doing work.
HUSBAND: But I want you to come to bed.
WIFE: I’ve got more important things to do right now.
HUSBAND: But I’m horny!
WIFE: Well, I’m not!

In this case the scene is a very simple and boring argument, barely different from the characters saying: “Yes” “No” “Yes” “No” to one another.

In this second example, the characters play a more nuanced pattern which can be repeated:

HUSBAND: Come to bed, I’m horny.
WIFE: I’m busy with work, dear.
HUSBAND: [appears to give in] Ok, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were busy.
[game is at rest] HUSBAND walks over to WIFE who is sitting at a desk.
HUSBAND: Maybe I can help.
WIFE: Ok, can you proof this memo? [turns the laptop around toward him]
HUSBAND: Sure. [reads memo and begins to do a striptease while proofing]
WIFE: [initially gets into it, but then stops] Hey come on, stop. I gotta get this finished.
HUSBAND: You sure? [kisses her neck]
WIFE: Yes, stop it.
HUSBAND: OK, sorry. I’ll stop. [game is at rest]
HUSBAND offers to help again, finds some way to subvert it into some weird seduction ritual. WIFE initially into, but stops it again and it starts over.

With this cyclical approach, the players create opportunities to rediscover the game over and over again.

I found that the best way to describe this was to say, “find the rest in a game.” This principle was especially important when the game involved conflict. If your characters are at odds, they should continue to be philosophically at odds. However, they should make every attempt to put aside their differences and try to work together. Along the way they will likely find ways to explore the conflict/game in more creative ways. This applies to games without conflict too, however that is for another journal entry.

P.S. If you haven’t read about the “Greatest Improv Game in the World… EVER!” you should.

 

[mullaney]

First Weekend of Classes

My last entry reads a bit too much like a instruction manual. I would rather say something succinct like:

• "If you find yourself in a fight, give in, but don't give up your point of view."
• or "Find the peace of the scene."
• or "Good games come in waves."

<hr>Session 2 - Week 1

I have four classes this session and I am looking forward to teaching them. I had a blast last session. I tried out a number of new exercises dealing with group work and I think that I made some headway.

I have been thinking about writing a number of articles to follow up on last year's essay on agreement. A follow up is far over due. I think my follow up should be one of the following:

• The 10 Essentional Principles of Good Scenework: Before the Game
• What is the Game of the Scene?
• How to Create a Great Group Game

I've also been working on an article about Jazz Freddy. Last year I did a couple of email interviews about it intending to write an article, but then things got bogged down. Something about reading Rob Kozlowski's book got me thinking about finishing that article as sort of a supplement to the section of his book devoted to Jazz Freddy. So I got in contact with Pete Gardner and sent him a bunch of questions. I may simply publish the interviews I did more or less intact. I'm not sure.

Here are a few ideas of things I would include in an essay on group games.

• It's generally best to jump into a group game and figure it out from the inside rather than observe it from the outside and waiting for the perfect moment to join.
• Keep the group game simple in terms of types of characters. For instance, if the first character is an astronaut and the second one is at mission control, most of the time everyone else should choose to be an astronaut or someone at mission control. Obviously, there are plenty of exceptions, but most of the time keep things simple.
• Remember you can do anything as an initiation, don't just start another group scene.
• The worst group game initiations usually begin as a variation of "Hey everyone, get in here for the meeting."
• The best group game initiations challenge their teammates. They are like jumping off a cliff and hoping that your teammates figure out a way to get to bottom and catch you before you go splat.

 

[mullaney]

Session 3: Week 2

It's been too long since my last entry. I need to get another full essay done too, but in the mean time, here are some thoughts from recent classes.

Rules to doing good openings

• Fully commit to whatever is happening. Nothing can ruin a good opening like someone being half-assed about what they are doing. It's really lousy when the entire team is being half-assed, but it's almost as bad when just one person is being half-assed.
• Pay attention to what is going on around you. One of the most common problems is that people are concentrating on what they are going to do or say next, or that they are just zoning out. Keep your eyes on each other at all times and notice even the smallest details of what your teammates are doing.
• If you notice a small change in what's happening, adopt it and heighten it. Adopt it even if what they did was an accident or inadvertant. You don't have to heighten it a lot, but you should heighten it a little.
• If it feels like you are doing something, do it more clearly. Often a group will find themselves doing a movement which is a bit fuzzy. It looks a lot like swimming or riding bikes or playing cards or some other action, but it's a little undefined. If it feels like the group is swimming, start swimming more clearly. If it feel like you are hunting, make it more specific. Choose to sharpen focus.
• Stuck doing the same thing over and over? Change it. Don't wait for something "organic" to happen. An "organic" opening is made of lots of small decisions to change what is happening. One great way to change it is to let it morph into something new. If you are all swinging bats, do that motion more and slightly bigger and let it change into something else. In a way this rule is always in tension with the last. If it's unclear, make it specific. If it's clear, let it morph into some less clear and back again.
• Delve into things that are important to you. Too often openings feel like a random collection of silly actions and words. The opening is there to jog your memory and help you remember strange and important ideas and events. When you think of them, share them in the opening, either through a monologue or by a mini-monologue/factoid thats just a line or two. This is the best kind of information that can be generated in an opening and generally I don't see enough of it.
• Never stop doing pattern games. Once students start using full phrases in their openings, they often have a problem going back to single word pattern games. This shouldn't be the case. If you ever have a moment when the opening falls silent and everyone seems awkward, that is the moment to simply start up the one word pattern game again. One word pattern games get you unstuck and should fill out the verbal component of every opening. One word pattern games also take the pressure off of you to be clever and funny.
• Which reminds me: the pressue to be clever and funny is all in your head. Don't listen to it. Just say the next thing and NEVER worry about if it is clever or funny. Keep the opening moving.
• Don't change the sound and movement every time the words wander off in a new direction. Too often people change the movement with every word. It makes the opening look disjointed. Let the movement be the movement and the words be the words. They should affect one another some of the time and intersect, but some of the best moments in an opening come from the disparity between the movement and the words.

 

[mullaney]

Don't be clever

Hey you! Yeah, I'm talking to you. Why don't you just take the pressure off yourself to come up with something clever? You don't need a great initiation to have a great scene, and the pressure we often put on ourselves to come up with a great initiation can be the death of improv. Next time you initiate a scene set out to be specific, but ordinary. Initiate a place and a simple relationship, and let the rest take care of itself.

Just initiate:

• Two kids studying for a test.
• Someone being chauffered to the airport.
• A couple of people playing gin rummy.
• A couple cleaning the dishes after having all four parents over for dinner.
• A parent talking to their child right before bedtime.
• A boss having a sit-down meet with an employee.

The next is STOP INITIATING PROBLEMS! I mean it. Start the scene with no problem in mind. Just talk to one another. Don't start it with, "Myron, I'm going to have to fire you." Start it with, "Well, you performance over the last 3 months has been fine. No real complaints beside those two days you were late." Make it down right ordinary. It's an every day occurance. Find the routine before you break it. Something will come up that is interesting. And it might never be a problem. All you have to do is be a good listener and you won't miss it.

I was coaching a team recently and there was a scene about a rat infested apartment. Someone later initiated a scene about an apartment infested with telemarketers. I thought it was a wonderful weird heightening of the idea. I loved it, but it became "the problem" that they spent the rest of the scene trying to solve. They didn't get very far.

Instead, how fun would it be just to treat that as normal? You invite a friend over for dinner and oh, by the way, don't mind the telemarketers, they came with the place.

Now in a way, that was a clever initiation wasn't it? Well here's the thing, we needed a much more mundane initiation to find it. That scene would not have been as interesting and would not have ever existed, if it weren't for the more ordinary idea of people dealing with rats in their apartment.

Initiate the mundane. Embrace brilliance when it presents itself. The more pressure you put on yourself to initiate brilliance, the less likely that you will find it.

 

[mullaney]

What's your routine?

I like coaching a lot. I like the freedom of coaching. When I'm teaching, I feel like I have a responsibility to only use exercises that I've thoroughly tested. When coaching, I give myself a lot more freedom to just try something out and let it fail.

For instance, tonight I was working with a team and I wanted to get them to make some problem-free initations like the ones I was talking about in my last entry. So I made up an exercise on the spot and called it "routines". The idea was simple, initiate scenes where the characters are doing something that is routine for them. Much to my delight, the exercise worked and they ended up creating some pretty cool scenes with fun games in them.

We had a brief discussion about 2nd beats and I suggested we extend the exercise to 2nd beats as well. Start your second beat with a new routine and let the game re-emerge naturally, instead of initiating the game right away. It wasn't perfect, but there were some really nice second beats too.

So you might give it a go, don't initiate a problem, initiate a routine that is downright ordinary for the characters. It is likely that the scene won't remain routine, but starting this way and allowing a game to emerge, is a much sounder way to approach games.

A note that popped up:

Wait to make a game move until you are motivated to do so. In one scene, there was a character who was insulted by a comment made by the other character in the scene. That insult led to the game they discovered in the first beat. In the second beat, the player jumped the gun. They didn't wait for another truly insulting comment, but instead they claimed to be insulted by a completely innocuous remark. The move didn't really work. It would have been better to wait for a remark that actually was insulting, then the game move would have felt motivated.

 

[mullaney]

Specifics

Just got done with a rehearsal where we concentrated on endowing characters with specifics. We started by doing a warmup where we described a character in depth. The idea was to give the character lots of details, without making them to wild or absurd, just specific. Most of the details should come directly from whatever is there already, but there is also plenty of room for details that might seem non-sequitor.

Next we did two-person scenes. The person who initiates played the character we would concentrate on. Both players had the job of endowing that one character with specifics. I told the players that every minute or so in the scene, they had to create a new specific about the character:

• Maybe the character plays bridge regularly but doesn't really understand how to bid.
• Maybe the character has a red Mustang convertible that he treats like his baby.
• Maybe the character has five cats.
• Maybe they have been celibate for a year.
• Maybe they work out a lot, but only arm curls, so their body is mishapen.

The point is not to create crazy characters but ones with complete and varied backgrounds.

The other note I gave them on the outset was to embrace silent moments in the scene. That in those silent moments would come the new specifics.

It worked out great. Better than I imagined. It's amazing to me how scenes can be so fun with good, simple specifics. I really enjoyed the characters that came out of it: a man who genuinely believed that the mouse in his house was extremely smart; a guy who used to be a figure skater, but gave up on his dream and now works at a Salvation Army store; another guy who experiments with rats in his apartment and gets jealous when his roommate doesn't come home in time to watch the new episode of Enterprise. They were all one of a kind characters, that I'd never seen, nor am I likely to see again.

One great side affect was that the players tended to give up arguments easily. By concentrating on creating new specifics, that gave them a tool to use to sidestep conflicts. When a conflict would appear, they would often let a moment of silence follow the disagreement and then one of them would change the subject, thus introducing a new specific.

Oh, one last thing we talked about was how to deal with these specifics. We should treat them like little gifts. Once we discover them, explore them a bit, but then wrap them up and put them away. Go on to a new specific and explore that. Then later in the scene get the package and open it back up. Note: this is better suited to longer scenes.

For instance, in one scene there was a character who was too competitive at cards. They would taunt their opponent when they won. So no one would play cards with them anymore. It would have been great to leave that detail alone, let the scene wander a bit and find some new specifics. Then later the in the scene when an opportunity arose, the character could have let his competitive side out but in a new context.

Anyway, in that next scene you do, give yourself and your scene partner nice specifics. Nothing too crazy is necessary, just good specific details. And keep introducing as the scene goes on.