It’s been a busy couple of weeks. A week ago last Friday, Chris Fitzsimmons and I did a little semi-improvised turn at Studio Salford’s Embryo vol. 68, which was sparsely attended but warmly received (i.e. people laughed which was the intention).
We wisely decided to scale back the extent of the improvisation, instead choosing the frame it within a ‘horror story’ format. It would take a while to explain exactly what we did but suffice to say it involved me trying to get one up on Chris, making use of some lessons in ‘character status’ from Keith Johnstone’s book, Impro, and audience interaction, which always throws up interesting things.
One of the unique things about Embryo is they encourage audience feedback. People have the opportunity to write their thoughts down about the acts, safe in the knowledge that it will be anonymous unless they decide otherwise. So you can be fairly sure you get an honest opinion. We got a good mix. Some people really enjoyed it and wanted to see more, other people weren’t sure what was going on. It seems that unless you signpost certain things to an audience clearly at the beginning (i.e. this will be a semi-improvised performance), people can apply the wrong expectations. Obvious I suppose; anyone who’s been to a show and wondered to themselves, ‘Should I laugh at this?’ will know the discomfort it can cause.
At KofE shows, we’ve never really said to the audience, ‘By all means, join in with the songs if you feel like it.’ It’s not my responsibility to make a decision like that within this group but I have sometimes wondered how it would change the nature of the response. When you leave the audience the figure it out for themselves, do you get a more authentic response? Is it a bit of a cop-out to give the audience cues about how they should respond? If you were to ask me now, I would probably say ‘yes’ to both. It puts the onus on the performer to leave them in no doubt as to how to react – which is no bad thing if it drives you to work on the nuance and accuracy of your performance.
Chris and I didn’t get on stage and say, ‘You can laugh at this’. Instead, I tried to make it clear that they could at the beginning by walking on stage and exaggerating my posture and movements to an extent where it couldn’t be taken seriously. While he was waiting for me to come on stage, Chris looked at his watch and pulled a face at the audience (I hadn’t said to him I’d take a minute to get ready, so he probably was thinking ‘Where the chuff is he?’) After that, it was just a case of coming up with funny things to keep the audience laughing.
For a first go at improv in a theatre setting, it wasn’t the most inventive but I felt the relationship between Chris and I was dynamic enough to keep the audience entertained. The one unscripted moment I was most pleased with was when we had our audience volunteer on stage. I was supposed to be using him as the subject for a terrible transformation. Chris had picked one of the stockiest guys in the room. There was a table on the stage and without really thinking, I looked at the volunteer and said, ‘I want you to… lie on the table!’ The table was small enough for this to be a ludicrous request. It sounds pretty limp on the page but the laughter was belly-laughter. For me, it was the one really good intuitive moment I experienced.
Next time, I will have to try and push my ‘unreasonable requests’ a little further as there was one genuine cry of disappointment from the audience when I decided to let the volunteer off the hook. To be honest, audience members can be an easy diversion – it would probably be more challenging for Chris and I to throw them at each other. Something to remember for next time.