I’ve described The Lost Comedies of William Shakespeare and several of my other research-infused long-form works as homages rather than parodies as my intent is to base them on a rich and loving understanding of the source material. This is not to say that the result on any given night or performance might not be markedly irreverent or giddily playful, but the intent is to base this abandon in an understanding of the period, style, and tropes of the source material. Each subsequent iteration of The Lost Comedies has endeavored to take this up a notch, examining existing characters, tensions, and societal pressures as depicted in Shakespeare’s plays. Of particular interest and import was the use of language and poetry throughout. If I had my druthers, all the courtly characters would speak in iambic pentameter, but this formidable target has proven elusive… thus far. That being said, the rehearsal processes always explored ways that we could enrich our modern language with some poetic flair and flavor.
As I mused on which game or exercise to pair with this particular production, my mind kept coming back to a game that I don’t think I’ve ever officially named, or at least not in a way that has stuck. In my notes I have Take It Up a Notch and Extended Metaphor, neither of which has become common usage in classes or rehearsals, so I think I’ll go with Image Building as it strikes me as the most efficiently descriptive. While certainly designed to assist in encouraging language of an epic or Shakespearean nature, I think it could easily be modified to help with other style or genre-based pieces and workshops.
Let’s have a peek as to how the exercise works:
The Basics
Players form a circle. One player offers a simple noun or image to start, such as “a tree.” A second player accepts this initial choice but takes the image “up a notch” by adding a new specific, so now the picture becomes “a young tree.” A third player offers a new addition: “a young tree reaching toward the sun…” Each subsequent player adds to the image, paraphrasing prior offers before adding something new. The process continues until the group agrees that the image is now complete.
The Details
This can feel a bit like a memory game which can be a distraction to the larger intent: if a small detail is dropped or diminished as another dynamic piece of the puzzle is added, that isn’t probably the end of the world as long as the prior image as a whole has been fully embraced. In the example above, our focus shouldn’t ideally move off the young tree to the sun, for example. Depending on the size and energy of the group, players can either add randomly when the mood strikes them, you could move in sequence, or have players physically nominate the next to go after they have contributed.
Example
The first player steps into the circle and says, “a rose.”
The second steps forward and offers, “a delicate rose.”
The third adds, “a discarded delicate rose.”
A fourth provides, “a discarded delicate rose on a lover’s doorstep…”
Traps and Tips
1.) Don’t race to the finish line. One of the gifts of this exercise is seeing how an interesting image materializes one small step at a time. As players become familiar with the concept, they may want to sprint to the end. Especially when it comes to the first moves, players should endeavor to leave sufficient room for the contributions of others. Jumping from “a rose” to “a destroyed pungent rose with its petals strewn across the carcass of a dead man clutching a dagger” might be missing the “building” aspect of the exercise a little!
2.) Stress accepting. Bad improv habits can easily emerge in an exercise this simple and elegant, and it’s likely that players may start to think too far ahead and therefore miss the nuances of others’ additions. Deep listening is critical. Accepting the choices of others doesn’t mean, however, that the image can’t have conflicting or paradoxical elements. Making our rose, in the above example, pungent or decaying, is a cool and very Shakespearean way of placing beauty and death side by side in the same image. This is different than negating or erasing a prior choice if it doesn’t fit with your preconceived desire for the picture.
3.) Explore physicality. I’ve had some success with groups stepping into the circle and almost embodying or “scene painting” the image as it unfolds. The first may gently place the “rose” on an imagined window sill, with the next stepping in and adding the breeze “ruffling its petals.” Adding physicality can also prevent the game from becoming purely intellectual and help make the language have more emotional meaning and purpose. It’s also a palpable reminder that Shakespeare’s poetry was intended to be acted.
4.) Take liberties with the sequencing and phrasing. The game can feel like “I went to Mars and I took a…,” if we recall each choice in needlessly strict order and language. A lot of the fun and value of the game is allowing and encouraging poetic license and liberty. To return to the initial example, “a young tree reaching towards the sun,” a next step could become “a merciless sun scorching a suffocating sapling” or similar. The ingredients remain but have been repurposed and heightened. If you’ve explored other poetic tropes, such as alliteration in this case, this exercise is also a great vehicle for putting them to use as well.
5.) Jump it into action. If this is proving to be the right balance of challenging and joyous for your ensemble, you can cap each built image with a brief monologue. One volunteer, when they perceive the image is sufficiently rich and developed, can step into the circle and quickly offer a monologue inspired by the final image. The speaker can embrace the image as a central simile or metaphor (I find this the most helpful personally), speak to the crafted image imbuing it with personal meaning or significance, or perhaps even embody the object itself and offer wisdom to those assembled. “Oh father, why must I wither as the supplicant sapling in the scorching heat of your merciless gaze…?”
Final Thoughts
This exercise can have some pretty quick rewards in terms of reminding us of the potential of our language if we just slow down a little to smell the proverbial discarded delicate roses. It is certainly a performance-ready technique that, frankly, you can essentially play by yourself to jump start a soliloquy or scene, and it’s surprising how often a seemingly profound or complex concept effortlessly emerges from the process of describing something simply and methodically step by step.
And that’s your peek inside the poetry-enriching process of The Lost Comedies of William Shakespeare, my first fully-realized long-form show that began its journey at Western Illinois University in 1997. (Read more about it in the companion entry here.)
“With a nonny nonny nay, and a nonny nonny hey, and a hey nonny nonny nonny ho…”
Cheers, David Charles.
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