Gorilla Theatre enjoyed a ten-year run at Sak Comedy Lab in Orlando, and it was a rare month that I didn’t play in this format at least once or twice. Our Sak version of the format, while very much in keeping with Keith Johnstone’s intent, definitely evolved into a unique hybrid that reflected our audience’s tastes and expectations (the journey of bringing the format to SAK is worthy of a post all its own). There are many things I greatly enjoyed about our version of the form, not the least of which was our ability to experiment with new short-form structures and ideas. Sometimes, these may have been seen at far-away venues or festivals; in other instances, they were just imagined musings. On some occasions, we tried an idea once and then quickly abandoned it to the sands of time (!); at least as often, a director kept visiting and polishing an idea if there was some latent promise in it that was particularly fun or intriguing.
Here, I’m sharing one of my creations that fit into this second “I kept tinkering with it” category: a musical game I’ve come to call Opera Moment although initially it went by Opera Fugue or Big Opera Finale in my notes, and I like these titles nearly as much. It’s closely related to my alphabetically previous post, Opera Minutiae (here), although its reliance on a conductor creates notably different – though equally joyous – results.
The Basics
An exciting event (historical or otherwise) is obtained, and each improviser is assigned a character to embody (logical or otherwise). To begin, the players assume highly evocative poses in a tableau. As the musician provides a stirring operatic introduction (typically clearly metered) the director/conductor signals various players in turn who unfreeze and sing their inner-most thoughts about their current predicament, usually culminating with all the characters weaving and riffing together in a grand musical climax.
Example
A steady rhythm begins on the keys as the lights rise to reveal the performers in place, each in a sharp pose inspired by the premise of the opening night of a new show. The conductor gestures to Player A, who was assigned the role of the nervous playwright.
Player A: (singing)
“Sick. Sick. I’m going to be sick.
Someone, please, get me out of here quick…”
The director gestures for A to return to their frozen pose and for B to take focus. They are holding a notepad and pen, assuming the guise of a merciless critic.
Player B: (adjusting their pose and turning to the audience)
“A flop. It’s a flop! An unprecedented flop.
Again, my pen must make this travesty stop.
A flop, a whoppingly shockingly floppity flop….”
The conductor moves their attention onto the third singer…
The Focus
As our Gorilla was a very theme-centric form, the premise and focus of the game differed widely in its development stage, although I usually set it up as if we are about to stage the climactic resolution of an operatic first act – think Les Misérables. Depending on my theme for the night, I then solicited a deliberately unlikely assembly of characters or scenarios for the three singers. Much like Madrigal, I love the contrast between the typically ridiculous content and the formal and almost stoic physical staging. Past performances have been inspired by marginal characters at large historical events, famous character combinations unlikely to be seen together, or just strong relationships and points of view that connect to a common experience or scenario – one of my favorites dealt with unlikely characters the moment before a nuclear plant meltdown courtesy of the miniseries Chernobyl.
Traps and Tips
1.) Sparse content and lyrics go a long way. There’s a fine balance in the game between providing almost too much content (full verses with multiple rhyming couplets) and providing no new content at all. (The singers above might be teetering on this, especially if these are these first contributions to the fugue.) I think a lot of the fun comes from winking at preconceptions of opera and using soaring notes, cadenzas, and interesting rhythms rather than an over-abundance of new lyrics. Obviously, you also want strong character points of view, and there is a lot to be gained from this along with some well-placed target rhyming, but it’s helpful if the conductor and players keep initial offers succinct so that the piece can build as a whole. Such an approach also enables you to circle back to the characters two or three times each without them completely expending their ideas.
2.) Make use of your conductor. This role is key to sculpting the build of the piece, and they can be particularly helpful when it comes to guiding the piece home. It’s fun to hear the depths of each character’s passion and, when needed, how they are connected to this bizarre or unexpected moment. If each character eventually condenses their game or subtext into a shorter phrase, this also sets up a fun potential for weaving as the musical number culminates, which the conductor can help facilitate as well. (In the above example, Players A and B might keep circling around the words “sick” and “flop.”) We’ve also had great success ending the piece with the singers combining around one unified lyric, perhaps recognized and then signaled by the conductor. (This latter technique is a great and standard way of ending Madrigal scenes, too.) And it can help add interest for previously activated but currently frozen players to offer soft and subtle echoes of their lyrics behind the featured singer when the piece is looking for a fuller sound.
3.) Embrace the physical stillness. While this game could certainly play well with additional movement, I’m a big fan of really limiting the physicality of the players, as if they were caught in a climactic tableau from which they can only momentarily break to sing their thoughts. I love the look of this from the audience’s perspective, and I think on a simple level, it also allows the singers to really focus on the musicality of the piece. Contained and deliberate movement further facilitates sharp and clear focus shifts as there isn’t busy activity muddying where the audience’s attention should lie.
4.) Build the accompaniment gradually. The musician should be wary of overly augmenting the accompaniment, especially as the game begins, so that the actors’ voices are providing the majority of the interest. Obviously, once the ensemble has settled into the style and discovered how their voices complement each other, everyone – including the musician – should play at full tilt. To a similar end, if there’s a really strong voice in your mix, it’s nice to make this the third (or final) entrance to the fugue (rather than the first) as it can inadvertently cause a dynamic decrescendo when smaller voices follow.
5.) Be on the lookout for your ending. I’ve found that this musical scene can burn brightly and quickly, so be prepared to grab the button when serving as the conductor if a strong “out” emerges unexpectedly. In the Chernobyl rendition mentioned above, I still recall a janitor revealing they were responsible for causing the meltdown with their bucket and mop which was a delightful surprise (in an admittedly rather dark scenario).
In performance
I’ve had the pleasure of seeing this format land really well in numerous different ways, from flat out actor charm selling peculiar points of view, to astounding vocal gymnastics and counterpoints, to a lovely combination of both when the improv magic was really flowing. For Gorilla Theatre specifically, it was a nice dynamic to have at the ready if we needed a big act or show closer, or an energy boost from a softer, simpler, or (frankly) less successful scene or forfeit.
And that’s Opera Moment! Happy singing to you all.
Cheers, David Charles.
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Photo Credit: Olivia Skvarenina
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