This short-form classic embodies the central device of the childhood game of telephone, but here information potentially becomes warped and misunderstood as it passes from one improviser to another in front of an audience that is all delightfully in the know.
The Basics
I prefer this game with four players (so that you get a total of three discrete vignettes). If time is too tight, a cast of three can prove workable as well. One player (A) remains in the theatre while their teammates leave the space so they can’t hear. Player A gathers three random and unconnected elements – a location, occupation, and prop. These suggestions combine to form the features of a crime, with the prop now becoming an unlikely weapon of sorts. Player B returns to the stage, and a scene is played in which Player A must endow the obtained elements, while both players only use gibberish and body language. When the incoming player believes they know the selected components, they perform the crime in the pertinent location, against their scene partner (who represents the occupation), and with the peculiar choice of weapon. The victim dies dramatically and then strikes silently to the side of the stage, as the next potential criminal enters the theatre with Player B now serving as the gibberish clue-giving partner for Player C. When four players are used, the process then repeats one last time for Player C and D.
Example
Player A obtains “pyramids of Giza,’ “phlebotomist,” and “slinky,” as the elements before the absent Player B returns.
Player A: (welcoming their teammate while wiping away the sweat from their brow) “Shiminy popo!”
Player B, intuiting that they might be in a dense jungle or similar, starts slashing through imaginary scrub.
Player B: “Fashega taneeka jay.”
Player A nods in agreement that it has been hard going before kindly removing the machete from their partner’s hand and gesturing towards their new mode of transportation while offering them a leg up.
Player B: (with excitement) “Kaneep sha a nay-nay!”
Player A: (gently correcting the horse assumption while miming fastening the cumbersome saddle over a gigantic hump) “Gah, nay-nay! Shalee paplincha gavine!”
The scene continues with Player B ascending the unspecified creature. After the location becomes clear, Player A suddenly feels the urge to donate blood and starts to communicate as much to their scene partner…
The Focus
Enjoy the party game element but also strive to construct a (probably) simple story that justifies the need and appearance of each component. Avoid devolving into outright charades, or taking on any of the critical of the crime yourself when you are in the endower position (or essentially showing or demonstrating rather than creating the conditions under which the pertinent item would be needed).
Traps and Tips
1.) Know your order. The game will get off to a rocky start if the endower and endowee are on different pages and working at cross purposes. I advise working through the elements in the order they were obtained above – we use the acronym LOW in my current home venue, which stands for location, occupation, and weapon. This also allows you to accumulate the needed pieces of the puzzle in a helpful way onstage, beginning with the largest immovable item and ending with the typically most portable.
2.) Give clear feedback. All endowment games have to walk the tenuous path of accepting ideas the endowee offers up and sending unequivocal signals when a choice is wildly off base. Whenever possible, the endower (Player A) should acknowledge the endowee’s intent even if they then quickly move on – putting aside the machete or laughing that their friend has mistaken a camel for a horse! Inversely, don’t be needlessly opaque when the guesser is on the right track, or they might accidentally throw out the good with the bad. Similarly, if the endowee has all the needed information (or is as close as they’ll get in the time limit), joyfully invite the playful murderous climax of the vignette.
3.) Exploit your gibberish. While most would consider it poor form for the improviser who is in possession of the missing informative to fudge their gibberish to include known words or sounds, it’s a common tactic for the endowee to judiciously utilize creative signs to confirm their suspicions. In this way, “nay-nay” is a reasonably transparent approximation of a horse sounding gibberish word (at least for English speakers). If Player A used such a device first (or early in the scene), it would likely feel like a cheat. When such a move comes from the endowee, it can help narrow the focus a little. I wouldn’t advocate using this carelessly or as a default, but it’s a helpful tool if players are becoming unhelpfully stuck.
4.) Reinvent the wheel. Much of the fun of this game, in my opinion, is the chain element that places three scenic attempts in quick succession. While the elements of the crime (as best as they were communicated and understood) should remain the same, players shouldn’t mindlessly repeat their former partner’s tactics. If Player A uses a camel as an entry point to the pyramids, Player B should ideally begin somewhere else. In the worst-case scenario, players can recycle earlier clues when they find themselves at a dead end, but the audience enjoys the challenge of seeing new takes on a common problem.
5.) Sell the ending. Enjoy the silly deaths that punctuate each round (this also reduces the potential for ickiness, especially when the elements are wonderfully ludicrous). The game usually culminates with the players forming a line on the lip of the stage and the host beginning with the final criminal (our as yet unseen Player D in my example) and reviewing the understood facts of the crime. (It can be fun to coach the audience to provide loud “noes” or similar for each incorrect assumption). The host can then travel back through the line as needed until the desired answer emerges – even if this might mean returning all the way to the source, Player A! If you’re playing in a competitive show, this recap can occur before or after the scores are obtained. I like getting scores prior to the review as the overall enjoyment and quality of the scene often have little to do with its success, and there can be a nice bump in audience energy immediately after the last murder which can serve as a helpful throw to the scores.
In Performance
It’s admittedly a risk, but I’ve enjoyed weaving an audience volunteer into the chain. Typically, Player C (the second endowee) provides a strong position as this requires the volunteer to both receive and then give clues. Such a position also grants them a little time offstage with a (hopefully) confident improviser who can walk the guest through the basics, such as using the LOW acronym described above.
Cheers, David Charles.
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Photo Credit: James Berkley
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