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Welcome to ImprovDr.com

Hello! Let me take a moment to introduce myself and welcome you to ImprovDr.com. I’m David, and I’ve been an improvisational practitioner for over 35 years now. I’ve spent the bulk of my professional and academic life writing about, dreaming about, and figuring out different ways to use improv in my teaching, directing, and on the stage as a performer.

Take a look around the website to learn a little more about me and my various experiences and projects. I’ve called my blog “The Short and the Long of it” as I’m one of those improvisers who likes to play on both sides on the fence, and as many do, believes that skills learnt in one style truly make you stronger in the other: are there still (m)any folks out there who don’t agree that these are really two parts of the same thing despite any posturing to the contrary?

A little about my journey: I was introduced to improvisation through Theatresports in my home nation of New Zealand during the late 1980s, and those lessons have deeply shaped my view and approach to the craft. (Shout out to Logan Park High School and Stripy Socks where the passion began – more on that in another post!) During the early 90s I came to the United States to study theatre and was a financially poor but artistically enriched student at Roosevelt University in Chicago. While I played with Comedysportz and later studied at the Players Workshop of the Second City, I now kick myself looking back on those days that I didn’t have the time and money to fully take advantage of all the amazing things that were happening at that special time in that dynamic place.

And then, as I often joke, I followed the Mississippi river (loosely) to Western Illinois University in Macomb for my MFA and then to Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge for my PhD. Because, of course, nothing makes more sense that someone committed to improv leaving Chicago in the mid-1990s… These new locations, needless-to-say, had much less access to improv, and so like many have done before me and will continue to do so now, I made as many opportunities as I could, creating shows and organizing troupes as there wasn’t anything ready-made, all the while reading up on anything I could get my hands on to further expand my own horizons.

In 2003, my doctorate fresh in hand, I relocated to the Orlando area in Florida to accept a teaching position at Rollins College, where the improv continued and I had the good fortune to quickly connect with Sak Comedy Lab. This venue has been my professional improv home for about 20 years now minus a hiatus of 18 months or so when I was in the company of Walt Disney World’s now sadly defunct Comedy Warehouse. In the early 2000s there was little in the way of long-form in the area, and I’ve been doing my part to push that envelope whenever and wherever I can: on my home campus of Rollins, at Sak Comedy Lab, and in other Florida venues when they’ve let me onto their stages! This website includes some images and descriptions of the fruits (fresh or otherwise) of these improvisational long-form labors, and you’ll also see that I’ve never strayed far from being an active short-form player at the same time.

So, that’s the short and the long of it (this was probably more on the long side than I intended, but if you become a frequent visitor you’ll quickly learn that I love words and am as verbose on the page as I am on the stage despite my best efforts to the contrary!) I’m going to strive to make weekly posts about games or techniques that I’m currently working with or musing on, and I also welcome you to pose any questions or conundrums that you might have in regards to this art-form that consumes so many of us so wonderfully and so completely. Maybe I’ll have a few thoughts that can help you unlock something in a new way.

Cheers, David Charles.
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All website and blog material (c) 2020-2023

Looking for the ImprovDr “Game Library”? Then go here.

Or looking for the ImprovDr “A to Z of Improv” now in print with Routledge? Then go here.

If you want to learn more about my improv path, you can listen to the RebelRebel podcast here.

Read my recent co-authored article in the Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism here.

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Game Library: “Gibberish Switch”

Characters move seamlessly (theoretically) from their own language into gibberish and back again at the whim of a caller in this short-form stumper!

The Basics

A scene is played using the local native tongue. When an offstage bell is rung, the current speaker must immediately continue speaking their dialogue in gibberish. The scene continues until the bell strikes again, and players revert immediately into their own language, whether they were mid-sentence, mid-word, or possibly mid-consonant blend! Several switches occur at increasingly swift and inconvenient intervals.

Example

Two roommates (Players A and B) stand over a sink-full of dirty dishes, a constant source of conflict in their apartment.

Player A: “I’m sure it’s your turn to wash them.”

Player B: “Can we really say it’s my turn when you clearly haven’t washed a dish in weeks…?”

Player A: (crossing to the fridge) “Let’s consult the…”

A bell rings.

Player A: (continuing) “…sha ni kaleeny.”

Player B crosses behind A and scrutinizes the same chart.

Player B: (irritated) “Panicko fla kaleeny eep…”

A bell rings.

Player B: (continuing) “… and now you want to consult it. You are so…”

A bell rings…

The Focus

Strive to have the relationship and story develop in both language modes.

Traps and Tips

1.) Leave room for each other. Over-talking is a perennial issue in these types of games and can make it really tough on your caller if they’re trying to really follow and help polish the natural ebbs and flows of the scene. Avoid just launching into random gibberish whenever the bell prompts the change. Honor the established give and take: whoever was currently in focus, actively speaking, or just about to talk should probably respond first to the bell. This discipline also allows the caller to strategically torture or challenge (or typically a bit of both) specific players and moments that are particularly ripe with passion and potential.

2.) Make the gibberish matter. Another common evasion is for the gibberish content to serve as little more than an empty placeholder or stalling tactic. So, if Player A starts accusing B by saying, “You never do…,” and is belled into gibberish for a few made-up words and then back into their native tongue only to complete their offer with “… the dishes,” the audience will likely (and understandably) feel cheated. A related yet admittedly less prevalent trap is to suddenly burst into passionate gestures and staging in the gibberish sections only to return to mundane talking heads afterward without justifying or acknowledging those prior huge choices. A helpful technique to address these temptations is to…

3.) Hold onto your narrative thread. I find it extremely useful to keep the logic of my dialogue loosely running in my mind as I leap into and out of gibberish. This is rarely a word-for-word literal translation, and in some ways, over committing to this level of fidelity might rob you of some wonderful surprises and non sequiturs. But if you have a general sense of your character’s driving want or point of view, you’re much less likely to have your gibberish just uselessly taking up stage time. So, in this way, to repeat the brief example above, a sentence that might start as. “You never do…,” may become completed as ‘…a new roommate,” when the Gibberish unexpectedly ends. Now the audience – and your fellow improvisers – experience the delightful fun of filling in that gap for themselves.

4.) Explore different patterns. There are inherited comedic bits I could list here for the caller (bell ringer), but don’t rely on gimmicks in lieu of finding and disrupting your own games. Consider belling in various places on the dialogue – between sentences, words, or within a word itself, as I describe in my definition. Changeup who is in the hot seat – it can be fun to throw the focus onto one particular character for a while, or perhaps help someone craft a more sizeable speech act or monologue with multiple switches. Alternatively, facilitate a quick exchange of short sentences or utterances, or help the improvisers keep out of hot water by expertly belling them out of potentially crude insults or language. In short, general caller etiquette applies. On occasion (when I’ve forgotten to bring a bell with me usually!), I’ve played the game with someone saying “switch” or potentially even naming the active language. I always return to the elegance of the bell, however, as it is a quick, clear, and easily understood signal that promotes hair turn shifts and justifications.

In Performance

I’m entering my fifth year of writing these entries so it’s getting harder for me to track which stories I have and haven’t told! But I can’t write about this game without thinking about a rehearsal for Making It Up at Louisiana State University over twenty years ago. The inspiring prompt was a zoo, and as the scene started, the two human characters spoke in English while two actors embodied grunting animals behind them. When the bell triggered the change, the humans moved into gibberish (as expected), and the two animals started talking delightfully in English (as not expected). This discovered pattern continued back and forth for the remainder of the scene.

I’m not advocating copying this organic find, but rather reminding us all that we shouldn’t forget that within a prescribed short-form game, other fantastic, unique, and complementary games can and should emerge.

Have I mentioned I’ve written a book – The Improv Dictionary – for those of us who take our improv fun seriously? Find out how to get your copy here.

Cheers, David Charles.
www.improvdr.com
Join my Facebook group here.
© 2024 David Charles/ImprovDr

Game Library Expansion Pack I

Game Library: “Gibberish Commercial”

This game involves a small but noteworthy change to its source of inspiration, Commercial, which is worth a quick review if you’re less familiar with its construction.

The Basics

Players create a slice-of-life commercial for a given (often ridiculous) product. All the dialogue occurs in Gibberish, as if you were watching the ad on a television in a foreign hotel.

Example

Players are challenged to create a commercial for a pair of scissors that can cut tension. Players A and B begin moodily washing dishes at the family sink.

Player A: (slightly irritated) “Paf neely cha canoozi flin takana nee palili.”

Player B: (equally irritated) “Tehaw faniquin canoozi fin gashimy ganoy flatiti.”

Player A: (still riled and holding their ground) “Pafow partoon nee tingaling kava pullayhe snizzlede.”

Player B: (having heard one excuse too many from their husband) “Fanee shaynigh fla dumpah kava pullayhe snizzlede…”

Player C enters the kitchen holding a mimed over-sized pair of scissors much to their parents’ chagrin…

Player A: (turning with skepticism to their entering teenage child) “Cafefe acha ouladib nee snipsnip dashiva ru balugcha, Tyler??”

Player C: (earnestly but lovingly complaining while gesturing to their room upstairs and then their fighting parents) “Pah queto narum zhay tanequ feenene. Do fey kimbibo dumpah faloola faneep…”

Tyler mimes closing the scissors between the couple. The mood quickly dissipates…

Player C: (smiling at the instant results) “Gushena, impali naf oola dahehe…?”

[See my earlier Commercial example here for a loose translation!]

The Focus

Craft a world in which your product might be needed and commit fully to that (potentiality ludicrous) reality.

Traps and Tips

1.) Make big choices. I prefer this version of commercial played as a captured and elevated moment of everyday life, but you’ll want to make sure your given circumstances are clear, communicative, and of an appropriate size to fill your stage. Don’t let the Gibberish become empty or without intention. Hit the various stages of a typical commercial outlined in my connected post but do so with precision and attack. (I’m not against a quick check-in during the “I’ll start” moment to set one or two CROW elements to help get the scene launched: “We’re a couple that’s angry at each other…”)

2.) Make emotional choices. Big choices alone may not prove helpful if they’re not also emotionally enthralling. Make sure your characters have true needs and objectives (that only the product can meet or fulfill). You don’t want to just fill the scene with angry screaming – your emotions shouldn’t be unpolished or unfocused. on the contrary, when you strip away language, it’s critical that the feelings beneath the words (your subtext and desires) remain cogent.

3.) Make grounded choices. Gibberish can invite overtalking and poor give and take in general if you’re not extra vigilant, so in addition to making your own strong choices make sure you’re really listening to and observing the nuances of your teammates. Seek to understand at least the basic premise of information being offered before chiming in with your own addition or embellishment. Bring energy but ground it with receptive calmness just as you would in any improv scene but particularly any Gibberish scene where miscommunications can quickly occur and compound each other.

4.) Make genre-specific choices. Lastly, utilize the slick commercial genre and tropes to guide and unify your play. The need for your assigned product needs to be seen (the scenic introduction and problem), as does the item’s eventual appearance and use (the solution and resolution). Lean into the micro worlds these commercials tend to create and look for markers from your teammates as you’re moving from one structural facet to the next. My companion entry on Commercial offers helpful specifics to further aid you in this regard.

In Performance

As a quick hit challenge with its Gibberish handle, this format can offer an opportunity to really showcase your storytelling, character, and physicality skills.

Cheers, David Charles.
www.improvdr.com
Join my Facebook group here.
Photo Credit: James Berkley
© 2024 David Charles/ImprovDr

Game Library Expansion Pack I

Game Library: “Full Deck”

Full Deck ranks highly among my favorite status games. You’ll want to invest in an oversized pack of playing cards (like these) if you’re performing in a larger space as a lot of the fun comes from the audience being able to see the shuffled cards along with the players.

The Basics

Before the scene, a deck of cards is shuffled and distributed equally between the players. (A team of four works well, with each actor getting approximately a quarter of the pack). Players hold their cards so that they can’t see the revealed card but so that other players (and the audience) can. During the scene, characters endow and treat each other according to the status of the cards being displayed – an ace denotes that a character is currently the highest status, a two that they are the lowest, and everything else is in between. During the scene, players should occasionally draw a new face card so that a new one is displayed, thereby upending previously established status configurations and relationships.

Example

The cards are split amongst the four players – A through D, respectively – and a high school teachers’ lounge serves as the initial impetus. Player A (a “jack”) and Player B (a “four”) enter the space while revealing their cards to their partner and the audience.

Player B: (assuming the role of the principal and endowing A as a very competent new hire) “I just wanted to check in with you over a coffee now that your first week of classes is in the books!”

Player A: (a little annoyed and unimpressed by the gesture) “That’s kind of you. I take mine black with two sugars.”

Player A takes a chair while B accepts the offer to make their coffee.

Player B: “There’s no cause to worry. I’m hearing good things about you… although we can all find room for improvement…”

Player C, a student (and displaying a “two”), pops their head into the room to a cold reception.

Player C: (to the principal) “Ms. McIntire sent me to get you. There’s an incident on the tennis court.”

Player B defers to Player A.

Player A: “Can’t you see that Jo is making my coffee? Ms. McIntire is more than capable of handling a little fuss, surely.”

Player C scurries off to deliver the message. Having made the coffees, Player B shuffles their cards to reveal a “ten” and goes to sit beside A.

Player A: (assuming a gentler tone and taking the drink). “Thanks for this, really. I’m not sure if I would have made it through this week without you. Those lesson plan tips were so helpful…”

The Focus

This game playfully demonstrates the ever shifting and contingent nature of status.

Traps and Tips

1.) Make sure everyone can see your cards. This is an obvious but critical pointer. It’s advisable to hold your deck prominently throughout the scene so that other players and the audience don’t strain to determine your current status position. I find everyone will quickly accept that one hand becomes assigned to this task while the other engages in traditional improv space object and gestural choices. Player C’s entrance, for example, will land more dynamically if everyone quickly knows their position and so they can react accordingly.

2.) Make sure you’re paying attention to others’ cards. As noted in my status observations elsewhere, status works best when it is endowed and bestowed rather than doggedly demanded. The card dynamic necessitates this approach as players can’t see their own place in the hierarchy. So, focus rigorously on adjusting and justifying how you treat your fellow characters as there’s nothing quite so disconcerting for the audience as watching the cards change but not the characters holding them. Player A needs to treat their “ten” principal differently than their “four” principal and justify why.

3.) Make sure you’re paying attention to others’ endowments. The other side of the above coin is that while you’re sending status signals and clues (hopefully without merely naming everyone’s place in the pecking order), you should also strive to actively receive status nudges sent your way. A lot of the energy of the scene stems from leaning into status assumptions – or just making brave assertions and offers in general – and then experiencing the fallout (or full embrace) from the other characters on stage. When Player B accepts A’s gift of making coffee, they’re also opening the door to an unexpected work dynamic, which can, in turn, steer the scene into unique territory.

4.) Make sure each new status configuration gets its moment. While a major contract of this game is that characters will swap out their revealed card, thus causing status inversions and complications, hectic, overly frequent, or ill-timed card reveals will tend to add little more than chaos and split focus. Be generous. Take turns. Don’t change your card haphazardly or out of desperation. If you’re playing a regular short-form scene with a four-person team, everyone should probably get about three shuffles. Entrances and re-entrances provide rich moments for this mischief as your character should ideally already be in focus. (In the above example, Player C is now situated for fun “new card” pop-ins with appropriate reactions.) Moments of decision or epiphany are also effective opportunities for a card shift. The game runs smoother when players look to set up good moments for each other to undergo a shift rather than just focus on their individual needs or game. Arguably, that’s just good improv etiquette in general.

In Performance

Craft playful and dynamic relationships and scenarios that can become heightened by shifting status and then let the card chaos gently unfold!

Cheers, David Charles.
www.improvdr.com
Join my Facebook group here.
Photo Credit: Scott Cook
© 2024 David Charles/ImprovDr

Game Library Expansion Pack I

Game Library: “Forward/Reverse”

It takes an agile mind (and body) to make it gracefully through this scenic gauntlet, but the audience will likely applaud your efforts regardless of the outcome if you keep your spirits and attack high.

The Basics

A caller deploys an imaginary remote that has the power to change the direction of the scene from forward to reverse and back again (as well as perhaps any other functions you might apply to your television set). Players must create and then recreate their scenic content accordingly, closely following the caller’s instructions.

Example

Player A begins the scene by pushing a lawnmower through dense grass. They pause for a moment to catch their breath and dab a towel over their sweating brow. They bend over to turn off the idling lawnmower, and the sound booth cuts the sound effect.

Caller: “Reverse.”

Player A rewinds their action, so now the lawnmower is turned back on (with the suitable sound cue from the booth), they take out their wet towel and remoisten their forehead, and start to pull the mower as they retrace their steps…

Caller: “Forward.”

The mower is pushed back into position, the towel deployed, and the machine silenced as Player B emerges from the house with a tray.

Player B: “You’ve been working so hard. I thought you might need a lemonade.”

Player A: (turns and smiles) “You read my mind. That would be lovely.”

Player A crosses the stoop to accept the glass in B’s outstretched hand.

Caller: “Reverse.”

Player A walks backward to their mower as B retracts their offered hand.

Player A: “That would be lovely. You read my mind.” (They smile before turning back to the mower.)

Player B: “I thought you might need a lemonade… You’ve been working so hard…”

The Focus

Retain your cool despite the pressure, do your best to honor the caller’s prompts, and be wary of sacrificing any semblance of a scene to the “bit” that will easily take control.

Traps and Tips

1.) It’s sorta about the movement… A conventional wisdom when teaching this game is to emphasize the importance of large and specific stage action and gestures. Yes, you’ll want to generally avoid an esoteric discussion devoid of any memorable staging, but I’m not a huge fan of starting the scene with that “needlessly weird character walk” you love to perform just so you can then do it in reverse again. Consider the curve of absurdity and give yourself some room for the silliness to develop. I prefer watching movements gradually becoming absurd through the multiple replays rather than being subjected to improvisers pandering to the audience and central device. Be real people in a real situation first. But perhaps at least select a situation or begin with an activity that’s likely to expand and build.

2.) It’s sorta about the dialogue… I love the risk of starting this game as I would any other scene as this can get you into delightful trouble. If you’re new to the format, however, there are some strategies you can deploy to avoid an early scenic implosion! Be wary of talking in paragraphs or overly convoluted sentences as these can be a beast to rewind. Generally, you’ll be best served if you think of your speech acts in the same way as your staging – you don’t need to leap to where you were previously standing but should rather take the appropriate number of steps. Similarly, break down larger chunks of dialogue into their constituent elements or phrases. It’s a small thing, but also listen closely to the caller. If you just spoke before the call, then you should now be the next speaker repeating your prior line.

3.) It’s sorta about the torture… Everyone will likely have a slightly different preference for the way the caller is utilized, and there is certainly a built-in torturous function that the game essentially demands. And yet, the caller can also do a lot of good, especially in the opening moments of the scene. Judicious calls can be used to “burn in” discrete choices and units, thereby helping the players remember these moments. Contrarily, rehashing the same few choices again and again (especially before much of anything has been established) will make it difficult for the scene to amount to much. Give the onstage players some room to breathe and offer a few nuanced ideas as the game takes shape, vary the frequency and duration of your calls, and make sure no one is put into any actual physical or emotional peril.

4.) It’s sorta about the tempo… Building on my above observations, also consider the overall rhythms of the scene. If actors are whacky right out of the gate, initial dialogue already has a frenzied quality, or the caller focuses on the first ten seconds of material relentlessly, then it’ll be difficult to ramp up the energy later in a pleasing way. Even with adept calling, players might only get eight to ten lines of dialogue combined in the whole scene, so give each choice its due or there won’t be anything resembling an earned story climax. As the scene builds, calls can and should compress the air out of the action a little each tone with movements and lines becoming a little polished or possibly even truncated. This adds nicely to the attack. Frankly, the scene is likely to end somewhat chaotically – especially if the caller cues a reverse all the way back to the start of the story. That doesn’t mean, however, that this should also be the starting tempo.

In Performance

This game doesn’t need any more than the two titular instructions to succeed, but there are many other dynamics a careful caller can use to the scene’s advantage. Current favorites include a slow motion or frame-by-frame advance (usually with players also lowering and slowing their speaking voices), alternate camera angles (with players having to quickly shift their onstage positions), switching into a different language (ideally something that challenges the actors rather than mocks a sector of your community), and adding a director’s commentary (where the action continues but an offstage voice offers behind the scenes factoids and gossip).

Interested in getting your hands on The Improv Dictionary? Find out the latest deals and discounts here.

Cheers, David Charles.
www.improvdr.com
Join my Facebook group here.
Photo Credit: Kalani Senior
© 2024 David Charles/ImprovDr

Game Library Expansion Pack I

Game Library: “Foreign Poet”

This is a fun language/narrative game that will add a nice departure from scenic work that tends to dominate most short-form playlists.

The Basics

One player, A, serves as the host of a poetry evening (perhaps with finger clicking and a smoky persona). They introduce a visiting poet, Player B, who will perform their original poem (with an audience inspired title) in its original language (Gibberish). After each line or two of verse, Player A translates the content into the local tongue (in my case, English). The give and take between the poet and host continues until the poem reaches its culmination.

Example

Player A steps forward and establishes a coffee house feel.

Player A: “Welcome everyone to our special evening of poetry.” (They lead everyone in a finger-snapping ritual.) “It is my pleasure tonight to welcome a very special international voice that we all know and love…”

Player B enters and acknowledges their adoring fans.

Player B: “Kasneeka du vala nexceeta.”

Player A: (translating) “It is my honor to back here tonight with you all.”

Player B: (with a grand gesture) “Zha taloola… mi tanequa.”

Player A: “I present to you… the lonely hat stand.”

Player B: (takes a deep breath and then begins with the utmost seriousness) “Nepiti gasheen falalabe.”

Player A: “The dark room waits beneath a shroud of silence…”

The Focus

Create a poem! There are a lot of gimmicks and comedic bits that can appear in this elegant little game (sadly, often by rote), but they’re not needed (at all) to craft a successful and entertaining experience.

Traps and Tips

1.) Pursue fidelity. As noted below, there will be plenty of opportunities for playful mischief that emerge organically if the players are paying close attention to each other. When the translator endeavors to faithfully and poetically communicate the intended meaning of the poet, this tends to create a more powerful foundation for later earnest or roguish misbehavior. It’s helpful to generally match the vocal cadence, line lengths, and gestural beats of each “stanza,” for example, even if your eventual content is wildly unexpected.

2.) Pursue communication. In the poet position, follow good gibberish etiquette. Don’t let your language and offers become “empty,” and then expect your scene partner to fabricate all the content alone. If they’re listening closely, and you keep circling around one or two sounds/words, they should probably be similarly sparse. This can be fun for a moment or two, but not for the entirety of the poem, so deploy poetically diverse and emotional language (and gestures). When you fight to tell a particular story, the fun increases exponentially for the audience as they recognize mistranslations and unexpected inversions.

3.) Pursue poetry. In the translator position, the game takes on a different vibe when you embrace the rich language of poetry with its metaphors, imagery, word play, and perhaps even a little rhyme. Avoid meandering through first-person narratives that essentially describe a plot in the most denotative of terms – “I woke up. I got dressed. I opened the window…” It’s often helpful to think of the least efficient way to describe the story elements and actions – “Oh cruel sun with your piercing rays beating mercilessly against my eyelids…” I’m a verbose fella, and it’s fine for that not to be your default approach, but seek to find a way to assume a language style that feels elevated in some way so your poem doesn’t start to feel like mundane dialogue.

4.) Pursue play. And then, once the connection is well established, and the poem has a voice and focus, enjoy the mutual creative process. Look for pleasingly unique ways to justify the poet’s energy and offers, explore a specific relationship between the characters and their material, invert expectations or cadences in surprising ways that still honor the storytelling needs – perhaps a long Gibberish line has a starkly short translation (or vice versa), or the poet spends the whole poem flirting with the host (or audience, or both), or the original poem involves a lot of highly specific gestures that the translator must work to honor. Again, I don’t believe this game needs a deluge of these types of choices to succeed, but a little shivving can add delight, especially when the players are clearly enjoying the process.

In Performance

On occasion, I’ve played and seen this game with a third improviser who creates a “modern dance” piece inspired by the translation, often staged between the poet and their host. If your company includes particularly adept (or fearless) movement improvisers, this can be a nice way to feature them. I oscillate between loving and not really loving this variant – the presence of a dancer can tend to make the poet and translator less physical so as not to step on this third element’s toes, which can, unfortunately, lessen their energy and contribution, perhaps even making them resemble talking heads. It can take a little practice to strike a helpful balance of you decide to go this route.

Cheers, David Charles.
www.improvdr.com
Join my Facebook group here.
Photo Credit: Leesa Brown
© 2024 David Charles/ImprovDr

Game Library Expansion Pack I

Game Library: “Freeze Tag”

The Game Library includes several Freeze Tag variants – Blind Freeze Tag, Conducted Freeze Tag, Environmental Freeze Tag – but it seemed odd not to include the original version as well, so here it is in all its glory! This is the base model, if you will. Key advice also applies to the variants listed above, so forgive the repetition if you end up reading these back-to-back…

The Basics

Players (six to eight works well) form a line, usually at the rear of the stage or wherever your particular sightlines make practical. Two improvisers volunteer to begin a scene downstage based on an audience prompt. (It’s typical for only the first scene to feel obliged to incorporate this idea in any perceivable way.) Players watching from the backline can halt the action by calling, “Freeze.” Onstage players hold their physical positions until one of them is tagged out by the entering actor (who initiated the freeze). This new player assumes the exact pose and replaces their tagged teammate who quickly strikes and returns to the awaiting actor bank. A new scene begins that justifies the old positions in a completely different way.

Example

Players A and B begin a scene as pirates. The rest of the company forms a line upstage.

Player A: (looking through a spyglass) “A ship approaches on the horizon, captain.”

Player B: (while patting their trusty parrot) “Be they friends or foe, Benji?”

Player A: “They fly a flag that I have never seen before…”

Player B reaches for the spyglass only to be paused by Player E calling freeze. E quickly steps onstage, assess A’s position, and then tags them out before sliding into the same spot. A new scene begins that isn’t jazzercize, a game of Twister, or both characters involved in a hilarious super glue accident…

The Focus

Brave calls, swift transitions, and creative new justifications provide the lifeblood of this and all Freeze Tag variations.

Traps and Tips

1.) See an opportunity rather than a fully formed choice. One of the reasons I tend to favor the conducted or blind versions of this game is that when players can see the action and make their own entrance calls, they can have a tendency to unhelpfully hum and haw and stall as they look for the “perfect” pose that they already know how they’ll justify. Formerly well-paced Freeze Tags will grind to a standstill when played with this level of wimping forethought. Instead, just look for something dynamic, interesting, or new, freeze it, and then jump in without the pressure of believing you need to have solved the image beforehand.

2.) Leap into the fray rather than amble or saunter. Physical ability and limitations accounted for, strive to attack the stage. Especially if you’re playing this perennial improv game in front of an audience, lethargic transitions will drastically dilute the potential for lasting entertainment. Move swiftly to the stage, decisively make your choice, and contort your body to the needed position. The only moment I’d advise a smidgen of patience is right before you tag your partner out as you’ll want to make sure you’ve caught all the nuances of their pose so that you can mirror them. It’s always a bummer for the audience when a really cool or challenging pose becomes simplified by the entering player (or just quickly dropped or ignored as the scene takes shape).

3.) Risk the imperfect and partially formed rather than recycling stale bits. If you play any improv game a lot (and Freeze Tag games tend to get played a lot), it’s difficult not to develop a rolodex of bygone choices or tropes that have felt successful in the past. Relying on previously improvised material pulls the rug out from under the whole exercise a little as the audience is sentenced to watch players scramble to be the first to reuse “that cool bit” that was really funny five months ago. The same goes for over deploying stock scenarios – jazzercize, Twister games, superglue accidents. When this Freeze Tag becomes just one more installment of a longstanding serial of previous iterations rather than a unique and specific exploration of the unknown, boredom will soon follow. Use the poses to become inspired rather than as obstacles to be forced into familiar and safe premises.

4.) Think small or detailed rather than big or punchlines. I’ve written elsewhere about connecting this type of exercise with the concept of CROW, and the benefits of striving to efficiently construct scenic given circumstances in a playful and pleasing manner. With that in mind, unspecified “its,” “thats,” and “yous” rarely gift much for your partner to embellish (remembering that any remaining players must also justify their new context as well). It’s good etiquette to allow the entering player the first crack at justifying the premise, but that doesn’t mean they’re required to do all the work. Acknowledging that some out-of-left-field ideas might benefit from a little extra space and generosity, tags should still typically result in albeit brief scenes as opposed to inelegant monologues. A tendency towards the latter also can make the game feel like a punchline competition rather than a series of energetic scenes.

In Performance

Other advice worth repeating includes looking to shake up the physical poses (to avoid a string of talking heads scenes), avoiding having similar content or ideas back-to-back (so one ballroom dancing scene isn’t followed by a hip hop dancing scene,) and maintaining vigilant so that no one is left out – or possibly in – for too long (an offstage caller nominating be players after they announce a “Freeze” can serve as a safety measure to nudge fearful players into the game).

In my books (and blogs), the only thing worse than overplaying Freeze Tag is playing it so that everyone knows you’ve overplayed it. Consider experimenting with some of the other versions listed above if this base model needs an upgrade so as to renew your passion.

Find out about how you can get your copy of The Improv Dictionary (Routledge, April 2024) now on sale here.

Cheers, David Charles.
www.improvdr.com
Join my Facebook group here.
Photo Credit: James Berkley
© 2023 David Charles/ImprovDr

Game Library Expansion Pack I

Game Library: “Five Things”

I know two vastly different games that go by this title. The first, a ComedySportz mainstay, is a high-octane charades-style contest that has performers trying to decipher five ludicrously ornate activities. (Bungee jumping off the Eiffel Tower into a vat of a variable Jello flavor was an oppressively common audience favorite during my tenure in the early 90s.) The second, outlined below, provides an only slightly lower octane brainstorming exercise for exploring archetypes, dialogue, and generating spontaneous content.

The Basics

There are several ways you can tinker with the game basics (explicated below). Typically, players form a circle, and one performer challenges another by offering the prompt, “Five Things a [blank] might say…” Improvisers must then quickly concoct five answers to that implied question. The ensemble boisterously counts off each response, “One!” “Two!” “Three…!” Each round culminates with a celebratory chant of “And that’s five things!” And then a new suggestion is offered so that the joyful process can continue.

Variation One

Play moves sequentially around the circle. Player A turns to Player B and offers inspiration, such as “Five things an astronaut might say…” Player B provides the first response – “Houston, we have a problem…,” and the ensemble counts off, “One!” Player C then provides a second possibility – “It’s a pleasure to talk to all of you in Ms. Dygan’s third grade class from 250 miles above the earth!” A lively “Two” follows… After the fifth improviser provides the fifth original line of dialogue, the round is capped with the joyful “And that’s five things,” and the next player (G in this case) begins a new round. Alternatively, depending on your number of participants or available time to play, you might return to Player B to imitate the next sequence so that everyone gets to play in every position.

Variation Two

The mechanics from above remain the same; however, one player must now provide all five unique responses in a row, pausing only briefly between each sentence to allow for their teammates’ supportive counting. When they’ve completed the challenge, they issue the next original role to a different player (so, nothing space related if Player B has just been an astronaut for five one-line vignettes). Play can just continue sequentially around the circle with Player B now inspiring Player C’s flight of fancy, or the previous player in the hot seat can point to a random participant across the circle to even further increase the unpredictability of the whole experience (though making sure everyone gets a turn in the listing position eventually).

Example

The ensemble forms a circle and Player A turns to Player B to issue the first challenge.

Player A: “Five things an improv teacher might say…”

Player B: “Alright, everyone, let’s get into a circle for a warm-up…”

Everyone: “One!”

Player B: “Whatever you do, team, go out there and have fun tonight!”

Everyone: “Two!”

Player B: “I’m going to the Celt and Harp after class today if anyone wants to join me to hear more of my stories about when I studied in Chicago with…”

Everyone: “Three!”

Player B: (with a bold arm movement) “Zip…”

Everyone: “Four!”

Player B: “That scene showed promise, but let’s be careful of rehashng needlessly insular and theatre-y material as it tends to alternate an audience.”

Everyone: “Five! And that’s five things!”

Player B now turns to offer an identity to Player C…

The Focus

This fast-paced game invites players to immediately adopt a clear character and point of view through the use of confident and specific dialogue. If you’re working on a genre-based piece or a performance that utilizes stock characters or archetypes, this exercise is a great way to get your company into the right frame of mind in terms of show-appropriate content. “Five things a Shakespearean king might say,” “Five things a star fleet caption might say,” “Five things a werewolf might say…,” and the like.

Traps and Tips

1.) One. Take a breath, but then leap. It can be daunting to face the gauntlet, especially if you’re playing the second variant, but you don’t want to retreat into your head. Say your first word – any first word – trusting that you’ll formulate the second and then third… Accept the messiness of spontaneity and that your fellow teammates will delight in seeing you figure out your idea externally and in real time.

2.) Two. Embrace specificity. This exercise snugs nicely with the concept of experts – characters that use language with confidence and precision. You may need to slow down your vocal patterns initially to accomplish this level of finesse but avoid mundane dialogue that doesn’t incorporate some unique aspect of the proffered identity. “I like broccoli” could likely be said by any character, so it probably isn’t the most full-throated acceptance of the challenge. (Unless you’re a butcher, in which case that might be quite novel and playful.)

3.) Three. Consider archetypes. In many ways, this game invites incorporating well-known tropes and familiar caricatures. It’s fine to start there, mining what you know or think you know about a personality type as a way of launching your vignette. That being said, be sure you’re playing at the top of your intelligence (creatively, emotionally, politically, socially…), while also allowing your own experiences to infuse your dialogue. If you treat your five things as “five punchlines” or “five gags” then you’re probably not pushing yourself out of limiting comfort zones.

4.) Four. Question archetypes. This drill is a uniquely powerful way to launch a strong character with a stated deal, energy, or attitude towards life. Subsequently, it’s a shame to settle for five similar astronauts, or improv teachers, or politicians, or “whatevers” in a row. Seek variety within your characters. By doing so, an inelegant or clichéd first choice can lead you into a less expected or less stereotypical second or third choice (hence the necessity for working in a playful and judgment free environment). In my incredibly self-indulgent improv teacher example above, it’s tempting to make every choice creepier or sillier or more satirical than its predecessor, but you’ll get more out of the experience if you truly endeavor to discover the widest possible assortment of people who could belong in that category.

5.) Five. Play the scene. Sure, these are generally incredibly brief one-line vignettes, but it’ll further enrich your turn at bat if you don’t just think of these as five panicked and rattled off disembodied lines devoid of any context or physicality. You can inspire and focus your creativity (that can easily become jangled by this challenge) simply through the incorporation of a defining activity, or the endowing of a suitable scene partner, or consideration of the potentials or restrictions of any paradigmatic clothing or location. Perform your five things rather than just reciting them.

In Performance

I love that this swift exercise allows you to quickly leap from one character to another with the liberating knowledge that they will all live and die in that one sentence. It is disposable improv at its finest. When you’re in the setup position, be wary of needlessly modifying the prompt as this can limit the resulting diversity of characters. Facts tend to be more helpful than feelings or emotions – so “a third-grade math teacher” will promote more playful variety than “an out-of-their depth” or “past-their-prime teacher.” Allow the latter types of energies to become discovered by the player organically. (Unless, that is, you’re workshopping a particular set of characters defined by emotional climates and textures, in which case Five Things can help you find varied launching points within a smaller archetype subset.)

I’ve talked a little about the potential for stereotypical portrayals above and would advise being vigilant for recurring and problematic patterns of performance (as always) while also acknowledging that some first instincts may not be the most nuanced and savvy. If any small perceived infraction is pounced upon, the game will struggle to breathe and grow, so be judicious with the timing and tone of any content critique.

Thanks to my improv colleague Chelsea Hilend for helping me recall some of the details of this game as it had fallen out of my regular teaching rotation.

Cheers, David Charles.
www.improvdr.com
Join my Facebook group here.
Photo Credit: Sarasota Improv Fest
© 2024 David Charles/ImprovDr

Game Library Expansion Pack I

Game Library: “Five Letter Word”

This short-form language game provides a helpful variation of the mainstay Alphabet Game (which you can find here).

The Basics

The team acquires a five-letter word from the audience – ideally, with five unique letters. For the duration of the scene, players move through the letters in sequence (repeatedly) to begin each sequential sentence. A traditional ask-for, such as a location or relationship, can also be used to ground the action.

Example

The word “amber” and the scenario of “loud chewing” are taken. Players A and B sit at a restaurant table….

Player A: “Another great meal awaits us at my favorite Greek restaurant!”

Player B: “My amazing best friend gets whatever they want for surviving their senior year of grad school!”

Player A: “Brad, you really are too kind to me!”

A member of the waitstaff provides a dish of pita and dips, and Player B braces for the symphony of chewing that is about to follow.

Player B: “Every hurdle life has thrown at you, you have ably leaped…”

B cringes at the first loud smacking and chomping.

Player A: “Random question: are you feeling alright tonight? You seem a little jumpy…”

Player B: (looking for the waiter) “All is well – I just want to get us fresh drinks…”

The Focus

Stay in the moment even as your brain scrambles to remember the next letter and use these somewhat random prompts to help you discover less well-worn paths and dialogue.

Traps and Tips

1.) Alternate speakers. There will always be exceptions discovered from the needs of the moment, but the game is easier to follow when each starting letter comes from a different player as it’ll tend to confuse everyone if you embed two or more letters in a row in what might appear to be one speech act. If there has been a significant action between sentences (such as the arrival off the waiter above), you are onstage alone for a significant period of time, or your scene partner is clearly at a loss, then ignore this guideline but hit the next letter with a little extra oomph so that everyone knows what you are doing.

2.) Monitor dialogue length. Related to the above observation, huge meandering monologues can prove problematic if they become the norm. If the distance between each featured starting letter becomes extensive, the players and audience will struggle to know what should come next. Obviously, a little of this complexity can be delightful when it’s strategic and appears in a scene that is thriving; but generally, the give and take feels less strained when each character’s dialogue defaults to one sentence or so. Odd pauses… within… a line… don’t help in this regard, either.

3.) Be wary of lazy recycling. Unlike Alphabet Game, characters need to craft dialogue with a much less varied array of starting letters. There can be comedic fun found from playfully repeating the launch word occasionally – in the restaurant premise, “Brad” might become intoned each time “B” rolls around. However, if every letter just cues an echo of an earlier choice, the finesse and challenge of the game will suffer in a way that’s unlikely to appeal to your spectators. So, whenever possible, attempt to grab at a new and unexpected starting point rather than just going to the same well again and again.

4.) Err toward physicality. This is standard advice for all frames with a verbal restriction as it’s easy for players to become talking heads while they consider what word that begins with an “E” hasn’t been used yet. Something as simple as getting a physical habit, a hobby, or activity can be enough to keep the potential for movement alive.

5.) Robots needn’t apply. Finally, as you invariably fumble with your words a little, don’t neglect subtext and nuanced delivery. In many ways, the more earnest and passionate you appear when you deliver those strained words necessitated by the language handle, the greater fun everyone will have. If every line begins to feel robotic or inhuman, the scene won’t develop meaningfully.

In Performance

The pointers for Alphabet Game certainly apply here, too, so give that entry a quick review if this is unfamiliar improv terrain for you.

Cheers, David Charles.
www.improvdr.com
Join my Facebook group here.
Photo Credit: Gontran Durocher
© 2024 David Charles/ImprovDr

Game Library Expansion Pack I

Game Library: “First Line, Last Line”

This game provides a quick hit as players must create a minute-long scene based upon two lines (or texts) obtained from the audience.

The Basics

Players elicit two disconnected lines, phrases, or texts from the audience and use these as the spoken bookends for a scene.

Example

The audience provides “You won’t believe who I just ran into” and “Just another endless day of work,” as the inspiration. Two players begin the scene huddled by a work photocopier as the lights rise. A third player, C, runs into the workroom.

Player C: “You won’t believe who I just ran into!”

Player A: (looks up from the photocopier) “Please tell me our boss isn’t wearing a disguise again to spy on us…”

Player C: “You guessed it – this time she’s posing as a photocopier technician. Shall we have a little fun at her expense…?”

Player B: (with great excitement) “Please!”

Approximately 40 seconds later, the undercover boss, Player D, has their hand stuck in the photocopier and is on the phone to the district manager…

Player D: “Nothing unusual to report here… Just another endless day of work.”

Blackout.

The Focus

This is a justification game at heart as players work to make two disparate lines connect and make sense. In case it doesn’t go without saying, the more context and rationale for the unrelated second line you can offer, the more fulfilling the ending will feel.

Traps and Tips

1.) Say the first line. While there can (should) be stage action prior to the first line – that establishes the setting and CROW elements perhaps – be cautious that no dialogue precedes the phrase obtained from the audience. This happens with surprising frequency as players find inspiration from the innate offers contained in the audience’s offer and then launch joyfully into the scene while forgetting this basic contract. If you’re not accustomed to an “I’ll start” mentality, it is particularly helpful in a short game such as this so that there’s no confusion in the critical opening moments.

2.) Walk, don’t run. Enjoy the scene and make sure you’re fully utilizing the offers of your teammates and following where they might go. As everyone knows (and hopefully remembers) the ending line, it can be tempting to just sprint to that idea without really mining the riches that are organically emerging. As I note with the related format Famous Last Words (see here) you also want to avoid inelegantly dragging elements you deem necessary for the final moment prematurely into the action or any coherent story will quickly evaporate.

3.) Run, don’t walk. That being written, this is typically played as a one-minute scene, so you’ll also want to be mindful that your scene has energy, stakes, and momentum. If characters are just standing around as little more than talking heads, even if you manage to get the scene to the finish line, it’s highly unlikely that the ending will feel fulfilling and serve as the culmination of a well-crafted story arc. Starting in the middle of the rising action can help in this regard, as can making strong and grounded assumptions (as Player A did in the example above rather than spending time asking unloaded or generic questions).

4.) Say the last line. Sell that final line and moment. Again, while there might be a sliver of action after the final line has been offered that helps stick the landing, generally the scene is designed to go out on the second line of dialogue garnered from the audience. Be wary of throwing it away, muttering it when you’re out of focus in the background, or delivering it with an energy that isn’t worthy of a scenic climax. A small finesse that can prove helpful when the time is ticking toward that final sixty second mark it to work towards pitching the line to another teammate. In addition to just being generous and supportive, such an approach has the added advantage of framing the closing line.

In Performance

The time limit certainly invites a compressed scene, but don’t mistake this for a rushed or frantic one. A measured approach with a team actively listening and accepting each new offer boldly can result in a pleasantly bracing story arc; there just isn’t time for meandering and vagaries.

Cheers, David Charles.
www.improvdr.com
Join my Facebook group here.
Photo Credit: Rollins Improv Players
© 2024 David Charles/ImprovDr

Connected Concept: Story Series for Improv I

Game Library: “Family Drive”

I like this game so much that I took its essence and constructed an improvised musical bearing the same name. Family Drive playfully assigns relationships and emotional centers to a carload of characters, resulting in surprisingly complex and rich journeys that can really go the distance.

The Basics

Four players serve as the norm as this configuration also easily fits into an improv car. For the setup, each improviser obtains a random role in the family (broadly and inclusively defined). Each character then receives an unrelated emotion or mental state, and a unifying destination or reason for the drive can also be elicited. A scene is played in which this patchwork of personae all shares a car and hits the road.

Example

Four chairs are deployed to construct a basic sedan as the lights rise to reveal Player A doing one last maintenance check.

Player A: (an irritated grandfather) “Where is everyone? We agreed to be out of here by 10 am, sharp.”

Player B bounds onstage holding their backpack and a teddy bear – they are a giddy grandchild.

Player B: “I cannot wait! Five whole hours with you in the car, grandpa!”

Player A: (seeing B’s backpack) “I explicitly told everyone to bring their luggage downstairs last night.” (He begrudgingly goes to open the trunk.)

Player B: “I’ll just put it under my feet, grandpa. I don’t mind. It’s full of joke books for the trip anyway. I know how much you love my jokes.”

Player A grumbles while Player C, a lovesick middle-aged parent, dawdles to the driver’s seat.

Player A: “I thought we agreed last night that I’d do the driving. I’ve mapped out the fastest route that should keep us out of any traffic jams…”

The Focus

While you might acquire a destination for your passengers, as is the case with all improvisation, this scene is really about the journey first and foremost. When the characters are vivid and reactive, it’s unlikely your audience will care if the car makes it to the Saint Louis Gateway Arch or not!

Traps and Tips

1.) When getting the relationships…. it’s useful for someone to keep an eye on the big picture. If possible, it’s advisable for a host or other non-playing cast member to assist with this duty. Don’t be overly literal or restrictive with your definition of family but do be wary of constructing a carload of characters with too many unhelpfully missing links. In this way, having a grandparent without anyone they are a grandparent to can prove challenging, or not having anyone who could legally operate the car, or having a cast of complete strangers. Strategic mischief is another matter entirely. If you have three strong and clear relationships, for example, it can be nice to throw in a little curve ball as the fourth, such as a hitchhiker, a foreign exchange student, or random Uber passenger.

2.) When getting the emotions… endeavor to err on the side of contrast and variety. These scenes can easily expand into lengthier explorations, and it’s nice not to have several characters painting with a similar set of colors – happy, jolly, and excited, for example, might feel oddly alike as you roll into your third minute. You can explicitly have your audience help you avoid this issue by carefully phrasing your ask-for prompts: “OK, the grandfather has an emotion that feels a little negative. What’s something on the more positive side of life for this next character?” More than one internally focused choice (perhaps lovesick in our framing illustration) can discourage energized interactions as well, which are key to building scenic energy and longevity.

3.) When playing the emotions… seek to exploit variety in intensity, tactics, and tones. Player B’s giddiness toward their irritable grandfather should probably feel at least a little different than the way they engage with their lovesick patent. Don’t fall into the trap of playing your one emotion in the same one way – at least let it have peaks and valleys. Also, avoid naming your or anyone else’s state of being – “Grandpa, why are you always so irritable?” – as this will feel like bringing a sledgehammer to a sushi bar. I wouldn’t strictly consider this game as an endowment exercise, but it shares some foundational techniques. So, if I know the grandparent skews irritable, it’s fun to offer this improviser some obvious (and not-so-obvious) opportunities to model that energy. Complementary offers are extremely helpful in this regard.

4.) When staging your car… show care where you place each chair. Be mindful of inherent sight lines and any subsequent challenges. Even if you place the car on an aesthetically pleasing angle or extend the distance between the two back seats, there will usually be at least one chair that is a little problematic. Select and adjust your stage picture accordingly. It’s unkind to stick your smallest or least vocal emotion in the bad seat (likely our lovesick character) and then just leave them there. If you’ve received a larger or more aggressive energy, taking a weaker position will probably still serve you and the scene as your emotion will more easily prompt an array of reasons to make yourself seen and heard. And don’t forget that you can at least occasionally swap seats around (and even tag out the driver), especially if this will help more evenly share the focus and fun and therefore help tell a more cohesive and polished story.

In Performance

For my Family Drive: The Musical, I inserted some various song structures and opportunities into the mix and kept the basic inspirational frame intact. If you’re aiming to craft a fuller one-act, there’s plenty of room for the characters to evolve beyond their initial temperament (and the story will probably demand at least one significant inversion or transformation). Actually, that same philosophy holds true just to a lesser degree for the end of a smaller single scene as well. In either case, the deceptively simple combination of a strong relationship and emotion can jumpstart surprisingly exciting road trips.

(I think I may have used the above image before for another blog entry but it’s sadly the only good photo I have from Family Drive: The Musical!)

Game Library Expansion Pack I